#this is about past former mutuals and also ->

[soft-bugs]

I haven't been on this account in a hot min 😭

[hotwings0203]

"I swear, if she had just stayed with the group like a normal person would, she would've saved herself at least 30 more minutes of screentime," your friend says on the other side of the couch.

In retaliation, you playfully chuck a few kernels of popcorn at him and gesture wildly at the screen. "It's the classic bimbo trope! She's wearing a miniskirt and high heels in the forest for gods sake, it practically screams 'Murder me!' on her clothes."

You both squabble for a few minutes like this until the sound of violins coming from the t.v. cues you in for the next foreboding jumpscare. Both sets of eyes turn back to the dimly lit screen and lock in on the gore-fest about to unfold.

The main heroine cautiously creaks a door open in front of a tunnel and warbles out, "H-hello? Is anyone there?"

It's so cliche you could roll your eyes, but yet your heart is still pumping...

And your "friend's" body shifting a mere few inches away from you isn't helping the palpitations.

The two of you had been dancing around each other the past few months in some sort of premature courting method, the flirty remarks and jeers from your mutual friends egging you both on to seal the deal and admit your feelings for one another.

But, like every young romance blooms, the fear of wilt is just as strong.

And so you opt to get as close as you can to the real thing by being satisfied with his arm not-so-subtly thrown over the back of the couch , so softly playing with the ends of your hair so as to not disturb you.

You can barely focus though, as the girl on the screen inches closer to the end of tunnel, the boy behind you also creeps his other idle hand towards yours resting on the cushion.

It takes an incredible amount of effort to keep your breathing even and hands still as you watch from the corner of your eye as his veiny hands trail closer...his fingers outstretching towards yours...and...

Rrrriiinnngggg!

It's like a tidal wave comes crashing down as the woman on screen screams in tandem with your phone ringing.

You feign a groan as you shoot the disappointed man on your couch an apologetic wince, and try not to let your heart fall as he nods back with a barely understanding grimace. You round the couch and let the movie continue playing as you hit the green button and pick up the intruding call.

"Hello?" You snipe.

"Get rid of him."

For the second time in the night, your heart falters, but the former experience is something you'd beg for rather than this.

"H-how did you know someone's at my house?" Your voice drops to a shaky whisper and you throw a panicked glance into the living room to ensure that your lover/friend hasn't picked up on your tone. You duck into your bedroom and close the door slightly, your hands trembling as you do so.

The gravely voice on the other end chuckles, but the sound has anything but mirth in it.

"That's a funny way to phrase it sweetheart. Your question makes it seem as though I stopped keeping tabs on you."

A minute-long silence ensues after that, your mouth gaping open and closed like a fish out of water. There's no sound except for the low hum in the background of your living room, and your caller's shallow breaths on the other end of the line.

"You begged so nicely last time for me to leave you alone, even made it to the cops at one point. I granted you a shred of mercy, a bit of pity after the cops failed to take your report seriously- I mean, I don't blame them. Their time is precious, y'know? They've got bigger things to worry about than a dumb little girl whining about some invisible stalker jizzing all over her and her room when she sleeps," he snickers meanly at the sound of your choked gasps.

The taunting of your trauma is a slap to the face, a wound cut open again. You thought you got rid of this anonymous stalker a couple months back, you thought a police report and growing reclusive from your social life would dissuade any unwanted interactions from this psycho. You felt backed into a corner, dirty and ashamed as the threatening calls became more frequent. Love letters with ominous fluids coating the expanse of the papers started showing up at your front door when you changed your number. He'd attach polaroids of you in your undergarments, when you'd shower, when you'd cook, and so many other unassuming intimate domestic scenes in the envelope, and then when you couldn't take the terror anymore...it stopped.

The calls, the letters, the pictures, all of it...poof.

You had slowly started to hope that he had gotten bored of you and the lack of social life, lack of thrill in general at you losing your color.

With that hope, came bravery. Your friends started coming around again, the parties ensued, you switched your college class from virtual to in-person again, you even met the guy nestled comfortably on your couch currently.

"How many bodies did you think you could hide behind?"

The voice on the other end of the phone croons softly, but pulls you just as violently out of your dread.

"What do you want?" comes your shaky whisper, your fingers gripping the phone tighter in sync with your throat closing up.

"Ohhh sweetheart, now that's a loaded question. You and I have all the time in the world to uncover that, but your boy toy on the other hand..." His teasing lilt twists lower into something akin to a growl, and you can't help the whimper that escapes you.

You don't want to find out what his threat alludes to, or how serious he is.

Slow-burn romance be damned.

"J-just give me a few minutes-"

"Now."

Your teeth sink into your lips to hold back a frantic curse as you duck your head out the doorway to check on the living room.

He's still there, unassumingly checking his phone.

"Okay, okay. I-I'll tell him something came up, just dont-"

Your voice catches in your throat and you force yourself to swallow, taking in a deep breath at the sound of your stalker's pleased hum on the other end of the line.

"I'm watching you. Don't try to pull anything smart with me, unless you're eager to taste my blade in addition to my cock."

You blanch as the call ends, and try to quickly blink away tears of frustration. Wiping your sweaty palms on your shorts, you inhale deeply again before turning the knob and opening the door to the living room.

Rounding the couch, you softly pad your way to your lover and force the tense muscles in your back and arms to loosen, not wanting to give any indication that something's very, very wrong.

"Heyyy, you're back!" He drawls with a loose smile on his face. "Thought the movie scared you too bad and you ran off."

You force yourself to let out a faux chuckle and try to prevent your smile from looking too strained. He seems to unfortunately notice it though, because a crinkle appears between his brows and he sits up, tossing the phone in his hands aside.

"Woah, you okay? Did something happen?"

"No, no! It's nothing like that at all. Actually, this is really embarrassing but one of my girls called and I think she's blackout drunk at the bar near downtown, I gotta head out and pick her up. I had no idea I'd be on babysitter duty tonight, I'm so sorry," You frantically wave his concern off and try for another carefree laugh, but your shaking hands are a dead giveaway.

He stands up and grasps your hands tightly in his, the large and smooth planes of his palms enveloping yours before you can react. Your head spins as the realization of him touching you for the first time under these less-than-ideal conditions overwhelms you.

"Hey, y/n, look at me-no, look- you're okay, alright? It's no big deal, we can always finish the movie another time, seriously."

And before you can move back to save him, he leans forwards and pecks your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second the door closes shut, your phone rings.

Your hand, still on the door handle, drifts up to your lips as you nibble on your nails haphazardly.

You're terrified to know the consequences you elicited. You don't wanna pick up.

And yet, you know if you don't, he's capable of so much worse.

Your thumb slides on the green button when his voice breaks through the call with barely-concealed rage, the waver of fury coating his venom as he spits, "He touched you. He kissed you."

"I tried to back away! I tried to-"

"And I tried playing nice, but looks like we both failed each other, huh?"

The excuse dies in your throat as his hiss overpowers yours.

"I should carve his fucking lips out for touching whats mine," he continues after a beat, an incredulous and ragged laugh erupting from the other end of the call, making you wince.

"It would be so easy to get rid of him too. That shitty little apartment he scrimps and saves for at his 9-5 hasn't changed the locks in the complex for years now, he walks solely at night with his earbuds in, his bones would be so easy to break-"

"Please don't hurt him," you finally break his monologue with a sob of your own, unable to fathom being the reason why your lover would suffer such sinister endings. You throw your hand over your mouth to prevent him from hearing you cry and your legs give out from their mindless, panicked pacing around the house. The soft duvet comforters of your bed provide ample cushion for the fall, but not enough to swallow you whole and hide you from his inevitable wrath.

Your stalker pauses as he listens to your muffled cries, your skin prickling as he lets out a ragged moan at no doubt your misery. You can hear the sound of rustling clothes and a belt buckle hitting a floor of some sort.

"Are you scared pretty girl? Are you scared I'm gonna hurt you, or him?"

"Yes," you breathe.

"You should be."

The call drops, but you dont move for what seems like hours.

Your body feels like stone as you eventually burrow under your covers, mountains of stress weighing you down heavier than the blankets and pillows you use as meager protection. All the doors in your apartment are locked, the windows bolted shut, the knives taken out and placed under your bed, and your phone fully charged.

And yet, you might as well have been naked for the lack of protection you feel as the clock strikes past 1am. You jump every time the branches outside your windows smack the glass, and grip the edges of your covers tighter at the slightest creak from your aged abode.

You're curled in fetal position, tense and alert, ready to call 911 at a moments notice. You wont, you can't let him get to you, mentally or physically.

But eventually your body fails you as you drift off to sleep, the adrenaline high wearing off and lulling you into an exhausted state of rest.

You only awaken when you hear his voice.

"Hereeee kitty kitty"

Body locking up before your mind is fully aware, you freeze under the duvet as you see his silhouette from under the opaque material.

He's merely a few feet away from you, leering over your lumpy form.

Your eyes dart to where your door is, and you can make out the shape of it being opened.

How the ever-loving fuck did he get in?

You can't move, you cant blink, you cant even breathe as he inches closer to you, settling to perch by your feet.

He chuckles and snakes his lithe fingers from underneath your comforters, trailing up your feet up to your ankle, letting his offensive touch rest there as a faux show of affection.

"You're like a present underneath those blankets."

You let out a shaky whimper and tense up even more as he leans in, the dark shape of his head right over your face.

"Does the little slut want me to unwrap her? I think i've won my prize fair and square."

The hand on your ankle moves up to your calves, then your knees, all the while you start to squirm and wrestle against his hold.

He laughs lightly with sick glee as his hold on you tightens, allowing himself to indulge momentarily as one of his hands shoves itself between the apex of your covered thighs, the other squeezing and pinching up your torso to any part of you that he deems soft enough.

You both writhe like this for a minute or two while you fight for air underneath the increasingly-stuffy covers, and you know he's reveling at your losing battle.

Eventually he must get tired of playing with you, because you feel the bed dip and shift as he climbs on top and straddles you. As a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, you throw the blankets off, exposing yourself to him. You try to scramble away after dislodging him, but he's too fast. He grabs you by the neck and slams you down against the bed with a snarl, his hair mussed and disheveled as his hands encircle tighter around your throat. Adrenaline courses through you along with the blood pounding your head as you try to scratch at his face. The harder you fight, the tighter he squeezes, and through the black spots in your vision you can see his salacious grin, his hair falling over his face and barely concealing the victorious and manic look in his eyes.

You feel his skin pile up under your fingernails as you rake down a particularly soft side of his cheek, but instead of him drawing back, he fucking moans as blood blooms through the new cut.

He feels you hesitate for a split second in your awed disgust, and uses the momentary reprieve to rock his hips against your clothed mound.

You gasp feels like its ripped out of you all the while he shakes with tension and laughter.

He feels high off the mix of fear and disgust at your body reacting to his ministrations.

You thrash like a fish out of water in his hold, your desperation a sick contrast to the firm and controlled motion of his body eliciting responses out of you that you never wanted to give to him of all people.

"Fuuckkkk, thats it baby, just give in," he croons and shushes the sound of you choking. A shudder passes through him as he feels your throat constrict under his unrelenting hold, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he thrusts again into you.

He must hit a good spot, because he feels your legs twitch. To reward you for reacting to his touch, he lets up ever so slightly on your abused throat, and opts to duck his head down and replace his hands with his mouth.

The whole ordeal can't have been going on for more than a couple minutes, but it feels like your overstimulation has been lasting eons. You feel the adrenaline crashing down, your defenses rendered useless as he uses both his hands to envelope your own and lace his fingertips with yours, bringing both your intertwined hands up next to either side of your head. He locks your legs under his, ensuring that you can't wiggle out of his grasp, and lifts his head up slightly off your neck from the galaxy-covered hickies he left on the empty planes of your neck to look at you properly.

No makeup, bared open and vulnerable for him, hair looking like a rat's nest from the struggle, neck littered in violent splotches of blue, purple, and reds, lips bloated and shiny from tears trespassing down the planes of your face and down your chin. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, he feels your body tremble as you fight off the waves of exhaustion threatening to capsize your efforts. Your eyes, teary and bloodshot, ensnare him most of all. He feels as out of breath as you as he gazes lovingly, sickeningly down at you with unread emotions.

Love, hate, defiance, disgust, fear.

To him, you look ethereal.

"Why do you make me do this to you?" he whispers, pulling one hand out of your own to gently move strands of hair out of your face to see you better. He bites back a frustrated growl as you flinch and turn your head to the side, burrowing as much of your face into the pillow as you can. You don't want to see or hear him gloat, you just want him to take what he came here for and to leave you the fuck alone.

"Stop fucking-no, look at me," the hand that ever-so gently caressed your hair hardens as his entire hand grabs the lower half of your face to face him.

You try to mumble something out, but his invading hand covers your mouth. He doesn't seem keen on moving it or hearing what you have to say from the way he merely presses harder against your ajar lips.

"I can fulfill you better than that wimpy fuck could ever dream," he hisses, leering over you. Your muted scowl doesn't phase him as he continues, "And you don't need friends anyways. I'm enough for you. I'll take care of all your needs, financially, emotionally, and physically."

At this, he presses his hips right into your cunt, and holds his body there, groaning at the way you pulse for him even under the layers of clothing.

You squeal and try to squirm, but your displeasure proved moot as he uses a free hand to slither under the waistband of your short and dip lower.

This brings around another round of muffled screaming, your back arching as his fingers dance over your soft mound, finally claiming his prize and swiping his digits through your lips.

He makes sure you watch as he brings his fingers back up to his mouth and licks them clean, moaning and closing his eyes in bliss as he does so. Your horror is practically palpable as you freeze at the bizarre show, the violation leaving you speechless.

"You should have told me you were enjoying this, you fuckin' brat," he scoffs and wipes his spit-covered fingers across your cheek, chuckling as you scream in rage.

"Had I known you wanted to play rough like this from the start I would've fucked you raw in front of all your little friends."

He leans in, savoring your terror.

"After all, all a brat like you needs is a fat, hard cock stuffing her widdle pussy until she breaks."

He uses your frozen state to flip your entire body over with one hand, immediately closing in on you and covering your prone body with his own. One hand braces dangerously close next to your face to balance himself as he uses the other to grab a fistful of your locks and pull back, craning your head to meet his eyes once again.

Your back and stomach shake with the effort of holding yourself up in this painful and awkward position, and his hips slot themselves against your backside as if it was their rightful place.

He's not lying, you realize with dread as you can feel his thick and hard imprint nestle between your asscheeks, your shorts riding up in the process.

"But don't worry," he pants as he pulls aside your shorts and panties and begins thrusting himself up and down your wet slit, all the way up to your ass, making careful sure to tap his tip against your clit a couple times, making you jerk and whimper at the buzzing sensation.

"I'm not letting you go anytime soon. We have the rest of our lives to break you and put your pieces back together," he bites your earlobe as he hisses the promise, moaning loudly in your ear as he lets his tip indulge in your entrance, barely pulling back and pushing in inch by inch.

You wince and try to move your body forwards to escape the inevitable, but he twists your supporting arm behind your back painfully and lets your head fall back on the pillow in defeat with a hoarse sob.

"You're fucking mine."

[unabashednightmarepizza]

𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙇𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙑𝙤𝙞𝙙

Author Note: Hey... How yall doing? (anxious sweating). Okay, I know I have been pretty much absent for the past year or so, but I literally lost the ability and want to write so, I was just silently liking and reblogging a bunch fanfics, playing my silly video games and struggling with college here and there... Then, my Marvel fangirl era came back with the movie "Thunderbolts" and here I am.... With 8060 words for the FIRST chapter of a series... If anyone read my Moon Knight fic, it will be kind of similar to it but also not, with me adding a new perspective to the Void. I am assuming this to be not too long of a serie (if I keep the 8K word band going) but we will see! Hopefully, you guys will like it and my take on the cutie Bob!

Oh and... THUNDERBOLTS REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Warnings for the series: Self-deprecating thoughts, struggles (mental and physical), Entity dramas, trauma, death, a little bit of humor, free-therapy, childhood trauma, domestic abuse, torture, blood, gore, the Void and the Sentry (I think they are enough of a warning by alone)...

Tagging: @magikdarkholme

“Did you just say we need to go to... where?”

Bucky was sure his new teammates were either stupid or feigning stupidity.

Between Ghost’s erratic phasing fits, U.S. Agent’s unwavering faith in fists over brains, and whatever the hell Red Guardian called a plan to deal with the many problems the newly formed “New Avengers” had, Bucky had seen enough chaos. The Void wasn’t just another mission—this was Bob Reynolds. This was a walking time bomb with the potential to turn the world inside out if Sentry lost control again, as he called it.

As if he didn’t care about the man’s well-being and understood his pain of  identity crisis, as if Bob wasn’t the new adopted member of their highly nonfunctional friend group that soon turned into a chaotic family.

And now, with the Thunderbolts half-functioning and Val refusing to listen, Bucky knew he needed real help. Not reckless, government-backed muscle. And absolutely no self-interested Val.

He needed her.

So, against every protocol and behind Valentina’s back, he found himself silently looking at the device you had generously given him before departing from the Earth. A golden globe with ancient runes of your people carved into it, small wings sprouting from the top of it as he found himself smiling after such a long time.

You truly were the Life itself, warming him up even if you weren’t there.

Asgard was different now, at least he believed it was—more grounded, more accessible although you kind of sticked to the traditional ways of your people—but still carried the strange, quiet hum of power underneath its cobblestone streets and tavern-laced ports. Their Queen was even stranger—regal and radiant, but unshakably human. She laughed like a thunderclap, she was messy and somehow addicted to any kind of junk food she could get her hands to and held herself like she bore galaxies in her chest.

Because she did.

She was Life itself, cloaked in mortal form, the entity who shook the entire universe and bared a trial you refused to tell to anyone so that you could revive your people and home back to life, eventually becoming the new Protector and Ruler of the Nine Realms.

And you also happened to be Bucky’s best friend. Odd pairing, sure. The former Winter Soldier and a literal cosmic embodiment. But your friendship had been forged in the strangest of fires—mutual survival, long silences, and shared understanding of what it meant to be the weapon someone else or thin had forged.

And his stupid yet naive childhood merged with your “teenage-hood”. As much as it was considered that when you didn’t get old, instead changed your form.

Everyone else saying something, as usual. Bucky hadn’t even finished explaining his plan before the room exploded into chaos.

Alexei and Ava was loudly berating each other “affectionately, Yelena was just humming to his plan with a dagger in her hand since she already knew you (despite the fact that she tried to kill you for what happened to Natasha, deeming you the guilty one, but eventually learning the truth). She hadn’t said a word to him directly since Bucky brought up going to New Asgard.

Not that he blamed her.

And then there was Walker. U.S. Agent had that expression again—like he was one word away from taking it personally as he sat on the couch widely, with an expression on the border of frustration, as if he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that there were Gods and Goddesses in real life. “So, let me get this straight. You want us to stand down while you go cozy up to some interstellar goddess?”

“She’s not some goddess,” Bucky bit out harshly, blue eyes as cold as steel as he stared at the blonde. “She’s the only one who can keep Bob from tearing himself or another city in half.”

“You sure she’s on our side?” Alexei asked gruffly as he chewed on yet another bar, one that was your favourite Bucky noticed. He didn’t blame the older Russian for his hesitance, after all, he and Yelena were the only ones who never your nature and how to talk to you (It wasn’t that hard or complicated, despite you being a cosmic entity. All you needed to easily cave in were some chocolate, some shiny jewelry and a good Cappuccino). But of course, they didn’t know that, and they didn’t encounter a Goddess or, well, the literal personification of Life, but hey, it didn’t seem like he was completely against the idea of going to you.

The same couldn’t be said for Ava and John, with the later one being more... aggressive at the prospect of such thing.

“She’s on my side,” Bucky said, sharp and final. He leant back on the couch with a silent groan, muscles screaming for one very hot bath. Maybe he could have one of those hot springs you had in Asgard. “And that’s enough.”

The silence that followed wasn’t exactly agreement, but it wasn’t outright rebellion either.

In Thunderbolts terms, that was practically a standing ovation.

“I repeat again: I said we need to go to the Asgard and seek help from the Queen if we want to help Bob. She is the only one who might know the Void.”

Walker scoffed from the corner, arms crossed. “Great. So the plan is we go knock on the front door of literal gods and ask for mental health advice? Sounds foolproof.”

Yelena popped a piece of gum into her mouth, lounging across the couch with her boots on the table. “I mean, better than your last plan of dealing with mental problems. What was it again? Run straight into a wall of bullets and hope for the adrenalin to do the work?”

Walker rolled his eyes. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“No,” Ghost said flatly, phasing halfway through the wall like she wanted to escape the conversation. “You were in the med bay for three days.”

Red Guardian grunted, tightening his gloves. “Bah! I like this plan. Finally, some honor! Gods, glory—maybe I get to fight a thunder beast! Reminds me of my prime!”

“You haven’t had a prime since the '80s,” Yelena said dryly without looking up, arms folded as she leaned against the fluffy couch.

“Yeah, well, I want to make the part with ‘might know’ highlighted! I ain’t going there!” Walker exclaimed once again on his seat, slamming a fist on the table like it would make his argument more valid. Both Ava and Yelena roller their eyes and even Alpine just stood there and hissed lowly and Bucky could swear she too rolled her eyes.

Bucky didn’t even look up, already fed up with all the loudness, as he got up for the kitchen and get a glass of water. “Why? Because she beat your ass up easily without moving an inch back in your jackass days?”

Yelena snorted. Ava straight-up wheezed.

Walker turned a shade of red that didn’t look healthy. “That was a long time ago. I was off my game.”

“Sure, man,” Yelena said with a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief. “She was literally braiding her hair while you were trying to throw a shield at her. I think she yawned.”

“Besides...” Bucky cut in before Walker and Yelena could start another verbal brawl that could escalate into a real one. “I already talked to her about it. Like a week ago.”

That made the room fall into a momentary silence.

Yelena’s brow lifted, the dagger stilling in her hand. “Wait. You already told her?” “Yeah.”

Alexei blinked from his spot next to the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, intrigued by such... silence from a Goddess that could wipe out the entire universe if she pleased. “Then what is she waiting for?”

“For Bob to be ready.”

No one answered immediately.

Even Walker stopped posturing.

Because that meant the Queen—Life, the one force that could oppose the Void without unraveling reality—wasn't going to interfere until Bob Reynolds, the man at the center of it all, was willing to face what was inside him.

“She said,” Bucky continued, voice clipped with a hint of guilt, “that she doesn’t overwrite people and their fates. She meets them. Even the broken ones. Especially the broken ones... That the Void isn’t just something you fight,��� Bucky replied, his voice low. “It’s something Bob has to face—willingly. Or it’ll tear through him and everyone around him trying to claw its way out.”

Ghost reappeared halfway through the floor with a frown. “And we’re just supposed to sit on our hands while he falls apart?”

“No,” Bucky said, meeting her eyes. “We get him there. She’ll help. But only when he accepts it. For now, we keep him grounded. Keep him human.”

Alexei scratched at his beard. “So this is… therapy quest? With Norse gods?”

Yelena gave him a blank stare. “Everything’s a therapy quest with this team. None of us actually has great pasts anyways.”

Walker threw up his hands. “This is ridiculous. We’re not babysitters—we’re soldiers.”

“You’re right,” Bucky snapped, sharper than before as he sharply set the glass down. So hard that everyone was kind of curious how it didn’t break. “We are soldiers. So act like it. We don’t leave anyone behind, remember? Or does that only apply when it’s convenient for you?”

That shut Walker up, at least for the moment.

Ghost looked away. Yelena stopped humming.

Seemingly, everyone was retreated back to their minds to think about their next course of action or make sense of what Bucky meant by “She is on my side.”. How could a literal goddess be on the side of one mortal man? Well, not exactly mortal but still human... Aren’t the Goddesses and Gods supposed to be neutral?

Well, in most cases yes. But in Bucky’s case, he was aware that she made some exceptions for him even though she shouldn’t, and she never talked about the troubles she would get into because of that (others Gods were not happy you cared for humanity that much).

You never said much about the consequences, only wore that same quiet smile whenever Bucky questioned you. A smile that hid wars fought in secret skies, negotiations whispered behind divine veils, and sacrifices no mortal—or even semi-mortal—would ever be allowed to understand. But he saw the strain sometimes. In your eyes. In the way you would allow yourself to touch his face like he was both precious and fleeting and hug him.

As if you were desperate, craving that kind of connection

“She shouldn’t choose a side,” Steve would often say, especially after learning who you were and what you were capable of doing when he got out of the ice and it was your face he saw first. His voice would often turn somber, quiet, but firm whenever you and how much you sacrificed were mentioned. You didn’t see it that way, more like “taking care of two more little brothers who were unaware to the ways of world.

“That’s not how this works.”

He remembered the last time he saw you—really saw you, not in passing glimpses, not in dreams or between the flashes of battle from his time as the Winter Soldier. The stars had bent toward you like flowers to the sun, and your voice had been threaded with something desperate whenever he would remember your words in a hazy daze of the memory erasing HYDRA did to him. You told him to stay alive. Not to win. Not to save the world. Just—stay alive. As if that alone would be enough.

He had been through so much and as much as he can remember, and as far as others told him, you were mostly there. Even when he was in ice, even when he went berserk as the Soldier, you waited... Like you said many times, you didn’t intervene, you couldn’t for reasons you didn’t explain except “I did once... and It costed me a great price.”...

As a result, he never understood how people did not see the same kind and caring woman... But he also understood their look on you because once, after he got away from HYDRA, he was like them too. Though you didn’t care, that you abandoned him, that you took satisfaction at watching him struggle... Without knowing you were also dealing with your own struggles and... voids.

Bucky’s mind went back to the conversation you two had a week ago, inside his room, as he watched the team trying to decide on what to do with the new common room’s decoration. Although some people might have thought it to be a casual phone call, or him actually visiting Asgard physically... They forget the fact that you were a transcendent being who wasn’t bound to only one physical plane of existence. Someone who could easily get into the minds of people without them ever noticing, seeing the deepest secrets they hid away in their consciousness.

“James,” you said warmly, stepping down from the dais. After everything, it was nice seeing your best friend although he looked frazzled at being in your palace. He... didn’t remember visiting you. “I knew we both got old but you look far worse than I expected. Something is troubling you.” He turned. You weren’t dressed in royal robes today—just a long, dark tunic and loose braids, light dancing at her fingertips like fireflies. She always glowed subtly. Not from ego. From existence. And by some weird instinct as he looked into your expectant eyes, he understood you used your magic on him to seep into his mind. “I hate how you became more mysterious and unexpected after becoming the Ruler of Nine Realms, with your magical hands and all.” he chuckled under his breath as you slowly moved towards him, turning your body around so that instead of looking out the waterfalls you so adored of your homeland, you looked straight at him. A warm smile, and a loud laugh filled up his mind as he felt his tenseness and stress over the few months after the New York accident.

“I do not have magic only on my hands, friend. I am the magic... Besides, my mom was raised by witches and I was raised by her. What did you expect?” You let out a soft giggle that made him let out a relaxed sigh and take a step towards you. Your eyes shifted towards a more “I missed you” look as you took a good look at your best friend. His figure is broad, but not as imposing as it once was. His black tactical coat hangs heavy off his frame like armor worn too long. His vibranium arm glints faintly, muted under dreamlight, chipped in places where the plating has seen too many fights. His flesh arm—scarred and tense—hangs by his side, fingers twitching as if clenching onto ghosts he never quite managed to bury. His face tells the rest of the story. Unshaven. Tired. The lines around his mouth are deeper, not just from age, but from guilt that settled into his bones and made a home there. His hair, longer now, curls behind his ears in a disheveled way, like he stopped caring about appearances once the missions stopped being about redemption and started being about survival.

And his eyes—blue, once sharp with mischief—are dulled with exhaustion. The kind of tired that doesn’t come from sleepless nights, but from existing too long under the weight of things he was never meant to carry. He looks like a man always halfway between moving forward and waiting for the next blow. “ However, that magic cannot help you if you don’t stop brooding and explain your troubles. Like the good old days.” “Thanks. Got a Void problem. Figured Life might know what to do.” he shrugged his shoulders, accepting the drink you offered. That got your attention. “You’re talking about Bob Reynolds.” you hummed quietly. “Yeah. Sentry’s fraying again. The Thunderbolts think they can contain it. They can’t. I’ve seen what happens when he breaks.”

“He’s not fully gone yet. He’s still… trying. But it’s getting louder in him. And I don’t trust the team they put together to handle this. Hell, I don’t even trust me.” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t react. You just looked at him with a tilted head and a hard stare.  “And you want me to intervene, think I can stop him?” The Queen's gaze turned hard, divine power flickering just beneath her skin. Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed. He didn’t look at her. Not fully. His gaze stayed just off her shoulder, like meeting her eyes might burn him. Or worse—like he didn’t think he deserved to. “I think you’re the only one who can match him. Light to his darkness. You’re not just a queen—you’re the counterweight. He’s the Void. You’re the Life. If we don’t end it now, there won’t be a later.” You looked up at him with a softness no one else ever received. Having lived with humans for many years throughout different times, you always though you understood their understanding and reasoning. But each and every time, much like now, proved you otherwise with their first instinct at the face of crisis was to...get rid of it. They called it “solving the problem from its root” but... was that really necessary? Huh, maybe you were turning out to be more human than you let on. “James. I don’t end people.” “You did once,” he reminded, voice low. “ With Thanos-”

“That was a mercy.” Your voice turned cold, glare harder than ever as the sun of Asgard dimmed fast for a second, only to reappear once more. But it didn’t change the suddenly cold and heavy atmosphere in the throne room as he took a slow breath. As if he was being drowned slowly... He knew how the name tasted bitter and your usually soft and understanding heart that would light up the way of the lost ones, much like him, would immediately grow cold and sharp. He cannot blame you for all the things you had to do because of that “eggplant” as you called him. “That thing didn’t want to exist anymore.” He swallowed hard. “What if Bob doesn’t either?” The silence stretched, not empty, but thrumming with power and grief. The silence was not the absence of sound as Bucky could still hear the people chattering outside, the waterfalls and birds, the ships cruising on the air and the water, but the presence of everything unsaid was thick like the air before a storm. It pressed into the skin, settled heavy in the chest, made every breath feel like inhaling from deep underwater. It hummed with power restrained, until you finally spoke. “That’s not your decision to make. Nor mine.”

“But if he asks, if he begs—” Bucky stepped forward, desperation flickering across his face, his metal hand curling tightly at his side. “You’ve seen what the Void does to him, then. He tears himself apart just trying to breathe, to control himself so that he doesn’t hurt others. Hell, he doesn’t even care about what would happen to him!” You walked past him, having circled around him as he explained his situation, eyes on the horizon, far beyond the gilded windows of the throne room and perhaps even beyond the world itself. Your figure, wrapped in flowing robes of deep indigo and gold-threaded silver, seemed carved from moonlight and silence, too regal to be disturbed by mere pleading. The air shifted in your wake, perfumed with soft notes of sandalwood and snow bloom. Each step you took down the polished obsidian stairs echoed like a pronouncement. “The Void feeds on despair, fear, erasure. It doesn’t kill you. It unravels you, rewrites you, until there’s nothing left to remember. That’s what he’s afraid of—not dying, but becoming nothing. Again.” you spoke out without looking at him, or else he would notice the shake of your hands... at the mention of a being that is not so different than you. You continued without a look at him.

“I have seen it,” you whispered. “And I’ve felt it. The way the Void slithers through his soul like ice, like teeth, like silence too loud to bear. I know.”

You came to a slow stop, robes pooling around your feet like rippling shadows. Only then did you glance back over your shoulder. Your gaze was level, piercing—not cruel, but ancient. Tired. Tired not in body, but in soul. The kind of fatigue that comes from watching too many people run headlong into the same fire, convinced their determination would keep them from burning. James’ breath caught as your gaze bored into his—fierce, mournful, determined. “But Bob Reynolds is still there. And until that fragment of him says he’s ready to go, I will not be the blade that ends him. I will not be the Queen who grants death when it is healing that is needed.” He blinked, as if trying to process your words through a fog. “But what if there’s no healing left for him?” he weakly says because he saw everything, every cry and scream after a particular nightmare. He’d seen the man curled in a corner of the darkened chambers, trembling with hands that could tear planets apart but now only clutched his own skull as if trying to hold himself together. Heard the hoarse cries, the guttural sobs that cracked like glass underfoot. The way he’d begged—not for salvation, but for silence. For stillness. For an end. Bucky had sat beside him once, blood on Bob’s fingertips—not from battle, but from scratching at the skin of his own arms, as though he could dig the Void out with his nails. And he had said nothing. Because what could he say to a broken man who feared the thing living inside him? Something that was him but also not? He understood that feeling, when he was too scared of the “Winter Soldier” appearing again and hurting random people... But in his despair, you and Wakanda had supported him through everything and he... he survived. When he thought he wouldn’t, that he would have to live with this time-bomb in him, you and Wakanda had healed him. So now, as he stood before you—his Queen, his best friend, mentor and savior, the only one he trusted to make the call—he wasn’t questioning your strength. He was afraid Bob Reynolds had none left to borrow. “Are you waiting for him to fall apart?” “No,” you said, turning back to him, heart softening as you took his hand between yours and squeezed... Before you hit the back of his head harshly.. “I’m waiting for him to face it. I won’t force that. Life doesn't conquer the Void, James. It reaches it. Offers a hand, not a sword.” He stared with a pained look on his face, hand idly rubbing his head because it hurted. He forgot how heavy your hand was, both naturally and because of fighting for such a long time with many weapons that he could name it...but it would take days to finish the list. “That might not be enough.” You sighed tiredly, quietly descending the final step, and now your voice took on the texture of velvet lined with iron . Oh, how you forgot James was a stubborn asshole.

“How are you so sure,” you began, voice edged with something sharper now, something tired and sharp as a blade honed too often, “that he would go berserk?” you approached the topic in a different way, hoping to make him see your reasoning. “Excuse me?”he replied, confusion and caution winding tightly in his voice. “You talk like he’s already gone. Like he’s a loaded gun just waiting to fire. But you never say why.” You stepped closer, the air around you suddenly colder, heavier—not with menace, but with the truth you were about to lay bare. “Why are you truly scared, James? And don’t give me the crap of being a hero thing, I am not buying it.” “So tell me, James. Is it because he’s dangerous? Or is it because you saw something in him… something you saw in yourself?” His lips parted slightly, but the words caught in his throat, as if the very truth he’d been dodging was suddenly too close to confront. He clenched his fists, the metal hand faintly shimmering in the dim light of the throne room. You studied him—his every muscle tensed, his gaze downcast, his entire being caught in the web of past battles and old scars. “You think you had a choice in the matter? That you chose to be turned into that weapon?” His jaw tightened, and he turned his head slightly, as if unwilling to meet your gaze. But the quiet challenge in your question lingered, pushing against the walls of his heart. “You were broken, James. Just like Bob.” Your words were soft but carried the weight of the years you had seen the agony of humans. “You were the monster once. But you didn’t give up. You didn’t let the darkness take you. Why are you so ready to assume that Bob’s beyond saving?” The silence that followed was thick, suffocating in its complexity. He could feel it—the raw truth in your words, pulling him into a realization he wasn’t ready to face. He wasn’t ready to see how closely he and Bob were bound by their pain, by the choices they never got to make, and the things they thought could never be fixed. And how it all changed with the subtle help of a certain Goddess he knew. “He deserves that chance, even if the world has long since given up on him. Even if he wants to-” “You think I don’t know that? I know. I just… I’m scared. I’m scared that if we let him keep going, he’ll turn into the thing he hates most. And if the Void—” “I have faced the Void,” your voice cut him in the middle as he widened his eyes, knitting his brows in confusion at the sudden noncholant look on your face, serene yet amused at the same time. Then, slowly, deliberately, you stepped closer. The ambient light flickered across your features, illuminating the regal fire behind your gaze. “You forget what I was before this throne, before the crown and the titles that make the universe and every inhabitant bow. I have held back stars from collapse, James. I’ve screamed into the abyss until it screamed back.” Asilent beat... Bucky held his breath with anxiety until... “ Less loudly, of course.” You giggled and soon his on-guard behavior evaporated, just like that. You were back to the friend he knew, all smiley, soft and understanding. He surely knew how worthy you were of your other title now that he witnessed your anger. “I will not let Bob Reynolds be swallowed without a fight. Not by the Void, and not by himself... But for that, I also need his help.” James looked down, pain etched across his features, guilt sharpening every line. “I just don’t want to lose anyone else,” he muttered. “Not to war, not to darkness… not to mercy.” Your hand cupped his cheek—warm, gentle again, your thumb brushed the faint stubble there, grounding him in the now. . “Then help me save him.” He leaned into your touch slightly. “Even if he doesn’t believe he’s worth saving?” You gave a bittersweet smile. “ When did humans ever believe in themselves?” You muttered to yourself amused as you gave a determined nod. “Believe for him… until he can.”

..

The door hissed open before him with a polite chime, one that somehow made the silence on the other side feel even heavier. Bob stepped into the Watchtower’s living room—barefoot, book still in hand, thumb tucked between worn pages like he’d meant to come back to it. The title was some obscure thing from the archives, philosophy soaked in poetry, too heavy for what little sleep he’d had. His shirt clung to him from where he’d curled into the armchair earlier, sweat-damp from another dream that didn’t belong to him.

His footsteps were soft against the polished composite flooring—quiet enough that neither of them noticed at first.

The room was dimly lit, walls aglow with that sterile white-blue of orbital tech, like a hospital made of stars. The glass panels looked out over Earth: whole, spinning, oblivious. For a second, he pretended he was too.

Bob hadn’t meant to listen. Not really. But they weren’t exactly subtle. And no one ever noticed when he was still on the doorway, after cleaning around the kitchen and drying the dishes, retreating back to his room with blinding light and a huge bookcase enough to cover the whole room.

Not even Bucky, who was observational most of the times.

So he stood quietly in the corner, slouched over himself anxiously as he played with the deep blue sweater he wore, a comfort item from that time, watching them argue for his sake like he wasn’t the reason half the room had stopped sleeping with both eyes closed. His hoodie was pulled low over his face, sleeves frayed from being twisted in his nervous grip. He looked like a man trying to vanish.

But inside?

Inside, he was screaming.

She’s waiting for Bob to be ready.

The words kept ringing in his head like a church bell cracked in half.

Ready?

He didn’t even know what that meant anymore. Was it being ready to fight? Ready to die? Or worse—ready to live again, knowing what he was?

Bob Reynolds hated himself.

Not in the way people say when they mess up or fall short—not in frustration. No. Bob’s hatred was quiet. Constant. Structural. Like his very existence was a mistake that kept happening. Every breath he took felt like a borrowed one. Every kind word someone gave him felt like it was meant for someone else entirely.

Because he knew what he was.

He was the guy who destroyed entire cities when he thought he was saving them. The one who couldn't remember if he killed people, only that he probably did. The man with god-tier power and the emotional stability of a wet paper bag.

And the worst part?

There was no evil mastermind to blame. No alien parasite. No secret chip in his neck. It was just... him.

The power. The sickness. The Void. It was all tangled together so tightly that he didn’t know where Bob ended and the monster began.

“You’re not a monster,” Bucky had told him once, eyes heavy with meaning, as they sat together in the common room after yet another nightmare Bob had. And for a split second, Bob believed it.

Until he blinked and saw a flash of black tendrils at the edge of his vision, heard that voice whispering in the back of his head again—

“₮ⱧɆɎ ĐØ₦’₮ ₥Ɇ₳₦ ł₮. ₮ⱧɆɎ ₣Ɇ₳Ɽ ɎØɄ. ₮ⱧɆɎ ₴ⱧØɄⱠĐ. ₮ⱧɆɎ ₴ⱧØɄⱠĐ.”

Bob flinched even when no one else heard it. That’s how deep it ran.

There were days Bob looked in the mirror and couldn’t tell who was blinking back—himself, or the Void. There were seconds he lost, hours he couldn’t remember, and when he tried to look at them, they laughed—he laughed—because the darkness didn’t just come from him. It was him. A tidal wave he had to pretend he could hold back with duct tape and breathing exercises.

And now she knew. Life herself.

She knew what he was.

And she still hadn’t come.

A part of him wanted to scream at her. What are you waiting for? Kill me, stop me—do something! He wanted her to end it already, erase the Void even if it may cost him his life, before he made another mistake, another killing spree.

But deeper—quieter—something else ached.

She wasn’t coming... But it wasn’t a fixed decision either. Not until he looked the Void in the eye and told it: You don’t own me.

He didn’t know if he could do that. He barely knew who he was when he wasn’t being erased from the inside out by the Void. Because Bob’s insecurity wasn’t about strength. He knew he could move a mountain or end a war. But could he sit in a room and just exist without fearing that someone would die because he lost control? Could he ever believe someone wasn’t flinching inside when they looked at him?

He didn't believe he deserved kindness. Didn’t believe he could be fixed. He was scared to be saved—because what if they saved him, and he broke again? He wanted to be angry. Embarrassed, at least. But instead, all he felt was—

Small.

He doesn’t know who this Queen, you, is. He doesn’t know if he should be afraid or not, or if you were an arrogant asshole but... But it seemed like you didn’t speak of him like a god or a weapon or a mistake...

You spoke like someone who still saw a man.

His fingers tightened around the book. The pages crinkled slightly beneath his palm. He didn’t deserve any of this. Not her conviction. Not Bucky’s loyalty. Certainly not the faith they so freely gave him, again and again, like he hadn’t ripped half the sky open just last month trying to keep himself together.

The silence in the room returned, and still, they hadn’t noticed him.

Part of him wanted to step forward. To say something. To apologize.

Another part wanted to disappear. Back into the dark, into solitude, where no one would see the trembling that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with guilt.

People needed him, but no one wanted to know or help him. Not really.

Except maybe Bucky... And the team. After what they had willingly gone through to pull him away from the clutches of the Void... And now, her—the Queen. Life incarnate. The one who should be most afraid of what he carried inside for the potential of destruction he carried towards all the things she created, she cared about.

But she wasn’t.

She waited.

And that terrified him even more.

Because if she still believed in him…

Then maybe he didn’t have the excuse to give up anymore.

And that was almost worse than the Void.

He squeezed his hands tighter, knuckles bone-white. The noise of the Thunderbolts’ arguing faded into the background static of his mind. He couldn’t help but wince, holding onto his head a bit to silence the hateful words the Void still whispered.

₮ⱧɆɎ’ⱠⱠ ₮ɄⱤ₦ Ø₦ ɎØɄ. ɎØɄ’ⱤɆ ₦Ø₮ ₩ØⱤ₮Ⱨ ₮ⱧɆ ฿ⱤɆ₳₮Ⱨ ł₮ ₮₳₭Ɇ₴ ₮Ø ₱ł₮Ɏ ɎØɄ. ⱠɆ₮ ₮ⱧɆ₥ ₮₳Ⱡ₭. ⱠɆ₮ ₮ⱧɆ₥ ₴₵Ɽ₳₥฿ⱠɆ ₮Ø ₴₳VɆ ɎØɄ. ɎØɄ ₭₦Ø₩ ⱧØ₩ ₮Ⱨł₴ Ɇ₦Đ₴. ɎØɄ ₳Ⱡ₩₳Ɏ₴ Ⱨ₳VɆ-

“You are not a mistake.”

The voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a command or a demand. It was warm. Steady. Somehow familiar.

Her.

Not here physically, but it echoed through him all the same—like a thread of sunlight winding through a storm cloud. And suddenly, he could breathe. Just barely. Bob exhaled, trembling. His fists loosened. The vice around his chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Lightened, like the weight was now being shared. All he could hear was his heartbeat and her voice, from days ago, echoing through him like a prayer he didn’t deserve:

Life doesn’t conquer the Void. It reaches it. Offers a hand, not a sword.

And he wanted—god, he wanted—to reach back.

But what if his hand wasn’t his anymore?

He winced, flinching as if struck. One hand reached up to grip his temple, fingertips pressing hard into his skin. A sharp pain bloomed behind his eyes—not from the voice, but from his own resistance to it. The Void didn’t scream anymore. It didn’t need to.

Now, it cooed. It whispered in familiar tones, seductive and patient. It came wearing his own voice, softened with mock pity, with poisoned comfort.

₳ⱧⱧ… Ⱡł₣Ɇ, ₴₮łⱠⱠ ₳ ₱Ɇ₴₭Ɏ ₩Ø₥₳₦, ₮Ⱨł₦₭ł₦₲ ₴ⱧɆ ₵₳₦ ₱ⱤØ₮Ɇ₵₮ ɎØɄ ₣ⱤØ₥ ₥Ɇ. ₳ĐØⱤ₳฿ⱠɆ…

Bob shut his eyes, swaying slightly in place. The pressure in his skull thrummed like an earthquake waiting to breach surface. He was so tired of this. Of holding back. Of pretending his breathing didn’t feel like trying to hold the tides with trembling hands.

His heart pounded against his ribs like it wanted to be out.

The whispers didn’t vanish. The Void never did. But for once, he didn’t want to listen to it.

He didn’t want to believe in what it whispered, how it corrupted him from the inside... He only wanted to listen to You.

Your words cut deeper than any blade. Not because they hurt—but because he wanted so desperately to believe them. To deserve them. Her voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It lived in the marrow of him now, threaded through the cracks, gentle as a lullaby and stubborn as a vow.

You... Not here in the room. Not yet. But present in a way the Void could never understand. You lingered in him like warmth in winter, refusing to be extinguished, no matter how cold the world got. Maybe that was what you stood for, what your existence meant for the universe.

Life doesn’t conquer the Void. It reaches it. Offers a hand, not a sword.

He remembered the way she’d said it. Not as a plea. Not as some dramatic declaration. But like a truth older than the stars. One you’d lived.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Bob wasn’t alone inside his own mind.

He blinked. Slowly sat upright from the crouching position he found himself just before reaching the door to the living room. His eyes—sunken, tired—lifted toward the team, still arguing, still fighting over what to do with him.

And for a heartbeat, he let himself wonder: What if I tried to believe her? Anyone?... Myself? Just once?

“…I—um…” It slipped out. Barely louder than the hum of the ceiling vent. Not a declaration. Not even a statement. More like a sound that escaped before he could smother it.

Silence fell like a guillotine. The arguing stopped.

Ava froze mid-gesture. Yelena, leaning back in her chair, tilted her head slightly, eyes worried at the obvious wincing expression of his face was still apparent. Even Bucky stilled, his expression sharpening—not with judgment, but attention.

Bob shrank in on himself slightly, shoulders tensing as if expecting a blow. He didn’t look at anyone. Just stared down at the floor, fingers twitching around the hem of his sleeve.

“…I heard what she said,” he murmured, almost to himself. “About… being ready.”

Silence stretched. It made the air feel thick. “I don’t know what that means. Not really,” he went on, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I—I don’t feel ready. I don’t even feel real half the time. Like I’m just… holding space until the bad part wakes up again.”

His chest hitched with the start of a breath he didn’t want to finish. He dug his nails into his palms. No one moved. The air was heavy, like the room itself was holding its breath.

“I’m scared of what’s in me. Scared of me.” His voice shook now, just a little, like it was something fragile being held too tightly. He couldn’t help but shake a bit, or maybe it was the tower itself, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was overwhelmed and that there was a small quake on where he stood

“Bob, you don’t have to-” Bucky started, feeling a bit guilty that he didn’t first explain it to him when they were alone. He knew how the team could be so reckless and loud when it came to secrets or a secret plan. Hell, even Val might have heard at this point and he wouldn’t know. However, considering the head space Bob was in most of the days, he cared about his...friend, as reluctant as he was to call him, and his well-being, more than a bitch who uses anything and anyone for her benefit.

“N-No... I need to let it out, I need to speak.” It was a plea, it almost sounded like a plea by how breathless and pained it left Bob. So much so that even John had lowered his guards and listened to him with a complex look on his face. Understanding. Apprehension. Confusion. Care.

After Bucky’s nod of approval, Bob took a deep breath, put his book down on the table awkwardly and looked at his friends, the friends he was going to explain the dark side of him for the first time.

“Every time I think maybe I can try again, I hear it. Him. The Void. It tells me all the ways I’ll fail. All the ways I’ll hurt people again. And part of me… starts to believe it.”

His hands dropped from his sleeves and curled into fists on his knees. White-knuckled.

“But I heard her. Just now. In my head. And it felt… lighter. Not fixed. Just… not so loud.” he gave a small smile to himself, lips curling lopsidedly as he lifted his head and gave a determined no to his friends who were listening to him.

“She said I wasn’t a mistake. And for a second—just a second—it felt like I could breathe.”

His voice faltered for a moment, but he didn’t stop this time. He took a step forward the team, his team, his friends... The ones who willingly went into the Void despite knowing they would see their darkest fears, just to save him.

He owed this much to them.

“I didn’t even know I wanted to breathe,” he chuckled humorlessly, eyes still downcast, lashes heavy with something unspoken as he threw his arms carelessly, as if what he is saying didn’t matter too much. “I’ve been holding everything in for so long—like if I let even a little of it out, it’d swallow me. Swallow all of you.”

Ironıc, isn’t it? For a being who could show the biggest fears a person might have to that same person, he was afraid to reveal his own, to the only people that mattered to him know. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen weak, or bother them when they all had their troubles to deal with, besides the fact that he might have traumatized them quite badly. His breath hitched, and he rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye—not crying, not really, but too close for comfort.  He laughed, but it was broken, breathless. More of a release than a sound of humor. “It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. One sentence from a goddess and suddenly I think maybe I’m not cursed? Or maybe it wasn’t even her, maybe my fucked up m-mind is making u-up things...” he waved his hand dismissively as if he was speaking nonsense but still risked a glance up. Not at all of them. Just Bucky. The one who had gone to her. The one who hadn’t given up.

Bucky smiled at him brotherly, nodding at him. “It’s not stupid... She does that sometimes.”

“I think…” He faltered again after a smile, swallowing hard. “I think I want to try. If… if someone shows me how.”

He looked up again. Not just at Bucky this time. At all of them.

The room didn’t erupt. No one clapped or consoled him. But no one looked away, either. Ava, whose guarded stance had softened into something like protective stillness.Yelena, who now leaned forward, fingers laced together, eyes watching him like he wasn’t a threat, but a person. Even John—arms slack, frown etched deeper—not cold or dismissive, but present. Listening.

“I’m not asking for you to fix me. I don’t think anyone can.” Bob’s voice dropped lower. “But I think… if I have to carry this… I don’t want to do it alone anymore.”

His shoulders trembled, and his small, self-effacing smile flickered back. The kind someone makes when they’re afraid of what comes next.

“I think that’s what she meant. When she said I had to be ready.”

Then, softer, almost like he was testing the words in his mouth for the first time in years-

“I think I am.”

And for once, Bob didn’t feel like a monster being studied... as his friends smiled at him, all of them carrying their own way of genuine care for him as he found himself doing the same, releasing the breath he was holding. That was their way of silently encouraging him, a silent gesture of  “You are not alone.”...

He felt like a man, asking for help... That was when he heard it.

Beep.

Soft. Sharp. Out of place.

Bucky’s brow furrowed.

Beep-beep.

The sound was coming from his pocket. Mechanical, almost crystalline. Faintly melodic. Everyone turned toward him as he reached in, fingers closing around the cool, unfamiliar weight of the device—the one the Queen had given him when they last spoke. The one she said to use only when the time was right.

When he was ready.

He drew it out slowly.

A small disc, no larger than his palm, etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly beneath the surface. It had been inert for days—dull, cold, unresponsive. But now it pulsed with light, soft and golden, like the first break of dawn and the little wings sprouting from it now fluttering, creating a glowing halo. Her insignia—a sigil shaped like a blooming star cradled by twin arcs—glowed at its center.

It was responding.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat. The glowing light from the device reflected off the metal around the room, casting soft golden halos that danced across his face and the floor—but his eyes stayed locked on it. Unblinking. Disbelieving. Like it wasn’t real.

“It’s her,” Bucky said, his voice quiet with awe, laced with certainty. “She knows.”

The glow intensified for a moment, then dimmed to a steady rhythm—heartbeat-like. Not urgent. Not demanding.

Just… ready.

The device warmed in Bucky’s hand, and a voice—not a full message, but a feeling—brushed against his thoughts. Gentle. Reassuring. Her voice, even if it didn’t speak words, rang inside his mind.

He is ready. And I am waiting.

The rest of the Thunderbolts didn’t speak, but the shift in the room was palpable. Yelena crossed her arms with a soft exhale—half scoff, half smile. It was the kind of smile that didn't quite reach her eyes—a guarded, skeptical expression she wore whenever things felt too strange for her liking.

“Of course she’s watching. Creepy glowing Queen of the cosmos…” But the words were hollow, and Yelena could feel it. She didn’t want to admit it, but there was something undeniably… comforting about the idea of the Queen watching and the device starting to activate when Bob finally explained his thoughts to them. Something that made her feel less alone in this chaos, even if she couldn’t bring herself to fully accept it...because of the past.

The past of her, Natasha...and the so-called Life that didn’t do anything to save her sister, despite being close friends.

Ava stepped back slightly, eyes narrowing at the device like it might explode. “Are we seriously going to Asgard right now?”

John just rubbed a hand across his jaw, glancing from Bucky to Bob, then back to the still-glowing disc. “Guess the gods are calling.”

“Well,” she said with a small shrug, trying to reclaim some of her usual nonchalance, as he glanced at Bob. “if she’s waiting for you, then I guess it’s your call. But don’t expect me to be all warm and fuzzy about it.” She shot a wry smile at him, as if to soften the edges of her words. “I’m not exactly a fan of gods popping in to solve my problems.”

Bob continued to stare at it, wide-eyed. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Bucky stood and turned toward him, still holding the device as it pulsed between his fingers like a living thing.

“You said you wanted someone to show you how,” he said gently. “She’s the only one who can. And I think she’s been waiting for this moment longer than either of us knew.”

The device glowed once more—brighter now. Not as a warning.

As a doorway.

[collecting-dustbunnies]

The longer I play Obey Me, the more I feel like Obey Me is a story about how the MC, in their quest to seek acceptance by the people they care about, ends up destroying themselves in the process and losing the very thing that made them so special and loved in the first place.

In the beginning of OG, they started off as just a normal human who got whisked away to a weird ass world where literally nobody respects them. Despite this, they recognised from the beginning that these demons and angels were not so different from humans. MC's ability to see the demons as actual people and not just beings controlled by their sins was what allowed them to form close bonds with them. They had good intentions to reunite the demon brothers who had undergone centuries of misunderstanding, resentment, and pent up grief. Even though they were excessively nosy, MC's unique position as a complete outsider allowed them to see just how much love the demon brothers had for each other, and how they can become closer if everybody would just better communicate with each other. Serving as the bridge to better improve the brothers' relationships was what convinced the demon brothers to also see MC as a member of their family.

But as the MC became more involved in the Devildom's problems, they started to adopt the same toxic traits that had created wedges between the brothers in the first place. From relying heavily on their pacts to subdue the brothers, to allowing a curse to control Barbatos (even though they had the ability to break it), to going along with the brothers' manipulative scheme to trick Satan into reconciling with Lucifer when Satan ran away to the human world -- it's almost like MC has unconsciously picked up on some of their loved ones' behaviour. Gone are the days where MC brings in a new perspective to problems. Now, they just embrace the chaos and their more darker traits, for that is what is expected of them to survive in the Devildom. And since everyone within their circle puts them on a pedestal, this further affirms to the MC that this is how they should be.

Dealing with the affairs of the Devildom had also caused the MC to grow more apathetic. In the beginning, they had been actively taking steps to form pacts with the brothers and were generally very invested in freeing Belphie from the attic. They remained true to themselves and insisted that they form a pact with Satan based on mutual trust and understanding, and not just as a means to smite Lucifer. Despite being in a helpless situation, MC never refused to give up their agency. But the longer MC gets involved with these shenanigans, the more they grew... numb to everything.

Solomon bringing me back to the Devildom unannounced? Oh, sure. Diavolo and Solomon hiding the reasons for my sudden return? Not my problem.

Simeon facing a problem to the point of having a quarter of the cast acting as his bodyguards? Eh, I'll just ignore it until I can't anymore.

Watching and waiting. That's what they have resorted to doing.

And that mindset of kicking problems down the line until it lands on MC's doorstep and they have no choice but to act -- that's exactly how they have been acting when they were stuck in NB, hasn't it? MC didn't bother forming pacts with the past version of the brothers until they were given an ultimatum, and even then, they simply relied on the convenient timing of each brother struggling with an inner crisis to swoop in, resolve the situation and tick them off their checklist.

MC in NB seems like an unfortunate culmination of everything they faced so far. They're too apathetic to care about getting sent to an unfamiliar place once again, too desensitised to life in the Devildom to reclaim their agency, and too desperate to earn the love of their former family to even think about anything else. They became so co-dependent to the demon brothers that they seem to think they cannot live without them or their affection, even if the ones they are living with in the past are different people from the ones they grew to love in the present.

The phrase "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain" fits way too perfectly for the Obey Me MC. After all, MC keeps getting rewarded every time they try to get themselves killed (or even when they actually got killed). Maybe that's the only way they know how to resolve problems.

So if they can't die as the hero, they'll just learn to live as the villain.

[galene-gothic]

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎?

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ I hope this reading found you in good health, every reblog is appreciated and thank you for everything :) ˖♡ ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🐇 ꒱

˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗             PAID SERVICES (summer sale and offers)

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 1 ꒱

This is interesting, your future spouse is going to love how stubborn and prideful you are. There will be times when you’ll be fighting with them because you’ll get angry or upset about something but your anger will suddenly die down, however, you’ll be too stubborn and prideful to make your anger seem inconsistent so you’ll continue acting like you are still upset 😭. This is going to be frustrating at times but they’re going to love it regardless. I feel like you’re going to be really raw in your expression to them. If you’re feeling clingy, you’ll cling onto them. If you feel like you’re not getting enough attention, you’re going to do whatever it takes to get it. However, you are also going to understand the limits of what’s healthy and what’s unhealthy. For example, you wanted their attention so you’re like “you don’t even love me”, after a while, you’re going to go “I’m sorry, I just wanted some attention from you.” THEY ARE GOING TO MELT ON THE INSIDE. They’re going to be like “aww, ____ is so adorable!” There are also going to be times when despite how prideful you are and how you don’t act like you’re unconfident in front of others. When with them, you’ll be like “do I look good?”, “does this look good?”, “I don’t feel good today.”, etc. There are going to be times when you’re going to be really vulnerable, you’ll just have your face buried on their chest and be sulking over how bad your day went, how something deeply affected you, how you’ve been feeling recently, so on and so forth. Due to how prideful you are, being able to see this side of you is going to be a privilege, they’ll feel honoured and will adore you so deeply. I wonder if the both of you will mutually have all love languages, like the primary ones seem to be quality time and acts of service but you still want to love heartily which includes everything - the former two, words of affirmation, physical touch, grand gestures, keeping check of little things, and going above and beyond. They will want the good, the bad and everything in between when it comes to you. They’ll also feel like you love them for who they truly are. The both of you are going to be givers and a deep intimacy will come about due to understanding each other. If you’ve ever been at a point in life where you’ve cried due to giving too much, not receiving enough, not experiencing the main course of love instead only getting the appetiser, wondering if you’ll have to change your giving personality in order to receive love, so on and so forth, it’s only further confirmation that you deserve the best love and this person will want to give you that. They’ll also be so grateful to you for all of it because they’re not used to receiving properly either. They’ve experienced similar feelings to you in the past but two givers will come together, magic is bound to happen. I’m so happy for you 💗. ‘POV’ by Ariana Grande is playing right now. That’s how they’ll feel towards you.

Actually, that is also how you’re going to feel towards them. A certain intimacy comes about when someone understands and chooses you, that’s what you’ll both have, and I think that’s beautiful. You also seem to have a lot of sexual energy. The moment you’ll see them, you’ll want to do it 😭. I’m sorry but I’m genuinely getting that happening. You’ll just randomly get urges. I’m getting you wanting to do it like ten times a day… I’m sorry. If you’re a woman or girl, you should try to take note of how you think, feel and act during ovulation right now. Your sex drive is going to be a lot stronger at that time. They’ll love how determined you are as a person. When they’ll first meet you, you’ll sort of sweep the rug from under their feet. They’re going to feel scarily attracted to you. There’s going to be a lot of sexual tension between the both of you right from the beginning. They’ll also love how you make them have revelations. They’ll feel like the both of you meeting was just divine intervention. You’re going to change them deeply and at first they’re going to be repulsed but it will all just add to the storyline xD. I mean, who doesn’t like looking back at their life and thinking that it’s movie-like? No one will compare when it comes to you. They’ll be so glad to share their life with you. Also, another thing that is coming through is that you’ll sometimes give up on what you want to benefit others, they’ll notice it and appreciate your compassion. They’ll still want you to put yourself first though. They’ll deeply care about you. There will be times when they’ll have to put up with your hostility, lack of proper communication, etc. but they’ll love how even when you’re struggling, you try your best to assure them. They’ll find your way of speech to lack assertion (outside of the stubborn, prideful lash outs xD) but they’ll love how this allows you to talk your way out of conflicts. They’ll also love how curious and mentally stimulating you are. You’re someone who values a mental connection deeply. In fact, much like your love languages, you desire it all even in the matters of heart, soul, physicality, etc. because you don’t want love to be a finite feeling in your life. They’ll love how talkative you are with them and how chatty they’ll be able to be with you. They’ll love your witty remarks, your vigilance and regard for details. Supposing, you’re in class, you’ll notice when someone has not brought their pen and well, depending on who you are, if you have an extra pen, you’ll either give it to them or just choose it ignore it 😍. You’ll be communicative and also your curiosity will give way to seeking knowledge in some form, so there will be times when you’ll just know a lot of things and you’ll talk about various different things with each other. Also, you might jump from one topic to another and back to the first topic again, they’ll find it all very adorable. They’ll love you dearly. I hope that you enjoyed the reading, much love and take care, until next time 💕.

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 2 ꒱

They’re going to love how hardworking you are. Also, how you have the understanding that everyone has their own set of values and skills that they bring. They are going to love how you place your trust in them as well. Also, how the both of you will a team with each other. Also, how the both of you interact with others as a unit? You will be the couple who is attractive due to how amiable and friendly you are while still remaining a unit and THEY ARE GOING TO LOVE IT! You’re both going to teach each other a lot and likely, both you and your future spouse are already into self improvement and skill development, and they’ll love how you encourage each other on your paths. You’ll also be the couple who teaches others outside of the relationship. You’ll just be a very respectable and well reputed couple. They’ll love how much you value your connection with them as well as other people. You’re going to be committed to yourself, your growth, your career, whatever it may be but you’re also going to have a strong and committed relationship with them where you’ll notice the details and actually truly value them, they’ll love that. You’re likely going to be skilled at whatever you do when you’re with them. They’re going to think that you’re naturally competitive, not in a way where you’re competing but in a way where you’re so focused on getting it, doing it, having it and being it that you just win the competition? Also, the both of you are going to have a really stable relationship because you’ll be a very stable person and they’re going to love that they’ve had the privilege of finding peace in a person, peace in their house. Even though you seem to be successful, well reputed, meeting important people, skilled and still willing to learn, still actively trying to develop skills and knowledge, you’ll still be trying to maintain a community, will be kind to people and might either volunteer, donate or just find a way to give away your kindness in one way another, and they’ll love that. You’ll be expressive with your love for them through actions, they’ll also do the same and they’ll love how you seem to value each other enough to do things for each other, to tangibly let your actions speak for yourselves xD. You’ll both have lovely conversations and will even attend many gatherings. They’re going to love how the both of you are a family, a strong one at that. There’s just going to be understanding and communication with one another. I’m getting the both of you making love and just laying there, having conversations while laughing together. I wouldn’t be surprised if you guys go raw a lot because you seem to be materially successful and will be quite happy to grow a family together. Not to mind, this card has an image of someone literally planting a seed, not sexually but they’re planting a seed. They’ll feel like your relationship is one that only continues deepening and they’ll love that. They’ll always come back home, they’ll always want to. They will love how they love you so much and feel so homesick that they can barely even spend nights elsewhere, like if they do business or have to travel, they won’t be able to wait until they get home. Your family together is going to be a safe and happy one, you’re going to be a unit as well as individuals who continue learning and growing.

You’ll also maintain a strong community, be focused on your endeavours and be good people, they’re going to love that they found you who they could develop such a lifestyle with. THEY’RE GOING TO BE SO GRATEFUL FOR YOU. Aww, this is adorable. They’ll be the happiest when they’re at home with you, they won’t even bother to go out but of course they’ll enjoy going out as well, they will also love how good you look as a couple. When you’re out in gatherings together, they’ll feel really confident and happy. Not gonna lie, showing you off is going to be fun for them xD. They’re going to love everything about you. You’re literally going to be their dream person. They’ll feel like their wishes were fulfilled with you just coming into their life, you becoming their spouse is going to feel surreal, something divine, something so dreamy. They’re going to love how their partnership with you is a happy one. Also, your ability to be satisfied with everything in life and maintain gratitude. You two, truly will bring out the best in each other and they’re going to love you for that. They’ll feel so content in your connection. They will feel like you treat them as your own and still put in a lot of effort into your connection (it’ll come naturally to you too) despite how you seem to have it all in life. They’ll love how you genuinely want and love them instead of wanting them out of desperation or need. They’ll thank their lucky stars for you xD. THIS IS SO CUTE, I’M GOING TO CRY! They’ll feel like you’re quite hard on yourself and they’ll not like that but they’ll still love you for it. They’ll love how when you do something that’s not moral according to you, instead of justifying it like most people do, you self loathe for a while instead. They’ll wish that you were kinder to yourself but at the same time, they’ll be glad that they at least have the excuse to pull that “you’re insecure, don’t know what for” kind of rizz on you AHAHAHA. You’re quite indecisive, they’re going to find it so frustrating yet so endearing. Like, you could have to choose between two drinks and you’ll just be standing there awkwardly, unable to pick 😭. That audio came through “you are my sea. you are my sunshine, the stars, the moon.” You could both develop a breeding kink regardless of whether you act on it or not. MOVING ON, they’ll love the way you express yourself and how the surroundings are immediately fun when you’re there. No matter how old you’ll get, there will be something young about your love and the fun that you’ll have together. You’re going to make them so happy and they’ll love how happy they will make you as well. There’s a radiance about both of you that comes from knowing and being your most authentic selves, pursuing goals, developing a stronger character, etc. which is why both of you are called to self expression, connecting with your sense of purpose, authenticity, inner power and abundance before you even meet each other. However, meeting each other is going to make the both of you even better, happier and radiant. They’ll love how happy you make them, how childlike the dynamic gets between the both of you sometimes. They’ll just love it all. The affection that they’ll hold for you knows no bounds, it’s ever growing. I hope that you enjoyed the reading, much love and take care, until next time 💕.

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 3 ꒱

I have no clue what to say or how to start. Is this my loner pile? I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve experienced at least one loner phase. There’s some sort of a withdrawn energy to you. Despite this, you are extremely emotional and passionate to the point your shadow traits could include controlling. You’re also quite moody or are going to be at that time. They’re going to love that they can see this side of you. The side where your inner feelings come out in front of them xD. They’re going to love how compassionate you are towards yourself and others. Despite your withdrawn energy, you can be extremely over-giving. By that time, you’ll have learned enough self compassion thankfully. You will be a very fair person. You’ll be like “well, my actions led to such consequences”, you’re going to look at others like that too “their actions led to it”. They’ll love how external factors cannot sway you because of the isolation that you’ll have experienced at some point that will have made you extremely wise and rooted in yourself. They’ll love how balanced you try to be. I’m getting you being a more possessive pile though. You’re the type to get moody when you miss your lover. Seeing an interaction with anyone else could make you a little cray cray but yeah it’s not a crazy lot, just enough for you to playfully have a banter which leads to them making it up to you. They’re going to love how you’re actually going to think about them. You’re going to see and treat them like a partner, someone who deserves well. I’m getting a weird jealousy energy from this pile. “Go to your other girl” kind of thing that leads to bonding and makeup sex? xD. Your jealous side is going to be so sexy to them because they’ll want to be yours. “Oh my god, ___ is trying to claim me as theirs. I’M SO HAPPY THEY CARE!” AHAHAHA. The jealousy and demanding energy is not something unhealthy so it’s good. It’s not like the main energy of your relationship but it’s still very much present. They’re going to love your mean comments here and there 😭. You’re going to say something mean and they’re going to adore you even more for it 💀. You’re someone very emotionally closed off whether you realise it or not. I’m not picking up on a rude personality but you might be the type to give out love, abundance, smiles, etc. as if you have it all even when you don’t. You are the type to pretend to be happy and doing well even when you’re not. You’re also quite a hard-worker who carries it all within yourself. They’re going to love how they can see this side of you where you are doing your best but help ease out your burdens. This is giving heavy black cat and golden retriever energy. Funnily enough, I’m getting that on the outside, you’re more soft like a golden retriever but are a black cat on the inside. They’re going to really admire you. They’re going to see the sacrifices that you’ve made and still continue to make, without even complaining :(. This is so sweet. You might often feel like people don’t see all the things you’ve done for others, they’re going to notice it all. In fact, it’s usually very noticeable even to others, they just choose to ignore it. Your person is going to notice the smallest to get biggest of your sacrifices. You’ve experienced a lot, haven’t you? You already have actually. By that time, you’ll have experienced much more. You’ve always overcome every situation. You’ve overcome major moments of instability, grief and personal losses, and continue doing so. They’re going to admire and love your resilience. They’re also going to love how you don’t fear instability even when you try to maintain stability because you know how to work with circumstances at hand. They’re going to love how you are a ride or die and there for your close personal connections through thick and thin.

People who know you the most are the ones who respect you the most. You’re someone who is able to find solace in your own soul :( OH MY GOD, this is a very emotional spread and I’m so proud of you. Keep going 💗. They’re going to love how you don’t let bad experiences change how good you are as a person. They’ll love how much you persevere and try to do things by yourself. Honestly, you try to do everything by yourself because you’re used to it. It could be because you were an only kid, come from a less privileged background, parents having undergone a bankruptcy/health issue, the passing away of a family member, being the eldest kid, etc. I feel like when you were younger, even when you wanted and needed help, you didn’t get it but you still made it by yourself so you’re just used to it and by then, you’ll have mastered it. They’re going to love it because it’s something they’ll admire and adore about you, how much you take onto yourself with grace without complaining or boasting. They’ll know that it’s so natural to you that you don’t even know how big of a thing it is. Many of you, in fact, most of you in this pile had to grow up too early. They’re going to adore how they can help you and how you actually try to rely on them once in a while. You are someone very emotionally soft. You’re a really deep feeler but it’s only coming through now because it takes time to get to this extremely deep part of you. Most people won’t ever get there even with time because they won’t be able to understand a person like you without feeling inferior to you :(. You could be someone who is ‘have it all’ in front of others and a tougher person (with a soft aura somehow because being soft and loving is the toughest thing in this harsh world where everyone is trying to put everyone down) but when you’re at home by yourself, you have a more emotional way of dealing with your emotions, you cry, you listen to songs, you think deeply, you grieve, you forgive, you grow, you relapse but you always come out stronger. Well, to be fair, you carry so much upon yourself, you always have, of course you need to let it out somewhere. You also love people deeply. You take relationships of all kinds seriously and I can tell this with utmost guarantee that you’re someone who is respected by those who know you the most. Anyone who loses you, never forgets you and losing you is likely the biggest loss that anyone will ever experience. Your person is going to love it all, everything about you, I’m so happy for you. You deserve this deep level of love and you’ll receive it. You’re one of those people who has been the same since childhood, of course you’ve grown a lot and learned a lot but for you, you keep on coming back to yourself as a child, that’s the essence of you. You were extremely grown yet loving and emotional as a kid yet you also had a high level of maturity, wisdom and rationality. You had your priorities in place as a kid. You’ve always been a good person is what I’m getting. It’s just etched onto your mind, body, soul and heart. At some point in life, you were close to straying from it but you never did. You just couldn’t because how do you deny what makes every inch of you? There’s never been anything wrong with you. Have you made mistakes? As a human, yes but please never change. Actively get better but… there’s never been anything wrong with you. I’m crying. Thank you for being you. This is how your future spouse is going to feel about you as well. They’ll get to see your hardest and softest parts, and they’re going to love it all. They’re going to love you for you. I hope that you enjoyed the reading, much love and take care, until next time 💕.

[sincerelykimii]

𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔

𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑥 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑺𝒚𝒑𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔: 𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦. 𝑇𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑡, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠…

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔/𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔: 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑣𝑦!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑔𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒, 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒, 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠, 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ(𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝚑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ), 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑥𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑠ℎ𝑒／ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑, 𝚑𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔！

𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦！

𝐴／𝑁：𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑏𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑠* 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑆𝑂 𝐺𝑂𝑂𝐷 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑣ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛. 𝐴𝑛𝑦𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠, 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝐼 “𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑” 𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑏𝑣𝑖. 𝐴𝑙𝑠𝑜, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑦 𝑛𝑡𝑚 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤…

In the bustling world of S.H.I.E.L.D., you found yourself navigating the complexities of espionage and covert operations. Despite your gentle demeanor, you were a highly skilled agent, proficient in hand-to-hand combat and advanced technology. Your days were filled with rigorous training sessions, strategic planning meetings, and high-stakes missions. Your kindness and empathy set you apart from your peers, earning you the respect and admiration from most of your colleagues. You couldn’t have felt more content with life itself. Well, until Fury decided it was time for a new partner.

Everything changed when you were partnered with Bucky Barnes, the enigmatic former Winter Soldier. Initially, your partnership was met with skepticism from both sides, as Bucky's brooding nature contrasted sharply with your warm personality. However, as the two of you embarked on missions together, a mutual respect and understanding began to form. Your unwavering optimism and compassion helped Bucky confront his troubled past, while Bucky's experience and resilience inspired you to push your limits. Together, you became an unstoppable team, blending their unique strengths to protect the world from emerging threats. Their partnership not only transformed their professional lives but also forged a deep, unspoken bond that neither had anticipated.

Once again you felt content with the life you had. Only a few months of working together, word spread you were partners with Bucky around the compound faster than you could think. Initially you didn’t mind. You didn’t think being his partner was such a big deal…until you heard your name a few too many times in conversations. It started with, the why’s. Why did fury choose them to be his partner? Then came, the what if’s. What if I was chosen? I’d fit the criteria much better.

You couldn’t care less about what they were saying, you knew your abilities and you knew your worth. That was until, the comments they were making became…personal. Constant picking you apart about your appearance, your personality, even the way you talked. You tried to ignore it for so long, but slowly, you started to believe them. What if he had a better partner? Someone who fit the criteria, the looks, the attitude.

When fury assigned the two of you to a week long mission, you were more than relieved. Seven long days away from all the whispers, and the glares. But the words they embedded into your mind…

Just wouldn’t go away.

———

Bucky entered the second hotel room of the week beside you with his duffel bag and a grumpy face. Most of the mission was merely a stakeout, something both of you were relieved to have, But you just had to distract him talking about god knows what, getting both of you spotted. The fight was brutal. There were multiple men against the two of you and it clearly wasn’t a problem for Bucky, but it was for you. He makes his way into the room and he grunts as he sees one bed.

Your brows furrowed hearing his rough grunt. You were standing behind him, not able to see the room completely yet. You walked into the surprisingly warm room, the heat seeping into your skin immediately. Finally turning your head to look at him, you follow his gaze to the singular bed sitting in the middle of the room. Your shoulders slump down, knowing it’s going to be a long night. “I’ll take the couch.” you say softly, tone sweet per usual, despite the fight against the many corrupt agents you just had.

Bucky drops his bag onto the floor and strips off his jacket, tossing it onto the bed. His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks, his tone gruff and rough around the edges per usual. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

You shrug his response off, tossing your bag on the clearly rough couch. “You’ve had a long night buck, it’s fine.” you insisted, meeting his eyes.

You’ve both had a long night, but clearly his was longer. He was doing most of the work. He tossed and dropped any agent that came your way, despite knowing you could take them. He was covered in light bruises and had dried blood in places you adored.

However, you were fine.

Attempting to prove your point, you took a seat on the couch, the material of it clearly out of date. You stretch your legs out, being the perfect size to fit “comfortably” on it.

“See? Comfy.” you say, forcing a smile onto your lips.

Bucky just stares at you incredulously for a long moment before shaking his head violently as if trying to clear it. He mutters something under his breath, likely something harsh given his tone. He stomps over to the couch and grabs you by the wrist, pulling you to your feet with surprising strength. His grip was firm, but not tight enough to hurt you.

"Stop being fucking stupid."

His voice is surprisingly gentle despite the harsh words. He towers over you, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Without letting go of your wrist, he points to the bed.

"You're not sleeping on this couch. You're tired too."

Your eyes flicker between his, knowing his stubbornness is just as bad as yours. “Okay.” you mutter. Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as you agree, finally releasing your wrist. He watches you settle into the bed before he approaches it himself, climbing in on the opposite side. "Try not to kick me in your sleep." He mutters, rolling onto his side facing away from you.

You nod in response, despite knowing he can’t see you. Your body slips under the comforter, a relaxed sigh falling from your lips before reaching over pulling the antique thread, turning the lamp off. “Goodnight Bucky.” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky doesn't respond right away, his breathing slow and steady in the darkness. After a few moments, he mumbles quietly. "Night." His voice is unusually vulnerable in the dark, lacking the usual sharp edges.

The nightfall sets in, the outside city darkening. But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Maybe it was the endless thoughts racing through your head, or the countless nights you had to force yourself to stay awake. You turn over, facing Bucky’s back, his chest slowly rising and falling. His name fell from your lips smoothly, keeping a hushed tone. His body remained still, his back facing you. He inhales slowly, holding his breath as if waiting to see if you'll actually wake him up or if you'll just go back to silence. He doesn't make a sound.

“I’m guessing you’re asleep, but…thank you for today. I know I give you a migraine most of the time but, you never let me come out of these kind of missions hurt…I really am grateful for you. You’re probably not gonna hear this anyway, but I had to get it off my chest.”

Bucky remains absolutely still, barely even seeming to breathe. Your soft whisper hangs in the darkened room. After a moment that stretches uncomfortably long, he shifts slightly, rolling onto his back. Without looking at you, he mutters gruffly, "Don't thank me for doing my job."

Your ears perk up hearing his hushed tone, quickly you retort, “Your job wasn’t to protect me the way you did.”

In the darkness, he turns his head slightly towards you. His expression is probably thoughtful, though you can't see it. His voice comes out in a rare moment of vulnerability. "Would you prefer I let you get yourself killed?" The question carries a hint of irritation, but something else too.

You send him a glare, despite the darkness his baby blues are as vibrant as ever staring at the ceiling.

“Sometimes.”

He wasn’t meant to hear that, it truly wasn’t meant to leave your lips, but it did…and, oh did he catch it quicker than you could regret the words.

His eyes narrow slightly at your whispered admission. He's silent for a long moment, the only sound being the distant hum of the city outside. Finally, he turns his head to look at you, his gaze intense even in the darkness. "And why the fuck would you want that?"

With a shrug of your shoulders, turning your head to meet his eyes, you finally confess.

“You have people that care about you out there, I could never live with myself knowing you died trying to protect me. You know, the other agents…they say, I’m not made for this kind of stuff.”

His expression darkens slightly as you speak softer and softer, almost like you're ashamed. His voice drops lower too, mirroring yours. "So you'd rather get yourself killed than hear them call you a goddamn baby one more time?" He asks sharply, though his voice isn't angry.

You shake your head, letting his words hang heavy in the air for a moment longer. “So you would get a new partner you wouldn’t have to worry so much about. Someone who doesn’t give you a headache every mission.”

His eyes linger on yours for a long moment, searching for something. When he finally speaks, his voice is rougher, his words tinged with a hint of something that sounds almost like... disappointment?

"I don't want a new partner."

Oh.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, his words throwing you way off track. “Why?” You ask, your voice softer than before, almost…vulnerable.

He pauses, his mind racing with reasons he shouldn't tell you. But in the dark, with only you listening, he finds himself answering honestly. "Because they're not you." He says simply, turning his gaze back to the ceiling.

Heat rises to your face, strawberry tint covering your cheeks, his words sending a flutter through your chest. “What’s so special about me Buck? I mean, you always act like you’d rather be anywhere else instead of here…with me.”

His jaw clenches as he hears the uncertainty in your voice, the same uncertainty that makes you hesitate on missions, that makes you second guess yourself. He turns his head to look at you again, his expression serious. "You're the most infuriating person I've ever met," Bucky exhales sharply, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. "And stubborn as hell." He adds, rolling onto his side to face you fully now. His eyebrows furrow slightly as he stares intensely into your eyes.

"But you're good at your job."

Your eyes widen slightly, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “You think so?” You ask sweetly, your tone impossibly softer than before.

His eyes lock with yours, and he finds himself getting drawn in, like he always does when you look at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours. He swallows hard, ignoring the strange feeling in his chest.

"You're a better shot than half the men out there,"

His eyes study your features in the moonlight, noting how your expression has softened entirely. He's aware he's probably said too much, gotten too soft - but somehow, it feels right. His voice drops even lower, definitely vulnerable.

"And don't you dare fucking get yourself killed."

The smile lingering on your face grows wider, your eyes never leaving his. “How can I? whether I like it or not, you’ll be there to save me.” You mutter, resting your head against the pillow, getting a better view of his softened features. He lets out a quiet snort, but there's no real annoyance behind it. More like... fondness? God, when does he ever get like this with anyone?

"Damn right I will. Even if it means putting up with your sweet-ass attitude every goddamn day."

You roll your eyes, despite the sweet smile playing on your lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment Barnes.” You retort, studying his face for moment too long. You’ve never really looked at him like this. Really looked at him. His steel blue eyes, the stuble covering his sharp jaw, the small dimple when he smiles every so often, his subtle nose scrunches when he talks. He’s perfect. He catches you staring, his gaze lingering on yours for a beat too long. Something unspoken passes between you, a connection that's been building slowly over the months. He clears his throat, breaking the moment.

"Shut up and go to sleep."

———

The sun rises over the city, seeping strongly through the hotel blinds. Your eyes flutter open, meeting Buckys peaceful expression. His lips are parted ever so slightly, and his chest slowly rising, falling just as slow as it risen. For the first time in weeks, you slept, better than you ever had specifically. You let out a content sigh, before rolling out of bed, heading to the bathroom, running a hot shower. Preparing yourself for the day. You and Bucky had to go back to the compound, meaning you had to deal with the group of agents that constantly tore you apart, piece by piece.

You stare in the mirror, taking in your appearance. You didn’t look like the other agents, the other girls in the force were rough around the edges, yet they were so pretty, you were just…you. You swing the door open, dressed in your tactical suit only to meet Bucky’s eyes. Who in which was already dressed and ready to leave.

“Let’s go.”

———

They left the hotel, heading to the car. You tossed your bag in the back and hopped into the passenger seat. The car usually buzzed with energy on these drives, filled with laughter, debates about god knows what, and endless banters. Now, the silence was a thick blanket, suffocating any attempt at conversation. Each mile deepened the palpable tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Every glance felt like a dare, every breath amplified in the quiet.

About halfway into the drive, your leg started bouncing – the nerves were kicking in. You just didn’t have the energy to listen to the agents trash-talk you, especially with Bucky sporting bruises while you barely had a scratch.

He notices your leg bouncing, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. He knows how much their words cut you, even when you try to hide it.

He’s always known.

Bucky had overheard the agents’ whispers, their words like tiny needles pricking at his conscience. They spoke of your involvement, their doubts and judgments laced with a thinly veiled disdain. He clenched his jaw, fury simmering beneath his stoic exterior, but he never brought it up. How could he? He didn’t want to burden you, didn’t want to add to whatever weight you were already carrying. So he swallowed his anger and kept silent, the words festering inside him, unsure how to broach the subject without causing more pain.

Without thinking, he reaches over and places a hand on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You glanced at him, then quickly averted your eyes to the passing scenery. "Sorry," you muttered, fighting to still the nervous tremor in your leg.

He squeezes your knee again, his touch lingering longer than necessary. "Don't apologize," he says gruffly, his voice laced with a protectiveness he can't quite hide.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for. They're just jealous of what you've got."

You shake your head, a quiet scoff falling from your lips. ”Jealous..” you repeat, voice barely above a whisper. What could they possibly be jealous of? Take Sharon for example, beautiful, tough, skinny. She had the whole package, then there was,

you.

Practically the opposite.

He glances at you, his expression softening. "You," he says simply, his hand still resting on your knee.

"They're jealous of the way you can take a punch and keep moving forward. They're jealous of your heart, even though they don't understand it." He pulls into the compound, the cars and noise immediately overwhelming. He turns to you before you can unbuckle your seatbelt, his eyes serious. "Listen to me," he says, his voice lowering.

"No matter what they say or do today, remember."

The words tumbled out before he could catch them, he hadn't planned to say anything, hadn't even realized the thoughts were there, but suddenly they were spilling from his lips, effortless and raw. Each syllable hung in the air, surprising him as much as they must have surprised you, a confession he didn't know he was ready to make.

“They’re jealous.” you repeated.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips as he nods approvingly. "Damn right they are." He releases your seatbelt, his hand hovering momentarily before dropping away. "Stick by me, yeah? If anyone gives you shit, just look my way. I got your back."

You smile softly, before opening the door grabbing your bags, falling into step beside Bucky.

“Always saving me Barnes.”

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Someone's gotta," he teases, his arm brushing against yours as you walk. As you enter the compound, the familiar faces turn towards you, whispers and stares immediately filling the air. He feels your tension, his hand instinctively reaching out to rest on the small of your back. He guides you through the crowd, his presence a wall of protection between you and the judging gazes.

Steve was waiting at the end of the hall, a knowing look on his face.

Your eyes darted between them, and by the look on Steve’s face, you knew how this was gonna go. "You know what? You guys can catch up. I'm gonna head to my room and crash." You said, leaving no room for argument. You practically sprinted down the hall until you reached your room. You slipped inside, closing the door behind yourself, before collapsing onto the bed.

———

As soon as the door closes, Bucky turns his attention back to Steve. "She's been getting a lot of shit lately," he says, his voice low and even. "I don't like it."

Steve nods, knowing exactly what he’s referring too. He’s not deaf, he hears the way the other agents, including Sharon talk about you. He hates it. You’ve told him numerous time not to say anything but sometimes he can’t bite his tongue. Steve runs a hand through his hair, "She handles it really well," he admits. "Too well sometimes. She won't complain, she won't fight back. She just takes it." He uncrosses his arms, his expression stoic.

"It's like she doesn't care what they say."

They kept at it, rehashing the same points for what felt like an eternity, before Bucky finally announced he was heading to your room. The knock on your door was tentative at first, then a little louder, the sound echoing through the quiet room like a drumbeat. When he didn’t hear anything back, he figured you were asleep, or at least trying to be. He gently pushed the door open, stepping inside and carefully shutting it behind him, as if not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere he imagined you were enveloped in.

He stands there for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He can see your silhouette on the bed, hear the soft sounds of your breathing. He walks over to the bed, sitting down on the edge. "Hey," he says quietly, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder.

"You awake?"

You hummed softly, burrowing deeper under the covers and pulling the blanket over your eyes, "I'm sleepy, Buck," you whispered, your voice muffled by the fabric, hoping he'd get the hint and let you drift back to sleep.

He chuckles softly, the sound barely audible. "I figured," he murmurs, his hand lingering on your shoulder. Leaning closer, he whispers conspiratorially, "Had enough of their crap for today, huh?" His voice is gentle, teasing, but there's an undercurrent of concern.

“Just tired.”

He sits there for a moment, watching you pretend to be asleep. His mind races, putting together the pieces of your act. You always do this, retreat into yourself when things get tough. He pulls the blanket down from your face, his eyes searching yours. "Bullshit,"

Your eyes met his, locking in a silent battle of wills, before flickering nervously between the two. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaped your lips. "Just let me sulk for a little longer," you mumbled, rolling your eyes, despite the tell-tale blush that was already creeping up your neck, betraying your attempt at indifference.

“You can sulk all you want, but you're not getting out of talking to me," he says firmly, his eyes searching yours. He can see the exhaustion, the frustration, the hurt behind your mask.

You sat up, the blanket falling to your lap. Your eyes, tired yet somewhat, alert, bored into his, a silent command hanging in the air. "Talk," you demanded, the single word laced with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

He leans back, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Why do you let them get to you so much?" he asks bluntly, his voice low and serious. His elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped together as he watches you intently.

"I mean, seriously."

His question caught you off guard, eyes widening slightly in surprise. "I don't know," you confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It never used to bother me, not like this. I'm not sure what changed." The truth was, you were just as baffled as he probably was. It was strange, this sudden wave of insecurity. You used to revel in your appearance, in the way you stood out from the crowd like a vibrant splash of color against a muted background. You embraced being different, even relished it. But now? Now, all you wanted was to blend in, to disappear into the sea of sameness, to be anything but the person you once were.

He studies your face, noticing the way your posture has become more defensive. "When did it start bothering you?" he asks, his voice softer now. He's close enough that he can feel the slight tremble in your hands. "Because I gotta say, it's been eating you up lately."

You broke eye contact, your gaze drifting towards the worn floorboards as you pondered the question, the weight of unspoken insecurities pressing down on you. "It started... when I became your partner," you finally admitted, the words barely above a whisper. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any real humor. "They always said I wasn't a good fit for you, that I was all wrong for Bucky Barnes. Too sweet, too cheerful, too…bright, and somewhere along the way, I started to believe them." The vulnerability in your voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual confident facade you presented to the world.

You shook your head, gaze darting around the room, desperate to avoid the intensity of his eyes. "Sharon was pretty clear about it," you mumbled, the words laced with a bitter taste. "She said you deserved someone like her. Skinny, beautiful, tough as nails. And she's right, isn't she? Look at you right now, Bucky, going all soft and sentimental on me. It's not a good look."

The words hung in the air, even Bucky didn’t know what to say. His eyebrows furrowed as he processes your words, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before hardening into determination. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to an intense whisper. "First off, Sharon can fuck right off. Second, since when do I give a damn what she thinks I deserve?"

“You don’t. But I do.”

Your admission seemed to resonate within him, his heart skipping a beat as his gaze locked onto yours, an intensity burning in his eyes that made your breath catch in your throat. "And what do you think I deserve?" he asked, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. The air crackled with unspoken emotions, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "Because from where I'm standing," he continued, his voice thick with sincerity,

"I think I deserve you. All of you."

His confession hit hard, sending a rush of anticipation through your veins. There was no room for hesitation – every part of you had been longing for this moment. You looked into his eyes, a silent question passing between you two. Seeing only desire mirrored back, you surged forward, closing the distance between each other with a desperate urgency. Your lips crashed against his, a collision of pent-up emotions and pure longing.

[fratttymatty]

All Bleached Up

(All characters are 18+)

It was a crisp Saturday morning when five friends—Eli, Max, Simon, Oliver, and Noah—ambled toward "Luminous Lux Spa" in downtown Portland. The group, all 25 years old, shared many commonalities. They were unabashed nerds, fanatical about RPGs, sci-fi marathons, and lengthy debates about quantum mechanics over artisanal coffee. Athleticism had never been their thing, nor was blending into the mainstream. Each identified as gay, content with their identities, but also mutually perplexed by how the world so often seemed to pass them by.

The spa trip had been Simon’s idea, a whimsical response to an internet ad promising “transformative rejuvenation” through luxury hair treatments. The rest of the group laughed it off at first, but as they joked about who would look best with frosted tips, the plan stuck. Bleaching their hair sounded fun and absurd—an ironic experiment to kickstart the new year.

As they checked into the spa, an elegant attendant guided them toward a sleek, dimly lit room that smelled faintly of lavender and ozone. They each settled into cushioned chairs as hair stylists went to work on their heads. The bleaching process began, with foils and thick pastes applied liberally. There was a sense of giddy rebellion as they watched their dark locks begin to lighten.

None of them could have guessed what was coming next.

The first oddity was the heat. As the bleach set in, each of them began to feel an intense warmth—not painful, but almost electrical, like a current buzzing just beneath their scalps. Simon, who had been midway through explaining the intricacies of a D&D subclass, suddenly stopped speaking. His usually quick, articulate thoughts felt… fuzzy. Across the room, Oliver scratched his arm and mumbled something about feeling “kinda... weird.”

Then it hit them all at once. A blinding white flash filled the room, and the world seemed to tilt sideways. In an instant, the chairs beneath them felt too small, their clothes too tight. Muscles swelled, skin smoothed, and voices deepened in a chorus of surprised groans. By the time the light faded, the five friends were unrecognizable.

Eli, now Ethan, blinked in the mirror and grinned. His newly muscular frame filled out his formerly baggy hoodie, and he grinned as he caught sight of his mullet. The messy layers cascaded down the back of his neck, while the front stayed perfectly tousled. He ran a hand through it, noticing how soft it felt, then flexed his bicep for no reason other than how cool it looked. “Bro, this is... sick,” he said, his voice several octaves lower and tinged with confidence he’d never known before.

Max, now Mason, was already admiring his buzzcut. The clean, sharp lines accentuated his chiselled jaw and strong cheekbones. He stood up and stretched, marvelling at how tall he suddenly was. “Dude, I feel... awesome,” he laughed, the word “awesome” rolling off his tongue like a mantra.

Simon had become Shawn. His short, straight middle part framed his now angular face perfectly. He tilted his head from side to side, checking out his reflection and smirking. “Yo, I look hot,” he said, running his fingers through the soft, silky strands of his new hair.

Oliver, now Cody, had traded his glasses and wiry frame for a broad chest and messy, spiked hair. He ruffled it playfully, delighted by how effortlessly cool it looked. “This is, like, next-level,” he said, his former eloquence replaced with a casual, almost lazy cadence.

Finally, Noah—now Nate— his platinum-blonde hair—wavy and flowing with a casually styled middle part—gave him the look of a model straight out of a teen drama “Hell yeah,” he said, flexing his shoulders and cracking his neck. “I look like a beast.”

As they stared at their reflections, a strange calm washed over them. Their former selves—nerdy, awkward, gay 25-year-olds—felt like distant memories, as if they’d read about those lives in some book they barely remembered. The idea of going back didn’t even cross their minds. Why would it? This was so much better.

When they left the spa, the group barely recognized the world around them—or maybe the world didn’t recognize them. Their old habits and quirks had melted away, replaced by the easy swagger of high school jocks who owned every room they walked into.

Ethan, the leader of the group, quickly found himself the captain of the high school soccer team. His wavy, platinum hair and sculpted jawline made him the talk of the school, and it wasn’t long before he started dating Maia, a bubbly blonde cheerleader who adored how confident and protective he was. She was a total ditz, always giggling and clinging to his arm, but Ethan didn’t mind. They were perfect together.

Mason, with his buzzcut and sharp edges, joined the wrestling team, where his natural strength and newfound aggression made him unstoppable. He caught the eye of Brittany, a loud, flirtatious cheerleader with a penchant for blowing pink bubblegum. Brittany adored how strong Mason was and constantly bragged about him to her squad. The two became inseparable, their conversations rarely deep but always full of laughter.

Shawn’s sleek, short middle part and smoldering gaze earned him the nickname “Pretty Boy.” He became the go-to guy for advice on dating (despite never thinking too hard about it himself) and ended up with Tiffany, an overly dramatic cheerleader who spent most of her time obsessing over her nails and selfies. Shawn found her giggles and constant texting endearing and loved how she’d lean on him during lunch.

Cody’s messy spikes gave him a carefree, rebellious vibe that made him a magnet for attention. He became the star quarterback, and his cocky grin was enough to win over Jessica, the ditziest of all the cheerleaders, who rarely remembered what class she had next. She loved cheering for him from the sidelines, and Cody thought her cluelessness was adorable.

Nate, with his mullet and devil-may-care attitude, joined the skateboarding crowd. He started dating Amber, a thrill-seeking blonde cheerleader whose giggles always followed her daring stunts. She wasn’t the brightest, but she matched Nate’s chaotic energy perfectly, and the two were constantly laughing as they pulled off ridiculous pranks.

By the end of the week, the five friends had fully embraced their new lives. They had no memory of “Eli,” “Max,” “Simon,” “Oliver,” or “Noah,” and even if they did, it wouldn’t have mattered. Their days were now filled with sports practices, bonfires, and parties, not late-night coding sessions or board games.

The spa had delivered on its promise: transformative rejuvenation. It just happened to transform them into something they never could have expected—and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

[mattscoquette]

hi all, i wanted to make one final and formal apology before i go. i’ve been trying to stay off tumblr for the last few days, but i’ve been seeing a multitude of people saying they want me and the other former members of the tripouts gc to deactivate to show that we truly are sorry. personally, i don’t see the reason in that, i think deactivation makes it look like running from the situation. however, i understand why people would want us to deactivate - to show we are sorry and don’t just care about our image.

i’ve been back and forth with the idea of deactivating since yesterday morning. i always said if i ever left tumblr, i wouldn’t deactivate because i want to keep my fics and other writings up. i still agree with that, and for that reason, i’m not deactivating, but i’m abandoning this blog. i was planning to just private all my posts, but i felt like that is the same as deactivating. i can’t say for certain if i’ll return and post on a new account, but i can say with nearly 100% confidence that i’m done posting on mattscoquette. as much as i wanted to leave tumblr on my own terms, i only feel that this is the right thing to do. thank you to everyone who supported be over the last year, i truly took every kind word and compliment to heart. i’m so appreciative for the friends i made on here, whether we talked once or everyday.

before i fully get into it, i just would like to say i am so so SO sorry for how i acted. i didn’t handle any situation in a correct or mature manner. i’m sorry if anything i’ve said made me come off as disingenuous, or like im trying to push this situation off and blame it on association.

i shouldn’t have immediately come to my friends defense when the slur was first posted, even if i thought she was allowed to reclaim it. it was wrong, and i’m sorry. i deleted and left the group chat, so i don’t have any original screenshots, but i can say that i didn’t respond to the text with the r slur. although there was more than one conversation going on at the time, it still doesn’t make it right. it was a stupid mistake that should have never been said or posted. with that said, i’d like to make it known we didn’t call chris the r slur. i don’t think anyone should ever be called that word, joking or not. i can speak for myself when i say i love him, and his brothers, to death. i always joke around about them, but at the end of the day i always go back to them. i wouldn’t have been writing and posting about them for so long if i hated any of them the way tumblr thinks we do.

as far as the group apology goes, there was no ai used. we did check it through grammarly, and used that, which is often flagged for ai. but the original post was not ai, nor were any of my apologies post. i can’t speak for everyone in the group, but mine and the group account’s were not ai.

i would also like to say i’m sorry to anyone my actions or my friend’s actions may have hurt in the past. specifically to cherry (@luvs4matt) and the girls in the sturnholics gc. although i didn’t personally partake in any hate towards that groupchat, it was still given on behalf of a group i was in, and i’m sorry. i’d also like to say sorry to cherry and for the way i treated her, she is a minor and i publicly accused her of copying me when i should’ve handled it privately. it was immature and stupid, and i regret my actions greatly because she still receives hate messages in her inbox on my behalf. i feel terrible for how i acted and handled that situation.

i don’t want to say names either, but there are a few close friends who this situation and hurt greatly, and i’m so sorry to them. i never ever wanted to make friends upset, and i greatly apologize. alongside that, i’m sorry to any mutuals, followers, or ANYONE i have upset with both my actions and the group’s actions.

i will say, however, although i do own up and admit to all my mistakes, i find it very unfair there are people on here trying to run both me and the other members off the app. i’m talking specifically to the tripoutsweirdos account, and rose (@bernardsbendystraws). we made a mistake, owned up to it, and apologized. there is no need to make continuous posts of hate directed at any of us. i turned off my inbox because i was being sent multiple hate messages and threats. targeting people for a mistake that they apologized for is not only wrong and immature, but extremely damaging to the people who were directly affected by the situation at hand. fighting this issue with more hate doesn’t do anything but create more drama, and make tumblr less enjoyable. dragging this out and making it more than it needs to be does no help at all.

in the end, what’s done is done, and there isn’t anything anyone can do to undo it. the only thing is to learn from it, and improve behavior. i am a firm believer in your actions speaking louder than your words. i can say i’m sorry until i’m absolutely blue in the face, but i feel that apology won’t be accepted until there is a visible change in my character. i’m choosing to leave this account behind to show it isn’t about the “clout” or the “fame” one gains from sturntumblr. i still love the triplets, and love to write, but i can do that on other platforms or another account. as appreciative as i am for the space i created on tumblr, i think it’s best for me to leave it to rest now. i always preached about making my blog a safe space for everyone, and i’m sorry if i ever didn’t make it seem that way.

again, thank you to everyone who supported me, and to everyone who held me accountable in this situation. it gave me chance to reflect on myself and really think about how i present myself online and who i surround myself with. i love you all, and thank you for listening.

-rylee

[aizshallnotbefound]

SHE’S GOT A WAY

𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ { jiyong’s pov : series }

You moved on, and someone from your past isnt happy about it

Notes: here is a another part of me and @makeitworse collab special fic in celebration for reaching 150 followers!! Thank you so so much everybody and i appreciate every single one of you so much.

Contains: 2ne1!reader x G-dragon. Smau. Mentions of break up

dispatch.co.kr

[Dispatch Exclusive] June 2023 — Y/N & Taemin Spotted getting intimate Behind the Scenes: Dating Rumors Ignite

June 2023 — After years away from the spotlight, Y/N, the former 2NE1 idol who went into hiatus in 2019, was recently seen in an unexpectedly warm and intimate moment with SHINee’s Taemin. Dispatch has obtained exclusive behind-the-scenes photos from the filming of a high-profile commercial, showing the pair in close, cozy proximity — sparking fresh dating rumors that have fans buzzing.

The two idols, both known for their charismatic stage presence and loyal fanbases, were captured in a series of candid shots that hint at a close relationship beyond just colleagues.

While both agencies have yet to comment on the rumors, the undeniable closeness caught on camera during this shoot has stirred excitement and curiosity. Could this be the beginning of a new high-profile relationship?

Timeline: June 2023 — From Hiatus to Possible New Couple

2019: Y/N quietly steps back from the spotlight after 2NE1’s disbandment, avoiding public romantic speculation.

Early 2023: Rumors circulate about Y/N’s re-emergence in entertainment projects, though details remain sparse.

June 2023: Dispatch captures these exclusive BTS moments between Y/N and Taemin during a commercial shoot, marking the first known public signs of their close relationship.

Industry insiders suggest the pair bonded through overlapping schedules and mutual friends. The intimate yet natural nature of these photos suggests their relationship might have moved beyond just colleagues.

Fans React

Fans and netizens have quickly flooded social media, dissecting these photos for clues. Some speculate that their chemistry goes beyond friendship

Fans quickly noticed these subtle but undeniable signs, igniting waves of speculation online about the possibility of a secret romance. Y/N’s long hiatus had left fans hungry for updates, and seeing her so comfortable and affectionate with Taemin only fuels the excitement.

Dispatch will continue to follow this story as it unfolds.

Reddit.com

r/kpopcelebgossip -

June 25 June 2023

user: Is there something going on between y/n and taemin? 👀

Hey everyone,

I don’t usually jump on these rumors, but I stumbled across some BTS pics from Y/N and taemin’s latest ad shoot, and honestly, the way they’re interacting looks pretty intimate, romantic or whatever. Like, not just friendly co-stars—there’s something definitely more personal going on.

If you remember, y/n was rumored to have been in a long-term relationship with G-dragon for a while (not confirmed but it was super obvious) but that ended around 2018 or 2019. Since then, it’s been radio silent about her love life ever since her hiatus

So seeing her and Taemin so relaxed and cozy—lots of close touches, hugging and even a few moments that seemed super romantic—makes me think there’s more than just friendship here. I haven’t seen any official confirmation or denial yet, but fans are already buzzing.

The vibes are strong and obvious. Apparently she was seen leaving his car together once too. Here are some pics i saw on instagram :

What do you guys think?

Top comments:

User:

GD must be absolutely FUMING. I just know he’s seeing all this and went to his studio to cook something up

User: yeahh gd does not handle jealousy well he’s gonna have a crash out then we will receive a thirst trap. “Look what your missing out on y/n” would be the caption

User: Honestly, y/n has always been pretty private about her relationships, so this is kinda surprising. But taemin is also known to keep things lowkey as well. Idk but she looks really happy with him

user: If they are dating, I’m here for it. Both of them are absolute goals. Just hope it doesn’t affect their careers or how their fans react.

Liked by gossipkpopr & 880,988 others

2NE1newz - Y/N spotted with a man who is allegedly taemin from SHINee in a restaurant

18 July 2023

View comments

user: OH SHE’S GONE okay il stop

user: My gd x yn heart IS CRASHING OUT RN 👀

user: gotta check gd’s page incase he posted any thirst trap in response to this 🙏

User: OH MY FUCKING GOD????

{likes , comments , reposts and a follow and encouraged and appreciated ! <33}

{lmk if you guys want to be in the taglist ><}

𓊆 @sherrayyyyy , @ldydeath , @eru-vande , @tulentiy , @infinetlyforgotten , @gdinthehouseee , @mashtatosworld , @loveesiren @breakmeoff @kwomikailea @heartubeatusalon @sylviavf @flwerangii @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @ilovethe141 @pinkpunkdynamite @nbjch05 @evangeline3 𓊇

[drdemonprince]

do you have any advice on navigating a friendship with a former abuser? they are pretty open about their past when asked although not incredibly initially forthcoming about it, which I think is understandable if maybe not the most,, idk,, straightforward I guess. But I do truly believe they’ve mended their ways and try really hard to do right by themselves and other people, but they’ve garnered a lot of vitriol from their former community (and with reason!!) but that community tries to, rightfully, make sure everyone knows about this person’s past, and I have a lot of guilt around being friends with them even though I do believe that they’re different now, I wouldn’t be friends with them if I didn’t believe that. Anyways, I guess im curious if you have any advice or experience with how to navigate any kind of relationship with someone who has done a lot of prior harm, while also trying to honor and respect the people who they have harmed?

I think that people in that situation are in really desperate need of community, most of the time. It is very difficult to work on yourself when pressure to excise you from every social group follows you everywhere you go, and the stories of what you've done have morphed into an entity that exists entirely outside of you, your victims, or anyone who was actually privy to the abuse that you committed.

It's very reasonable for people affected by the abuse & their allies to want nothing to do with such a person, of course. But there sometimes becomes a broader community norm of penalizing anyone who associates with the abusive person in any way whatsoever, and when you're already struggling with entitlement, boundary issues, loneliness, impulsivity, and self-hatred, as so many abusers do, it's hard not to spiral out further from being rendered that radioactive.

I think by being friends with this person you're doing something important. It is far easier for people to grow when they have social incentives to do so and emotional support. In the care of other people, we see our worth reflected. We learn more about who we are and who we *can* be through the interplay of ours' and others' various selves.

I think the best thing that you can do is to offer a space to this person in your life, if you continue wanting to, and building small spaces for them to find connection with people who are okay with that and feel comfortable doing so. Bring the person along with you into new spaces where they can help people and receive help in turn, without constantly being defined by their most horrible actions. Bring this person along with you to somewhere they've never been, with people who have no issue with them -- do a shift together at the local mutual kitchen or community garden, for instance, or a book club, or include them in a cultural practice that you participate in, and share that with them. Do jail support together, or mail books to prisoners. Take both of you outside of your everyday social context and allow them to exist in a new way, in new relations to others -- including people who, like them, have experienced social ostracism and struggle.

While you're doing that, observe them and see how they're doing. Talk with them afterward about how they feel, and anything they're finding difficult. I will trust your judgement here that the person seems fundamentally changed. Just being there and involved in activities alongside them will help you be on the lookout for any red flags, and I do think there is a degree of responsibility on your part to ensure you're not putting anyone else in danger by being around them, but you can do this in a light, nonjudgmental way, and let them grow into that trust that you're offering.

I have witnessed firsthand how healing it is for people like your friend to slowly realize that suddenly there are people that like them, now, and open up to them, when everybody shied away from them or hated them before. I do think that if someone is committed to no longer being abusive or boundary violating around others, they eventually do need to feel that they are accepted by some community, and seen as on par with anybody else. They can't be treated as lesser or more suspect for their entire lives in every social context. The communities they've already harmed shouldn't have to provide them with that acceptance and room to grow. But I think somebody should.

As always, keep an eye on your own feelings and make sure that this isn't too exhausting for you. By keeping the formerly abusive person separate from the groups they've harmed, you should be able to minimize the blowback you get for spending time with them. Not all of our friends need to be friends with one another, and not every social group in our lives has to make contact. It's okay to include your friend in a running group with a few other people you met volunteering but then keep their name off the guest list for your birthday party because associates of their victims will be there. If your friend is truly contrite over their actions, they will understand and respect that some people will never want to be around them -- and most reasonable community members should understand that who you associate with independently of them is not their business.

There may be some people who take a really hard line stance and expect everyone to ostracize the former abuser no matter what, and so you might be criticized or lose friendships with such people. But so long as you are helping to give the former abuser some social connection that is separate from anybody they've hurt, and you're not pressuring anyone to be around them or doing any apologism for them (which it sounds like you have no interest in doing), then you are not doing a thing wrong, and I think it's beautiful to give someone that space in your life. Navigating this stuff with grace, respect, and compassion is a skill that a lot more of us will eventually have to develop than we realize, I think. Life is long, and over the course of it, people change a great deal and do a great many things they regret. We need to be able to move through these things together somehow.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The Soldier on the Ice

John Walker x fem!reader

warning : fluff, kissing, mutual feelings, tiny comfort, no use of Y/n

Summary : Superheroes had time off too, and everyone pursued their hobbies and interests. Bucky took care of his motorcycle, Ava did research, Alexei slept, Bob watched TV, Yelena tidied up, and John. Well, John always disappeared in the afternoon with a sports bag to do something, but when his colleague followed him, she was amazed to see what he was doing.

info : Ever since I learned from @neska223 that Wyatt was a hockey player, I couldn't get the idea out of my head. It just makes him even sexier, and that's how this came about. Enjoy reading ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When does a hero get a day off?

It had only been days since they had stopped another robbery and kidnapping when a few gangs consisting of remnants of former Hydra sympathizers had tried to rob and take the National Bank.

It had only taken a few minutes for the new Avengers, the Thunderbolts, to arrive and deal with the threat within minutes.

Everyone did their best, bullets flew and screams rang through the building but none of the hostages were killed and the heroes emerged victorious.

It seemed just too peaceful a day for the team, so they had themselves photographed by the press before heading back to the tower.

Because like any good team, they needed some publicity that wasn't riddled with tabloid headlines.

An almost normal week, in which apparently the evil and the gangs also gave way, because when Saturday afternoon came, not a single alarm was reported.

Not a report, not a radio call and not a phone call, even New York seemed to finally want some peace and quiet. "A positive surprise," Ava had muttered and retreated to her lab to continue optimizing her suit.

Alexei, on the other hand, had taken this as an agreement for a day off and promptly lay down next to Bob on the couch and was about to sleep.

“Well then, I'll tidy up today,” Yelan said and disappeared into her room with a bowl of snacks and a bin bag, which she had been meaning to tidy up for days but couldn't find the time.

Bucky, whose gaze had been on the screen for the longest time, also got up with a sigh to go to the elevator, "I'm in the garage, be ready anyway," he gave the quiet order and went down with the pling of the elevator to tinker and work on his motorcycle.

That left John and her.

Her gaze, which had previously been on the small plate of fruit she had made and held out to Bob from time to time as he nibbled on it, switched her attention to the blond.

Walker had watched it all silently before disappearing into his room as if to make sure that no threat had emerged.

As often as she had been involved with John and the many long evenings when they could just talk.

She was happy to feel his hand on hers and to hear his sincere “thank you” when she praised him for his work. There were evenings when the shield and soldier became a human being, a human being to whom she owed just as much.

It took a few minutes, which she used to taste Boby's milkshake and ask him about the brand, since the dark-haired man said it was the best there was.

“You're not lying, it's really good,” she said and was just about to take another sip of the vanilla flavor when the door to John's room opened again and the blond had the dark sports bag by his side again.

He seemed to avoid her gaze and walked quickly to the elevator, a behavior he'd had for the past weeks and months.

Whenever they had an afternoon off, John was the only one who disappeared from the tower. “Where are you going John?” her question made him pause and he half-turned to face the three of them.

She saw in his gaze that he was considering whether to finally say the truth or keep walking away and pretend he was never going to do anything.

"Just gone for a bit, I'll be right back, don't worry," he said back, giving her a brief smile before disappearing into the silver elevator with a pling and a whir.

Hastily grabbing another pretzel, she got up from the couch and ignored Bob's questioning look wanting to know what was going on, “I'll find out what he's doing!” she called back as she hurried to the stairs and pulled on her jacket.

Still hearing the good luck from Bobby she hurried down the stairs after the elevator hoping that John hadn't left yet, luckily for the agent this wasn't the case and she saw the blond disappear through the elevator exit.

Hurrying after him, she tried to follow him as if on a covert surveillance mission, disappearing again and again into the crowd.

Like hundreds of times before, she stayed hidden, shadowed and gathered information, only this time she didn't need her weapon...she only needed her heart, but neither of them could have guessed that.

She followed him for about 10 minutes, recognizing the streets and paths, but every time she thought he stopped, he just looked into a few shop windows before he started moving again.

What surprised her in the end was when he went down to the subway, the younger girl hurried to follow John so as not to get lost in the network and attract attention.

To her surprise, he took the train that went slightly outside the city center and into the other neighborhoods What does he want? And why the gym bag, the tower has a gym, she thought to herself as she tried to think of what he was carrying in the dark bag.

Maybe he had his suit with him, but the question was what for.

Maybe he wanted to see his son, although he rarely spoke of his ex-wife and rarely of his son, so that seemed unlikely too.

So what was it then?

A secret publicity stunt for his image or did he have a secret date?

Waiting patiently and keeping an eye on him until the train came to a stop and he got off, she followed him further, up the stairs until they came to the surface again and finally saw where he was going.

The ice hockey arena.

It made sense that he wanted to get out of the main building to get to this place, but even though she came a step closer, she still didn't know why he wanted to go there now.

It wasn't to go ice skating, was it?

Pursuing John further, she slipped through the open door and made her way to the spectator stands after making sure he was in the dressing room.

She had only been here a few times herself, with her colleagues once on New Year's Day and on a mission to tail a mob boss who was in the crowd while his business was going on just two streets away.

Her mind wandered and even if after all that had happened she felt that she was glad to be here, that she was glad to have her friends and that her heart told her that she had followed John out of more than curiosity.

How could she not?

He was kind and friendly towards her, the moments they spent together were always full of hope in her and they had seachothers back on every mission.

Whether he was protecting her with his shield or she was shooting an enemy who tried to attack him, they looked out for each other and maybe more had been developed in all that time.

At least she hoped so, a hope that was replaced by attention as she watched the large skating rink and saw what appeared to be a player come out and take to the ice.

She couldn't immediately recognize him through the head protection and mask, so she ventured further through the rows.

But with each step she saw how controlled the player was, gliding across the ice with precision, holding the stick firmly and precisely and hitting the goal every time with the puck that banged into the net.

With every flick of the stick he seemed to hit harder and harder, she could see how much power was behind it, how he was totally dedicated to the sport.

Until the moment she arrived at the protective glass door and it opened with a clearly audible squeak.

She was caught.

She paused as she saw the player turn towards her and within a few movements she was about to tell a lie when she heard a muffled “What are you doing here?” and the helmet lifted.

A confused John appeared, looking at her in surprise, “Did you follow me?” he asked, looking down at her slightly as the skates made him even taller.

Of course a lie was inappropriate now, what could she say?

She couldn't help but give in, she had followed him all the way from the tower after all, giving a sigh of surrender she replied honestly, "Yes I followed you, no it's not a mission...I wanted to find out what you always do you never gave an answer" she admitted and hoped he wouldn't be angry or upset.

She knew that sometimes John needed his space, that things could get too much even for a hero, but when she heard first an exhale and then a smirk, she received a different reaction.

John laughed heartily and took off his helmet as he leaned against the door, “I always go here to clear my head. I had a few games here in high school...tell me, do you want to play?” he asked after his laughter had faded, the amusement still clearly audible in his voice as he grinned at her mission.

It was a question that made her pause, looking down at herself, she wasn't even wearing the right clothes for such a cowshed, let alone had skates with her.

“I can skate, I just don't seem to be in the right uniform,” she said, waving her hand and pointing to his uniform, which not only kept him warm but was also necessary to do the sport.

She was full of herself, if she had known what he was doing she would have asked earlier, she could have come here with him more often.

But then what?

It was her hopes, her wishes that would never come true.

John took a step back onto the ice and held his hand out to her, “I'll just pull you along a little, the ice will do the rest or are you going to freeze here?” he winked and after a brief pause she reached for his rough but warm hand and he helped her onto the ice.

With her other arm looking for balance she stood firmly but as John took the first step she felt her shoes just slip, "I don't think this is working" she whispered and looked down as she was already losing her balance and felt two hands on her hips holding her up.

He was strong.

Of course he was before the serum, but now, John seemed to be holding her like she was nothing, like she didn't weigh anything, and the smile on his lips told her he was thinking the same thing.

The warmth on her cheeks couldn't melt the ice but his question, “Do you trust me?” was answered within a heartbeat with an “Always John” and a surprised sound escaped her as he lifted her up in one movement and held her in his arms.

He held her close to him, she could feel his warmth, the muscles under his uniform slightly tense from her holding and his rapid heartbeat similar to hers as she dared to look up at him, “Thank you John I-” but her thanks were ever interrupted with a kiss.

A surprising kiss, not intimate almost gentle as if he didn't even know where it came from.

She could feel him about to pull away apologetically as their eyes met, as uncertainty met hope and she wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him again.

John's almost victorious grin told her that he was more than satisfied and pleased too as he just grinned and murmured, "Hold on to me" and began to move across the ice as she complied with his command and held onto the soldier who was as infused with love as she was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@bribrisposts , @brisselfshipping , @marleywrites , @redlightgreenlight01 , @celebrimborcoulddestroyme , @crimsonkingart , @marvelnerd18 , @tallulinha

[therealcocoshady]

Kinktober - Day 6 - Sex Work

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

A/N : For the "sex work" prompt of Kinktober 2024 I thought I'd mix it up with a request I received as well. Granted, it's playing on the words of the prompt rather than the actual theme but I hope you guys like it nonetheless ! ✨ Also, I did have a second idea, which I might end up doing too 😏

CW : Mention of sex work - Flirty texts - Mention of hook up

The studio was buzzing with energy as the podcast got underway. Marshall sat at the head of the table, wearing his usual hoodie and cap combo, arms crossed casually as he listened to the banter among the other rappers. One former D12 member had decided to launch a podcast and, when he was ask to be the first guest, he was happy to show up to support his friend. In the past years, he’d grown more and more picky when it came to doing interviews and appearances, but he was glad he did this, supporting his buddy and talking about hip-hop in general, instead of just him. It was much better than random journalists asking about his professional life. The conversation had flowed from the evolution of hip-hop to its biggest influencers, and now, they were moving into more contemporary topics—reviewing music videos from up-and-coming artists. 

He wasn’t sure what to expect when they cued up the next video for review. When the host dropped your name, though, his head perked up. You, the firecracker of a lyricist he had been « mentoring » for a while now. You weren’t to Shady Records, but you had worked together enough for him to respect your raw talent and commendable work ethic. He had been kind enough to offer some guidance and even some beats from his vault, and while you were still making your way in the industry, you had already built a reputation as an outspoken voice in the game. You had a good rapport, too. In private, you’d shared more than just a few laughs, and there was a mutual admiration that sometimes tiptoed into the realm of flirtation—compliments exchanged, gazes held a bit longer than necessary—but nothing too serious. It was always playful, a line neither of you had crossed. 

The host grinned, looking at Marshall. « So, this is Y/N’s latest track. It’s called ‘Sex Work’. You haven’t seen this one yet, have you? ».  He shook his head, a little curious but still cool. « Nah, she didn’t send it to me. ». His friend looked at him and let out a laugh. “You’re in for a surprise, then”.  The video started, and the beat dropped—a heavy bass line that immediately grabbed everyone’s attention. But it wasn’t just the music that made Marshall sit up a little straighter. The visuals hit hard. You were on-screen, dressed in bold, provocative outfits, your presence commanding the camera. The scenes shifted rapidly, moving through a series of sexually charged, daring shots. It was unlike anything you’d done before. 

You were playing with the very imagery that dominated so much of hip-hop—the kind of objectification women often faced. Except you were not the object here. She was the one in control, flipping the narrative. The lyrics hit just as hard as the visuals, each line razor-sharp, calling out the double standards in the industry, using clever wordplay ad metaphors that drew a parallel between the music industry and sex work, too. 

Marshall was caught off guard. The video was bold, even provocative. You were owning your sexuality in a way that was direct, unapologetic, and powerful. But then it hit him—some of the scenes were direct callbacks to his older videos. One shot mirrored the set of his “Superman” video, and in another, you were standing where one of his infamous adult actresses had stood, reclaiming that space. « Damn, » one of the other hosts on the podcast muttered, eyes wide. Marshall’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t say anything. Not yet. The lyrics kept going, and it became clear what you were doing—turning the tables on the misogynistic narratives you had been surrounded by as an up and coming female rapper. The video wasn’t just about sex appeal; it was a statement. You were deliberately playing with the same imagery that had been used to objectify women for decades, challenging it, and throwing it back in everyone’s faces. By the time the video ended, the room was dead silent for a moment. The host was the first to speak. « Marshall, man… what are you thinking? ».  He leaned back in his chair, taking a breath. He could feel the eyes on him, waiting for some kind of reaction, maybe even expecting. You weren’t playing by anyone’s rules and it was the type of attitude he respected, especially then someone pushed the pen that far.  « Well, first off, » he said, glancing around the room before locking eyes with the host, « she killed that ». The other guys laughed, but he wasn’t joking. « She’s always been fearless with her lyrics, » he continued, « but this? This is next level. She’s calling out the hypocrisy in the industry, and she’s doing it in a way that makes you pay attention. It’s bold as hell. » He paused for a second, gathering his thoughts. « I didn’t expect her to take shots at some of the imagery I’ve used in my older videos, but I respect it. She’s making a statement. She’s an artist, it’s what she should be doing. It’s what we do as emcees, you know ?  ». The others nodded, clearly impressed with his take. « So you’re not bothered by it? I mean, some of those scenes were pretty close to your old stuff ». 

« Nah, » he said, shaking his head. « If anything, I think it’s cool. That’s the kind of artist she is—smart, sharp, and always saying something with her work. Whether it’s a track about life or, you know… this ». He chuckled a little at the end, the edge of a smirk tugging at his lips. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected you to pull something this bold. Sure, you had always been outspoken, always ready to challenge the norms, but this? This was next-level boldness.  The conversation moved on to other topics, but Marshall’s mind lingered on your video. He knew it was going to blow up and, truth be told, he was curious to know where that was headed. 

The days following the release of your music video and Marshall’s appearance on the podcast were a whirlwind of noise. Social media was ablaze with debates, and hip-hop blogs pumped out articles almost hourly, all focused on one central question: Was Y/N dissing Eminem ? Marshall, sitting in the comfort of his home, scrolled through his phone, shaking his head at the ridiculous headlines. « Y/N’s Bold Move: Diss or Power Play Against Eminem?" or  "New Queen in Town? Is Y/N Coming for Eminem’s Throne? ».  Everyone had their own theory, and the conversation was only growing louder. What had started as you making a critique of misogyny  had snowballed into a supposed rivalry between you and Em—a narrative the media had hungrily latched onto. It wasn’t surprising to anyone, though. Of course it was going to make for good headlines and farm engagement rates, even though it was a shame to have it take away from the main topic.  Interviews, radio shows, podcasts—everyone was asking the same question: What did Eminem think ? 

Marshall had been ignoring the noise for as long as he could, figuring people would see the bigger picture. But the hype refused to die down. Paul’s phone blew up with texts and calls, from journalists looking for comments to fellow artists wondering if there was any beef brewing. His team’s inbox was flooded. He wasn’t surprised that you were stirring things up—you were unapologetically yourself, always—but the whole “diss” angle? That was ridiculous. A week after the video dropped, Marshall finally caved. He knew he had to address it, especially after hearing that some major podcasts were going to dive deeper into the so-called "feud." There was no way he’d let anyone twist this into something it wasn’t. It was sort of unlike him, but he was pissed off about lies being spread and people making headlines about an imaginary feud. He wouldn’t have cared to address it if it had been anyone else, but he actually liked and respected you. He also had enough self-awareness to know that, if he let the whole thing escalate, some people would take « his side » and turn on you. Frankly, he didn’t have the time or energy for some stupid quid pro quo situation and he deemed it best to address the topic. 

That morning, he agreed to hop on a Shade45 radio show that had been asking him for a statement for days. As the interview started, the host wasted no time jumping into the topic. « Alright, Boss, we’ve got to get straight to it, » the host said, his voice filled with anticipation. « Y/N. We’ve all seen the video. She’s been pretty outspoken, and a lot of people are taking her comments about the double standards in hip-hop and the scenes from your old videos as… well, a diss. What do you think? ». Marshall took a deep breath and leaned forward into the mic, choosing his words carefully but keeping his usual bluntness. « Look, » he started, « Y/N is not dissing me. She’s not coming for me or trying to take shots.  What she’s doing is making a statement. A damn good one, too. People keep saying she’s going too far or whatever, but this is the same stuff that I, and a lot of other artists, have done for years. She’s just flipping the script, and now, suddenly, people want to act like it’s a problem ».  The host nodded, but there was still an edge of curiosity. « So, you’re not offended by her recreating some of your visuals? Some people took it as her calling you out ».  Marshall smirked, shaking his head. « Nah, man. Y/N’s one of the most talented artists out there right now. She’s smart. She’s sharp. And she’s not afraid to say what’s on her mind, even if it makes people uncomfortable. That’s what makes her great. She’s doing exactly what artists are supposed to do—make people think, make people talk. It’s the same shit I have always done with my music. And if she’s calling out hypocrisy ? Good for her. I’ve been there. I know how that goes ». 

He leaned back again, more comfortable now. « You know, I’ve worked with her, produced a couple of tracks for her, and I’ve always been impressed by how real she keeps it. She’s not here to play by anyone’s rules. She’s doing what she wants, and I respect that. If you’re mad at her for being direct, maybe it’s because you don’t like what she’s saying ». The host paused for a moment, letting Em’s words settle. « So, to be clear—you fully support what she’s doing? ». « Yeah, » Marshall said without hesitation. « Y/N’s just getting started, and if people are mad now? They better buckle up, ‘cause she’s only going to keep pushing boundaries. She’s not afraid to call out the industry for its hypocrisy. And if anyone thinks she’s dissing me, they’re missing the point. She’s making space for herself, and she’s doing it her way. That’s what being an artist is all about ». The host grinned, seemingly satisfied with his take. « Well, there you have it, folks. Marshall’s got nothing but respect for Y/N. » Marshall chuckled, nodding. « Damn right. I’ll say this though : I’ve spent enough time with her to know that it’s more fun to be her friend than to be her enemy. So, anyone who’s been talking shit… Better be ready ». 

After the podcast dropped, the noise around the supposed « diss » started to die down. Marshall’s words carried weight, and now that he had set the record straight, the media was forced to pivot. Instead of focusing on a non-existent feud, the conversation shifted toward what you had always intended—your critique of double standards. Now that people didn’t worry about a possible feud, they seemed more disposed to focus on the subject matter and the narrative surrounding you quickly took a much more positive turn.  That evening, Marshall was sitting in his home studio, tweaking some beats when his phone buzzed on the table next to him. He glanced down and saw your name on the screen.

Y/N :  Thanks for having my back.

He stared at the text for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. He wasn’t surprised you’d reached out; after all,  you weren’t the type to let things go unacknowledged. He liked that about you. But he could tell by the simple message that you appreciated the support more than you’d probably say out loud. He picked up his phone and tapped out a reply.

Marshall : Always. Not that you needed it, though. 

He fully meant it when he said that you didn’t need his support. He knew for a fact that you’d clap back if needed. There was a brief pause before your next message popped up.

Y/N : Yeah, but you saying it shuts up a lot of people. 

He chuckled to himself, nodding as he read the words.

Marshall :  Let ‘em talk. You’re doing your thing. If they’re mad, that means you’re doing something right. 

Y/N :  Guess I learned from the best.

Marshall leaned back in his chair, looking at your message for a second before typing a final reply.

Marshall : Nah, you’re making your own lane. Keep killing it.

He put his phone down, guessing the conversation was probably over for the night. But even as he turned back to the track he was working on, he couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of pride. You were carving out your own space in the industry, no matter how many people tried to twist her message or pit you against him. In the short while he’d known you, he had seen you evolve as an artist and, since you’d never failed to share how much his music had shaped your artistry, he felt proud. 

Y/N : Also, I’m glad that you got what I did with the references to your video. It was an hommage, not a shot. 

Marshall grinned, running his thumb over the screen as he typed his reply.

Marshall : Oh, I know. But now I’m thinking, if it was an hommage, why didn’t you just ask me to be in it ?

The dots on the screen danced for a moment, and then your reply came through, as sharp as your lyrics.

Y/N : I was only hiring professionals. ;)

Marshall laughed out loud, shaking his head. He liked your quick wit, the way you never backed down from a little back-and-forth. If anyone else had thrown that line at him, he might’ve let it go. But not you.

Marshall : You don’t think I’m professional enough?

Y/N : In music ? Sure. Can’t speak for the rest, though. 

There was a pause as he crafted his next response, his smirk growing wider. He enjoyed it too much, couldn’t help himself. 

Marshall : If you want to find out just how professional I can get, all you gotta do is ask.

He sent the message, leaning back on his chair. He could practically feel the heat of your flirtation building through the screen. You didn’t take long to reply, as bold as ever.

Y/N : Oh, I’ll keep that in mind.

There was no more texting that night, but the tension lingered in the silence that followed. Your dynamic had always teetered on the edge of something more, something neither of them had fully explored. Both of you had always kept it on the safe side. The energy between them you felt charged in a way it hadn’t before, following these texts and he liked it. There was something irresistible about a beautiful woman who was also smart and bold. However, he chose not to let it get to his head, not wanting to be that guy. Being a woman in a male-dominated industry, you probably had enough of those, even though he wouldn’t mind showing you the extent of his bedroom skills. He meant it, though. All you had to do was ask. He had made a point to avoid getting involved with celebs and fellow artists but he’d gladly make an exception for you.

Weeks later, the two of you found yourself in New York for an awards show. The ceremony was everything you’d expect—long, loud, and full of celebrities. But Marshall wasn’t really focused on the stage. He hadn’t seen you yet, but he knew you were there. He’d heard your name more than once as people in the crowd gushed about you, your bold video, and the statement you’d made in the industry. Your viral video had made you gain tons of recognition and everyone was gushing about you, even the ones who had been quick to assume you were dissing him in a desperate clout-chasing attempt. After the show, as he headed back to his hotel room, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. 

Y/N :  Nice performance tonight. Very professional. The Bradford. Suite 1602. If your offer still stands.

Marshall stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the message. The directness of it sent a jolt through him. There wasn’t any question about what you were implying. The words lingered on his screen, bold and unflinching, just like you. For a moment, he just stood there, processing. Then, without a second thought, he found himself heading toward the exit of his hotel. There was no hesitation now. His heart picked up speed as he walked out into the night, flagged down a cab, and gave the driver the name of your hotel, not too far from his. The drive was short, but each second felt drawn out, like anticipation was pulling time apart. As the cab pulled up in front of The Bradford, Marshall stepped out, the city lights glowing faintly around him. He walked through the doors and headed straight to the elevator, heart pounding just a little harder with each passing floor. When he reached your floor, the quiet of the hallway contrasted sharply with the rush of energy coursing through him. He stopped in front of Suite 1602, staring at the number on the door for a moment before knocking, his mind running through the million ways this could go. The door opened slowly, and there you were, standing barefoot in a simple yet alluring outfit that somehow made his pulse race faster than anything you’d worn in that music video. Your eyes met his with the same fire he’d always admired, but now, it was mixed with something more, something unspoken between the two of you that had finally found its moment. « Wasn’t sure you’d actually show up, » you said, your voice low but teasing. Marshall smirked, stepping inside. « Told you all you had to do was ask ». You grinned back, eyes glinting as you shut the door behind him. « Well, I am asking ». 

If you liked this and want to support a struggling student, you can buy me a cup of coffee. ☕️

[qin-qin16]

Chromatic Crew and Murder Time Trio Poly existing at the same time, BUT with two Killers.

The first, one of the few to survive for so long in the tar-like claws of Nightmare, was also the first to meet Murder and Horror. The relationship between them was troubled, something… mediocre – too superficial to be friends, but too deep to be just “work colleagues”. In a way, they managed to understand each other, together in some way in that deep, dark hole that was being under the rule of the Lord of Negativity.

But this Killer had met Color – they had already made promises to escape together even before Murder and Horror came into the picture. They can manage without me, Killer thought while watching Murder pretend to sleep on one of the countless nights they shared. I’ve taught them everything they needed to know, he pondered when he saw Horror hold back the bitter words he wanted to say against Nightmare, knowing that it would only end with his bones being broken.

It’s not like they would notice my absence, I can be selfish for once, was his last thought about them, before finally fleeing far from his past, to start over alongside Color (and later, the other members of the Chromatic Crew). And of course, being safe in the Omega Timeline, Nightmare couldn’t just enter there and reclaim his subordinate/slave. In fact, after thinking for a long time while venting his anger on the other residents of the abandoned castle where they lived, Nightmare realized it was only a matter of time before that Killer escaped from his grasp.

It was obvious, that thing had already met its most faithful liberator; all Nightmare had to do was get a new one and prevent this one from having the same hope as the former. It wasn’t hard to capture another stray Killer, suffering after so many resets – hungry for a moment of silence and painlessness.

Nightmare didn’t even try to hide that this Killer was a different one – it wasn’t hard for Horror and Murder to figure that out either. In a way, it was easier for this Killer (whom I will name Kei to avoid confusion) to adapt, having two other skeletons to guide him, just as the other had done with them. Kei was more curious, less cautious with his actions, almost like an animal playing with the traps set for him.

Horror and Murder, having spent more time together, had no trouble including Kei in their activities – in missions, in the few dinners they shared, in the sleepless nights when one of them remained alert, awake for any imagined intruder. The three were like wild dogs: needing sacrifices to place their trust, whether time, attention, or a vital part of their body – gnawing on each other’s bones as a way to show that they trusted one another.

It would be interesting if, after some time, the three of them planned to escape from Nightmare as well – there was nothing there holding them except themselves. Of course, they didn’t have an Omega Timeline to escape to, and no allies who would help them if they could finally hide. But perhaps living on the run was better than remaining in the clutches of that true devil.

Uhhh idk who would like to see this but i want to tag more of my mutuals so, @spuirrelwiththeletterp @t3m1 @suorgummiis (since you three seemed interested) @what-have-i-unleashed (because i used your mermaid bunny au for this) @triglycercule (no this is not my mtt poly chart) @howlsofbloodhounds (because well… Killers here)

yes i need to justify the tags

[bronbrons]

canon vs fanon (feat: Osamu Dazai)

Canon vs. Fanon: Dazai Osamu

1. Intelligence & Strategic Mind

Canon

Dazai is a genius tactician, one of the most intelligent characters in Bungou Stray Dogs. His ability to manipulate situations, people, and enemies into doing exactly what he wants is nearly unmatched. This is evident in:

• His strategic dismantling of the Port Mafia from within.

• Outsmarting Fyodor multiple times.

• Planning several steps ahead, such as preparing contingency plans even when captured.

Dazai does not flaunt his intelligence for praise; instead, he lets his results speak for themselves. His intelligence is not about being effortlessly overpowered but about careful planning, psychological manipulation, and reading people.

Fanon

Fanon Dazai is often portrayed as an omnipotent, godlike mastermind who can never be outsmarted. Many fanworks suggest that he always knows everything in advance, never faces real struggles, and can predict events with supernatural precision. This version of Dazai removes any tension or stakes from the story, making his victories feel too easy.

2. Suicidal Tendencies

Canon

Dazai’s suicidal tendencies are deeply tied to his existential crisis. He doesn’t seek death purely for comedy; rather, he desires a meaningful death that would provide an answer to his existence. His past in the Port Mafia, especially his time with Oda, made him search for a purpose beyond destruction.

• His suicide attempts often have a level of sincerity despite their dark humor.

• In Dark Era, Dazai’s depression is explicit—his apathy and longing for an escape from life are serious, not exaggerated for laughs.

• While the comedic element exists, it serves to mask his underlying issues.

Fanon

Many fan portrayals treat his suicidal tendencies purely as a joke, making it seem like he randomly attempts suicide for fun, rather than as a coping mechanism for his existential despair. Others go to the opposite extreme, portraying him as constantly on the verge of breaking down, crying, and needing to be saved. Canon Dazai does not openly express his suffering in an emotional way—he masks it with humor, charm, and misdirection.

3. Personality & Interactions with Others

Canon

Dazai is charismatic and manipulative, but not necessarily a “nice” person. He can be cold, ruthless, and indifferent when needed.

• He deliberately provokes people to test them (e.g., teasing Akutagawa mercilessly to push him).

• He has no problem using others as chess pieces (e.g., how he manipulates Chuuya, Ango, and even Atsushi in certain situations).

• He is not particularly affectionate—he rarely gives genuine praise and instead teaches through tough love.

• He does care about others (e.g., he saved Kunikida from being framed, respects Ranpo, and deeply cared for Oda), but he does not openly express his emotions.

Fanon

• Some fanon interpretations turn Dazai into a soft, affectionate caretaker who babies Atsushi, Chuuya, or Akutagawa.

• Another common fanon portrayal is “flirty playboy” Dazai, where he is overly smooth and romantic, when in reality, his flirtations are often comedic and exaggerated (not serious attempts at seduction).

• A lot of fanfiction also portrays him as highly emotional and prone to outbursts of sadness, which contradicts his actual character—he buries his emotions rather than showing them outright.

4. Relationship with Chuuya

Canon

Dazai and Chuuya share a complicated history as former Double Black partners. Their relationship is based on mutual reliance but also deep animosity.

• Dazai frequently insults Chuuya, knowing it will provoke him.

• He is well aware of Chuuya’s strengths and weaknesses and manipulates him accordingly.

• They respect each other’s abilities but do not share a traditionally affectionate bond.

• Dazai never truly expresses deep emotional care for Chuuya, nor does he show signs of romantic interest—he sees him as a useful but annoying partner.

Fanon

• Many fan interpretations exaggerate their bond into an overly affectionate or romantic relationship where Dazai secretly adores Chuuya.

• Some portray Chuuya as constantly worrying over Dazai’s well-being, which is inaccurate—Chuuya is more frustrated than concerned most of the time.

• The trope of Chuuya being the only one who understands Dazai is common in fanon but not strongly supported in canon. Dazai does not confide in Chuuya the way he did with Oda.

5. Relationship with Atsushi

Canon

Dazai sees potential in Atsushi and helps shape him into a stronger person. However, his approach is not gentle:

• He throws Atsushi into life-threatening situations to force him to grow.

• He rarely offers straightforward encouragement and instead challenges Atsushi to think for himself.

• He does care for Atsushi’s well-being but does not dote on him or treat him as a younger brother.

Fanon

• Some fanfictions depict Dazai as an overly protective, fatherly figure to Atsushi, which contradicts his actual tough-love approach.

• Others exaggerate their bond into something more personal than what is shown in canon.

Conclusion

Canon Dazai is an enigmatic, morally ambiguous strategist who hides his true self behind layers of manipulation, humor, and misdirection. He is neither an omniscient mastermind nor a helpless, emotionally fragile man who needs saving. His suicidal tendencies stem from existential despair rather than comedic effect, and his relationships are more complex and layered than fanon often depicts.

While fan interpretations are always valid in creative spaces, understanding the distinction between canon and fanon helps appreciate Dazai’s depth as a character.

[gilverrwrites]

Coming Out of Retirement

Reader/Bruce Wayne Ft. Almost all of the BatFam. (Sorry Alfred) Reader is an ex-con who has renounced their life of crime and settled down as a stay-at-home parent and trophy partner, until the itch to get back on the streets re-emerges. To celebrate this new found life of heroism, their BatFamily arranges a suprise.

3.1K Words CWs: Mainly fluff, but, non descript mentions of sex (implied dom Bruce), mild arguing, competition, self-doubt, public kissing. Limelight. A singular batarang may or may not get thrown. It might have been Daman.

Adorning your name with the suffix ‘-Wayne’ has done wonders for your image. Rarely were you billed as a criminal in the media, very few events failed to send you an invitation, people who would previously have shunned you in the streets now unsubtly eager to get into or stay in the billionaire families’ good graces. It did not, however, fully erase your criminal past. The extensive list of felonies that came with the rest of your name meant that few people were willing to take a chance on hiring you. When you’d told your husband, Bruce that after months of searching, your only legitimate job offers were loading crates at the docks or sweeping floors at a high school he’d baulked. Those were perfectly fine jobs, vital even, but not particularly fitting for the meticulously curated image the Waynes had carved out over centuries.

Instead, he’s found you a job at Wayne Enterprises, and by found, you mean made-up a job, something to do with analysis and CAPEX, fancy words for sitting behind a desk, a desk that made your skin crawl. Truth is, no job would have scratched the itch you were trying to scratch. A day job was simply the compromise you’d come to with your husband. What you’d really wanted was to get back out onto the streets, not to commit crimes, but to stop them. Bruce didn’t like the idea, citing that it would be emotionally challenging for you to fight against your former allies and friends. Additionally, civilians wouldn’t trust you. You’d argued that those issues would improve with practice and time. That your skills were wasted being a stay-at-home parent and trophy partner, and he knew it, he always knew when you were right, he just hated to admit it. So, you’d come to the mutual agreement that you would work a ‘normal job’, and if, after 6 months had passed, you were still aching to get back in the game, then and only then would he approve.

From there it became a bit of an unspoken game between you. He kept your body and mind as occupied as possible, hoping to keep you distracted. Nights off from patrolling were spent in bed with you, bending and stretching and everything else-ing your body to his will for as long as his near infinite stamina could manage. He’s named you as the primary point of contact for Damian’s school, which had you driving to and from the academy to deal with his many infractions on what felt like a daily basis. If that wasn’t inconvenient enough, it also put you behind on the ungodly amount of paperwork he had sent to your desk each morning.

That didn’t stop you. Instead, you found ways around it. Your early morning runs were really combat and target training with Jason. Your fortnightly visits with your eldest, Dick, really were check-in, as wells as a chance to practice patrolling on the streets of Blüdhaven. Even Babs had loaned you a few updated gadgets for your dusty old utility belt. Tim had given you back-door access to most of the files on the bat-computer, and you spent your lunch hour reading up on the who’s who of Gotham’s current criminal underground between rushed mouthfuls of protein-heavy salads and coffee. Some faces you knew, had been on a first-name basis with, others were complete strangers, indicators that you’d been out of the game too long.

It was funny when you thought about it, even in marriage you were still finding ways to thwart each-other.

Bruce knew all of this, of course, he wasn’t the world's greatest detective for nothing, but he kept it to himself. The same way you kept his tactics to obstruct your plans quiet.

Until today. A sleepy Sunday morning in which Jason had kept you training for twice as long as usual, before joining you for the walk home, chatting your ear off about the things he’d noticed in his latest re-read of Pride and Prejudice, right up until you’d made it inside where a note had been left for you on the fridge. The words ‘CAVE ASAP’ had been scrawled on it in Bruce's handwriting.

When you’d shown it to Jay he’s just shrugged and followed you to the entrance. You might have been concerned, had you not known that today was the six-month anniversary of your deal, the closing date. You were concerned, however, when you were met with 6 smiling faces awaiting you, 7 if you include Jason, 8 if you include Bruce's nonsmiling face.

“What is this?” You query. “Whose watching the city?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve enlisted a couple of friends to keep an eye on Gotham, they’ll signal us if anything comes up that they can’t handle.”

Something feels different, something other than the unusually large crowd. Your eyes scan the room until they land on a new instalment to the cave, four glass cases, holding four suits that seemed both completely new, but somehow familiar.

“That’s good, but you didn’t answer my first question.” You finally respond to Bruce, pointing to the pods to indicate that you now require further clarification.

“It’s been six months since we made our deal, and it has become abundantly clear that there is no derailing you from getting what you want.”

“Which is one of the many reasons you married me~” His straight face breaks at your jest.

“Is this how they always flirt?” “This is tame, you don’t want to see their real flirting.” “Shhhhh.” Muffled voices whisper amongst the cluster of children, and you’re admittedly impressed it took this long for any of them to say something.

“This is by no means a full sign-off.” Bruce continues, “There will be rigorous tests for you to pass before it becomes official- ”

“Don’t worry, it’s not personal.” Dick butts in, and you're grateful for the reassurance. You’d been concerned that your villainous past might make you subject to extra scrutiny, even if you’d clearly proven yourself reformed many times over. “We all had to go through the testing phase.”

“Yeah, some of us did better than others.” Tim's statement is clearly directed at Steph who responds with an unamused glare.

“Yes.” The budding conversation is stifled by Bruce for that singular word before everybody bursts out with a chorus of “WELCOME TO THE TEAM!”

From there you’re rallied into a seemingly never-ending parade of hugs, each accompanied by some form of “congratulations”; “Knew you’d win out.” “You got this!” “You thought he kept you busy before, good luck.”

It was Barbara who finally informed you what the suits were. “We wanted to surprise you with an updated suit, but none of us could agree on one design.”

“So, we split into teams and made our own.” Duke finished.

Your celebratory lap quickly descended into a clash from there. Each team trying to point out their own design, to get you to look at theirs first, to try them on. You knew each of them loved you in their own way, but you hadn’t quite got the knack of demanding respect in the same way Bruce had. He could silence their quarrelling with a well-timed look. You had to shout above them to be heard, but your voice reached their ears in waves of twos and threes, eventually, they all settled. Finding spots to sit or lean on as they watched and waited for your next move.

“How about I go through them each, one at a time, left to right?” A sea of heads nod back at you. “Great, whose is this first one?”

“Mine.” “Ours.”

Damian has a strong personality, self-assured, sharp. You love those parts of him, many don’t. Tim included. With time, they’d grown on each other, formed a brotherly bond, if anything due to the forced proximity, but their relationship was still strained at times. Damian hadn’t killed Tim, but that didn’t alleviate all of the tension between them, so it meant the world that they’d shelved their issues long enough to do something nice, even if the end result wasn’t exactly, your style. It was cool, no doubt about it, but it was certainly a ‘Robin’ suit. Primarily red, with a green cape, a lot of built-in gadgets you’d never seen before, and “Are these knuckle dusters?”

“Yes, made with steel, much like your old ones but these are coated in a gold alloy.” Damian informs you. It doesn’t go amiss that they seem to match the gold pieces from his own costume.

“We know you don’t really like capes, so it’s detachable,” Tim interjects, pointing at different pieces and areas of the gear, anyone could tell he was in his element, one of many. “The left glove has a built-in dispenser for pellets, and the right glove has a travel-size holographic computer that’s connected to the mainframe. Think of it like a smartphone but for comms and information only.”

“Yeah, Bruce doesn’t like it when we use it to watch TikTok.” Duke jokes, and is rewarded with a few cautious laughs.

“Wow!” You smile, fiddling with the edge of the forest green gloves in question. “This is all so advanced. I- ”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah blah blah!” Steph's voice cuts in before you can thank your Robins. You can tell she’s excited by the way she bounces on her toes, Barbara right behind her, both grinning, both ignoring Damian's stink eye. You can forgive them, you always do. “Us next!”

“The gadgets are all updated versions of the stuff I loaned you for Blüdhaven, I’ve been tracking the way you use them, and based on the feedback I’ve removed the features you didn’t use much and refocused the excess power on ramping up the stuff you do use.” Barbara tells you through the door as you change.

The girls had really hit the nail on the head in the style department, and you had to applaud yourself for that one really. The girls hadn’t just taken inspiration from your previous get-up, they’d seemingly taken the very blueprints and modernised it. The silhouette was identical, right down to the patched-up adjustable waist you’d had to add due to your fluctuating diet whilst in and out of Blackgate. Only now, everything was made from black reinforced leather with matte panelling. Pops of your signature colour reflected in the stitching as well as the gloves, utility belt, and a pair of shiny docs.

This is incredible, you refrain from saying, careful not to spark any more flames in what was clearly already a competition. “This is nearly identical to my old suits; how did you manage it?”

“Bruce had one of your old suits tucked away in the trophy room,” Steph informs you, shooting Bruce a smug look, in response he remains still, face completely unmoving. “He thought we wouldn’t find it, but we did.”

You don’t focus much on how or why he had it. It was likely ‘borrowed’ from a GCPD evidence locker, brought here so he could study it, help him better understand an adversary. But you did wonder why he’d kept it for so long. When you cast him a curious glance, he stares back at you, sporting the same poker-faced expression he’s given Steph.   

Your lips part, ready to ask but a voice interrupts, Damian; “It’s unoriginal.”

“Yeah.” Tim agrees. “And old fashioned.”

For a moment you’re offended, considering that it’s based on your own design.

“At least they didn’t make a Robin suit.” Jason jumps in, possibly to defend, probably to stir the pot.

“That’s enough.” You declare, holding your hands to garner attention. “They’re both great, in their own ways, now whose next?”

It’s obvious whose next, if the sequins didn’t give it away, their grinning faces did.

“We figured everyone else would have you covered on the tech and practicality side of things.” Duke explains as Dick retrieves their joined project from its pod and hands it to you.

“We wanted to make something that speaks to your soul.” Dick finishes. Their statement clearly rehearsed for maximum intrigue.

You don’t say the first response that comes to mind, but Tim does, near abouts. “And their soul is a reject from Abba’s wardrobe?”

“I said enough.” But he was right. They were all right, in a way, it wasn’t techy or practical, but it certainly appealed to something inside you. A desire to stand out? To dress like the superheroes of your childhood Saturday morning cartoons?

It was by far the smallest suit, with skin-tone tights to keep your arms and legs warm. A near plunging neckline, with a flared collar that was meant to be worn popped. Looking closer you could see that the sequins weren’t sequins at all, but little meal plates coated in some kind of iridescent polish, surely there was some form of pragmatic reason for it, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“Maybe not for stopping a bank robbery.” You ponder aloud, swaying your body to see how well the shiny metallic layer reflected light, the dimness of the cave not offering much to work with. “But certainly, for a disco, do places still do discos?”

“No.” Four voices reply in deadpan unity.

“Don’t even humour them.” Jason is having none of it, the look on his face reads that he can’t believe you even tried it on. “I was supposed to be on their team, but I refuse to put my name on that monstrosity.”

“Hey.” Duke and Dick respond in unison, furrowed brows and inadvertently pouty lips don’t suit their faces.

“I supposed that explains the last one.” You redirect before another argument can break out. The final suit, Jay's suit, isn’t really a suit at all. More a mishmash of things seemingly cobbled together from the nearest army surplus store. Big military-grade boots that feel clunky on your feet, a black spandex turtleneck, a thermal-lined leather jacket with stray threads that clearly had previously secured a multitude of now-missing embroidered patches, and camo trousers that had been dyed to match your colours.

“How you have the audacity to claim our suit is a Robin suit, when yours is clearly devised from your own wardrobe astounds me, Todd.” Damian comments coldly, deploying his patented glare.

“It only looks like that because it’s cool, and I only wear cool stuff.” Jason fires back.

“It’s not cool, it looks like something an edgy teenager thinks is cool.”

“At least mine has- ” “Yours isn’t even- ” “This isn’t the 80s!”

A slew of arguments and insults are thrown back and forth, voices talking over each other. The distinct sound of a batarang being launched rings throughout the cave until Barbara silences everyone with the loud clapping of her hands and the declaration that; “We have to let them decide.”

Seven pairs of eyes fall on you, all awaiting vindication, and more importantly: bragging rights. It was an impossible situation; you’d known that from the beginning. There was no conceivable way you could pick one without hurting feelings, or more likely, causing a war. It would be akin to picking a favourite child. Fortunately, you’re saved by The Bat.

“Actually,” Bruce’s deep voice intervenes, cutting through the charged silence, finally speaking up for the first time since your unconventional fashion show had begun. He presses a button on the console beside you and another case ascends from the floor, revealing a 5th suit. “There's one more.”

His smile is smug, the same that often graces your son's faces, particularly Damian's. A smile that says he’s already won. That or he’s simply enjoying seeing his family engage in some healthy, almost non-combative competition. Either way, it evokes a communal groan from the children.

It seems Bruce had had a similar idea to Babs and Steph. The suit resembled your old one, with some noticeable differences. It was all shades of matte black, from head to toe, excluding a very subtle, scattered layer of glitter embedded in the thermal lined fabric. Glitter of your signature colour, you could tell it had been included to appeal to you, but also to have minimal effect on your being able to blend into the dark.

It also included an embellishment of lightweight armour, gloves that seemed to be a direct knockoff from Tims, and a utility belt. But the thing that stood out most, the thing all the others lacked, was a single, shiny symbol adorning its chest piece. Your symbol. So taken with it, you can’t help but run your fingertips across the cool metal, accidentally dislodging it.

“Oh sh- sugar.” You correct yourself, careful not to swear in front of impressionable, or teasing ears. “I broke it already!”

Your husband chuckles, low but soft as he fastens it back into place. “I haven’t finalised that piece yet. I thought maybe you’d want to change your alias, something not associated with your past.”

“Oh.” The insignia suddenly feels much heavier. No matter how much you, Bruce, or anybody else had reassured you during your relationship, you’d always suspected, just a little bit that Bruce might resent your former life, might be ashamed of it, and the confirmation hit you like a ton of bricks. As tempting as it is to agree to the proposition, to make him happy you can’t. “Bruce, my past is a part of who I am. I can’t change that.”

“I know. I thought better of it later, that’s why I had it made.” He places his hand over the top of yours, pressing you both against the metal symbol. “I knew you’d rather reclaim this one.”

A smile spreads across your face then, and he mirrors it with his own. You can’t help it, the relief of having his approval, the warmth of his acceptance, he always gets you, eventually. You also can’t help leaning in for a kiss, one which he happily welcomes, cupping your hips and pulling you closer as your lips press together. The embrass is short-lived, the moment sullied by the distress of your children.

“EW!”

“Gross.”

“I’m outta here.” “I’ll join you.”

“Appalling sight parents.”

“Guess Bruce won then.” “Lame, ours was better.”

When the cave is cleared out, you waste no time pulling Bruce back in to finish your kiss, attacking him with multiple smatterings across his jaw, cheeks, and lips. He laughs, weak to your ambush, greedily enjoying every second of it until you pull away.

“I should go find them, say thank you. This was all very thoughtful.” Nothing would go to waste; you were already planning how you might integrate pieces of each suit into one. One that would reflect who you were, adorned with pieces of the people who had supported you through it, whether intentionally or not.

You can tell Bruce wants to keep you here, but he nods, reluctantly agreeing until the screen behind him flashes red, an alarm begins beeping incessantly. “You’ll have to thank them later.”

Time to put your new suit into action.

[skelethereals]

(The following post is specifically addressed to my haladriel/saurondriel mutuals. If you follow me for reasons unrelated to this particular content, you are welcome to continue scrolling past this message).

I've been noticing an overwhelming amount of anti-saurondriel content on my dash lately, and while I absolutely believe that every member of a fandom has the right to develop their own headcanons and freely share their personal interpretations, I also believe in the importance of maintaining a positive and enjoyable online space for myself. Everyone should be able to engage with fandom in a way that brings them joy, and for me, that means curating my experience to avoid unnecessary negativity and drama. Respectful discourse is one thing, but the constant wave of hostility has become exhausting, and I’d rather focus on the aspects of the fandom that I actually love.

Those who know me and have interacted with me before are well aware that I make a conscious effort to steer clear of content that doesn’t bring me joy. I firmly believe that fandom should be a space for creativity, passion, and enjoyment, which is why I’ve specifically sought out and followed many saurondriel-oriented blogs. My goal has always been to connect with like-minded shippers, engage with fun content, and, most importantly, immerse myself in interesting stories and breathtaking fanart. That’s it.

Whether Amazon ultimately chooses to emphasize or downplay the saurondriel undertones is entirely up to the creative team, and I have no desire to campaign for any particular narrative change. I’m here to enjoy the interpretations that resonate with me, not to rewrite the original story or vilify characters (yes, I'm talking about Celeborn, the most hated man on Middle Earth right now) who, in the grand scheme of things, hold minimal plot significance. My focus is on celebrating the aspects of the fandom that inspire me, not getting caught up in unnecessary discourse or hostility.

To put it plainly, I am genuinely pleading with all former saurondriel shippers who have had a change of heart and now feel the need to wage a crusade against those of us who are simply here to enjoy ourselves... please, just block me. I’m not interested in engaging in endless, irrational debates over who qualifies as a “healthy shipper” and who supposedly deserves to be condemned for having certain headcanons.

Fandom should be a space where people can freely explore their own interpretations, find joy in storytelling, and connect with others who share their enthusiasm. It shouldn’t be a battleground where people are policed, shamed, or harassed over fictional dynamics. If you no longer enjoy saurondriel, that’s completely fine, but please allow the rest of us to appreciate it in peace. I have no desire to be drawn into negativity, performative outrage, or exhausting purity tests. I just want to celebrate the characters and relationships I love, without drama or hostility. So, if my presence or opinions bother you, I encourage you to hit that block button and move on, because I certainly will.