#also like… man if I didn’t post vent fics

[babycharmander]

Weird folks: Vent art of any form is good and all but it should ONLY be between you and your therapist. Don’t share that stuff online or publish it!!!

Me, an artist/writer: *goes to therapy, talks about my trauma and mental health and how sometimes it’s hard to talk about it with others*

Therapist: Have you thought about using your art and writing to help you work through these things and share them with others?

#writing #I don’t know what to tell you man #when you go to therapy—at least in my experience—your therapist will tell you to share your art with others #obviously tagging and whatnot is important #but sharing vent works is healthy #you don’t have to always share it but it can be a very good thing #my therapist regularly asks me about my art/writing #I even brought this up to her—the fact that I see people claiming you should never post vent works #and she was BAFFLED #also like… man if I didn’t post vent fics #most of my fics would not exist

[coolshadowtwins]

SVSSS System Reveal Fic round up!

If you know one that hasn’t been recc’ed, then please put it in the comments/tags! I’ll add it to the post!

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk into the Bamboo House by VeryCharismaticDragon

Over a year after Shen Qingqiu's death, Luo Binghe consults his servant's servant, concurrently his disgraced martial uncle, for a way to bring the love of his life back. Shang Qinghua sends him in the direction of a certain time-traveling artifact, which supposedly brings one to the day they first met their soulmate.

Odd, though, that the artifact ends up missing the destination by just a few years…

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

What is Seen by CaveteDracones

…is not [always] the real truth.

Truth-compelling artifacts in the hands of an enemy to one side, SYSTEM-mandated silence on the other, and Shen Qingqiu caught between the two. Is it too late to go back to the Water Prison? (NOTE: This one was recommended three times, and I have personally reread it multiple times. It’s one of my favorites and I really do want to read more fics in a similar vein lol)

open my lungs to let you in by ghostybreads

Shen Qingqiu had a secret. So, naturally, it was only a matter of time before he was hit by a truth serum wife plot.

//

“How are you?”

“Horny. Kind of want Binghe to rail me, I guess. But it’s manageable.”

Liu Qingge’s hand on his forehead froze, and he was close enough that Shen Qingqiu could hear his breathing stop. He stared back expressionlessly, the mortification distantly crawling up the back of his neck. Honest One-Horned–

The frustrated scream that he usually vented in his head, came out straight from mouth.

“aaAAAAAHHHH GODDAMNIT AIRPLANE–”

Futility in Practice by TGP

When Luo Binghe is fourteen years old, his shizun suffers a terrible qi deviation and fever that completely changes who he is.

and judgment is just like a cup that we share by Kieron_ODuibhir

The blob finished rotating into place in a way that wasn’t quite compatible with geometry as Shen Qingqiu understood it, and cleared a throat it didn’t seem to have.

“Greetings,” it said, somehow clearly addressing him in particular more than the room as a whole despite its total lack of features other than blueness and translucency. “I’m here on behalf of the Hyper-Celestial Peace and Order Enforcement Bureau. Crime scene secure, proceeding to interviews. Beginning with Subject One: You are Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber?”

First, do no harm by Terias

Shen Qingqiu has been acting especially erratic since awakening from his three day coma after a severe qi deviation.

Mu Qingfang investigates and discovers a great many things about his new shixiong. (NOTE: This one has Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu as the same soul, technically, but it still works I think!)

Show The Screenshots by A_Non_ymousWriter

When a rogue foreign System sends out a subtle virus, some outsiders are shown chat messages between a certain two transmigrators and their Systems.

AirplaneBro: nah dude shen jiu would never lay a hand on his female disciples like that, hes gay

Liu Qingge tripped on thin air while Mu Qingfang choked on his tea as Shang Qinghua (their god? creator??) casually shattered their view of their original Shen Qingiu. The fake Shen Qingqiu at least, was sharing their shock.

CucumberBro: EXCUSE ME WHAT??

CucumberBro: The fuck he is?!?! He literally GOES TO BROTHELS! LIU QINGGE FOUND HIM IN BED WITH A WOMAN THAT ONE TIME?

AirplaneBro: aight bro buckle the fuck up cuz imma take u on a joyride all about shen jiu >:)

—————-

Binghes#1Fan: I don't want to send Binghe into the Abyss...

System 2: User must comply, if User cannot do the task User will be punished and the account will be terminated.

Mobeis #1Fan: sorry bro unless ur okay w being ded af u gotta push binghe into the abyss

Ning Yingying's fists clenched. Okay, so trying to get Yuan-ge and A-Luo together would be harder than she thought.

#svsss #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #shang qinghua #liu qingge #yue qingyuan #luo binghe #shen jiu #fic rec #fanfic rec #system reveal

[satellite-evans]

poets & soulmates

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Summary: Harry doesn’t know how to react when he learns that you don’t believe in soulmates.

Word count: a cute little blurb

Warnings: angst? Flufffff

A/N: heyyyyy!!!!!

It’s been ages since I last posted a fic, so I am soooo excited to post my very first Harry Styles one! I really hope you guys like it, I’ve worked on this for a while, so let’s see how it goes. I’m very excited and nervous to post this, but I am so happy to be back! Please tell me what you guys think and give me as much as feedback as you can so I can grow and be a better Harry fic writer for you all xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

~

If you had to describe the love you shared with Harry with a poem, you would probably choose the one from Edgar Allan Poe.

“We loved with a love that was more than love.”

It said so much in such few words; the best description of your love for him.

Because it is true, it is more than love. Always had been. If you took the love out of the relationship, you and Harry would be left with so much to survive. There was trust, for example. And also intimacy. Not to forget there was an understanding between you, too, that no one understood. If you were in a room with thousands of people, he would recognize you, every single time. Like you were a shining diamond between rocks. The effect you both had on each other, was beyond explaining in chemistry. Harry could touch you, and the breath that would escape from your lips oh so silently would already expose the effect he had on you.

Harry was no different, either. Seeing you smile proudly when you looked at him, made him turn into dust, that you blew away with your eyes. But he was afraid at first. To love.

He was afraid to love you.

For him, you were a stunning mystery. You carried things deep inside you that no one understood, and Harry was afraid to fail like the others. In his eyes, you were like the ocean and he was just a man who loved the waves but was completely terrified of swimming.

How couldn’t he be? At twenty nine, everyone had an idea in their head about how Harry was in relationships. Some said that he was single because he had commitment issues, others said the reason he was still alone was that he was too much of a playboy.

Yes, he had a few relationships before you and some of them did not end well, but Harry always respected and treated them with his kindness, always wanted the best for them.

He would do everything for his love, for you.

“Hey, love?” He asked you, clearly with hesitation. The way his voice shook a little didn’t go unnoticed by you in his London home where the both of you were lying in his bed. After spring came, Harry offered you to stay with him until summer so the two of you could enjoy long walks in the park with his favorite companion. You never said yes to an offer so quickly before in your life.

“Yes H, everything okay?”

How? How was it that every time Harry wanted to start a subject that was sensitive for him, you already knew by just the way he asked you his first question? Call it magic, call it luck. Harry liked to call it love.

“Do you think we’re soulmates? Like-I mean, we would be together and we will be forever?”

He didn’t know why that question was so important to him, but it was. He wanted to know your opinions and thoughts about the future both of you had. Every time Harry was dreaming about his future and how it would look, he realized you were always there. In the audience when he opened his biggest show ever, in the delivery room when he held his baby for the first time, everywhere. So your answer was very important to him. He wanted- no; he needed to know if he was present in your future as much as you were present in his.

“No, I don’t think we are. But that’s because I don’t believe in soulmates.”

Ouch. That shouldn’t have hurt him, but it did. Blaming you would be pointless. You didn’t believe in the whole idea of soulmates, but that didn’t make him less insecure. He knew it was too good to be true. That you were too good to be true.

The whole aura of the room changed and Harry slowly got up from where he was lying between your legs. You saw that his demeanor changed and that the happy, slightly tired Harry got replaced with a sad Harry.

“Hey, hey what’s that all about? Why the sad face?”

Honesty was one thing you both took extremely seriously. So that’s what you wanted to do this time, too. But without realizing you broke slightly Harry’s heart.

“It’s nothing, really. You don’t have to believe we are soulmates. I don’t know why I’m sad if I am being honest.” He said with a slight smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. He was clearly devastated by your answer.

You sat closer to him on his bed, touched his cheeks with your hands, and stared him deeply into his eyes. Harry already felt his heartbeat going faster. It was going so fast that he thought he was going to have a stroke. He held on to your arm dearly, so if he fainted, you could hold him. Like you always had been.

“I don’t believe in soulmates, and I don’t think that you & I were meant to end up together. What I believe is that we fell in love & that we worked hard for our relationship. I mean, look at you, you’re an amazing person with qualities so great that an individual can only dream of having those. Every woman is lucky to have you. I am from another country and I am younger than you. Remember all the news that they made about us when we first started going out? They told me I was a gold digger, that you were too good for me, that you cheated on me, and so on. But we didn’t listen to any of them. We let our love grow because we knew, H. We knew that what we had was special, and not everybody was lucky enough to feel what we felt. So no, I don’t think we are soulmates. But you are the one for me; Harry. You were in my past when I didn’t even know. You are my person in the present, And you will be in the future. Because I will always, undoubtedly, love you.”

Without waiting for his response, you connected your lips with his. You knew he was sensitive and these bare confessions took a toll on him, so you just kissed him, to let him know it was okay. That you were there for him, always.

“Just give me 3-5 business days, and I’ll come up with even a bigger love confession, promise.”

Harry said, after he broke the bruising kiss.

He wasn’t lying. Harry had no words to say to you. He knew you loved him, but not that much. It was like his brain & heart were on fire and you just put them out with your words. Relief washed over him, and like a cherry on his favorite cake, you kissed him with adoration.

“Oh, I know you will. It’s a known fact that you were always better with words, but just so you know, you don’t have to. I feel your love every time you look at me. Hate to break it to you, but your eyes give it away how much you love me, Styles.”

He didn’t care about the idea of the whole soulmate anymore. He felt so stupid that he was thinking about that. The love that the both of you shared, was more special, and rare. The two of you were even better than soulmates.

“That I do, Y/N. That I do. I love you so fucking much. It sometimes hurts. It hurts not to touch you, not to be near you, not to kiss you.”

He closed the gap between you with a passionate kiss again, that knocked your breath away. Your whole body was on fire, not knowing what to do. With every touch of his on your skin, the fire started to get more and more aggressive. He released your lips, but stayed close, so you could feel his breath on your lips and he could hear your heartbeat going faster.

“I am no poet, Y/N but just know that if I was, you would be my biggest inspiration.”

You looked him in the eyes, trying to control your breathing, but it was a lost cause. His blue eyes were like ice digging into your heart, and the only thing you could do was surrender.

“That might be the best poem I’ve ever heard.”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n

[onlymingyus]

Temporary

pairing; kim mingyu x reader

genre; angst

warnings; depression, comfort

w/c; 520 on the nose

requested; no

a/n; this is completely written from a personal place. i do honestly use writing as a place to vent and get out my own feelings and these past few weeks have been mentally very difficult. i hope you don't mind a little self-indulgence as i work through the things in my head.

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

Fingers strum through your hair without a word being said. Nothing needs to be said because your tears and gentle sobs are enough to fill the space. It felt like your own mind and time were betraying you. Nothing had gone right in such a long time that it was beginning to feel like it may never again.

Mingyu moves in closer to you. His knees press against the back of yours as his left arm slides around your waist to pull you in closer. The man’s heart breaks for you knowing that he can’t change how you feel right now despite everything he wished he could do.

He had asked you to explain to him what was going on, and how it felt, but it was hard to put into words. How could you so easily explain feeling empty and alone even while you were in someone’s arms? How could you tell someone that you were falling apart when they were trying desperately to piece you back together constantly?

You knew this was in your mind. You knew that there would be blue skies and a clear mind at some point, but right now it seemed impossible. Your mind was a battlefield and you were stuck in the middle of a war you didn’t have any weapons to fight.

Nuding his nose against your neck, Mingyu closes his eyes and swallows hard as he holds you to him. The way he holds you is as if you were both made of glass and also like you might slip away if he held you too loosely. He finds a perfect balance and maintains his own emotions because he knows that’s what you need right now.

So many times you had been the rock that he would swim to in his own storm. Now he was going to stay here for as long as it took. Lips brush against your skin and you sob harder causing Mingyu to lace his fingers with yours almost apologetically for causing you to cry. He knew it wasn’t his fault but he still wanted to show you he understood.

“It’s temporary.”

You had said those words to him so many times before when Mingyu would think everything was impossible. When he would get to a point when it was too much, it was all too hard.

“It’s all temporary, baby.”

Mingyu’s lips barely graze your ear as he speaks, his fingers once again moving to pull your hair from your face so he can then wipe some of your tears from your cheeks. He knew more would take their place, but he wasn’t going anywhere. The pain was temporary but he wasn’t. You weren’t temporary.

You can only nod before your shoulders shake almost as if you are in pain at hearing Mingyu’s words. He knew logically you weren’t in pain, still, he can’t help the way his brain tells him to check you, to protect you. Warm fingers move over your cheeks as he whispers soft words of adoration and encouragement all while telling you it’s okay to take your time with the pain.

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed. 

#mingyu angst #seventeen angst #mingyu fluff #seventeen fluff #svthub #caratwritersclub #svt angst #svt fluff #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader

[stardustcatcher]

Pretty Boy

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: SMUT (18+ minors DNI), swearing, needy subby-ish josh, dry humping, praise, fluff, josh being a lil sad (bc that indeed needs a warning), biting? like once, a lot of pet names cause i'm a slut for that, uhh i don't think there's anything else but let me know if i missed anything.

AN: babby posts writing?!? it's a christmas miracle! this has been in my drafts for literally ever but i kinda revised it and decided why the fuck not. idk if i'm really happy with it but i wanted to get something posted and i'm deep in josh land so this is what happened. heavily inspired by the need i have for josh to be in my lap. it's not my best and it's short but i hope you all enjoy it anyway :)

this is also my first time writing in second person and it wasn't as hard as i thought so maybe all my fics will be like that from now on, but with my inconsistency, who knows  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

taglist

You were sitting on the couch, glass of wine in hand reading your favorite book for the umpteenth time when you heard the front door slam. The jingling of keys were heard as they were set on the little hook by the door and you peeked over to where your beautiful lover stood, toeing off his shoes with a heavy sigh. Josh looked absolutely drained, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, and shoulders tight with an unknown tension. Nevertheless, the sight of him made you smile. He’d been so busy recently, putting the finishing touches on the band’s newest album, and it felt like he hadn’t been home in ages. 

Josh trudged over to where you sat on the couch, his lips pursed in a slight pout as he bent down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, and then planted a chaste peck on your lips. “Hey, mama,” he said with a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes and it seemed forced. 

“Hi, baby. How was work?” you asked, handing him the glass of wine knowing that he could probably use it. He sighed with a roll of his eyes and took a gulp of the red in the glass. 

“Don’t wanna talk about work,” he shook his head, running a hand down his tired face. You nodded, knowing that wasn’t true. Josh always said he didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him, but in fifteen minutes or less, he’d be venting. 

“Okay, we don’t have to talk. But come sit with me, I miss you,” you shut your book, laying it on the coffee table before patting the space beside you. Josh flopped down on the cushion, sinking into the softness before you cuddled up to his side, head on his chest and arm thrown around his waist. His hand made its way into your hair, smoothing it over and pressing his fingers lightly into your scalp. His lips left a kiss on your temple as you listened to the song of his heartbeat, his body heat warming you up. 

“How was your day? Hope it was better than mine,” he whispered, lips on your forehead. 

“Boring without you,” you answered. “I put those shelves up in the bedroom, did the laundry, and cleaned up the kitchen. Just stuff that needed to get done,” you shrugged and felt his chest rumble with a small laugh. 

“What a pretty little homemaker you are,” he chuckled.

“Shut up,” you laughed along with him, shoving his side playfully. “I’m happy you're home.”

“I’m happy to be home,” he replied with a hum. “Today was just not my day. Sam was extra late today and cranky, we found out that one of the takes for a song we recorded was almost completely unusable, Jake was being an ass, I didn’t get to eat lunch, and just to top it all off, I got a fucking flat tire on the way home,” Josh ranted, face becoming redder with each inconvenience he recalled. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” you pouted at him, genuinely upset that he had such a bad day. Josh was the sweetest, kindest man you’d ever met. He deserved nothing but the most wonderful days. “I can’t do much but would a cuddle help?” you asked hopefully, pushing yourself away from him and opening your arms welcomingly. Josh smiled, the first real one you’d seen, his pearly white perfect teeth on display, looking just a little bit happier at the suggestion. 

“A cuddle always helps,” he grinned. You readjusted yourself in your seat, lifting the blanket up with one hand and patting your lap with the other. 

Josh got up before plopping himself down in your lap, straddling you with a leg on the side of each hip. His head burrowed into your neck as you laid the blanket back over the both of you. Your left hand moved to his curls, raking your fingers through them while your right hand slid under the back of his shirt, nails training up and down his spine. He wrapped himself around you like a koala, inhaling the scent of your shampoo and body wash, taking slow deep breaths and calming himself. 

With his incessant need for constant physical touch, you’d found out early in your relationship that this was the ideal position for Josh to get what he needed to ground himself and calm down. Everyone needed to be held sometimes, and he was no exception. His arm tenderly wrapped around your waist as he gave you a squeeze, his breath warm and soothing against your neck. “Is there anything else on your mind, lover?” you asked, leaning your cheek against his head as you continued to rub his back. 

“Just miss you, I guess,” he mumbled into your skin. “Feels like forever since we’ve been like this. Miss holding you, being held by you. Miss your kisses, touching you, loving on you. Just miss you.”

“I miss you too, Josh,” you sighed, feeling tears well in your eyes at the thought of him feeling so starved for attention and affection and love. “But we’re here now, and you’re off for the next few days, aren’t you?”

He nodded, hair tickling your face. “Yeah, wanna spend them just like this,” he hummed, completely and utterly content. 

After a few moments he lifted his head, moving to rest his forehead against yours. His lips gently pressed into yours  and he melted against you even more, your hands moving to hold his hips. Your lips melded together as he poured all his love into you with a kiss that said I love you, I miss you, I need you. 

Josh deepened the kiss as his mouth parted, a tiny high pitched whine escaping his throat. His hands moved from behind you to tug at the bottom of your shirt. “Want it off,” he muttered against your lips. You smiled before pulling back, tugging your shirt off carelessly and tossing it behind you as he did the same with his own. He groaned at the sight of your naked chest and you could feel him grow hard in his pants from where he sat in your lap. “You’re so beautiful, mama,” Josh whispered before reconnecting your lips, his tongue immediately tangling with yours in a sloppy kiss. You swallowed the wanton moans and sighs that left him, gulping them down greedily as his hips began to move against you on their own accord. “Fuck,” he shuddered when his hips caught a particularly good spot.

“Feel good, sweet boy?” you asked, caressing his cheek with your thumb. His face was flushed and his eyes were clazed over with lust and love and pleasure. “It’s been so long, you must be real pent up, huh?”

“Yeah,” his breath hitched and eyes clenched shut as he ground his covered c ock against your lower stomach. “I had plans, y’know. Soon as I got home, was gonna make you cum on my tongue, then my fingers. Then I was going to fuck you, slow and sweet, just like you deserve.”

“We can still do all that, baby,” you kissed his neck, sucking and biting in all the places you knew drove him crazy. “But you deserve this, and you look so fucking pretty like this, Joshua.”

He keened high in his throat, the noise needy as his hands grappled at your sides, squeezing the soft flesh. “Say that again, please?”

“You like being called pretty, baby?” you whispered into his ear as his head dropped to your shoulder, his hips grinding faster against you now. “You wanna be my pretty good boy?”

“Yes,” he groaned, biting lightly at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Gonna be so good for you, promise.”

“You already are, baby,” you said, and he was. Josh was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen, all the time. When he was on stage performing for thousands, when he was concentrating with his tongue poking between his lips, when he was sitting as still as he possibly could while getting his rhinestones applied, but he was especially pretty like this when he was sat on your lap, grinding his hips back and forth feverishly chasing that high that was building in the pit of his stomach. You kissed his bare shoulder, loving the feeling of his naked chest pressed against yours, how his hips rutted into you without care, how his neck and chest and ears were all blushed pretty pink. Your hands held his hips firmly, helping guide his movements, to grind him down on you just a little bit harder. “You’re always so good for me, Josh. So good to me. No one has ever loved me like you do, cared for me like you do, fucked me like to do, made me cum like you do. My best boy, the sweetest boy in the world, and you’re all mine. Aren’t you?”

“All yours, all fucking yours,” he gasped and lifted his head and threw it back, an expression of pure bliss etched onto his god-like face. 

“God, I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Do you know how many people would kill to see you like this and I get it all the time, anytime I want,” you mouthed at his collar bones and moved one hand from his hip to cup the bulge in his pants. “You’re so hard, pretty boy. This must hurt. You wanna cum?”

“So bad,” he nodded, his back arching while he ground into the palm of your hand. You could almost feel him throb through his pants. 

“Go ahead, cum for me,” you leaned up to capture his lips once more. “Just like this. I wanna see it.”

“But my pants,” he whined but didn’t stop or slow his movements. 

“I don’t care, and I don’t think you do either. Now c’mon, make a mess, pretty boy.”

A broken moan clawed from the deep within his chest as his hips stuttered against you and a warm wet spot blossomed on the front of his pants, darkening the fabric. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cried before slowing the movement of his hips gradually, riding out his high. 

When it finally died down, he slumped forward and pressed a row of kisses across your shoulder, breaths coming out in heavy pants. “Feel better?” you asked, hand tangling in his hair once more. 

“So much,” he smiled with an airy, fucked out giggle. “Thank you, darling. I needed that so bad, you have no idea.”

“Anything for my pretty boy,” you ran a hand over his warm face before tapping his hip. “Now get up and I’ll run us a bath, then we can order-in dinner. How does that sound?”

“Like heaven.”

=

taglist: @peachpitpearls @alexxavicry @spark-my-nature

#josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka imagine #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka smut #greta van fleet x reader #greta van smut #greta van fic #gvf fic #gvf smut #josh kiszka #greta van fleet #babby writes

[fluffansmut-old]

Hope you're not over run with requests I really love your writing. I was hoping you could do something a little differently like eddie/reader are dating and his friend who's had a crush on him tries to break them up etc I'm always reading fics where reader is the best friend and eddie breaks up with the gf for her and tbh I want to see it the other way around where the gf is really sweet and nice and his friends tries to break them up but eddie choses the reader instead bc well he loves her.

A/N: Thank you so much! Requests like these makes my heart so warm, I really hope I interpreted the request like you imagined it. Also Chrissy had to take the role of the flirty friend here. Really hope you like it! 

Summary: Chrissy has an obvious crush on the man you´re dating, and maybe she´s better for him than you are...

Content warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Fluff, hurt/comfort.

Word count: 1670

Fic is also posted on Ao3  

Requests are open, so if you have any leave them. 

Masterlist 

I can never be her

Her giggle used to be cute in middle school but now you just found it infuriating…

Ever since that time she bought weed from Eddie for this homecoming party, Chrissy Cunningham started to make appearances around your friendship group when you least expected it.

Objectively you knew that she was kind, that she was gorgeous and undeniably charming.

The problem was that she was kind and charming towards the guy you were dating.

You and Eddie had not expressly said that you were exclusive and up until Chrissy started inviting herself you hadn’t felt the need to express what you and Eddie were. Everyone else just sorta knew, by the way his hand always seemed to find yours. How your chair more or less always was empty, because Eddie's lap was your preferred seat, with his hands around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

You did your absolute best to not let Chrissy's presence bother you too much, even though her flirting with Eddie was absolutely obvious, and the fact that it never seemed like she ever thought that you were an obstacle in her plan.

The rest of your friends all seemed to really enjoy having Chrissy around, which first of all made you annoyed.

Didn’t they see how she threw herself at Eddie, an in-every-way-but-officially taken man? It also meant that you couldn’t vent the annoyance and self doubt that floated around in your mind with someone.

This only spurred on the annoyance within you further.

It all peaked this one wednesday when your math teacher was “disucussing consequences” with the entire class,when only about two people in the class had disrupted her lesson. This resulted in you being well over 12 minutes late for lunch.

Eddie and the rest of your friendship group were waiting for you outside your classroom when a certain cheerleader with her perfect ponytail walked up to them.

“Ooo! Hi guys, fancy seeing you here?” Chrissy said, putting her manicured hand on the leather clad bicep that belonged to Eddie Munson.

He turned his head towards her and smiled at her, a gesture that from his view, was mere courtesy, but to her meant way more.

“You look good today,” Chrissy said to him, removing a strand of hair from his face delicately.

“Huh?” Eddie said, to be honest he hadn’t really listened to her, he was busy wondering and worrying slightly about the fact that your class hadn’t been dismissed yet.

Chrissy blushed when he looked at her. She didn’t feel like repeating her statement, it felt like it lost meaning when you said it more than once, so instead she just said;

“Are we heading to lunch?”

Eddie explained that they were headed there, but that they just had to wait for you first.

“Oh,” Chrissy said, “I was just thinking that we better get there before someone snags our table”

The other bought her reasoning but Eddie looked longingly toward the door that you were behind.

“Go on you guys,” he said. “I’ll wait for her”

This didn’t sit well with Chrissy. Eddie was the main reason behind why she wanted to have lunch with you guys.

“Cmon Eddie, I’m sure she’ll come join us later, she knows the way to the cafeteria” Chrissy said, tugging slightly on Eddie’s underarm.

He felt torn, all of his friends were waiting for him, but at the same time, you were expecting him to be there waiting for you.

“We’ll, uh, yeah I guess.”

You were indeed expecting him to be outside the door when you were dismissed 20 minutes later than you should have.

Your heart dropped a little as you saw a seemingly empty corridor.

I guess they grew too hungry. You thought and took off towards the crowded cafeteria.

Your hadn’t even entered when you saw it.

Chrissy in her short cheer-skirt, looking so incredibly perfect, perched up on the armrest of Eddie’s chair, chatting away to this jock and his girlfriend, and you noticed she made Eddie engage in the conversation.

That’s when another level of self doubt surrounding all of this,hit you.

You started to imagine what it would mean for Eddie, purely socially, if he was dating Chrissy.

She had a lot of say, and people trusted her judgement. If she dated Eddie then maybe people would stop treating him like utter garbage.

But only she had the mandate to do such a thing, you were about as low on the social ladder as any other nerd in the school.

It stung too much behind your eyes and you realised that you couldn’t keep it together well enough to enter the cafeteria and pretend that everything was fine. So instead you bolted, running away until you found a good place to hide and be alone with your thoughts.

That was how you ended up curled up in the dungeon master throne, in the dark drama room, hugging your own knees with tears trickling down your cheeks. All whilst your brain was telling you over and over again how you weren’t enough for him.

In the cafeteria Eddie was stressing over the fact that you hadn’t shown up yet.

He tried to bide the time, hoping that you would eventually show, but when you were a no show after 30 minutes he decided that he had waited long enough.

“I’m gonna go find her” he mumbled and rose from the chair, inevitably bumping Chrissy off the armrest as he did.

“Where are you off to?” She asked, obviously she hadn’t heard him.

He didn’t reply, he was way too focused on finding you.

He walked past your classroom, and found it empty when he glanced through the window.

He realised that something must have happened and he began to search in the different places where you usually went when you needed to be alone.

You weren’t in the forest behind school.

You weren’t under the bleachers.

You weren’t by his truck.

He however noticed that some muffled noises were coming from the drama room when he walked past, and smacked himself mentally for not checking there first.

“Sweetheart?” He called out as he opened the door. “You in here?”

You buried your face in your knees, hoping that he wouldn’t hear your sniffles and come find you like this.

Luck however wasn't on your side and soon he was squatting in front of the throne, a heavy comforting hand on your knee.

“Baby, did something happen?” He asked, one hand softly caressing the back of your head, trying to coax your head out of your own lap, but with no success. “Do I need to hurt someone?”

”No” you whimpered softly. “You can go back to her Eddie, I’ll be okay”

“Go back to who?” He asked, still slightly confused as to what caused you so much distress.

“Chrissy” you said barely above a whisper, you didn’t actually want to say it, because it could mean that he’d actually leave, but at the same time, he asked.

Eddie was dumbfounded for a minute, what did Chrissy have to do with anything?

Then realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

Of course he had noticed Chrissy’s attempts, he wasn’t completely oblivious.

They meant nothing to him so he hadn’t bothered himself to much about it, but now he felt guilty when he realised that they had meant something to you.

“Baby, can you look at me,” he asked, feeling his own heart breaking for you more and more by every passing second.

You glanced up, unable not to when he sounded so soft.

“Eddie, I understand, she has things I’ll never have, she’s another level of gorgeous, she is smart, everyone loves her,” more tears gathered in your eyes as you spoke the words that had tormented your mind all morning,”she has a say in things Eddie.She's your shot to climb the social ladder and I think you should take it.”

Eddie's insides broke with every word you spoke.

”Sweetheart,” was all he got out in response as he was trying to figure out how to express the love he had for you in a way that made you feel it in every fibre of your being.

“Eddie, you don’t have to explain anything, I have come to realise that I am not her.” You said, looking at the puzzled man in front of you.

“That’s true” he said and the little dying hope inside was about to be put out, until he continued.

“And that’s why I want to be with you.”

You looked up at him properly this time, as if you couldn’t really believe what he was saying.

“What?”

“Can I hold you?” Eddie asked, he couldn’t see you hurt anymore without doing anything about it.

“Please” you pleaded, sounding so extremely tired of trying and failing to hold it together.

You got off the throne and Eddie got in it, then he opened his arms for you, which you quickly dove into.

You were with your back against Eddie chest, your head nuzzled in between his shoulder and cheek, inhaling the faint scent of musky wood and tobacco. The scent of Eddie.

“I”m sorry I never realised the way all her attempts were affecting you.” Eddie said. “If I knew I could have made it more clear to Chrissy, about us, I mean, I just sorta thought she’d figure it out and back off.”

“I’m sorry for feeling like this, I really tried not to..” you said, fiddling slightly with the rings that Eddie had on his left hand. “I mean it’s not that we’re official so I dunno …”

“Never apologise for that sweetheart, It’s a totally valid feeling and reaction.” He said and pecked the top of your head. Then he paused for a second, thinking. “Why aren’t we officially?”

You thought about it for a second.

“You want to be?” You asked, looking up into his soft brown eyes.

“Since the day we met gorgeous”

#eddie munson x reader

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Close Call- Kelly Severide/Matt Casey

Summary: While recovering from a concussion, you go with Matt on an alderman run. When things go sideways, Kelly comes to the rescue.

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 05x04, vomiting, cursing.

Authors note: THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT! I’ve been pretty sick recently, but I figured I would post given that YOU GUYS got one of MY fics to 400! I know that’s not a lot on this site, but it’s a lot to me and I am MORE than grateful for the support and love that you guys show me.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You had gone with Matt to check out the warehouse. Kelly was on shift today, but you had been recovering from a concussion and decided to just tag along with Matt to get out of the apartment. Matt didn’t fight you on your decision, seeing as it was just suppose to be a quick inspection.

When the acid tank was punctured, Matt quickly pushed you into the break room. The man on the forklift didn’t make it and the owner was suppose to make it outside to call for help. When Matt pushed you in, you tripped and hit your head on the way down. Once Matt turned around to check on you after packing the crack under the door, he realized that you were out cold.

“Shit.” Matt muttered. He quickly made his way to your head, checking your pulse before trying to wake you up. “Baby. Baby. Please open your eyes.” Matt called, rubbing your sternum to wake you up. With a sigh of relief, Matt watched as your eyes fluttered open.

You groaned and reached for your head. Your vision was slightly blurry and you were a little confused. “Matt?” You slurred. “Wha?” You were trying to get your bearings as you glanced around the room.

“Eyes up here baby.” Matt called, coming closer. “Bright light.” Matt only gave that warning before checking your pupils with the flash light on his phone. Once he was satisfied that you probably just aggravated the previous concussion, Matt pulled you off the floor and sat you on one of the tables. “You know where you are?” Matt asked, keeping one hand on you and searching for a cell signal with the other.

“We came to a warehouse.” You muttered, pulling your knees up and resting your head on them before popping up with a gasp. “Holy shit Matt. The acid.” You looked around wildly, almost like you expected to see the walls melting around you.

“I know baby, but I’m gonna get us out of here.” Matt soothed. “Just stay here for a second.” Matt said, planting a kiss on your forehead before pushing a table to the door to look out the window over it. He had his phone in his hand, also hoping to get a signal. Luckily, he got just enough to send a text to Kelly.

MAYDAY.

——————————————

One thing that Kelly was now grateful for was the location app that he shared with you and Matt. As soon as the Mayday came through, Kelly had Boden put out a distress call and send practically everyone to you and Matt. When he couldn’t raise either one of you on the phone after he received the text, Kelly knew you were both in danger.

——————————————-

“Matt?” You whispered just loud enough to get his attention.

“Yeah sweetheart?” Matt muttered, not bothering to look at you while he continued to scavenge for anything to keep you both alive.

“I don’t feel well.” You whispered, punctuating the sentence with a cough.

Matt turned around, eyes growing wide as he noticed the fumes coming in from a vent close to the table you were sat on. “Shit. Baby, come here.” Matt rushed out, grabbing you and carrying you to the other side of the room. Matt quickly went and taped the vent shut using some masking tape he found in a locker. It wouldn’t do much, but it would buy you guys enough time for the crew to come rescue you.

You laid back on the table, curling to the side as the room spun and your stomach churned. You felt hot and lightheaded. You weren’t sure if it was due to the concussion, panic, breathing in those fumes, or all of the above.

When Matt turned back to you again, he was growing increasingly worried. You were so pale. Matt ran back to you, sitting on a chair and taking your hand in his, rubbing the back with the pad of his thumb. “Talk to me. What’s going on?” Matt asked, running a hand through your hair.

“Hot. Dizzy. Nauseous.” You explained. Short and to the point in fear of throwing up all over your boyfriend.

Matt hummed and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Hang on for me baby.” Matt whispered, giving your hand one last squeeze before he moved to the wall next to you, spotting a pipe in the wall that led to the next room.

“Don’t plan on going anywhere.” You whispered, curling into yourself further.

Just as Matt got the pipe out of the wall, a door in the next room slammed open. “MATT!” Kelly screamed, running into the room.

Matt could just see him through the hole the pipe left. “Kelly!” Matt yelled back, drawing Kelly’s attention to the small hole. “Y/n tagged along. She’s not feeling so hot.” Matt rushed. “You gotta get her out of here.”

“I’ll get you both out.” Kelly said, making it sound like a promise that he would never break.

Matt was satisfied and made his way back over to you while Squad worked their way into the room. Matt kept you covered from the debris and made sure you stayed awake. You were extremely tired, drifting in and out of awareness.

As soon as the hole was big enough, Matt scooped you up and helped you through to Kelly’s awaiting arms. You immediately snuggled into his turnout, seeking comfort in the smell of Kelly that wafted from the coat.

“I got you hunny.” Kelly whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“Get her out of here.” Matt yelled, climbing through the hole himself. “I’m right behind you.”

Kelly didn’t wait any longer. He strode outside with you securely in his arms. He was puzzled when you scrambled to get out of his hold as soon as the sunlight hit your face.

Stumbling a few feet away, you bent over, bracing your hands on your knees, and puked violently. Kelly was quick to catch up, holding you by the waist so that you wouldn’t fall down.

“Dawson, I need you and Brett around back. Y/N is really messed up.” Kelly called through his radio. “Bring a few sick bags and some fluids.”

“Copy.” Dawson shot back a second later.

Matt came up behind you and Kelly, reaching a hesitant hand out to your back. Now that he was out and you were safe, Matt was feeling a bit sick himself.

Kelly looked over at Matt when he saw how hesitant his hand was as he reached for you. Kelly could see that Matt was pale and shaking. “Case?” Kelly called, reaching a hand out to Matt.

This seemed to snap something in Matt, who turned and doubled over to vomit on the ground to Kelly’s right. Matt groaned, trying to get himself together as he slightly staggered back into Kelly’s hip as Kelly attempted to support both you and Matt.

“What the fuck?” Dawson called, running with Brett, stretcher packed with a go bag and a few other items on it.

“I don’t know.” Kelly called. “Can you help Matt please?” He asked, practically holding your weight in one arm.

Dawson was quick to nod, switching with Kelly to hold Matt steady and rub his back while the vomiting passed. Dawson and Kelly were sure this was pure adrenaline, but they were also worried about Matt passing out. Dawson held Matt by the hips, pressing him into her side to keep him balanced while she rubbed his back in an attempt to comfort him as he heaved.

Kelly had you by both hips. He was contemplating lowering you to the ground when Brett popped up next to his shoulder.

“Here.” She called, handing Kelly a sick bag for you. “Get this under her chin and lift her onto the stretcher. We gotta get her to the ambo and get her checked out.”

Kelly nodded and took the bag. “Baby.” Kelly called. “Try to breathe for me. I’ve got a sick bag here. We gotta get you loaded up. Can you take this for me so I can pick you up?” Kelly asked, rubbing your right arm as he watched you shake and spasm with every heave.

As a reply, you reached out for the bag and sucked in a huge breath so that you could place it under your chin. Once you had it secure, you put an arm around Kelly’s neck and allowed him to lift you onto the stretcher. “Ma- hurk” you tried to call for your other boyfriend, but a heave cut you off.

Kelly shushed you, pushing your hair further away from your face. “Dawson has him.” Kelly murmured, glancing in their direction. “He’s catching his breath. He’s okay.” Kelly told you sincerely, kissing your forehead. “Let’s worry about you.”

Kelly helped Brett push you to the ambo and load you up while the rest of the crew worked on cleaning up the spill. Everyone gave their lieutenants some privacy and kept their heads in the game. Matt wasn’t far behind the stretcher, finally having caught his breath and feeling able to take a few steps without Gabbi’s help.

“She hit her head again.” Matt called out, climbing into the back of the ambo with you, Kelly, and Brett. Gabbi closed the doors and got into the drivers seat. She called Med before pulling away from the scene.

Brett did a full concussion exam and ran your vitals on the way to med. Kelly helped Matt clean up and held your hand. Somewhere along the way, you finally stopped vomiting, but you weren’t able to focus on them, which scared both of your lovers half to death.

Upon arrival, Connor and Natalie took you in with April and Maggie. The four of them did a quick work up while Will checked Matt over in the next room. Once they got you on some more fluids and some electrolytes, you finally started coming around. Matt was the first one you saw when you opened your eyes.

“Close call?” You asked, looking at the tears in his eyes.

“Too close.” Matt whispered, kissing your head.

“Never again.” Kelly whispered, drawing your attention to him, now noticing that he was clutching your hand, still in his turnouts with a tear stained face.

#one chicago #one chicago x reader #matt casey #kelly severide #fluff #matt casey x reader #comfort #kelly severide x reader #emeto #emetophilia

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭

part two of do you feel my hand? it is there. | part one | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader's childhood cat suddenly gets diagnosed with cancer, and she has to make a big decision about what to do. this fanfic includes heavy topics like: pet euthanasia, extreme loss/grief, depression, the problems with pet healthcare, and more. there will be some humor/fluff placed throughout, and also smut somewhere along the way. :))

18+ warnings: masterbation. sexual fantasies. kinda perv behavior but not really??

word count: 3.0k

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

a/n: i seriously contemplated on whether or not I should post this chapter, after all of the events of this week. I want to make sure that I am cautious and sensitive to everyone during such a painful time. but in the end, I decided to post this since perhaps, it might help a few of you out there who are dealing with so many emotions right now. I cried while I was writing this last week because it brought up so many feelings that I felt when I had to put down my dog almost 2 years ago. so if this chapter make you sad, please don't feel bad about that or think that you're alone, because I swear that you're not. next week's chapter will be a little bit on the lighter side of things (but just barely). take care of yourselves, okay?? take everything one day at a time. allow yourself to feel a plethora of things, or nothing at all. everyone is different and processes things at a variety of paces. this isn't a race, this is life. and as always, my asks/dms are always open if you just need to vent to a listening ear. I love you guys, and... stay strong, yeah?? ❤️

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

You decided to schedule the appointment on a Sunday afternoon, that way you’d be off of work. Since the night you had spent with Dr. Lee in the waiting room after hours three weeks before, he had continually checked up on you throughout the weeks by way of numerous phone calls. And it felt like, with each one that passed, they seemed to grow longer, as the two of you talked about everything and nothing - all in hopes of trying to get your mind off of the imminent date. 

 From your daily phone calls, you had gleaned some valuable information from Dr. Lee - like the fact that he had been single since he opened up the clinic three years prior since it was pretty hard to keep up a long-term relationship when he was so busy with clients and managing a successful business. 

 You didn’t even know how the topic of romantic adventures came up in your daily wellness calls, but all at once, you were confiding in Dr. Lee about your most recent boyfriend which had broken up with back in university. But you didn’t go into too much detail about the relationship, and you skimmed over the… bad parts of it all. 

  You alluded to your horrible breakup with your ex during the conversation, and you briefly mentioned your ex’s awful treatment of you at the very end of the relationship - but you never crossed the line of professionalism and confessed to all the bitterness you still held for your ex. No, you didn’t think Dr. Lee needed to know such intimate details about your life. But also, he probably wouldn’t care. After all, the phone calls were only a means to an end… 

 And besides, no one else in the entire world knew the extent of your old relationship, so you didn’t see any point in telling a random veterinarian about such a dark part of your past.

 The calls seemed to help somewhat - if only to take your mind off of the looming date. But then, as soon as Dr. Lee hung up, your thoughts were clouded with the pain of losing Nyx all over again. 

 Slowly, you were watching her deteriorate. Dr. Lee warned you that things would go downhill quite fast, and fast they did - since Nyx hardly wanted to eat her meals anymore, even when you’d try to coax her with her favorite treat of a fresh sardine. She was incredibly lethargic and because of the weight loss that she experienced from the lack of an appetite, her thinness only caused more pressure to be put on her legs, which was where the cancer was located. 

 Throughout it all, Dr. Lee did a tremendous job of preparing you for the day - the day that you were expecting to take the place in your mind as the worst moment in your entire life. The two of you planned it so that his schedule was completely free for the procedure. Originally, he told you that he usually doesn't accompany his clients into the euthanization room, and instead leaves it up to the vet techs to take care of the protocol. But without you even having to ask him, he assured you that he’d be with you the entire time - that he’d be the administer of the drug. Because he already knew, that having anyone else there with you wouldn’t help, not in the least bit. Sure, Yongbok and Hyunjin and Seungmin were good techs, but nothing could compare to the utterly calming presence that Dr. Lee alluded… with his soft, brown eyes and his slight smile and- 

 You were thinking about him again- damn it. 

 Because besides being cluttered with the pain of losing Nyx, your mind was also full of so many thoughts about… him. 

 And how, ever since that night in the clinic, he had continued to call you by your first name. No honorifics, no pretense. And even though he felt familiar and warm to you, you still felt somewhat uncomfortable to drop the doctor title. You wondered if he thought it was odd, how he was addressing you informally, and yet you were still doing the ‘keep it professional’ bit.

 When you were busy working at your desk throughout the day, you found your eyes constantly moving over to the side to check your phone. To see if he had called you.

 While you were eating your packed lunch by yourself in your office’s break room, your mind kept replaying the way that it had felt, when he had touched you that night - with those slender fingers and warm palms of his. 

 When you were lounging on your apartment’s small sofa, watching tv before you went to bed, your thoughts drifted off to the sound of his voice, and the way that he always said your name so delicately. 

 But perhaps worse of them all, is what you would do late at night, when you lay wide awake wrapped up in your duvet covers in bed. Because instead of thinking about Nyx, your musings drifted off to him, yet again.

 And perhaps it had something to do with your exhaustion from the end of the day, 

 Or the fact that it was so very dark in your bedroom, 

 But more often than not, your imagination would get the best of you, and all at once, things were turning deeper, dimmer…

 Flashes of him, and that smile that he always gave you when he first saw you during a visit, danced across your vision, 

 As you imagined what he’d look like, staring you down, bright eyes glued to your exposed self. 

 You dreamed about that pretty, red mouth of his, lips turning kiss-swollen and sticky from your very essence. 

 You wondered how it’d feel, to have him towering over you, whispering sinful words into your ear with that sly tongue of his, as he pressed you further down into the bedsheets. 

 And when those thoughts came upon you, you just… couldn’t help yourself. 

 Hand playing with yourself- 

 Grazing over pert buds, 

 Tickling a sensitive waist, 

 Spreading swollen lips, 

 Brushing against a throbbing knot, 

 Pushing past folds and curving inward. 

 And every time, the only thing that crossed your mind, was him. 

 Him - and his smell and his voice and his built frame. 

 In those heated moments of twilight, you only ever made one single sound as you thrashed about between your thick duvet covers…

 “Minho.” 

 The name fell from your bitten-raw lips in whispers, cries, and pleas. 

 Maybe it was because you hadn’t been with a man in so long, 

 Or maybe it was because you were a grown woman and so naturally, you were extremely horny most of the time. 

 But all at once, as you delved into such fantasies late at night, you realized that the attraction to him had always been there. 

 You had just tried to mask it with honorifics and professionalism since you didn’t want to cross any lines. Since you figured that a man of his stature - of wealth and success - would never stoop so low to date a woman like yourself. 

 Even still, none of that stopped you. 

 Stopped your midnight explorations or the way that he seemed to inherently infect your very being with every breath that you took throughout the day. 

 But eventually, the crest of sadness took over everything again, as the day finally came to a head. To your relief, the weather outside on that Sunday afternoon was bright and sunny. You didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if it had been grey and drizzling. 

 You stopped just outside of the clinic’s doors, forcing yourself to take a good look at it all, as you held Nyx in her carrier at your side. It’d be the last time that you stepped through these doors with her in hand. 

 And that’s when the tears started. They silently traced down your cheeks, even as you shuffled through the clinic’s front doors slowly. The bell above your head signaled your arrival, and as if on cue, Jisung and Chan’s heads turned in unison from their computers at the front desk to where you stood at the entrance of the clinic. 

 In an instant, Jisung was getting out of his chair and flitting over to you. “Hi, Y/N,” he said in a soft voice, offering you a gentle smile. “Hi, Nyx.” He bent down in front of you, peering into the black carrier and cooing at your cat. 

 “How long is the wait time?” You asked, voice shaky as you clutched a little harder on the handle of the carrier. 

 Jisung peered up at you then, his big, doe-like brown eyes shining with compassion. “About ten minutes.” 

 You nodded without saying another word, as you began to make your way over to the front desk to check in for your appointment. The entire time you spoke with Jisung, Chan had been watching the two of you in silence, assessing the atmosphere and displaying a compassionate face.

 “Ji said it’s gonna be ten minutes.” Is all you said, as you stood in front of the wooden front desk. You couldn’t meet their eyes anymore, your vision too blurry with tears. And frankly, their pity just made you feel even worse just then.  

 “Yeah, that’s about right,” Chan began, typing away at his computer. Then he slid over a clipboard and had you sign your name at the end of the document. Signing away on the procedure. Signing away on Nyx’s life. “And… I’m so sorry, Y/N.” 

 “Me too.” You whispered before you were pulling away from them and taking a seat near the doors to the back of the clinic. Usually, while you waited for your appointment, you’d scroll through social media on your phone or pick up a nearby magazine and peruse the articles. 

 This time, you just sat there. You sat there in utter despair and silence, before deciding to pull out Nyx from her carrier. She was a little less warm than she had always been, and the thinnest you had ever seen her. Even still, she looked beautiful to you. You pressed your face into her midnight-black fur, taking in the sweet smell of her and nuzzling into her pliable skin. 

 “I love you so much, girl,” you muttered into her coat, before giving her a few kisses. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you…” 

 The minutes ticked by slowly after that, as you clutched on protectively to Nyx. As you kissed your childhood best friend. As you fought for the last seconds spent with the single most stable thing in your entire life. 

 And then, you heard the fateful call of your name ring out across the waiting room. You stood from your chair, muscles moving like they were trapped in a vat of sticky molasses. Your gaze was fixated on the ground at your feet, so you didn’t see who had called your name. 

 “Right this way,” it was Hyunjin’s angelic-like voice that graced your ears, as you walked through the threshold and into the back hallway of the clinic. You felt his hand land atop your shoulder, his slender fingers gently squeezing there in a soothing gesture. 

 Then he was leading you through the back hallways, past the examination rooms that you had sat in with Nyx countless times. Finally, he stopped just in front of a door that was painted in a baby-blue color. 

 “The doctor will be right with you,” Hyunjin began, his tone ghostly-faint and fading away behind you as your eyes locked with the room you were about to be left alone in. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.” 

 You didn’t even register the door being shut closed behind you, too focused on the decorations that were placed throughout the room. The walls were painted a sky-blue, with a beautiful stain-glass window in the center of the room. The scene depicted a magnificent sunset, bursting with colors that were burnt cayennes and violets. The room was quite small, but the bright, real flowers placed throughout the area helped to add life to the otherwise depressing atmosphere - with their brilliant yellows and reds. Just underneath the stained glass window was a small pedestal that was covered in a thick duvet and plastic rap, and off in the corner of the room was a sliding glass window with a curtain shielding the other side of the glass. 

 You sat down on the nearby bench, looking at everything around you. Looking at the pedestal that was before you - where Nyx would be laid to rest. And it felt like your heart was bleeding irrevocably inside of your chest, straining and pumping at the same time as you tried to come to terms with the situation at hand. 

 At least she was going to join the afterlife in a safe space - at least it was beautiful looking and- 

 Your thoughts were interrupted by the shutting of the door that you had originally walked through. Lifting your head from Nyx who was peacefully dozing in your arms, you came face-to-face with Dr. Lee. He was dressed in his usual garb of black slacks and a white doctor's coat. 

 “How are you doing, Y/N?” Was the first thing he asked, as he shut the door behind him and neared you. He knelt in front of your knees, taking both of your hands in his and giving them a gentle squeeze. 

 That’s when you managed to find the courage to look up into his eyes finally, and the heartache and pain that you found there just made it hurt a little bit more. You felt your bottom lip quake, as the sobs freely flowed from you. You didn’t even have to reply since he already knew how difficult this was for you. So he kept quiet, not moving from his position in front of you and holding onto you as you cried yourself to exhaustion. 

 “I-I’m ready,” you finally said, roughly scrubbing at your eyes with the palm of one of your hands to try and knock some sense into yourself. 

 “Are you sure?” He questioned, the concern dripping in his voice from the way that it deepened somewhat. 

 You nodded furiously, heart hurting so much that it felt like you were going to drop dead from a heart attack any minute. “Y-Yeah.” 

 Then his hands were slipping away from yours, leaving a fierce shiver to course down the length of your spine at the absence of his touch. He stood close to the curtained window and tapped on the glass once, and you turned your head to the side just in time to glimpse Yongbok pushing the glass aside before he handed over a metal dish that had a small syringe placed in it. 

 You swallowed around the huge lump that was forming in your dry throat. And when Yongbok offered you a sincere, comforting smile, all you could do was nod once before he was shutting the glass door again, pulling the curtain closed to give you and Dr. Lee some privacy. 

 Then it was all happening at once - too quickly for you to even grasp - as Dr. Lee was gently taking Nyx from your grasp and laying her down on the cushioned pedestal. She put up no resistance and nudged her little black nose into the palm of his hands, purring in satisfaction. She had always had a soft spot for the doctor. 

 You stumbled over to her, grabbing hold of one of her paws and squeezing it delicately. You peered up at Dr. Lee through hazy eyes, his face a blotch of color shining through your tear-stained vision. “P-Promise me it’ll be painless, doctor. You- you have to promise me…” Your voice broke off at the end of your words, as you leaned down into Nyx and pressed kiss after kiss into her silky fur. 

 “She won’t feel a thing, Y/N. I promise.” You heard Dr. Lee say before he was moving again, picking up one of her paws in bated silence. You felt his eyes on you, as you cried into Nyx’s warm skin for the last time. 

 “I love you so much, girl…” You whispered, voice barely audible to your ears. Cracking irrevocably. “I’ll see you again someday- so... just wait for me there, yeah?” 

 Then, almost like she could understand your words, Nyx moved her head over to your neck and nuzzled into you, purring lowly. The sobs wracked through your body, as you felt Dr. Lee leaning into her at the same time as you held her close. 

 You squeezed your eyes shut, like if you closed them long enough, everything would disappear. 

 The pain, 

 The loss, 

 The fear. 

And then just like that, Dr. Lee was sighing heavily, a metric ton of agonizing weight in just his breathing alone. “It’s done.” 

 In the blink of an eye, it was all over. 

 You clutched onto Nyx’s languid body, holding onto her for dear life. Perhaps, if you held her long enough, she’d come back. 

 But nothing happened. 

 There was no more purring, 

 Or meowing, 

 Or scratching. 

 Just… 

 Utterly nothing. 

 Silence. 

 And that was the worst part about it all. 

“It hurts,” you began, voice not even sounding like your own from all of the dryness and the crying, “it hurts so fucking much.” 

 You were shaking your head then, still clutching at one of Nyx’s little pink paws. Then you felt arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against a firm chest. Hands clutched at your sides, and you all but turned around to bury your face into the warmth of Dr. Lee. 

 “I know,” he said in a hushed tone, his deep, melodic voice so close to your ear that it sent a ripple of shivers across your skin. “I know it hurts, Y/N, but I’m here…” 

 And then you could do nothing more, 

 As a new wave of grief washed over you, 

 Suffocating the very air right out of your lungs, 

 Drying out your entire being, 

 Causing the dull pain of a bad headache to bloom across either of your temples. 

 All you could do at that point was cry and cry and cry, your entire body violently shaking as you held onto Dr. Lee for dear life. And he made no point of pulling away from you. Almost like, he had planned to be there all along. 

To be continued...

taglist: want to be added onto my taglist so that you always get notified when i post a new work? well then, comment below on this post/reblog it, and indicate your interest in my taglist and i'll add you... or, you can simply send me a msg and request to be added that way~

🌾 tags: @sleepyleeji :: @if-spearb :: @hyunes4ngel :: @drhsthl :: @seosalad

©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fanfic #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenario #skz oneshot #skz fanfic #skz scenario #skz imagine #stray kids imagine #skz angst #stray kids angst #skz fluff #skz fluff and angst #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #skz minho #stray kids lee know #stray kids minho #skz minho angst #skz minho fanfic #skz minho oneshot #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz minho x reader #skz lee know x reader #stray kids minho x reader #minho #lee Minho

[wooahaes]

lonely hearts club [masterlist]

pairing: non-idol!wonwoo x fem!chubby!reader

genre: romance, college au

release date: 06/16/2022 -- 06/30/2022. completed because writer has no impulse control and moved up the schedule a lot and then posted the ending early.

warnings: some self deprecation later on. insecure reader. reader meddles in her friend’s love life. initial one-sided pining. reader is given a nickname (sunny) throughout the series. [more specific warnings supplied in individual parts]

summary:

With graduation fast approaching, Wonwoo only meant to vent about his feelings to an anonymous Twitter account known for giving people a space to vent and an anonymous way to express themselves. What happens when the person he has feelings for is the same person behind the account... and the same person who thinks he’s in love with their best friend?

links...

preview + cast list

pt.1

pt.2

pt.3

pt.4

pt.5

pt.6

pt.7

pt.8

pt.9

pt.10

pt.11

pt.12/final

epilogue

some words from the writer... [updated jul 24]

so this was initially going to be a social media au but then i decided... i’m not smart enough to put those together lol. i feel like you can definitely tell when i planned for a smau but then backed out of it because this one + the other one i planned both have nicknames for reader.

you can probably call this one an oc if you really want. i personally don’t because while reader is a chubby woman, i don’t have anyone specific in mind for her? my original characters tend to be waaay more thought out and would have a canonical appearance (past ‘reader is chubby’ in this case--but, fuck it, man, people are allowed to write poc readers and those aren’t ocs, i’m allowed to have a chubby reader if i want it).

also admittedly this one is a little self indulgent. like... the chubby reader smut is great and all, but i just want a series dedicated to a chubby (fem) reader that doesn’t revolve around her weight or about her getting boned. no shame on those fics, i read them sometimes, but i’d just like to see a chubby reader fall in love and there be little to do with her weight aside from the general “fat girl” experience that i’m writing from.

anyway. if you wanna read this and think of reader as an oc, go for it. if you don’t wanna read this at all, fair enough. i just wanted to write something i saw myself in and maybe other people could see themselves in it, too, whether you’re plus size or not.

edit post-fic: thank you all for reading and reblogging any parts of this, by the way. i didn’t expect for this one to get much attention, but i genuinely appreciate the support a lot!! i hope any new readers enjoy it + any returning ones have a fun time revisiting lhc <3 she’ll always have a special place in my heart! one day i’ll do a rewrite of this with a different person, but for now lhc will just exist as my happy sweet ww fic that i hold a lot of love for.

thanks for supporting me, though. love you <3

#wooahaes.fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt x you #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x y/n #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x you #wooahaes.lhc

[trevorendeavors]

So. That Florida Bathroom Bill, huh?

TW: bathroom bills, transphobia, internalized transphobia.

I ain’t beating around the bush. I will be using strong language here. If that ain’t your cup of tea or if you’re just here for my usual brand of gay fanart and fic, it’s okay to scroll past this post. Really. I won’t judge. This is one doozy of a vent.

For the people in my DMs asking me if I’m okay (as a trans person in Florida considering recent bathroom bill bullshit) I’m just… sitting here with an exasperated sigh.

It’s funny that the first time I hear of this is from a DM from someone on the other side of the world. I’ve been deliberately avoiding lgbt Florida news for some time because the more I think about it, the harder it is to be civil in transphobic conversations.

Last night I was deadnamed in front of a few people, and today at my graduation I’ll likely be deadnamed in front of a whole convention center. That’s what I get for not changing my name legally, huh. Oh well. Didn’t wanna go through all the paperwork just yet (in case I go for a different name) so I’m stuck with the one I’m sure I don’t want.

So again, I try not to think about it.

But yeah. It sucks.

Honestly? The bathroom bill doesn’t change much for me. It’s still the same shit as always.

The one time I went into the men’s restroom, I freaked out a cis guy so badly (poor dude was genuinely scared of ME accusing HIM of something bad) that I never did that again.

As for women’s restrooms (the one I most frequently use) that’s a whole other deal. Most days, I don’t pass. I’ll just go out and say that. I have a high voice, boobs, and a bit of hips. Some days I dress really feminine too, so it only makes sense. No one here is going to buy “see I LOOK like a woman but no see I’m secretly a ‘man but not quite’ inside but I wear makeup as a kind of exaggerated cosplay of a gender I am NOT, y’see?”

I don’t want to have a nuanced discussion of gender in the bathroom. Most people 30+ in age don’t even know what non-binary is and barely get the concept of trans. As much as I love being and educator and advocate, after a long road trip I want to piss and get on with my life. Also cis men have told me the horror stories of male bathrooms (how do you get shit ON the ceiling????) and then I’m thankful to have been “born a woman” or whatever.

Most days I don’t think about it too hard. But on my more dysphoric days or when on the blessed days I do genuinely pass more masc - when I go into the bathroom looking like this:

I genuinely don’t know which bathroom to use.

It’s embarrassing. Especially when there’s no family restroom available. And when I go to the women’s restroom, I sometimes get these looks. Brief, surreptitious glances they think I don’t notice. To ease tensions, I lift my pitch and give a compliment. I even puff out my (binded) breasts slightly as if to say, “Yes, I have tits and a pussy, does that soothe your cisnormative and petty fears that I would assault you?”

Jesus, some days I wish I could say that quote outright. But I can’t, and I know it’s not fair to them. They’re scared, I get it. I remind them of a traumatic experience. Sometimes, certain people who have nothing to do a trauma invoke fears of it unintentionally by raising their voices or saying something off or even existing. But that’s MY responsibility to fucking deal with that. Other people can’t help existing.

By and large, people with transphobic tendencies here are usually nice. Beyond, nice even. They’ll help you host a spontaneous ice cream party. They’ll buy you allergy meds when you’re choking. They’ll take you in after your mother kicked you out. Like I said, genuinely sweet and kind people.

Which makes it harder when they accuse trans people of transitioning to skirt military drafts, to cheat at sports, to deal with mommy issues. When they equate gays to sex crimes (yes, the ones you’re thinking of). When they refuse to call you your full name. When they call you a baby who refuses to clean her pooped diapers.

I try to be nice. But by god, is my patience waning…

By. Fucking. god.

I’m tired of the way it’s affected me. Making me feel worth less than cis folks, like my feelings matter less. Even worse, I hate how it makes me jealous and spiteful towards younger trans folks in better situations. Younger trans folk I don’t understand. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not an excuse to mistreat them the way I was mistreated. And I’m genuinely glad that they’re living a better life. I have to work on these thoughts, it’s my responsibility. It would be nice, though, to live in a world where I could devote more energy to celebrating our collective existence instead of surviving it.

That being said, I’m grateful for the people here and in person who have stuck by my guns. The people who check in on my when shit gets worse in terms of politics.

What helps most?

What really helps is when people get mad WITH me. For so long I was told my anger was something to be stowed away, to be quietly extinguished with calm words or relieved by some masturbatory exercise of civil discourse. You know. Where you get off to talking civilly but don’t actually get anywhere and you still have to live in a world that was just as transphobic as before. I just want people to be pissed WITH me. To share in my anger and frustration. To join me as I slam the desk, flip the table, and cry to the heavens,

This fucking sucks

Right now this matters to me even more than action. These check ins, sharing in my anger - it helps, it really does. Makes me feel less alone in the world.

#Trevor screams #Trevor talks #Godspeed if you got through this absolute motherfucker of a vent #tw: vent #tw: transphobia #TW: internalized transphobia #TW: some suggestive language towards the end #Florida #Florida bathroom bill #trans bathrooms #ron desantis

[void-occupation]

Wish I Could Love You

HA, you though that just because the last thing I posted was fluff, that I'd ease off the angst train??? Well April Fools bitches, I'm back with even more angst than before!!!!!

Here's the Ao3 link

TW for some serious acephobia (internalized and otherwise) and references to conversion therapy. Also a bit of self-harm at the end, because Alastor has trichotillomania in canon (as seen during his meltdown). If you want to avoid that, it starts at "Crimson claws" and ends at "tears". It's just one sentence, so you won't miss much. There is also a brief non-con kiss. I just wanted to vent the aroace pain from close friends confessing romantic feelings, and I almost made myself cry at work, so fun times

(PS: this does not mean I think ships with Alastor are not valid. I myself am in a happy long-term relationship. Asexuality and Aromanticism are part of a spectrum which means there are many ways for it to be interpreted by those who identify with the terms. There are a few ships with Alastor that I love, but the people writing them have to be careful to consider his identity while doing so)

ANYWAYS, I'll stop rambling now and let you read the fic

An evening spent with Vox was always guaranteed to be interesting. That was part of what had drawn Alastor to him in the first place after all, the Radio Demon forever seeking entertainment. However, after twenty years of friendship even Alastor could admit he was no longer in it for the entertainment factor. Even through his lifetime of severe emotional repression, Alastor was smart enough to see that he had grown to genuinely care about the TV demon - which had led to quite the emotional meltdown on his part, embarrassingly enough.

All of that was besides the point. The point was that even though they were just having dinner in Vox’s apartment as they did at least once a week, things still had yet to become dull, which was quite the accomplishment for someone whose attention was as flighty as Alastor’s. 

As Vox rambled about this new guy he had met - Mateo? Stephano? No, that wasn’t it - Valentino! As Vox rambled about this Valentino character, Alastor mused on the relationship he had with the TV demon. The red-head had never had a positive relationship with another man before, besides Husker of course. That hardly counted though, considering he owned the former overlord’s soul. Vox was truly a novelty. 

“Hey, Alastor?” The deer demon was pulled from his thoughts by his friend’s slightly hesitant tone. He focused back in on Vox’s face, and was a bit confused by the way Vox’s gaze was darting around the room. It looked like he wanted to look at Alastor but was too flustered to do so, a slight red glow lighting up the lower portion of his screen where his cheeks would be.

“What is it?” Alastor asked, slightly wary of the strange atmosphere that had filled the air around the couch they had chosen to share. His ears pinning back was the only outward sign of his unease. 

Vox finally seemed to get over whatever was keeping him from making eye contact, but Alastor couldn’t help but wish he hadn’t. He didn’t know how to process the unbearably soft way the other was looking at him. His stomach lurched unpleasantly, as though he had missed a stair. 

Vox reached over and gently took Alastor’s hands in his own, and Alastor suddenly found himself wishing he hadn’t set his plate on the coffee table - it would have given him an excuse to avoid this soft contact that felt far too intimate, even with their long-term friendship.

“I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while, but it never felt like the right time.” Vox shifted one hand so that it gently cradled Alastor’s cheek, and as he continued, Alastor’s smile shrunk to the smallest it had been since he had been forced to maintain it - unable to turn downwards, but begging to reflect the dread blooming in his chest.

“But, I’m tired of waiting for ‘the right time’. So, I’m just gonna come out and say it.”

“Vox…please,” Alastor begged, voice refusing to rise above a whisper, and static mangling his words. Internally, he was screaming, begging on his knees for Vox to stop before he said something he couldn’t take back. Vox either didn’t hear him or didn’t understand what he meant, because the TV demon continued forward.

“I love you, Alastor. I have for a long time, and I want to spend the rest of my afterlife loving you. We’ve been friends for such a long time, and I want to move to the next step in our relationship.” Vox was positively beaming, warm love and sincere affection in his eyes as he peered deep into Alastor’s soul - unable to see the pain he had wrought with those three words.

Alastor was crushed. His throat closed up and it felt like a clawed fist had clenched around his chest, his heart aching and lungs unable to draw breath. He tried to choke words past his constricted throat, but couldn’t force anything out. His brows lowered as his scarlet eyes widened, burning with hurt and shock.

Vox’s own brows furrowed in concern at Alastor’s silence. “Alastor?”

Alastor could barely hear him over his rushing thoughts. He felt so…used. How long had their friendship been based around Vox’s desire to get into his pants? What parts of their relationship had been genuine friendship rather than a furthering of Vox’s goals for a romantic partner? Was this Alastor’s fault? Had he done something to encourage this?

The worst part was the guilt. Alastor couldn’t say it about very many people, either in the living world or in Hell, but he truly loved Vox. He loved him as he loved Rosie, and he saw the other demon as the brother he’d never had in life, but that was the problem. He could never give Vox what he wanted. Alastor knew he was broken - the doctors had confirmed as much while he was alive, and the medications and more aggressive treatments he had received for his dysfunction had never worked as intended. 

Vox deserved so much better.

His eyes burned and his stomach clenched with nausea, and Alastor fought back tears that hadn’t fallen since his mother’s passing. Alastor wanted to love Vox that way, if only to spare his feelings, but he just couldn’t. 

Vox leaned forward, taking Alastor’s silence as a positive answer, and as he guided Alastor’s face in for a gentle kiss, the deer demon panicked. He lurched back as their lips connected, accidentally throwing himself off the couch to lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. 

Vox looked startled as he took in Alastor’s panicked expression, and made to stand as Alastor scrambled to his feet. 

“Alastor, what - ?” he started, reaching for the shorter demon’s hand. Alastor jerked back as though he’d been burned.

“Don’t,” he hissed defensively, clutching his hands to his chest like he was afraid to be within touching distance of the other demon. “Don’t touch me!”

Vox looked crushed. Alastor felt as though a spear had stabbed through his heart: he caused that expression on Vox’s face. 

“I won’t - I can’t - !” Alastor growled in pain and frustration, unable to articulate his thoughts. He tried to think of something, anything that could salvage their relationship before things got out of hand, but the rage growing in Vox’s expression burned that possibility into mere ashes. The anger masked the hurt that had been there previously.

“Are you kidding me?!” Vox didn’t quite shout, but to Alastor, he might as well have screamed through a megaphone. The deer demon took two steps back for every advance Vox made, feeling uncharacteristically like prey. He was used to having control over every interaction, but this had quickly spiraled into something monstrous.

“Twenty years of friendship all for you to get pissed when I say I want to progress things like a normal person would?! I waited, wanting you to be comfortable because I know you need time to adjust to people, but you still don’t care about me enough to even consider it?! If you never wanted me, why did you lead me on? Why did you pretend to enjoy my company if you knew you would reject me? Is my pain really that funny to you? Fuck, Alastor - can’t you see how hard I’m trying?” Vox had backed Alastor into a corner, and the deer demon was reminded violently of his youth - long hours spent cowering beneath someone who wanted nothing more than to make Alastor wish he was never born.

Alastor hadn’t felt this small since he had made his deal, and he had never assumed he would feel that way around Vox. The Radio Demon was so overwhelmed with emotion, that he did the one thing he had promised himself he would never do again.

He ran.

As Alastor fled into his shadows, he felt Vox’s arms try to wrap around him and prevent his escape, and heard the TV demon’s frustrated and agonized cry as he slipped under the door. He didn’t stop until he reached his radio tower, and reverted back to his more solid form once he was safely inside.

Alastor backed away from the door until his back hit the wall, and he slowly slid down it until he was sitting on the floor with his knees curled to his chest. A soft, staticky whimper forced its way past his lips before he could silence it, and the tears he’d been fighting finally burned fiery tracks down his cheeks. Alastor’s breath hitched, and he buried his face in his knees, wrapping his arms around his head and legs in a futile attempt to muffle the choked hiccups.

Sobs tore out of his throat from a place deep within his chest, wracking his whole body with the force of them. Stitches pulled at the corners of his mouth, forcing him to grin through his tears, and he had never wished so strongly for the ability to stop smiling. Crimson claws fisted in his hair, scratching at his scalp in his panic and sending small rivulets of blood down his face to merge with the tears.

Alastor had just destroyed one of his closest relationships because he was so broken that he couldn’t even reciprocate affection normally. It was all his fault, and the guilt tore at him in ways he hadn’t felt in decades.

Drowning in grief for the bridge he’d set ablaze, Alastor couldn’t stop thinking about how - outside of his treatment plans - Vox had stolen his first kiss.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #my fic #hazbin hotel vox #oh boy #this one hurts guys #oof ouch my bones #I would say I went overboard #but this was exactly what I intended #alastor hazbin hotel #radiostatic #radio silence #aroace alastor #aroace panic but not in the funny way

[samuel-coe]

Bare Metal - Extended

It's a Starfield slash fic with a minor NPC! I also posted this on AO3 so check it out and give kudos there too if you like. I wanted this to be like 2k words but it's hard for me to cut things down and then fics take forever, so idk how many more I got in me 😩

Anyway this is an M rated fic that's female player character/Frank Renick from Neon and follows the Bare Metal questline, spoilers for that.

The Captain hadn’t expected much to stand out from each of the shops of Neon. They all seemed to be down on their luck establishments with needy shopkeepers, all asking for one thing or another from her.

It was growing late into the night now, her first day ever in Neon. She’d dragged Andreja along with her as well, not really wanting to get lectured by Sam or Sarah if she decided to do something slightly immoral. She’d already been clubbing at the Astral Lounge for a bit, had some drinks, some food. She even tried Aurora but found she’d hyped the whole thing up a bit too much, even spending 5000 credits on a member’s room at Euphorika to try it out in “peace”. Though the Aurora felt good for a few minutes, it wore off and then gave her a bit of a headache. Or maybe the headache was from the Chimera drink she’d also tried there.

The Captain was still up for more exploring afterwards though, and the shops mostly all seemed open. Not paying much attention to what she was walking into, the tall woman strutted right into Neon Tactical with her companion.

Her first thought when walking in was, oh, the shopkeeper’s cute.

He spoke in a gravelly voice. “If you’re here to buy, take a look around the shop. Just keep your hands where I can see them.”

Her next thought was, oh, the shopkeeper’s a bit of an ass.

This man was tall, in a grey tank top that showed off his muscular arms. He had dirty blond hair and short beard and one, piercing hazel eye. The other was covered with an eye patch.

“I don’t want any trouble,” said the Captain kindly with a small smile, she could tell he was on edge. Andreja, who was behind her, wandered to the side of the store to leave them to talk.

The man went on to explain his store’s current somewhat tumultuous situation in a gruff voice. He pointed out his robot companion, Styx, that runs the “complaints department.” The Captain deduced that dealing with complaints meant a load of bullets. The 8 foot robot did look fearsome, even covered in neon spraypaint. She thought it best to not disparage the robot and instead asked of Styx’s backstory, before then insisting she was there to browse and buy.

The shopkeeper seemed to exhale a bit at her interest in the robot, and she was glad she didn’t say something offensive about it. It was becoming clear the man was attached to the rainbow robot.

“...Look at the graffiti they sprayed on his chassis. If I could find the asshole that did that I’d make them pay for a paint removal.”

The Captain nodded along, knowing immediately she’d help him. She asked the man more questions about himself, found out his name was Frank Renick, he was a veteran that fought in the war and that’s how he lost his eye. He found Styx in storage and fixed him up, he talked to the robot like it could understand him, though the robot had limited response capabilities. The whole thing touched the Captain’s heart, she was deep down a big softy and empath, and she let Frank vent his whole story. Plus, she was still a bit buzzed.

“I could track down the person that defaced Styx, if you like,” she told him, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

Frank raised his brows and the gruff exterior faded, “You’d do that? Huh, okay. Maybe I misjudged you.”

The Captain smiled and rested her elbows on the counter, “I can’t allow an assault like that to go unpunished.” She was half joking, but she could also see how much this bothered Frank.

Frank agreed, saying that she could go “scare the crap out of this punk.” Frank already knew it was a Disciples gang member named “Warlord” that did this to Styx, and the the Disciples had it out for Frank and Styx ever since they tried to rob the shop a few years back. Styx shot at them, injuring some and even killing one of the members. It was a dangerous even now for Frank and Styx.

The Captain had heard rumbling about the Disciples gang and the Strikers gang, she’d heard the Disciples were the worse sort but so far she’d stayed out of both of their ways. That wasn’t going to last long though it seemed.

She asked one last question before she set out, trying to understand them even more. “So do people give you a hard time about Styx?”

Franks shook his head, “I know you’ll be surprised, but thanks to my sparkling personality, I don’t really have the easiest time making friends. Styx isn’t programmed to have casual conversation. So most the time I end up looking like I’m talking to a machine and I’m out of my mind.”

That was enough to melt her heart a bit. “Aw,” the Captain replied sympathetically. “Well, I’ll take a look around and then I’ll go track down Warlord.”

With that, she walked over to where Andreja was, with her arms folded with a raised brow. Moments later Frank could be heard talking to Styx about something and the robot errored out and asked him to rephrase. The Captain then went over to the colorful Styx as well and tried to talk to him about what happened, and had similar error filled results. Sighing, she and Andreja left the shop, with Frank talking at Styx and seeming agitated again.

“Well,” said Andreja, “I suppose it’ll be nice to give that poor man some peace of mind.”

The Captain cupped her mouth with her hand, “Can I be honest? I’m so attracted to the broken puppy dog guys. That broke my heart.” Andreja raised her brows, definitely judging her. “I see. Well, he’ll certainly appreciate it if we help him out with this situation.”

The two had already been to Euphorika, out on the Ebbside of Neon. The first time they’d gone though, there weren’t any Disciples there. Now, there was.

A young man in a colorful full body suit and mask was talking to a similar looking person on the couch. The Captain walked up to them and the standing one, presumably Warlord, struck up a conversation. 

“You like art?”

 The Captain cocked her head, “Sure. I like art.”

She could hear the grin on his face behind the dark mask, “Then you should see the tag job on the robot at Neon Tactical! It’s my best work.”

The Captain frowned, this was definitely the guy. “Frank Renick wants retribution for what you did to Styx.”

Warlord snorted, “Hmpf. That cyclops should be thanking me! I dressed up his toy real nice, gave him a total makeover. He’s lucky that’s all I did after what that thing did to my crew.”

The starfarer’s chest squeezed at the cruel name he’d given Frank. She wanted some more answers, asking why he’d done it. Warlord in turn proudly admitted how he wanted to humiliate Frank and Styx as payback.

“...Now every time that cyclops opens his eye, he’s gonna see MY art on HIS buddy!”

The Captain gritted her teeth and asked one more question, asking if Styx really did kill members of the Disciples, which Warlord confirmed. 

“...Lost some good Disciples in that group. If anything, that freak should be paying me!”

Normally, the Captain kept a cool head, tried to talk her way out of unnecessary violence, but her cheeks were burning hot with anger. This punk asshole was a real menace to society.

“So you admit to the crime?” she growled, fingers itching.

Warlord seemed disinterested, but maybe under that a little nervous. “Yeah, I do. And I’ll make art out of your guts if you step out of line.”

She could persuade the thug, but in honesty she’d run out of patience. What use would be keeping this asshole alive anyway? It’d be better for everyone if he was just gone. “Give me the credits for the repairs. I’m taking them from you dead or alive.”

Warlord seemed shocked and then tensed, “Well, if that’s how you want it, we can get messy!” The Disciples reached for their guns, and the Captain pulled up her pistol fast, shooting 3 bullets into Warlord’s mask. Beside her, Andreja unloaded her rifle into the sitting Disciple, who only managed to shoot and miss two bullets before dying. Warlord’s blood sprayed on the Captain’s face and clothes before he collapsed, and she quickly knelt to pick up his ammo and getting out of Euphorika, which was now filled with panicked customers. She hoped that membership she’d gotten there earlier would still be good after this.

When they’d hurried back to Neon Tactical, Frank was there, telling an incredibly bad joke to Styx, who wasn’t understanding. Frank perked up at the sight of them coming through the door.

“Warlord isn’t going to bother you anymore,” the Captain said a matter of factly.

“Good work,” replied Frank, pleased. “I hope you made him squirm.”

The Captain inhaled. “He was actually pretty calm. I had to really try to get him to fight me.”

Frank’s smile turned to surprise. “Oh, you killed him?”

The Captain looked him in the eye and nodded. “Yes. He’s dead. He was a real menace and I didn’t want him causing any more trouble.” It was better that way and they both knew it. Frank thanked her for the credits and told her he planned on getting Styx fixed up and repainted. With a genuine smile he gave her some credits back for a job well done.

The woman hesitated before leaving, she knew the job was done, yet she wanted to spend more time with that lonely man. Other matters pressed her however, and with a wave and a nod they parted.

The next few days, the Captain and Andreja stayed on Neon. They’d solved murders, found stolen music slates, and joined Ryujin Industries to name a few things. She even seemed to transform the culture of the Ebbside by teaming up with the Strikers gang to take down the rest of the Disciples. It’d gotten bloody but was smoothed over with Security. All that and it was seeming like time to leave Neon soon.

However, every time she passed Neon Tactical, the Captain felt the need to go in. She held back though, not wanting to be overbearing to Frank, but realizing she was likely leaving Neon the next day, the starfarer went inside. She’d told Andreja to spend the evening doing her own thing.

“Hey!” How’s Styx holding up?” she asked cheerfully.

 Frank returned a wide smile, “He’s great! Had the paint cleaned up, some dings smoothed out of his chassis and even upgraded his firmware. All thanks to you.” He paused and looked sentimental. “Look, I know it’s ridiculous to be this excited about having that big old tin can around, but he’s still the only friend I got. Come to think of it, after you took the time to help me, I’d say I’ve made a new friend… and you’re welcome here anytime.”

So he was really a softy at heart, wasn’t he? The war, this city, things hadn’t been easy on Frank. The Captain had to admit, she was attracted to this man. She didn’t want to just leave it at this.

She cocked her head and spoke in a husky tone. “Friends, huh? Can I… be blunt?”

Frank’s brow furrowed, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

The Captain leaned across the counter and tentatively ran her fingers across Frank’s forearm. “Do you possibly… want to get to know each other better? Because I would.” She had to be honest, she was extremely pent up. It’d been months since she’d gotten any action. She found her occasional companion, Sam Coe, pretty hot but the fact he was such a goody two shoes and had his twelve year old daughter with him all the time was a buzzkill.

Luckily, slowly, Frank’s brows raised. He got her drift.

“Oh! S-sure.” His cheeks were turning red.

“Okay,” the Captain continued, playing with the light hair on his forearm. “When do you close?”

Frank checked the clock, “10– er, but I mean I can close now, it’s cool.”

The Captain smiled, “That works. You have an apartment? All I have for now is a Sleep Crate, but I’m sure in a couple months I’ll be able to afford a high rise.”

Frank chuckled, “Oh really, a top floor loft? Yeah, I have a place.” He looked her up and down, perhaps just now taking her in. “I can lock up and we can go now.”

“Lead the way,” the Captain smirked, following him out.

“Keep the place safe, Styx!” Frank told his robot companion.

“Affirmative.” answered Styx, and the Captain was surprised it understood for once.

Frank’s place was right upstairs, a sparsely decorated but tidy place that was definitely bigger than her Sleep Crate. She almost felt bad she let Andeja have the night off but she still had to sleep in that cot.

“Sorry, it’s not the prettiest,” Frank apologized, sounding sheepish. “Do you want a drink?”

“Sure,” the starfarer answered. “Boxed wine is fine, or anything you have.”

Frank rustled around his cabinets, “Yeah, I have one of those.” He held a beer in the other hand, “I don’t drink much nowadays but now seems a good time.”

The Captain took the wine and cheers-ed him. “I agree.” She took a long sip and as did he. Taking a step closer to him she cocked her head. “So, I take it you don’t take ladies back to your place often.”

Frank took another long swig. “No. No, it’s been awhile. That’s for sure.”

The Captain ran a light finger through his beard. “You’re so handsome, though. That’s the first thing I noticed.”

Frank blushed. “Really? That’s sweet. You’re… very attractive as well.”

Taking that as a good cue, the Captain, slowly leaned in and Frank met her lips for a kiss. It felt good, two humans connecting like this. Soon they were kissing deeper, hands in each other’s hair, hands pulling at each other’s clothes. The Captain was down to her underwear, a trendy leather-like green garment set she’d picked up in Neon. Frank’s shirt was off, he had a nice physique though a little stomach pudge, and multiple scars scattered across his torso from the war.

The Captain ran her hands up his sides and Frank followed suit, grabbing her hips and then giving her ass a squeeze. She squeaked and grinned, glad that this was likely to be fun.

They backed into a wall of Frank’s apartment, the Captain pushing him against it while moving her hands down to open his fly. From what she could feel, he was already hard. With a little pull of the zipper he sprung free, and the starfarer leaned back to see what he was packing. Lucky for her, his dick seemed a good size and rather pretty looking too in her opinion. Wrapping a hand around his length she slowly began to stroke while staring him in the eye.

“Wait–” whispered Frank, and then he grunted. The Captain looked down and gasped as Frank came, his dick spurting a thick load of cum onto her bare, muscular thigh. “Fuck!” he grunted, gripping her shoulder hard and the other hand moving to his cock.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “Oh, you’re eager, huh?”

“Shit,” he swore, breathing hard. “Goddammit, sorry. It’s been a while.” 

“It’s fine, I swear!” The Captain insisted, taking a step back. “It’s been a while for me too. Let me just wipe this off and we could play around a little differently until you’re ready again.”

Poor Frank’s face was beet red. He slipped away from the wall, apologizing and getting her a paper towel to wipe her skin.

“I’m not upset,” she insisted, wiping off the jizz. “I still want to have sex,” she added bluntly. “Come on, let’s move to your bed.”

Frank's bed was neatly made with dark blue sheets. The Captain led him over to it and kissed the man again, her hands around his face half pulling him down with her on the bed. A calloused hand made its way to her breast, the action seemed ready to be restarted.

The Captain reached for the clasp of her fashionable bra and pulled it off, revealing her somewhat small chest. Frank’s hand went back to her breast and lightly squeezed the nipple, which she answered with a soft hum. The Captain wrapped her legs around Frank's back as they kissed, drawing him closer.

“Touch me,” she encouraged. She didn’t expect much from him but some pleasure on her side would be nice. As if he read her thoughts, the veteran shifted and moved a hand down between her muscular thighs, applying pressure to her crotch over her panties.

“Like this?” Frank asked in her ear in his low, gravelly voice.

She bit her lip and pushed against him. “Mmhmm.”

His hand slipped under her panties to her lower lips, finding their way around until his middle finger found a way inside. “How about like this?”

“Yeah,” the Captain gasped, loving the way his rough hand felt on her sensitive area, gripping his shoulder as his hand worked her in and out. As his beard scratched her cheeks though, she found herself wishing he’d put that head between her legs.

“You want more, don’t you, Captain?” Frank teased. “You’re a wild one.”

“Yes,” she breathed, her skin prickling where his cheek touched her.

His hand turned to more of a rubbing movement, “Would you mind if I used my mouth on you down there? It’s been a while but I liked doing that for beautiful ladies.”

The Captain chuckled, “Aren’t you polite? Who would have thought. Yes please, Mr. Renick.”

He lifted off of her on his hands and knees and moved down to her lower half, planting some kisses on her abs along the way. Carefully he pulled her panties down and off of her, and the Captain lifted her legs up and wide so Frank would have a good view.

She hoped she wouldn’t get his eyepatch dirty, and her chest was tight as the shopkeeper lower his face to her skin, his mouth kissing her folds slowly. His mouth moved methodically, as if looking for cues that what he was doing was working. The Captain responded in turn, guiding him in what felt good.

“Use your tongue like that yes, yes…”

Her eyes had been squeezed shut but she lifted her head to look at the man beneath her, his shaggy dark blonde head bobbing slightly as his mouth lapped at her clit.

Fuck, she thought, the pleasure growing. The Captain tried to relax and enjoy the sensations, the feeling of this connection with this man. His mouth suctioned around her and his tongue explored her up and down, his warm tongue feeling so good she was getting closer and closer.

“Like that, like that, I’m gonna…” she propped herself up on an elbow and moved her other hand to Frank’s hair, firmly keeping him there. Her heels dug into his back clamping him in, the orgasm was coming in quick and hard.

“Fuck! Ahh…” a wave of pleasure hit her and coursed through her body, the suction and the feeling of his tongue on her prolonged the feeling for seconds more. The woman squeezed her eyes shut and cried out. Even as the orgasm had come and gone, pleasure still coursed through her.

Finally she let the man go, and Frank lifted off of her, his beard damp from her juices. The Captain giggled and wiped a bit of it off with her wrist. Looking down between them, Frank’s manhood seemed to be ready for more.

“You look like you’re ready to go,” she pointed out with a glance of her eyes. 

Frank looked sheepish, “I mean, if it’s alright with you…”

She adjusted herself on her back, getting herself ready. “Of course. And I’m on FertiNix. I like it raw, so…”

FertiNix was the current most popular birth control, a yearly shot that even prevented against STI’s. She hadn’t gotten much use out of it lately, but she was glad her luck was turning around.

“Ah, okay.” 

Frank still seemed nervous, so she brought him back into kiss. Taking a hand down, she wrapped around his hard again length and guided him into her hole, then both gasping as he pushed himself inside. After that, Frank seemed to remember his bodily instincts, thrusting up into her first slowly and then getting into a stronger, more confident pace. His size squeezed her wider, it felt big especially after not doing this for a while. She let out a gasp and moan with nearly every thrust as he set the faster pace, her pussy was slick and still throbbing from cumming earlier.

“Fuck, yeah like that,” the starfarer figured he was a guy that would need a bit of encouragement. It wasn’t all for show, she was enjoying herself too. Frank got up on his hands and thrust into her missionary style, some sweat beading off his lightly haired skin. She stared at a little heart shaped burn mark on his chest, all his scars were so appealing to her, she just wanted to kiss them.

After a minute more of thrusting, she had the urge to move more. She was a strong woman who could handle her own, and she knew she could ride this guy into oblivion.

“Let me on top,” she purred.

“You want to go on top?” the poor guy seemed half out of breath, the front of his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Yes, sir.”

Frank smirked and grabbed her by the hips, rolling them over while keeping her firmly around his cock. The Captain giggled and then adjusted, sitting on top of him. “I like this seat,” she teased.

“I like this view,” Frank answered, giving her small tits a squeeze. She smiled back, putting her hands on his strong, yet soft stomach and using her thighs to move back and forth on his crotch, keeping him inside. Back and forth and round and round, his cock squeezed tight inside her and his big hands clutched her thighs, this is what she’d been missing. She wondered who she’d get to do this with next after this.

She began to bounce, the springs in the bed aid her as she plopped up and down on his length, the bounce of it causing her body to shake and their skin to make slapping sounds fill the room. This was extra fun she thought, and she liked the view, beneath her the handsome, one eyed man completely taken by her. This was better than the credits.

Frank’s chest was turning red, it didn’t seem he’d hold on for much longer but that was fine. “Cum for me big boy,” she purred, touching her clit at the same time. “Fill me with your cum this time.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, Frank’s muscles contracted and he grunted, his cock pulsing inside of her and ejaculating his second thick load inside of her. She gasped at the feeling, having a mini-orgasm herself as she put pressure on her clit. Sweat dripped down their bodies and melted into one.

They breathed heavily for some moments before the Captain found the strength to come on off of him. Frank’s sheets seemed a bit of a mess but the Captain didn’t mind getting dirty. She settled into a cuddle with the veteran, putting off cleaning until later as their sweaty bodies began to cool.

“I liked that,” she told him. “Thanks for the fun.” Frank chuckled, “No, thank you.”

“It was no problem. And I needed this.” She snuggled her head under his, into his neck and sighed, putting a hand to his chest and tracing over one of his scars. “I’m leaving Neon for a bit tomorrow. But I’ll be back. It’d be nice to see you again then.”

Frank put a hand around her and gave her strong tricep a squeeze. “Yeah! Yeah, when your travels take you back to this shithole, be sure to come see me. And Styx.”

She smirked. “And Styx.” She sighed. “Soon enough I’m gonna be known throughout this galaxy. I’ll be able to buy a penthouse apartment and my ship will be almost too big for the landing platform.”

Frank chuckled, “You know what? I believe it. Just remember you have a secretly soft, PTSD-suffering one eyed veteran who’s always willing to fuck, back here in Neon.”

“Oh, I will.”

#starfield #frank renick #starfield fanfic #my fanfic #player x frank renick

[switch-writer]

Past and Present

(WARNING: THIS IS A TICKLE FIC, so, if you dislike that or tickles in general, I’d suggest scrolling. Thank you!

(A/N: SO. Villainous, amazing show. One of my favorites, however I’m pretty new to it so I’m not the best at writing the characters just yet. So this is one of like, 2 or 3 times I’ve actually written for it? And the other two I’m not proud of so this is good enough for me. So, hopefully it’s enjoyable! And Ngl, this has been sitting in the drafts for a few days because I was kinda scared to post it, sooo, I’m finally just gonna post it and hope for the best. Also! This fic is Lee!Flug and Ler!Demencia over all, though the roles swap briefly at the end, along with there being a little flashback. But anyways. Feel free to send requests about it or just ramble with me about it. Hopefully you enjoy!)

(Summary: Demencia, out of boredom and a need to mess with Flug, launches a little tickle attack on him, which reminds the doctor of some fond memories from the past.)

A day like any other, Blackhat sending off orders to Doctor Kenning Flugslys, 505 cleaning around all areas and quarters other than Blackhat’s quarters, Demencia doing… whatever she does, but let’s focus in on Doctor Kenning Flugslys, or rather, as he’s most known by, Dr. Flug.

Why just Dr. Flug instead of Flugslys? Well, let’s just say the man who most often wore a bag knew that most people pronounced his name wrong, so he can’t be bothered to constantly correct people, so he keeps it as short as possible. He could’ve used his first name, buttttt he didn’t like that either. A certain someone (cough cough, Demencia.) would call him Ken… too similar to the Barbie doll Ken for his taste.

But besides that little tangent, he was in his laboratory close by to his bedroom, attempting to concept works for devices he was asked to make, and he was currently focused in on his work, relaying every detail he could down to the actual thickness and thinning of the lines in his base concept sketch, following by beginning to write small notes around it.

However, this day was going to turn out just a little different than Flug expects.

How so you may ask? Well, there’s a certain human reptile slithering her way throughout the vents, managing to crawl into the laboratory and all throughout it into the doctor’s room. The doctor’s room was neat and precise as expected. Not that she cared too much about that, she didn’t give a damn about that frankly.

What she did care about is that the doctor wasn’t present, aka, her little plan of action was still in action and not cut short, hell yeah! Demencia did a small fist pump to the air out of her own excitement before continuing to quietly slither and sneak out of Flug’s room and right into the current room he was researching and working in.

Awww, he was so unexpecting. How perfect.

With the doctor distracted, it made it easy to slip right behind him. Flug, despite all odds, lifted his eyes away from his paper to right in front of him, somehow having a sixth sense he wasn’t alone, like someone was in the room with him. Surely not… but Flug tried to finish the note he was writing before his premonition sparked so he could look around afterwards, he didn’t wish to break his train of thought.

So, the doctor wrote as following, ‘Make sure to keep the model sleek and be sure to keep in mind-‘

“EeEEK!!” The Doctor screamed a tad in fear considering the fact he was pulled backwards, his chair going back right with him to fall, but the lizardish woman caught the chair before hitting the ground, saving the doctor while scaring the piss out of him. Demencia was just giggling away like she didn’t take 5 years off of his life with that scare, which Flug tried to straighten himself up and go into his little yelling mode in an attempt to scold her.

“Demencia! How many times have I-“ “Can it, nerd! You were sooo distracted! And I’m bored!” Flug huffed in frustration at the excuse, especially since his writing (which already was sloppy) had trailed off his page because his hand spazzed in surprise thanks to her, but he took a moment to think back since it reminded him of something.

Way back in his highschool years, a certain gal who had well managed pink hair would often do such things similar to get his attention, like scare him to get his attention. And when he would question why she’d do it, it was for his attention as previously stated.

Ah memories. There was one time she did that because she needed assistance with studying since she’d lack to do so the nights leading up to the assignment. Of course he’d refuse to just cough up the answers since according to him, it was very inefficient and she should’ve put more effort into studies instead of going to bug him for answers.

So, since he would refuse, said gal would turn to other methods. Like…

His train of thought was cut short because of how those memories never failed to fluster him. However, the small blush creeping on his neck was beginning to happen. Shit. “Well, maybe you should-“ “bug you!” Demencia finished his sentence for him, causing more frustration to come from the doctor staring up at her.

“No! Make your own entertainment like using the TV? Playing with 505?” “Sooo, I’ll make my own entertainment by messing with you!” He’s getting nowhere with this.

“Ugh. Whatever Demencia.” He mumbled, crossing his arms to be all defensive over it. “Hehehe! At least admit it was a good scare!” “It was nothing of the sort!” “But you got all scared, doc!” Demencia added more expression into her movements, her hands going claw shaped as she raised them over Flug.

That again reminded him of those ‘other methods’ the gal would use, the claw shaped hands, the wiggling fingers that followed and the teases that came before the storm. The ones that would be said as she’d request the answers ‘or else’ she’d do it. Cecilia, oh Cecilia, by god she knew how the hell to drive him up the wall.

“…Flug?”

Oh, yeah, he was still with Demencia. “Hm?” “What’s with your neck?” Flug paused to remind himself, thanks to the flustering memories, his neck and face was going a little pink. “…Uhmmm, it’s uh-“ Shit. THINK OF AN EXCUSE! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!

“I’m just uh- very hot! Whew it’s heating up here! I tell you these lab coats don’t help either!” He spoke very quickly while trying to say his excuse, geez he was a horrible liar when it came to those close to him. Demencia however huffed at this, her brow raising with her expression that truly showed she knew he was lying. Hell, it was hardly lying with how horrible he was at it.

“You’re a horrible liar, nerd! Spill! What’s going on?!” Demencia pried at Flug for the truth, Flug looked side to side before shaking his head. “No! There’s nothing to spill!” A little more convincing, but still horrible. “Liar!” Demencia racked her brain for a moment, claws… hovering way over him.

So, in a pathetic attempt to figure it out, Demencia did the same thing again, this time instead of her claw shaped hands being all the way up, it was closer to the doctor’s torso but still mostly above it and away from it. This provoked him to tense up, if she finds out, she’ll destroy him to no end. “D-Demencia! Please! It’s n-nothing!” “Then cough it up!” “No!” This was going nowhere for Flug, however, Demencia was slowly becoming wise.

She lowered her hands lower and lower to his torso, all while Flug tried to stay perfectly still to not give away anything as he squeezed his eyes shut, quite nervous and getting flustered at the mere thought.

There’s a moment of silence. What? Demencia usually wouldn’t go so quiet, if anything she should be asking more questions! Flug slowly opened one of his eyes, trying to look at Demencia.

“D-DeEHEHE- NOHOHO! NONONONO! NOHOhohHOHOT THIHIHIS!” Flug was already laughing away, the surprise attack going through any resistance of his as his back arched before flopping right back on the ground. His tummy always was a sweet spot. Which, Demencia had a big chaotic grin on her face that was only growing. “This? This is what’s making you all red?! Really?!”

Oh dear god, the teasing already?!

“NOHOHO! PLEHEHEE- NAHAHA- NOHOHOT THE NAVEL!” Demencia made sure to keep him on his toes with her attacks so they were all the worse. Flug ended up thrashing side to side and out of the chair he’d previously fell with, going and laying down, his tummy to the floor to stop the tickles there. “Ehehe….ehee…” Flug had leftover giggles since the tickles had stopped, burying his face into the floor and his arms.

However, once he felt himself getting straddled, he began to start trying to squirm again. “Nohohooo… Demencia pleheease!” “Hmmm, nope! I wanna know why it makes you all flustered! Soo spit it out or else!” Oh hell no- “Demehencia! Do not! No! Don’t even!” Kenning tried to scold the chaos driven girl in order to get her to not do so. But if anything, his refusal to say why it made him all giddy and flustered determined her even more.

So while Flug tried to scold, his lab coat was flipped over his baghead, covering his vision other than the dimmed light showing through the whiteness of his coat. “Hey! That’s uncahAhHAAhalled fohohor-!” The simple finger slide up the back worked well too, not that any spot didn’t at this point.

“Pff- wow Flug! You’re just a ticklish mess!” He groaned in embarrassment upon the reminder. “Actually, I think I should call youuu…” she paused to think, even doing the ‘hmmm’ sound to think. “Giggle bag!” “Eh?! You will n-“ He cut himself off as Demencia got off him.

“Eh?-“ he looked up at her, raising a brow, quite confused. “Is that all?-“ wait- wrong wording! “I-I mean! Not like that! I don’t need more!” He scrambled to correct himself as Demencia laughed at that, quite entertained. “Hahaha! Don’t tell me you want mor-“

“More isn’t necessary, Demencia.”

There’s the boss himself, sparking fear within Flug and excitement within Demencia. “S-Sir!-“ “My Lord!” Demencia immediately shouted, beaming with energy upon the sight of the refined and fancily dressed demon as Flug was practically scrambling to his feet.

Blackhat however seemed unamused at the two, glaring down Demencia. “You dare distract the doctor while working?” He said, clearly here to scold, she didn’t even care much about that and skipped right over to him. “A little, but that doesn’t-“ “Demencia.” He cut her off, his glare piercing through her, causing her to gasp slightly as she looked at him.

Blackhat kept the cold stare, gesturing to the door for her to get out of the room, which she begrudgingly did so. “…Now. Doctor.” Flug squeaked in surprise as the boss approached him. “I-I swear I tried to get her to stop, S-Sir Blackhat!” Blackhat rolled his eyes, his cane in hand. “Don’t act as if you pushed her away, you didn’t even try!”

Wait. He saw the whole thing? And didn't stop it sooner? How else would he know that he didn’t push away.

Flug however wasn’t gonna dance with the devil, so he just hung his head, staring at the floor. He was at a loss for words before Blackhat scoffed. “Head up, Doctor. Now, do me a favor and get back to work!” He demanded, using his cane to gently push Flug back over to his desk before gently elbowing the doctor in the ribs, causing a squeak. It sorta stung but also surprisingly tickled.

“… that tickled, didn’t it?” Blackhat said in a disappointed tone, not at Flug, but rather himself as if he just tried to tickle him intentionally. Flug gave a shy nod as he rubbed the rib, trying to ease the sting it caused after the sensation, causing the demon to groan and facepalm. “Get back to work.” He ordered before walking out of the room, grumbling to himself in frustration and slight anger the nudge to Flug’s side was somehow a tickly feeling.

Flug let out a sigh of relief before putting his chair right back up, pulling it out to sit on it to go back to work.

“EeeEHEHEAHA! WAHAHAIT!” Flug thrashed his hips away from the tickly hands, turning himself around to see Demencia. “That should’ve been me!” “Wh-Whahat?!” “That tickle jab thingie! It should’ve been me!” She voiced her major anger/frustration. So. Demencia grabbed him right by his hips, causing Flug to be extra squirmy, pleading for mercy and rapidly apologizing as he was picked up and put into his bed, getting his legs sat on.

“Pleeeease! Pleheheaseee! I’m sohohorry!” Flug was in a fit of nervous giggles before Demencia mercilessly dug her hands into the hollows of his hips, causing a shriek followed by high pitched squealing and even higher pitched laughter. “NAHAHA! I'M SOHOHOHORRY! I'M SOHOHOHORRY!” He apologized a bunch, Demencia refusing to let up. “I don’t care! You deserve this for stealing what should’ve been mine!”

“IHIHIT WAS JUHUHUST A LIHIHIHITTLE TIHIH- THIHIHI- TIHIHICKLE! PleHEHEHease HAVE MEHEHEHERCY!” “No matter if it was bunches or just a little one, it still should’ve been mine!” Mercy isn’t going to exist in this case.

But… this felt eerily familiar… didn't it?

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

“P-PLEHEHEASE! CECILIA! NOHOHO!” “Giveeee me those test answers Fluggy!” “NOHOHohoh! I cahAHAHAN’T!” Cecilia, soon to be Miss Heed, had her major doubts about his answers thus far. “Awww! But you can! Unless you just want more and more tickles!” She teased, causing Flug’s face to heat up as he laughed freely.

“I DOHOHOHON’T! I PROHOHOMISE I Dohohon’t!” “And yet, here you are! Refusing to give up the test answers! I really wanna keep tickling you to pieces Fluggy, I’m sure you definitely want me to as well, but I still need those answers!”

“I- I dohoHOHO NOT- PLEHEHEASE! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE! NOHOHOT THE HIPS! YOUR NAHAHAILS!” Flug was in hysterics, squirming side to side to try and get the tickles to stop despite Cecilia being correct. “Hm? Oh! My nails! I just got them done and everything, aren’t you lucky?” That was replied to with a shake of Flug’s head.

“No? You aren’t? But you’re loving the tickles! Just admit itttt!” “I'M NOHOHOHOT!” With that, Cecilia stopped the tickles, causing the soon to be doctor to catch his breath, looking at her. “E-Ehehe?” “What? Why so confused?” Flug ended up flustered, but managed to mumble an answer. “Wh-why did you… you know…”

“Stop you mean?” Replied to by a nod. “Well, clearly if you aren’t loving the tickles, you shouldn’t need them, nor care.” “T-That isn’t what I-“ “It isn’t what you what?” This was embarrassing to no end, his face going red by his point, luckily he still kept his face hidden from view mostly. He really liked the bonding experience and just being able to laugh… especially with her, but…

“Well?” “It isn’t… it isn’t what I meant.” He finally vocalized his thoughts despite how flushed his face was, which he got a ‘awww’ from her in response as he huffed. “Welllll, I’m glad! It’s adorable tickling you to bits! Especially considering you’re supposed to be here to become a villain.” She reminded him so he’d get even more adorably flustered.

“Mmm…” he crossed his arms, whining before sighing, turning his head back to her. “If I give you the answers… could you just… you know.” She flashed a smile at him, quickly hugging him. “Thank you!” The nerdy man gently hugged her back, a small smile on his face. “Mhm. But please, you should study more.” “I know I know.”

Cecilia chuckled before checking her phone upon getting a notification about Goldheart, her attention being stolen by the hero rather than going to Flug, much to his disappointment. After a minute passed, he ended up getting up, knowing it was pointless to even try and take her attention off of the one she’s recently started to admire…for some reason, I mean, he wasn’t even that great- but anyways. He knew it was pointless.

“Now wait just a minute!” “aAAaah!” Flug was pulled right back down into her lap. “I’m not done with you just yet, Villain.” “E-Eh?” “Where.” “Where what?” “Where are the test answers?!” “I- Cecilia! I’m not playing this pretend game!” “Who’s this ‘Cecilia’ you villain?! I only know test answers!” She said dramatically, squeezing at his hips, causing his little shrieks and squeals to start again.

“Where are the answers!?” “CECILIA!” “Whooo?” “PFF-EHAHAH! I'LL NEHEHEVER TELL YOHOHOU! I DOHOHON’T CONVERSE WIHIHITH HEHEHEROS!” “Much better! I mean, ahem. You shall! Or else!”

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

Cecilia and Flug, what a duo they were, however, due to the slowly growing obsession of Cecilia’s, it’s a shame they wouldn’t get to be more. After all, it’ll all end with Miss Heed, formally Cecilia, to be locked away and the doctor to give his advice before leaving. Still. Even with the heartache, the memories are cherished by Flug, and luckily, it seems like Demencia will gladly make new memories like this with him. That’s all he can ask for…

Speaking of Demencia…

“DEHEHEMENCIA!” “Admit it! It should’ve been mine!” “IT SHOHOHOULDVE BEEN!” Demencia, upon realizing how easily he admitted that, decided to loop back around to the original goal. “Oh. Wellll then admit why this flusters you too!” “NEHEHEVER!” “Hmph! Thennn tickles forever! All until you’ll never stop giggling!” Demencia grinned, being evil about this, causing the doctor to gasp and shake his head to refuse.

“NOHOHO! NOHOHO MOHOHORE! I DOHOHON’T WANNA GIHIHIGGLE FOREVER!” He played into the drama, Demencia’s grin only growing as she took a breath, blowing a merciless raspberry right on his hip, causing Flug to practically scream, but still shriek over all.

“DEHEHEME- I- HEEHEHEHAHAH!” Flug was past the point now on forming sentences, just a ball of laughter before the tickles finally eased. “Now, are you gonna fess up?!” “Eheheha… heheh! Mhmhmh!” He giggled his ‘mhm’ out, finally catching his breath as he grabbed Demencia by her shoulders to pull himself up, only for his head to fall in her lap.

“Pff- come on! Just cough it up before I do it again!” Demencia made her claw hands to playfully threaten him, causing Flug to hold his hands out in front of him. “Okahay! Okay!” Flug giggled before sighing in relief.

“It’s juhust… I can’t explain it.” “Eh?! You what?!” Demencia was in slight disbelief since Flug’s logic usually never failed. “I can’t! I promise! It's just… I dunno… it makes me kinda happy and leaves me in a positive mood…?” He was at a loss of words.

“Hmph! Boring!” “I’m being honest! It isn’t my favorite thing ever! It’s just flustering!” He huffed. “Think about it! You’re the one always poking at me a bunch! Why do that?”

After a moment of silence, Demencia did exactly that by poking his tummy, causing his squeak of surprise. “Nonono! Do not!” Flug poked her right back, before squeezing her thigh just once, causing a squeal. Thennn Flug just sat up and pulled her over to continuously squeeze at her thighs, causing her to break into small bursts of laughter, along with squealing and occasional shrieks.

“FLUHUHUG! DOHOHON’T DO IT BAHAHACK! STOHOP!” “Nope! You didn’t stop so fast. Tell me how this makes you feel!” He became stubborn. “You’re gonna understand why it’s flustering and makes people all happy, well, unless the big strong wrestler can’t take some tickles.”

With a slight pink tinted face, Demencia decided to take him on. “I CAHAHAN UNLIKE YOHOHOU! MEHEHEANIE!” “I am not a- you know what? That’s it!”

Needless to say, those two were gonna be having some fun with challenges and squabbling about things. It all makes for a fun time and a bonding moment, and frankly, that’s what they’ll both like about it.

#ADMIN ACTUALLY WRITES?! #villainous #villainous tickle fic #Lee!Flug #Lee!DrFlug #Ticklish!Flug #Ticklish!DrFlug #Ler!Demencia #and briefly #Ler!DrFlug #Ler!Flug #Lee!Demencia #andddd finally #Ler!MissHeed #? #uhhh #Ler!CeciliaKelly #since that was her real name? #ehhhh good enough. #I’m very sorry for like…normal…villainous fans 💀 #who stumble across this 💀 #tickle fic #tickle writing #tickles #fluff #sfw tickling community

[aerialflight]

New Story

Title: flailing in love (help this man)

Category: BTS

Ships: Seokjin/Hoseok, Namjoon/Jimin, Yoongi/Taehyung

Summary:

“The point is, I am absolutely terrified of dating Hoseok since I’ve never dated before—”

“What?” Yoongi looks stunned, his resting face for once not mimicking a bored robot who can’t comprehend human stupidity. “What the actual fuck?”

Seokjin blinks. Oh. He forgot Yoongi’s not in the know.

“Yeah,” Seokjin sheepishly rubs the back of his head. “I’ve never been in a relationship before? Surprise?”

“How?” Yoongi demands, completely disbelieving. He gestures to all of Seokjin which, rude. It’s basic manners not to point at people. “You look like a fucking model! I don’t even like you and I think you’re hot.”

Seokjin wrinkles his nose like a five-year-old.

“I didn’t need to know that.”

-

Or, Jin doesn’t know what dating is but is determined to try and Hoseok doesn’t mind. At all.

Notes:

I don’t know how this happened, but I needed to vent my feelings and I channeled it through Jin, who I’ve slowly fallen in love with. It’s my first BTS fic so I’m kind of nervous about writing this and I hope people will connect to this version of Jin. Crossing fingers here. Also, there are quite a lot of personal anecdotes stuffed into this fic, which was the most fun part of writing this. Heck, the meet-cute between Hoseok and Jin actually is based off of a real-life experience I had hahaha!

Also, I’m gifting this to you @onceabluemoonwrites, this fic wouldn’t have existed without you. You’re an amazing beta and thank you for jumping into the rabbit hole with me hahaha!

Chapter 1 posted here!

#Fanfiction #AO3 #BTS #Jin #J-Hope #flailing in love (help this man)

[dontcallmecarrie]

For anyone wondering what’s going on with BDEL, Darth Calamity and...basically 99% of my AUs: every time I write, stuff going on in my life keeps coming out. Which normally isn’t bad, but we’re talking soap opera levels here. Like, ‘any more and I might as well write a biography’, and that’s Not Fun on a number of levels.

So, status update/ my internal narration on what keeps running through my head on the AUs you guys may or may not be wanting to hear about. Heads up for some minor spoilers, but way less than the outlines linked on my pinned post.

By Dawn’s Early Light:

...I have all of one (1) scene I’m eager to see, and that’s Howard Stark getting punched by Bucky in front of Steve Rogers. And maybe reassess how realistic this AU is, but tbh that feels more like something to tackle in the Coding Nightmare Fic I Have Yet To Finish because like hell I’m rewriting this fic.

By Myself But Not Alone:

look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair! Sing, oh muse, of the hubris of the fool who thought they could make their overly-complicated vision into a reality while only knowing the bare-bones basics of HTML.

...okay, but really, my main problem is that I’ve got several dozen pages of handwritten notes and outlines of potential Bad Endings to spice things up, but. Completely and utterly blocked on actually writing it out. Kinda debating on just posting what I’ve got and calling it a day because my brain refuses to expand on anything right now.

Live Through The Rain AU:

First off, I really want to brush up on Welcome to Night Vale to make sure I’ve got the tone right. Secondly, this one’s slated for Howard Stark redemption/character development boot camp via ‘yeah your world was just completely upended by one of the people you trusted most, no, that was just the first of many curveballs coming your way’, which I write when I’m trying to tackle a sympathetic and nuanced perspective of a very, very complicated man with a lot of issues.

...which means I have to be in the frame of mind to be sympathetic. Which, right now, I am not.

Incidentally, if you’ve noticed a sharp uptick in the levels of family drama in NHDD, this is why. Justin’s father is what happens when I am not inclined towards trying to be sympathetic towards parents who don’t have their shit together and insist on dragging everyone else down with them, Howard Stark is what happens when I’m not venting my issues onto fictional characters. [...apologies, btw, for anyone reading this. I try to keep personal stuff personal, but. This stuff keeps leaking into everything I touch, no matter how hard I try.]

Blurred Lines:

...this was my first fanfic, really. I’m kinda torn on how to approach it, really, because I started it out as an exhausted aspiring pre-med student who was not in a great place.

It’s been years since then; I am not where I’d once expected to be. It’s been over a decade since I’ve been up to date on what’s going on in Doctor Who, and noped out of Sherlock after the hot mess that happened after Season 2. On top of that, my writing’s all over the place because my teenage self had a long way to go when it came to storytelling, and part of me wants to go back and edit but the rest of me can’t help but think, ‘no, this fic has literally grown with you,’ even if it sounds cheesy as all get out.

All I know is, I want to finish this fic. I have a bullet point outline, next to no knowledge of Doctor Who lore and probably need to do a lot of research to do it, but it is going to happen. Eventually.

Ere The World Falls/The Lullaby of Obliteration:

Writer’s block hit me like a battering ram because ETWF was supposed to be finished in a week.

Look, this is what happens when all you have is a single scene you desperately want in the next chapter, but absolutely nothing else. Specifically, this snippet:

“Oh, I like you,” Hela laughed, something as cold and sharp as the rest of her and Tony didn’t know if he was imagining the goosebumps he felt right now.

Also, ETWF’s meant to be chaos incarnate and found family and end with hope for a better future for everyone, but... I kinda wrote myself into a corner on some things, and found a great way to tie Norse mythology and Marvel comics lore that would require either a lot of heavy editing, or a grimdark remix that I don’t actually have the energy to tackle, because I really kinda need happy endings right now.

Darth Calamity/The Man Who Sold The World:

you know what? I’ve been up to my ears in rl family drama, I am not up to writing fictional angst right now. The remix with more identity shenanigans? Maybe, but first I have to wade through Skywalker family drama to get there. Hmm. Where’s inspiration when you need it?

No Hero [Downward Descending]:

yes, I know Justin Hammer doesn’t come across as being good at this supervillain thing. No, I don’t know how we got here either, this was supposed to be my stab at writing a SI-OC [emphasis on the OC] that got a tad bit out of hand. Especially when it came to the family drama, because I originally had zero intention of expanding on it beyond ‘Justin’s life went on Hard Mode from an early age, and it’s part of why they are Like That now’, but turns out Hammer Senior is a great heat sink for some things. Apologies for that, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ turns out I really needed to vent.

...in retrospect, I missed a golden opportunity for said OC to make a comment about vaguely expecting to see everyone running around in spandex, and that is one of the few regrets I have. Just as a metacommentary on how desaturated the movies got later on, compared to what little I know of the comics.

Beyond that, though, I’m having a lot of fun with a protagonist who accidentally weaponized the power of friendship.

The War is Far From Over Now AU:

Main fic’s finished, still too burned out to consider tackling the sidefic.

The plan currently is to take all the ‘Stuff I Couldn’t Quite Fit In’ posts I made- aka all the plot points that ended up getting cut for my sanity, because my heart had been set on finishing TWiFFON before graduating undergrad and even that ended up going sideways- and playing by ear from there.

Specific plot points I’d once been eager to tackle had included stuff like ‘The Curious Case of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes’ [aka SI Legal’s freakout over the files they end up having to sort through in the aftermath of the Civil War arc], and ‘Vision’s Adventures In Trying To Become a Psychiatrist’ because multiple commenters basically went ‘wow JARVIS really needs therapy, and no one on Earth really is equipped to help Skynet here’ and I remember thinking, “lol yeah, that’s kinda the point, but also that’s a great idea!!!” and had been planning to write something to that effect. Only, things hit the fan in my life not long after, and then burnout on top of that, and next thing I know it’s been years since I last touched this AU but still feel no inclination to do so.

#Naught rambles #thinking aloud #by myself but not alone #By Dawn's Early Light #Live Through The Rain #blurred lines #Ere the world falls #The Rise of Darth Calamity #The Man Who Sold The World #No Hero [Downward Descending] #3 am musings #writer's commentary

[commanderquinn]

Good Space Chapter 2: Man On The Moon

! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!

that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh

—

master list / ao3 chapter link

—

warnings: lotta swearing and usual heavy pstd bucky stuff. also!! im giving sam's story a little bit of author bias/culture venting. this wont read like canon FATWS sam, though i am trying to honor their show where i dont hate it. i love sam's journey to cap, even if ken doll was nauseating (whats funny is i didnt know his actor's name is wyatt until halfway through THIS chapter when i googled something. oh well lmao im sure he's a perfectly nice dude. the wyatt in this fic is My Baby) plus the trump era commentary was completely toothless imo. and the fact that james buchanan barnes acknowledged in episODE T H R E E of the series that he'd take the shield before letting it fall???? even through all his self-hatred?????? get the fuck out of here that desTROYED ME i hate this fictional man with a passion

song: this one's by kid cudi!! 🥰

its time for the l o n g i n g to start ❤️ grab tissues!! first biggie angst so i had to put it behind our resident teddy bear's pov 🥺 you KNOOOOW i had to finish up this update in time for stevie’s birthday 🥰

—

October 3rd, 2015

Samuel Wilson was not disillusioned when he walked into his first recruitment office. There were no patriotic stars in his eyes, no lotto number clutched painfully between nervous fingers to drive his feet up to that kiosk. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth to earn career-establishing stripes in a timely fashion. All he had to his name was a high school diploma and twenty-three bucks in his pocket. He didn’t have any big dreams for the desert rocks to tear a hole through. 

Sam was a kid back then. One who wanted to build a life, and the GI Bill offered to make that happen. A solid, steady income with the vision of a college education somewhere on the horizon. Not a lot of other options for someone like him, no matter which familiar corner of the country he looked at.

It took a long time and the right partner for the Air Force to talk him out of his combat objections once the ANG got wind of him. He turned the experimental program down flat twice; Pararescue was his focus for a reason. They had to bribe him with cutting-edge tech and the authority to refuse an assignment just to get him to agree to a first flight. The words never found their way onto an official record, at least none he knows of, but Sam had relentlessly insisted that he wouldn’t be volunteering as the next Indianapolis. Getting pushback on that assertion was when the anger first set in. The first crack in the armor of his career.

There were a lot of better angels within the service; it took most of them to get him home, tape-free, after Riley’s death. By the end of it all, it felt like every last one of them was outnumbered fifty to one. Nothing felt right anymore, including the idea of leaving the family he found in the sand to fend for themselves. The only thing that felt survivable after the world finally stopped tilting was dedicating himself to the VA.

Living for the memory of the ones he lost helped him find other reasons to want to be a person again. From there, it was mostly helping other people find reasons of their own that drove him forward.

It’s why he’s willing to delve into some shithole facility in the middle of nowhere Russia for a guy like Steve Rogers. And, on some levels, he supposes, if he absolutely has to, for a guy like Bucky Barnes. Even if he is the grouchiest motherfucker on the face of the Earth.

The lumbering moron hasn’t said a word all morning, no matter what small talk Steve tries to open with. And he’s tried everything, ever since they landed. Sam’s responded to a few of the openings himself just to try to fill the silence. He hopes it’s helping. It’s been hard to get a detailed read on the other push-pop’s triggers so far. Steve hasn’t signaled for him to stop, so.

“Cryo is through here,” Bucky rumbles under his breath. They’re the first words he’s spoken since the Quinjet.

“How many should we be expecting?” Steve asks almost as quietly.

“How many people am I asking you to put a bullet through, you mean.”

Steve stops halfway through the door Bucky’s directed them to. “We haven’t decided if that’s what we’re going to—”

“Maybe you haven’t decided. I’ll do it if you won’t.” The former sergeant doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, getting closer to the stocky metal pods.

Sam already hates this. He already hates this a whole fucking lot. Captain America coming to him with a request to take the headcase to Russia was always going to get weird; he knew that. But he’s been very clear on what he’s down for, and now they’re in murder and war crime weird. He’d like to start slowing down the crazy train—

Steve holds up his hand. “Bucky, listen, it doesn’t have to—”

“Fuck off. You have no idea what it’s like to sit in this hell. You two can wait outside if you’re so uncomfortable. I’ve got it from here.”

Mmm. That’s the voice of a guilt-ridden survivor. Sam recognizes it well. At least it’s giving him a bead on where today’s drive is coming from. “You mean the hell we pulled you from?”

Steve’s head whips around, with righteous, territorial anger in his eyes. “You’re right, Buck; we don’t. But—”

“But you don’t know what they want,” Sam forcefully finishes, staring back at Steve. He banks on the fact that, technically, they’re not really disagreeing. Steve’s trying to back him down, too, in his own way. “Taking away their chance at the same new life you’re getting isn’t—”

Bucky’s cybernetic fist comes crashing down on one of the corroded desks, making the rusted metal whine in protest, deforming to the shape of his fingers. “You two don’t fucking get it.” He turns, angrily tugging his hand back to his side. The assassin doesn’t advance, but his posture is more than ready for it as he glares at them with pure contempt. “You think you’re going to find people in those tanks—humans, with hearts and minds and hopes and dreams. There might as well be skeletons getting freezer-burned in those goddamn caskets because that’s the only salvageable thing you’ll find. You fucking—”

He laughs, the sound empty, and turns back around to send his fist into the side of the table, knocking it across the room. He doesn’t face them again. “You fuckers! You take a fucking look at me. Take a good, long look. I am half alive. I had a radiation-free knockoff keeping me upright through their bullshit. You wanna know what they had? Something that might as well have been piss mixed in some fucking snow. Worthless trash those Nazi bastards bottled up and stuck in a needle.”

“Bucky—” Steve tries to calm his best friend as the man’s voice breaks. Sam could tell him from first-hand experience how well that’s going to go over.

There was a lot of screaming in that desert. A lot of grief disguised as anger. A lot of old ideals leaving newly-shattered men one seething tear at a time.

“They were zombies by the time HYDRA was done injecting them. Do you get that? Are you two grasping the concept? They were rabid dogs I trained to respond to whistles. Rotting corpses that I taught how to aim. And that was before their brains shorted out on them. I looked into every single one of their eyes. I saw what looked back. Fuck species—what was in there was not fucking alive. Fuck you—fuck you so fucking much for even fucking suggesting I should leave them like that—like animated fucking cadavers—hooked up to some fucking machine just to breathe—”

“James.”

Bucky’s flood of words finally cuts off, and Sam isn’t sure if it’s because of the use of his first name or the way he swallows as if he’s choking. His flesh hand comes down on the back of the chair that started out tucked under the table. It keeps the guy upright while he pulls in a few breaths that look painful, even through the curtain of dark brown hair.

“Let’s see what’s what first,” Sam suggests as diplomatically as he can manage. He doesn’t take a step forward, mostly because he doesn’t see Steve take one. “Then we go from there.”

“You’re going to hate what you see.” Bucky scoffs bitterly. “You think you know, but you don’t. You’re going to hate me for bringing you here. For the rest of your lives.”

Steve moves forward, finally, but he stays a few feet to Bucky’s seven o’clock. “I’m not dumb enough to make you any promises about not hating what I see here. I haven’t even looked in one, and I already know you’re right on the money when it comes to that. But I can promise that you’ll always be wrong about me hating you for any of this.”

“So can I,” Sam assures. There’s not a doubt in his mind now that he understands where they’re at.

—

Bucky’s up at 0500. 

He hasn’t slept a minute later than that since the first night his body adjusted to New York’s timezone, no matter what hour he falls asleep. He doesn’t attempt more than upright power naps on away missions. They’re the only thing that gets him any rest outside of his room in the tower. 

It’s the same every morning. First, he works on his back, popping away the stiffness one awkward bend of his limbs at a time. From there, the extra thick comforter gets picked up off the floor, then the blanket and the lopsided pillow. They always get tossed on top of the bed he’s never used. Except on Saturdays, when he does his laundry. That’s when they get put in a basket to be taken to Natasha’s room. She won’t let him have his own washing machine until he starts using the bed.

So, every Saturday, he shows up with his little pile at 0800 because Natasha won’t unlock the door until then. A pillowcase. A blanket and matching comforter. Two shirts, usually henleys, five black tanks, and two different tactical pants. One pair of gloves. His singular monkey suit gets taken to the cleaners whenever he’s forced to wear it, which thankfully isn’t often.

His dress uniform hasn’t come out of the box Steve dropped it off in after getting it pulled from the goddamn Smithsonian. Bucky hasn’t laid eyes on it since 1943.

While he’s working his hair up into a serviceable bun, he thinks about Natasha’s recommendation to start braiding it before he sleeps. He doesn’t like the idea of something that tight sitting against his head, especially at night. Maybe if he lets his hair grow out a little more. He wants to keep the shoulder length it’s at now, though. It looks good on him. He wants to know what asking someone to pull on it feels like. Eventually. 

Online dating has been… overwhelming, to say the least.

He’s reaching for the medkit in the drawer under his bathroom sink when the mental image of Ava creeps in. He isn’t trying to blow off the hippie’s orders. Honestly, the thought of their deal hadn’t crossed his mind until he got to this part of his day. Resisting the urge yesterday had been difficult. He knew ahead of time that today was going to be much worse. It means pushing through a repeated break in his pattern.

That voice, the one that insists he should tell Steve to fuck off much more, rears its head. His flesh hand twitches with the reflex to finish his usual routine. To show up late to her office with some blase excuse about doing it out of habit. He could sell the lie without even trying. Entire countries have fallen thanks to his expertise with it. She wouldn’t have a shot in hell at knowing the difference.

He could work his way out of this with ease. Steve already feels guilty about making him pull a hard stop during his first visit, even if he won’t say the words. It’s the perfect opening to establish a line and push it away to give himself some room, one step at a time.

With a decisive flick of his wrist, Bucky shuts the drawer holding his medkit. For the second time since he was allowed to travel without a handler, he walks away from his morning routine without treating the cybernetics on the back of his neck.

It makes his skin feel wrong—off, unsettled—as he gets his standard gear on. He’s still grounded, thanks to Steve, so it’s the version he’s got closest to fatigues. He hopes the doctor doesn’t mind rolling down a polyester turtleneck to get at his brain port. He almost skips going to the gym for his workout, but that would worsen the off feeling. And he’d have to sit around with nothing to do for hours waiting for their first scheduled maintenance. 

He slides his phone into his back pocket, intent on heading to his standard morning haunt. A few hours of going through his paces in the gym will help his nerves. When his mind offers up the suggestion that a workout before seeing the cute doctor could be—advantageous, he tries not to linger in it. 

The idea certainly doesn’t make him feel bad. It’s even sort of... motivating in its own way. It... contributes to his reasons for doing a few extra sets on the bench. And adding a quick rock wall climb. There are others, of course. Being chained to the tower like a toddler in timeout because his best friend is an asshole is certainly one of them. He tacks on more time at the reinforced, Super-Soldier-proof punching bag to ease that particular frustration.

Even with the additions to his cardio, he’s still got an hour to kill before their appointment. He fills it by heading for the roof of the tower. It’s not even 0900, so no one but a few graveyard stragglers are out in the open space. SHIELD agents like him that are married to the job, catching a glimpse of the sun and a few puffs of nicotine before going to crash. Bucky stops to help one of them struggling with her lighter, offering up his spare Bic. The other agent smiles at him in tired appreciation before hovering the end of her cigarette over the flame. He counts it as contributing to his social life. He’ll figure out how to phrase it to get his therapist off his ass later. 

The brain trust’s space is, unsurprisingly, effortless to find. Ava wasn’t kidding; it’s actually tucked away in one corner of the roof, hidden along the wall that extends up to the tower’s executive launch bay. Bucky had expected them to claim a spot overlooking the Avenger’s balcony. Then again, he’s heard she’s pretty close friends with Tony, so maybe he shouldn’t have. She probably knows better by now. 

There’s another collection of gargantuan chairs, this time made out of wicker and upholstery that feels soft when he runs his fingers over it. A tapestry rivaling the paint swatches at Steve’s supply store is mounted to the wall behind them. Two poles hold it at the opposite corners, keeping it blowing slightly in the wind as it hangs over the collected seating. The coffee table in the middle has a lockbox sitting on it, with SHEILDs insignia embossed on the lid. 

He’s got level seven clearance these days. He could still easily get through that lock, even if he didn’t. It’s going to drive him batshit, not knowing what’s in it before she takes him up here herself. 

Bucky turns around and gets halfway back to the door to the stairwell before the buzzing in his neck builds too much for comfort. He grinds his teeth through the sensation. He even manages to force himself another few steps forward. But, ultimately, the buzzing wins out, and he spins again with a vicious curse. 

The confirmation chime of his clearance override feels too loud, even out here in the open. The top of the lockbox rolls back, revealing a set of playing cards, a jumbled collection of stress toys, a SHEILD standard medkit, and some candles. He almost leaves without checking the medkit. He’s so close to being able to stomach the idea. 

Almost. 

There’s nothing sinister to be found in it once it’s open. It’s stock issue. Not one of the item counts is off, but the lot numbers don’t match, meaning she maintains it regularly. Knowing that information feels invasive, despite being convinced she wouldn’t mind how he got it.

This. Isn’t. Siberia. Ava Ryder is not going to put a gun in his hand. She is not a risk to him. 

Bucky leaves the roof, headed for her lab. He’s going to tell her he went snooping. He can do that, at least—a bare minimum level of respect to offer her. 

She’s not in her office when he gets through the painted door at 0857. Only one of the doctors is behind the glass today. It’s the other woman—the American-born German. Hannah. Her head is down, focused on a tablet under her hands, with wireless earbuds peaking out from her dirty blonde hair. A hologram of a brain Bucky doesn’t recognize is running next to her. It’s not his; there’s no spider webbing. One of their other patients then. 

He takes a seat in the same chair he used during his last visit. “JARVIS?”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” the AI responds with nothing but tranquility. “Something you need?”

“Can you tell the doc I’m ready when she is?”

“Of course. Dr. Ryder has not yet entered the building. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”

Bucky frowns. “Ah—cancel that. Is she—“ Don’t ask him to track her, you dumbfuck. That’s weird. “Never mind. I’ll wait.”

This is New York. He’s not even sure what part of the city she lives in. For all he knows, she could be stuck in a cab uptown. He can pull the stick out of his ass long enough to give her room to be human. 

He sits there in silence, sunken into pillows with his leg bouncing rapidly, and talks himself up in his head. He’s not uncomfortable. He’s not going to bullshit his way out of this. This is good; it’s going to help him. Bucky is happy about that. It’s a relief to be facing this after a lifetime of running. 

By 0901, he wants to leave. The urge is nearly overwhelming. He makes it to 0904 before he stands up. It takes until 0906 to convince himself to sit back down. 

“I have an incoming message from Dr. Ryder if you wish to hear it, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS tells him eleven minutes after the appointment was supposed to start. 

Thank god. “Play it.”

“Morning, JAR!” Her voice is muffled in the recording. She’s got something in her mouth. She’s also in the most broken-down piece of shit in the city by the sounds of it, so not a cab. The subway, maybe? It should be a lot louder than that. “Tell Bucky I’m about fifteen minutes behind and that I’m very sorry. Oh—and tell him to pick the candle!”

His eyebrows lift in confused surprise. “I’m picking a candle?”

“Choosing a candle to burn is part of the daily routine of lab 5923. Dr. Ryder and I usually decide on one, but the option is left open for patients. You will find a box behind her desk; there is a wide array to select from.”

“You pick it together?” Bucky prods, the corner of his lips twitching as he gets back up to check for said box. 

“She enjoys having someone to banter with about them. Dr. Schuster doesn’t usually have anything to contribute to the topic. Dr. Combs only has so many opinions on the matter. He is not overly particular about the olfactory state of the lab.”

“Is Ava?” It’s getting easier to refer to her by her first name alone. It helps that it’s made her smile the handful of times he’s done it. 

“Not especially. I would call her enthusiastic. She finds the options comforting, and there are very few that she doesn’t enjoy.”

“No kidding,” Bucky mutters as he pulls open the top of a very large box. He smelled the thing long before he picked it up, and looking at what’s inside confirms everything the AI’s telling him. There are dozens of them in here, and most of them are unburned. Various shapes and gimmicky scent names stare back at him. Not a lot of Bath & Bodyworks, he’s noticing. 

The hippie is a small business aficionado. How utterly shocking. 

He pushes around the amassed jars for a few minutes. His mind files away a few options he wants to try for later if they don’t get used up on the days he won’t be here. Definitely before he finishes talking her out of demanding these appointments. He picks up one that claims to smell like cranberries and peppermint for a test sniff. 

Thanks to the combination, the barest hint of the ghost of a memory comes over him. One that whispers the name of his mother. This happens sometimes. A fragment that’s still hanging on by a thread will float by. They never have much context, not anything he can typically extrapolate on, infuriatingly enough. Just his mind taunting him that something should be there, but it isn’t. 

He picks that candle, and it doesn’t make him sad as he lights it. None of his pieced-together memories of the life he never got to finish do anymore. He takes them in stride and tries to enjoy what he can. 

That’s what Ma would have wanted.

—

Ava hip-checks the door to her office somewhere around 9:30. 

This is already shaping up to be a terrible second impression. All that grief she gave Bucky about leaving things in her capable hands, and now here she is, showing up late and half-showered to the appointment that’s supposed to finish acclimating him. 

“I am so sorry,” she rushes out, dumping her bag on the closest available surface. It ends up being one of the novelty end tables tucked between the consultation chairs. At least she finally took the one shaped like a leg home. “I completely overslept, and then I wanted to grab you something from my favorite bagel place—do you want one, by the way?” She waves a finger at her bag, then at Bucky, who watches her as she walks and talks her way to her desk. “They’re in that side pouch, the ones that have cream cheese are wrapped up separately. I didn’t know if you were a plain butter kind of New Yorker. Anyways, there was this mouth-breathing dickhead who—” 

She stops and takes a deep breath in when her over-taxed mind finally registers the smell around her. 

“Good morning,” he says from the chairs, amusement coloring his tone. 

She spins on her heel, her glasses jostling with the motion, chuckling softly. “Good morning, Sergeant. Sorry. This is what happens when you talk to me before the coffee finishes evening out in my bloodstream. Fantastic choice, by the way. What is that? It’s peppermint—something.”

“Peppermint and cranberries.” His lips pull up into a half-smile that absolutely sells her on the idea of him being a serial heartstopper in the 30s. “Advertised in what looked like a mushroom cloud.”

Ava’s chuckling turns into an outright bark of laughter as she pulls her work tablet from behind her keyboard. “Yeah. That sounds about right. One of the candle makers I buy from is an anarchist working out of a garage. Great stuff, even if you do have to listen to the most ass backwards view of free trade to get the guy to send you his stock. Good morning to you, too, JARVIS, now that I’m not babbling around a mouthful of food.”

“No need to worry; I’ve become very fluent in your language of scarfing,” JARVIS assures. 

“My mother would keel over if she heard you say that.” Ava waddles over to her latest patient, tablet in one hand and medkit in the other. She puts the kit down on the arm of his chair, in the same spot she put the scanner case last time. He looks much less nervous now, and she gives him a warm smile to encourage that. “I know you don’t want me talking your ear off, and the breakfast offer can wait until we’re done, so let’s get down to this.”

Bucky’s mouth opens. There’s a moment of hesitation before he says anything. She doesn’t try to rush him through it. “What’s the plan, doc?”

“Paige won’t be back from the field until later today at the earliest, so I don’t have anything new for you to test. I passed along your request for the field kit dimensions. She says making something that portable shouldn’t be a problem.” Ava taps on the black sleeve of his shirt. “How comfortable are you with the idea of using nanotech?”

“As in the tiny robots Tony’s always testing?”

“Mhmm.”

“For what? My neck?” He raises his hand to the general area of the port, and she hears him scratching at the fabric over it. “I don’t think it’s—I thought this kind of opening couldn’t be—”

“I don’t mean for closing it off,” she corrects quickly, wanting to avoid a misunderstanding that might get his hopes up. “I want to program a batch specifically for daily care of your implants. The port and your shoulder. Something you can keep in safe housing for use in the field. Now—I want to make sure you understand something upfront. This won’t change my professional opinion; you need to have a specialist looking at this on an extremely frequent basis. However, I would prefer it if you had the nanotech as a safety net. The more of this that we can automate for you, the better.”

“I can agree to that. I’m guessing the bug bots don’t come with a manual.”

Ava moves behind him, mostly to hide how the grumpy old man routine is making her grin from ear to ear. “They usually don’t need one. I’ll be making you a checklist to go over if that makes you feel better.”

“You don’t—that’s—” He hesitates again, making her stop before she can make contact with his neck. “You don’t have to keep... doing stuff. Like that. I’m alright with trusting the bug bots.”

Another piece of Ava Ryder’s heart breaks for Bucky Barnes. “That's great to hear. But, just so you know, I’m going to hand you a checklist anyways.”

“Alright.” His head barely nods; she’s guessing because he can feel her fingers hovering. The evaluations of his senses were so off the charts it set a new testing standard for SHIELD. “That’s—appreciated.”

“You don’t have to worry so much about the manners.” Pressing down with a disinfectant, she circles her thumb around the port, wanting to get it done before moving to his shoulder. That’s going to need a shirt removal. She leans down and shifts to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not reporting them back to Steve.”

“Don’t worry; my work wife will come to weasel it out of you or JARVIS all on his own.”

Ava giggles quietly, her eyes honed in on clearing the excess buildup. “You’re not having fun being married to Captain America?”

“Oodles,” he deadpans, making her giggles worsen.

She gives him a break from the small talk while she finishes working on his neck. At some point, she’ll need to put together a specialized blend for loosening up the scar tissue; the skin around it is dried to hell and back from years of sterile wipes. She doubts comfort has been much of a concern, and she’s not about to recommend putting generic lotion over it, but this is ridiculous. There’s no reason for him to live with pain like that.

“I don’t suppose a man from the 30s is going to appreciate being given a moisturizing routine.”

“Nat’s going to be thrilled.”

“She’s your work husband, I’m guessing?”

“She likes to act like it.” Bucky turns his head to glance back for a split second just as she leans forward to swap out for an ointment. The way his head jerks back into place lets her know he got an eyeful of cleavage on the journey. It perfectly mirrors how his eyes snapped up from her chest when he first walked in. She’s not exactly embarrassed about it, but she does feel bad watching him shift around nervously. “But I’m not dumb enough to argue. About that. With her.”

The awkward charm is starting to make her cheeks hurt. “Sounds like a reasonable choice. I hear arguing with Russian women isn’t a smart idea in general.”

“Not if you want to keep your limbs attached.”

“Is it too early for me to start asking for state secrets? Like, say, if the Winter Soldier happened to get his ass handed to him by a former commie?”

“I’m pretty sure she was still a commie the first time.”

“The first time?” Ava asks with excited delight, her hand pausing on his shoulder.

“There were a few run-ins. She’ll remember more of them.” Bucky grimaces with annoyance. “Worse, she’ll be willing to tell them to you.”

“Would you be willing to let me hear them?” she goads.

His shoulders lift with a strained sigh. “Sure, let’s call it willing.”

“You’ll have to remind me if I’m lucky enough to meet her.” She drums her finger on his mechanical shoulder. “Gonna need you to take this shirt off, superstar.”

“Off? Wait, what did you just—” Bucky shakes his head with a quiet huff of laughter. “I’ve got the arm covered.”

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“Alright, smartass. You know damn well what I meant. I took care of it before I came here; it wasn’t part of our deal.”

“Does gross puss leak out of it?”

She can see his eyes roll, even with his head only partially turned. “You know it does.”

“And is it attached to your brain?”

“Ava—really, I’ve got this.” His head turns all the way, and the smile comes back, in full force this time, and oh. Oh, she can absolutely believe that he broke half the hearts in Brooklyn during his reign of terror.

She leans down into his space, letting her arms rest on the back of his chair. “You know what I’ve got?”

His lips purse in resigned amusement. “Multiple medical degrees?”

“You betcha. They were stupid hard to earn, too, so I’d appreciate it if you could start taking that into account.”

“I’m not trying to dismiss them—”

“Just the expertise that they gave me.” When his smile turns guilty, she shifts her weight as naturally as she can to push her chest against her arms in compensation. She doesn’t miss the way he blinks a split second later. Such a gentleman. It almost makes her feel bad. “I don’t mind you arguing the point of your independence. I’m glad for it, Bucky. It tells me that you really want this to work. I hope you can start trusting that when I suggest against it, I’m doing it with your health in mind. Nothing more. You can tell me what you’re comfortable with from there.”

He stares at her like he’s in pain. For an almost uncomfortably long time. “I broke into your lockbox.”

Ava blinks at the sudden shift. “Okay. Wait—my what? Are you talking about the candle box? That doesn’t even have a lock—”

“Your stuff on the roof. You keep a SHEILD issue safe up there. On the table. I used my override.”

It takes a moment to piece together what he’s getting at. She’s been running late since she woke up on Paige’s couch at 7:50 something. The only thing in her bloodstream right now is caffeine; there was no time for a wake-and-bake. “Oh. Oh, oh, that’s just... it’s not locked locked; we don’t really care if anyone uses the stuff in it. We just needed something to put it in that the weather can’t get to.” She smiles at him as his shoulders relax. “You went to see our little corner?”

Bucky shrugs. “I was around.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure. And bouncing off the walls with Steve’s lockdown, no doubt. The faster you get that shirt off, the faster you and I can iron out a plan to get you back in the field. Work with me here, Barnes.”

Bucky stands up with a sigh, and his hands move to his shirt. He pauses while they cling to the bottom of it, his arms crossed. Once again, she doesn’t push him through his hesitation. “I don’t mind if you talk about things. Steve only said that shit about being direct to keep me from stalling my way out of this.”

Ava’s eyebrows pull in while she thinks over the words. “Is that the only thing he’s lied about? I don’t care if you two keep secrets, but you can’t bullshit about your mental health with me. I need to know what makes you uncomfortable; otherwise, I can’t do my job.”

“That’s all I can think of,” he assures her, and she believes him despite the wording. 

“In that case, you’re kind of stupid, full offense.”

It’s Bucky’s turn with the blinking. “Excuse me?”

“You signed yourself up for morning appointments, and you just gave me permission to talk your ear off. You’re an absolute moron; now take off that shirt so I can make sure your brain doesn’t melt.”

—

She has a pet cat named Oreo, of all fucking things. 

It’s hairless. And dumb as a box of rocks, according to her. The name comes from the huge black spots in its—pattern. He can’t exactly use the word fur. She was highly offended when he called the cat a ballsack while she was showing him her lock screen. He got smacked on the arm for the comment.

It’s not her first pet. She got it partly to mourn the snake she adopted in college, a rosy boa called Sayer that finally died at 32. She used the reptile as companionship and motivation to push through her first PhD. The one letting her work on his brain now. It was named after the lead character from her favorite medical movie, Awakenings. When Bucky mentioned that he’s never seen it, she made him swear up and down that he’ll text her his honest reactions if he ever dares to rip his own heart out with questionable ethics.

So now he’s got her number saved in his phone. It’s the 11th one he’s added. Two of them are therapists. None of the others are people outside of SHIELD. He’s pretty sure one of the therapists is a plant from Natasha, so maybe he should start counting them toward the SHIELD column.

There were only nine others over the course of his online dating attempts. None of them stayed on his phone for more than a month before getting deleted. He wasn’t about to let his therapist catch their names on his contact list.

Bucky switches the grape-flavored lollipop in his mouth over to his right cheek. Ava gave it to him. Bopped him right on the nose with one and then let him pick from an array of five like the blatant bribery it is. The good doctor smiled at him while she did it, too.

May it bring you back in good spirits and better health.

It’s the nicest way he’s ever been told to fuck off for being a grouch. It made him smile. Him. James Buchanan Barnes, in the year of 2018.

She’s.… Christ, calling the woman a handful in this day and age feels insulting. He’s not put off by it. Overwhelmed a little, maybe, but he gets the feeling she’s alright with him taking time to warm up to it. Hell, he gets the feeling that not much bothers her at all. It makes him envious. 

He likes the way she speaks. Not just the crazy and the swearing, though that’s its own comfort. There’s a—it sounds so stupid, but there’s a kind of music to it. She always talks in the same calm rhythm, despite the chaos usually found in her words. He didn’t notice the way it makes his foot stop bouncing until halfway through the appointment.

Bucky scowls. “Davis. Why am I looking at a lost signal?”

The level four analyst Steve’s been telling him to ease up on lately freezes in his swivel chair. His head turns, nervously searching the wall of security feeds. Bucky doesn’t offer up any help. “Sorry, sir, I can’t seem to spot which—”

“Third row from the top, eighth from the left. The one I’m supposed to be monitoring for an illegal exchange of nuclear materials, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Yes, sorry, restoring connection now. Apologies, Sergeant, I’ll—keep a closer eye on it.” The agent starts mumbling the rest of his intended sentence, mostly about how many he’s keeping track of, when he cuts himself off. His shoulders pull in a bit, almost chastised. It always takes people a minute to remember the super hearing.

He could let it hang. The feed is fixed; he can go back to staring at an empty lot without interruption.

“You’re doing fine.” Bucky feels bad because he’s having an unordinarily good day. That’s all it is. Nothing more. “Restructure your feed priorities. You can hand most of these off to JARVIS; that’s what he’s patched in for. Focus on the ones your gut doesn’t like.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll start on that now.” The words don’t even sound spiteful.

Bucky sits back against the executive bench of the Datacrux. The stiff leather creaks with the motion, the rigid frame under it keeping him grounded. He tilts his head from side to side, letting it crack and readjust incrementally. His neck doesn’t feel as tight as it should. When he touched it in Ava’s lab, the skin felt even softer than it did after her first round on him. He’s trying not to touch it now. He doesn’t want to irritate it. This is the best it’s felt in—

He doesn’t have a year, he realizes. He can’t remember the one he woke up to cybernetics in. He has no idea when his first taste of cyborg life was. There’s a vague lead, a number written out on paper to fill in the blanks of what’s been destroyed. An estimation anchored around the last day of his former life. But he doesn’t know.

At least you’re still breathing, the better angel in his mind coaxes.

Switching which leg is balanced on which knee, Bucky settles back into his work. It’s been six months since the last lead on his responsibility. There’s been no chatter from the known HYDRA cells, no underground protection contracts with suspiciously good track records hitting Natasha’s web, no suspicious Black Market transfers that scream safe house establishment, nothing. Wherever the Soldats are, they’re being kept under wraps. 

His hounds wouldn’t be able to be contained for anywhere near this long. They’re dead or sedated, no matter where they were smuggled. Otherwise, they’d have surfaced already.

Bucky tries not to think about what a life of not knowing will feel like. He doesn’t know if that’s worse than the idea of burying them. They’re certainly not staring down the barrel of a happy ending at this point. How do you mourn—a situation like that? He can’t even figure out how the hell he’s supposed to be fixing it.

Somewhere out there are the last ravaged pieces of a serum that never should have been made. It’s floating, cobbled together and left to rot, in the veins of men and women who didn’t know what they were signing up for. He remembers having to hold their shoulders down whenever the survival instinct kicked in during the first few injections. He remembers watching their faces as they screamed for a mercy no one in that facility was ever going to grant them. He remembers carrying the bodies of the ones that died in the night, over and over for months, all the way to the incinerator.

Bucky tosses the tablet in his lap off to a spot next to his leg out of disgust. His eyes shut, and his hands come up to rub them hard enough to hurt. He needs sleep. Good, honest to god, medication-induced sleep. He hates relying on those damn pills—it’s not as if they help the other half of his problem, anyhow. Falling asleep is only the start of it. The real kicker is staying unconscious, and nothing he can find, even behind the counter, is going to work on his system for that long.

He needs it, though. It’s been weeks since he got more than a handful of hours at a time. Months since he slept for longer than eight. Steve always talks about crashing for ten at a time after an extended mission, and it makes him want to punch his best friend’s lights out. He’ll never say that out loud, of course, but god. If fucking only.

None of his anger toward Steve ever feels fair. The guy had the world’s worst life before the serum, and he’ll bare his teeth at anyone who tries guilting the captain out of the notion. None of them understand what kind of fresh hell it was being Steve Rogers, and all his undying spirit, while trapped in a body with ten billion health issues. If ever there was someone who earned the responsibility of that serum, it’s him, and Bucky’s damn proud of him for it. He spends his days trying to live up to it himself.

He looks over at the back of the analyst with a guilty expression. People used to dismiss Steve the same way he dismisses people now, whenever the anger simmers. 

“Davis, pull up your priority flags.”

The level four glances back nervously, then clears his throat and refocuses on his terminal. “It’s alright, sir, I’m working on sorting them now—”

“I know. That’s what we’ll be going over.”

“I—” Davis hesitates for a long moment. Bucky stares at the back of his head. “Sergeant Barnes, I’m very sorry about the—”

“This isn’t a reprimand.” Bucky clears his own throat, trying to knock the aggression out of his tone. It’s. A lot more difficult than he was expecting. “You’re new here, so I’m gonna give you the crash course. I’m in here a lot, at all hours. You won’t get a heads-up about it; I’m just going to show up. When I do, there are certain hotspots I’m going to need you to keep focused on. They’re not going to be tied to any active case. You’re not going to be able to tell which ones I need. I’m going to tell you what’s already on my radar, and you can establish your own categories from there. I’ll tell you what else I need you to add as it comes up.”

“Oh.” A little hope is entering the analyst’s tone. “Yeah, that—you know, that sounds like what I do for Romanoff already.”

Bucky frowns. The hell it does. She has exactly three people on the face of this Earth that she trusts to handle something like this for her. He’s willing to do it for convenience, and because he doesn’t give a shit what SHEILD sees him prioritize. He worked very hard to not give a shit about it, too. But Natasha doesn’t work like that; she’s very particular about her web of information—

His face goes completely slack as the connection finally happens in his mind. He’s going to kill her. No—actually. He’s never going to bring it up, ever, and they’re both going to die before a word ever gets said about it.

That’s just how their brand of family works.

“Yeah. Exactly like how Romanoff has you do it. Pull up her file structure; let’s go over what I’ll need you to change for my end.”

—

“Bitch! It feels like I haven’t hugged you in a year!”

It’s the only warning Ava gets before she’s tackled from behind. She braces her hands on the engineering bench in front of her, barely catching herself from crashing into it. “Two weeks and three days, but who’s counting? How was the flight home, whore?”

Paige leaves a loud, sloppy smooch on her left temple before backing away to let her up from the attack. “That part was fine—it was the team I got paired with, ugh. You’d have hated the guy runnin’ it.”

“How bad are we talking?”

“Eh, your typical good’ ol boy. Mister my way or the highway, with an ego the size’a the fuckin’ Potomac to match. You know the type. Spent the whole mission criticizin’ my tech.”

She looks over at her in surprised confusion. Paige taking shit from other agents is nothing new; that comes with the territory of her personality and most people’s assumptions. Her work is usually the one thing they leave alone. “How critical are we talking?”

“That was the thing—it was the dumb kind. The kind that could’a been avoided if he’d maybe RTFM.”

“And he made it your problem?”

“Over and over. Every ten minutes, it was—” Paige shimmies her upper body dramatically, her voice going low and gravelly. “Why can’t my AIO do this? How do I make it do that? Rogers’ team gets the reliable gear; why are we always stuck with the second rate?”

“He said that to your face?” Ava’s about ready to march through the tower to find the prick herself.

“Not that last one. That was to his buddy when the dipstick thought his comm was off. I got a half-baked publicist apology over it, and I’m pretty sure he only did it to save face in front of the team for leavin’ the mic open.”

“Report his ass.”

Paige waves a hand dismissively, then dumps her go-bag unceremoniously on the workbench. “I ain’t gon’ waste my time. I’ll let him hang his own noose; I’m sure he’ll get around to it with that attitude. Oh! I’ve got a mock-up for your pretty boy.”

Ava smiles, tossing one of her best friend’s rolls of duct tape between her hands. “I didn’t say he was pretty.”

“Puh-lease. You texted about his hair.”

“With the amount of shit man-buns have taken, it was surprising to see on a guy from a less than accepting decade.”

“You only notice stuff like that when you’re lookin’.” Paige tips her head forward, letting her heart-shaped sunglasses fall to the end of her nose. Her eyebrows waggle enthusiastically. “Is he as big as Rogers? I can never tell in the press photos with him always loomin’ like a gargoyle.”

The smile turns deviously smug. “He’s a little smaller than your not-so-secret admirer. You gotta figure that’s expected without the Vita Radiation.”

Paige reaches out to shove at her shoulder. “I don’t think Rogers has really nailed down what modern flirtin’ is yet. Ain’t fair to pin that on the guy. He’s so sweet! And I give him art projects! And anyhow, he rushes outta here like his ass is on fire most of the time—”

“It’s so weird how that happens whenever your dad shows up to hang out.”

She gets a very unimpressed look in response. “You’re readin’ int’a things.”

Leaning in close, Ava squints and whispers, “You’re being oblivious.” She backs up, her smugness returning. “So, I take it our friendship never comes up while you’re giving the captain art projects.”

“I... hmm. Not that I can remember. Why?” Paige looks over suddenly, then back at the bag she’s unloading with more than her usual level of interest. “Did he bring me up durin’ the visit?”

The glitter-sniffing demon not being allowed to communicate with her has been utter hell for two weeks and three days. But it comes with the upside of getting to drop this bomb on her all at once. “No, but I brought you up during Bucky’s first visit. That’s when Rogers realized he’d read your best friend the riot act the week before.”

Paige’s eyes go saucer wide. “You’re kiddin’. You got chewed out by America’s Sweetheart?”

“Funny enough, I called him the same thing while he was huffing and puffing in my office.”

“What the hell happened while I was gone? Did—” Her head swivels around, checking who’s around them. “Did? Y’know?”

Ava shakes her head, then hikes herself up to sit on the workbench next to the bag. “Nothing like that. Turns out he was going for a trial run, trying to see how well I hold up against a bad episode. Stormed into my office, playing up the asshole captain routine just to see what I’d do. Apparently, Tony set him up for it by not telling him about my VA work. He let out the hot air the second I called him on it. He’s pretty cute when he’s blushing, by the way.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” Paige mumbles happily, proving the accusation of obliviousness entirely right.

“The blush or the huffing?”

“I already know about the blushin’, even if I am ready to hear it again. But over dinner tonight. What’re we thinkin’?”

“You’re the one who’s been living off MREs for two weeks. What are you in the mood for?”

“Fuck, that’s a great question. Indian, definitely. No—wait! Sc-ratch that! I want Vietnamese. Actually, I want both.”

“Take-out picnic, got it.”

“And Italian donuts.”

“Okay, but I’m bringing half the order to work tomorrow. They’ll get stale if you pull an all-nighter to catch up.”

“Fiiine. Take my victory donuts to the masses, y’dirty Marxist. Lemme show ya what I worked on for Barnes before I forget.”

The field case she’s designed is cylindrical and shorter than the phones SHEILD issues most of their agents. Definitely something he’s going to be able to carry around with ease. The applicators that hook to the interior are simplistic and utilitarian. They’re entirely mechanical, with no chance of an EMP being able to disable them—a request from the Sergeant himself. 

“Tony says I can requisition some nannies whenever—I just gotta get your signature on the form since they’re medical grade.”

Ava tosses an olive from the jar she keeps stashed in Paige’s mini-fridge into the air. She catches it in her mouth on the first try for once. “You have one filled out already? I can sign it now; I know you like putzing around with them for a few days ahead of time.”

“Eh, it’s a standard cleaner tag; I’m not gon’ sweat it. I know you’re all worried about his brainstem and whatnot—”

“That’s usually part of my job description, yeah.”

“—but I feel like sterile’s sterile. Ain’t no way I can make the man cleaner than clean, y’know? Now, if you wanna talk settin’ ’em up for emergency maintenance, that’s a different story—”

“Your not-crush just walked into engineering,” Ava interrupts lowly, wanting to avoid the enhanced hearing even from way the hell over here.

In the most conspicuous way imaginable, Paige whips her head around to stare directly at the bay’s front entrance. In a rival amount of obviousness, Captain Rogers slowly works his way through the amassed benches, his gaze landing everywhere but Paige’s station. 

Ava’s eyes roll so hard it’s physically painful. It’s been one thing hearing Paige talk about getting drop-in visits from the super soldier who just so happens to enjoy the blueprints framed over her workbench. It’s another to see it play out in person. 

“He’s prob’ly here to check on the kit for Barnes,” Paige whispers back, tugging off her novelty shades.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why he won’t look at you right now—”

“He’s takin’ in the work goin’ on. He’s a curious guy, you know that—”

“And why he’s walking slow enough to trip over his own feet.”

“He’s admirin’ the—”

“He’s working up the nerve—”

“If you don’t fuck off with that, you lunatic—”

“Alright, now you’re being hopeless on purpose—”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Findley. I hope the trip was—oh.” Steve stops dead in his tracks, three feet from Paige’s farthest desk, his eyes finally landing on Ava. He smiles sheepishly. “Hi there, Dr. Ryder.”

Her grin feels positively carnivorous. “Hello, Steve. Come to welcome home our resident space cadet?”

“Hiya, Rogers,” Paige responds, turning with a smile almost as bashful as the captains. She spins back around, busying herself with the mess of wiring she’s pulled from her bag. “Don’t pay her any mind; she’s in a mood.”

“Something happen with the appointment today?” The concern that immediately surfaces knocks some of the teasing out of Ava. 

Some.

“No, Bucky played nice, I promise. I even brought him bagels to make up for being a half-hour late. Come to think of it, that’s probably what made me a half-hour late.”

Steve’s eyes go a bit wider, his smile softening. “You two had breakfast together?”

“I ate mine in the car. He took his with him. But I like to think we did so in spirit.” Her head tilts to the side innocently, refusing to let him off the hook. “So. What brings you to engineering?”

His hand comes up to the back of his neck, his expression getting… close to nonchalant. “I had some time on my hands—don’t wanna run off on a mission with Buck being a grump about medical orders; he might sneak out. Take your time with that, by the way. It’s impossible to convince the guy to take a day off. You’d be doing him a favor if you dragged your feet a little more.”

Using a best friend for deflection is a social skill Ava mastered years ago. He’s going to have to try a lot harder. “Who wouldn’t want to kill time in engineering? The wrench monkeys get to have all the fun. Maybe you should bring Bucky next time—”

“Oh, that’s—you know, I don’t think that’d be a real—he’s very particular about where he—I think maybe—”

“I think the sergeant would love to meet you,” Ava tells Paige, who’s biting back a grin with her head pointed firmly down at her workbench. “I was telling him some stories about you this morning. I think he might share a few of his own with some time.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Paige offers, still not looking up.

Steve lets out a nervous chuckle. “That’s—yeah, it’d—it could help out with his attempts to be social, and—you know. Hey, how was the mission, by the way? I forgot to finish asking.”

“It went just fine.” Paige shrugs, and that’s when it clicks for Ava why��she was willing to jump topics so fast. Agent Dickhead really did hurt her feelings.

“Towanda,” Ava says plainly, calmly.

Her best friend’s eyes lift to hers. They stare at each other for a long moment. Paige goes through a silent argument that it’s not worth it; Ava silently insists that it very much is. It all happens through shifting eyebrows.

After a moment, Paige’s shoulders deflate, and she looks back at her work with a sigh. “You do it.”

Looking back up at a confused Steve, Ava crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve got a real cunt running one of your away teams.”

“Oh, sweet lord,” Paige groans, her head falling into her hands with her elbows braced on the workbench. 

The captain’s eyebrows go for his hairline. “I’m sorry—I have a—I’m going to need a few more details.” He shifts his attention to Paige’s back, and his expression gets worried. “Did something happen? Who was your lead? JARVIS, can you grab me the associated reports on Ms. Findley’s latest away mission—”

“You don’t have’ta do that—“she tries to assure, her head coming up with blazing red cheeks. She hates confrontation. Absolutely despises it. 

Ava used to avoid it. She doesn’t bother much these days. “Actually, your name got thrown into the mix, Captain.” 

“Heeere we go.” Paige takes a deep breath in.

“Thrown into the mix of what?” Steve’s tone is shifting into the sub-zero range. 

“I’m not sure what Agent Fuckwad’s name is, but apparently, the guy thinks it’s not his job to understand his equipment. He also thinks it’s super cool to talk shit about the engineer that designed what he can’t wrap his head around. On an open comm. With her on the other end.”

“I have the mission data ready for transfer to your private feed, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS reports in. Ava doesn’t miss the smugness sitting in his tone, making her smile. She’s betting the AI has been fuming over this in his own way. He’s been protective of Paige ever since her first all-nighters in engineering.

There’s a boiling rage sitting in Steve’s eyes, one that’s rising by the second. When he steps up to tap the side of Paige’s arm with the back of his hand, it’s entirely held back from his voice. “Are you alright with me handling this?”

It’s Ava’s turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise. Extremely pleasant surprise.

“I—oh, fuck me runnin’.” Paige lifts her hand to scrub at her face. “Look, Rogers, I’m not tryin’ to get anyone in trouble here—”

“There are ways to go about this without leaving you holding the bag from a reputation standpoint. If the guy’s a—a... I tried, I’m sorry, I can’t get the word out—the point is, I can handle this in a way that doesn’t blow back on you.”

“Let him do it for the other people the dickwad is going to end up being a cunt to,” Ava suggests helpfully. 

“Exactly,” Steve agrees easily. 

Paige groans, shifting her weight back and forth. Finally, she nods with an uneasy sigh. “Alright. But—maybe just have it be somethin’ found from the logs? I really don’t wanna write up a—”

“Your name won’t come up. I’ll take care of it.”

Ava smiles, tossing another olive to catch in her mouth.

—

September 20th, 2015

Sam balances the plate of sliced sough dough and fresh fruit on top of a can of grape Fanta. He keeps his eyes locked on the way it wobbles back and forth as he makes his way down the hallway of the rented house. Propping the bundle of still-warm linens on his hip, he shimmies his hand off them enough to grab at the handle to Sergeant Miserable’s room.

The sack of personified despair is exactly where they last left him, hunched in on himself in the corner of the room. The pile of blankets under him used to be on the perfectly nice bed sitting in front of the window. The one with an unbelievable view of Finland’s countryside hidden behind tightly drawn curtains.

Their resident vampire, un-fucking-surprisingly, fled from it as fast as he could. Steve’s been grumbling about stealing the curtains while he’s asleep just to force the guy to look out the window on the way to the john.

Sam’s decided to start handling the food deliveries alone. It’s time to start pushing, even if Steve’s not entirely ready for it.

Bucky watches him move through the room, never saying a word. Not even when the plate of food gets put on the nightstand next to the bed, where they always leave it. He leaves them empty outside the door at night, so they know he’s actually eating. Poor bastard never looks angry, more just anguished. 

Sam sits on the side of the bed slowly, as gently as he can. He keeps his posture relaxed, his expression passive, and looks up at the newly freed prisoner of war. “You and I gotta come to an understanding on somethin’.”

Bucky’s eyes start out mostly hidden, thanks to the angle of his head. The shadows consume them entirely as his eyebrows come down. “What.”

One-word answer. That’s good. It’s a verbal day. “We gotta figure out where we’re at. Steve is too close. You’re gonna need someone pushing you on things he can’t. Things you need help with.” 

It’s not a subject he’s brought up with Steve. Being blunt feels like the better option here. He’s guessing the captain’s appeasement is starting to grate on nerves going through this much culture shock. Plus, there’s no pep-talk like a military pep-talk. 

“Do I strike you as an invalid?”

“You might not wanna—we’ll work on that. Point is, you need to start gettin’ comfortable with the new reality. Suck it up, Buttercup, the sky didn’t actually fall. The world’s still spinnin’. None of the big baddies who still know about you have the juice to catch you—”

“No, they don’t,” he confirms aggressively.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, you’re huge and scary. You’re also an idiot sitting around wasting a full pardon. No one’s expecting you to start doing a press circuit. If you wanna walk off into the sunset and go find a picket fence to park your Transylvania routine behind, we’ll help you pack and send you postcards. If you wanna do what Steve did and pick up a life in SHEILD, let’s get you fitted in some Kevlar and find you a therapist. But let’s get you outta this fuckin’ room.”

Bucky’s eyebrows stay firmly set, keeping his eyes shrouded. “Why.”

“Oh my god, could you be more dramatic? Like, shit, if you really tried?” He stands up from the bed, headed for the door, his eyes rolling again. “You wanna know why? Because that’s what people do, Bucky. They hit the ground, they figure out if they’re still breathing, and then they get back up to fix what broke. You keep going for the ones who didn’t survive the landing; because they’d hate your guts if you laid down and died over them. Your friend Steve can tell you all about that if you ever feel like giving the man the time of day. No one’s asking you to do this alone.” 

Sam stops at the door, raising one finger and pointing it back accusingly. “You know what— I’m asking you to go outside long enough for a beer in three days. Besides that, it’s up to you how slow you wanna take this.”

“What’s in three days?” The comment is thrown out on a grumble, right when Sam’s nearly got the door closed.

“My birthday, asshole. I’d like to spend it somewhere outside of this house. And, believe it or not, I’d like you to be there.”

—author end notes—

idk abt other ppls trauma foods, but man when im Goin Through Shit all i can ever stomach is bread and bubbles so, for sure inflicted that on bucko. plums i feel like are His to pick up, y'know?

im putting the idiots in my own couples counseling since im robbing bucky of his best FATWS moment so far (yes it is the wrong about me line ty for asking). i also want it on record that grammarly tried to get me to change "the 30s" to "his 30s" and i had to be like no actually i just jacked our leading man from the restricted section of the smithsonian, thanks tho babe

and now you've met paige!! the storm in a bottle herself!! she gonna smooch the shit outta stevie. gonna try to do our babe peggy proud and have her knock that dweeb off his toes at every turn (not hard). still no clue if ill do a spin-off series for them since they're just background here, but i do know im doing some kinktober stuff for them. they get 10 of the days so far (yeah. yeah, its gonna be 4some territory in the last few days, but have no fear, the main fic((s? series maybe? look man im makin a plan as we go. all i know right now is good space and kinktober)) will stay monogamy focused). so, fans of super mega dirty steve, might wanna Check Back Later for those posts 🥰

#chapter update #if you ever get confused by these descriptions just remember that i yoink them straight from ao3 #i dont do shit for tumblr lmao #good space