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velvetlilacsdaisies · 3 months

Text

Shit at Feelings iii

Bodhi Durran x fem!reader

Synopsis: Bonding with dragons? No issue. Killing venin? Unfortunate, but doable. Confronting your feelings towards your childhood best friend? No thanks.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: SPOILERS!! Swearing, drinking, trauma, probably not proofread well lmaooo, lmk if I missed anything

A/n: Part 3 weeeeeee! I hope you all enjoy! Couldn’t pass up on some more platonic banter between the crew. I have stuff cooking for part 4 👹👹

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You felt helpless, a pang of terror struck through you as three wyvern ganged up on Cleasaí and you. Though she was one of the most menacing and cunning of the Greens, every maneuver she tried to pull it seemed the wyvern knew. You were easily becoming burnt out of your power, astral projecting, never projecting the lengths you have until today to trick your opponents. Now you were about to be cornered.

“I have to try one more time,” you heaved heavily down the bond to Cleasaí. “Just to change our position.”

“You can’t,” she growled, quickly banking right past a sharp cliff side, her tail catching the earth and flinging it back at green fire wyverns. “You will drain yourself and die. I will not lose my human already.” The move proved to be useless for the wyverns just merely flinching at the rocks.

Violet was taking on two wyvern herself with the help of Xaden, and you lost sight of Bodhi, Imogen, and Soleil. You were on your own for this one.

“If I don’t try, not only am I dead, but you will be too.” You argued. “I need eyes on the rider.” Your skin was so hot, and a migraine was already wreaking havoc in your skull. But you would not let Cleasaí die, the creature that mercifully bonded with you and saw potential when you felt like no other did.

“Are you sure about this?” You could tell she was feeling the defeat you were plagued with. You straightened your shoulders, adjusting your goggles.

“No, but there’s no other way.” You held on tight to the ridge of her back as she darted up into the cloud coverage.

“Project the clouds, until we get sight on the one with a rider.” She ordered. You steadied your breathing, mentally grounding yourself in the art studio of your childhood home, letting her power take over within you. Before you can let out the last bit of energy, you’re jerked down.

“Cleasaí!” You screamed out loud. Her back claw is in the mouth of a wyvern and you can see her blood dripping. Another wyvern slammed into her side, throwing her into a cliff side. You jolted from your sitting position, trying to hang on for dear life, but ultimately sliding off into the sharp cliff side as well. The sting of gravel loitering in your hip and side as the festering migraine throbbed in your ears, and your vision gets spotty.

“Y/n!” A voice shouted, and you couldn’t tell if it was Xaden or Bodhi. Everything had started going in and out and black stars were hazing your vision.

Lightning strikes in the near distance, and the wyvern that slammed your dragon into the cliff goes down, but the one that has your dragon’s claw in a firm grip in its mouth still stands. You just wanted the wyvern off of Cleasaí as you hung on the prominent ridge on her back, keeping a leg hiked onto her the best you could.

You caught a glance of her kicking her claw out the wyvern’s grasp as her tail whips at it, repeatedly striking the head of the beast to no avail. The reverberating pain settles in your body making you release a blood curdling scream, Cleasaí roared with you as you mentally open the remaining bits of power you can access. The sound projected through the cliffs of Resson, no doubt alerting all your friends in radius.

The last thing you see is the wyvern’s jaw being forced open off Cleasaí’s claw by a phantom wind and wave of green taking the wyvern down before passing out.

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The scene on the paper was murky, much different than the precise nearly perfect sketch of Bodhi you had drawn the other day. The parchment smeared with charcoal and graphite with little ebbings of scenery with ink to depict the lightning and rocky mountain sides in Resson. The feeling of the rock shards embedded in your body is what woke you up this morning. You had been having the same nightmare every night. Of the same scene at Resson with different endings: one night it had been you that died, the venin scaling on to Cleasaí and not only draining the entirety of you, but her as well. The next night it was Bodhi who had died, he was in your position and all you could do was watch, paralyzed in place on your dragon.

You had ignored the knock of Imogen this morning to go on your daily run, listening to her curse and rattling your door trying to pick the lock. Quinn had taught you a lesser magic to keep your door locked yesterday after lunch, and it proved fruitful thus far. Imogen had tried for three minutes before accepting you weren’t up, and walking away, leaving you to go back to restlessly sketching in your book until you made your way down to the mess hall.

You were one of the first in the hall this morning, still working on your drawing while idly eating your breakfast. Preferring the solace of being alone and your haunting thoughts at the table that your wing would be filling up fast in the next forty minutes or so. With most of the cadets partying the last three days, no one was eager to get to breakfast right away. Leaving some extra quiet time in the mornings.

“Interesting drawing,” someone said from behind you. You jumped, abruptly shutting the book. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” You turned to see Violet tugging on her lip, brows furrowed.

You sighed, mustering a smile and thanking the gods it had only been her nonetheless. It would’ve been hard to explain why there was a wyvern on the page you were working on to anyone else. “Hey Violet,” you greeted, stifling a yawn as she walked around to sit across from you.

You noticed small dark circles formed under her eyes. You wondered if she had difficulty sleeping like you? You knew she had been struggling more than everyone else since returning from Resson. Feeling guilty you haven’t checked in on her much since your return, you watched her as she peeled an orange uninterestedly.

“How are you?” The question caught her off guard, when you spoke up, cutting the awkward tension like a knife. Faltering her movement in peeling.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” She had a strained smile on her lips. Her voice goes up an octave into an almost overly sweet tone.

“You don’t have to lie, I hope you know.” You looked at her earnestly, choosing your next words carefully. “Liam was a great man, always was. And I can’t imagine with everything else you know now, it can’t be easy.”

“I don't know how to go on like everything’s normal.” She quickly said, looking around to see if anyone’s paying attention before turning back to you. “Everyone’s partying expecting school to go on, and with what I know now—“

You grabbed on to her slightly trembling hand, surprising not only her but yourself. “You don’t have to continue that sentence. I’m sorry I brought it up.” You paused momentarily. “We had to do the same after the executions, our foster families threw us into training and academics. Aristocratic parties and bullshit, it felt all so cruel and surreal when we all knew what had been happening.” Then it was her hand that topped yours to stop your rambling.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a watery gaze in her eyes.

You pulled your hand away, “it’s been six years, it’s been easier to become desensitized about it.” You went back to playing with the porridge in your bowl and her to peeling her orange meticulously.

“That picture,” The silver haired girl started. “Was that of Resson?”

You nodded, “drawing helps me sort whatever’s going on up there.” You pointed to the side of your temple.

“I've never seen you with it before.” Nothing gets past a Sorrengail does it?

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot going on up there that I can’t sort out with a morning run, contrary to Imogen.” You grumbled the last part. That’s the excuse that she had given you when she dragged you out of bed yesterday after picking your lock again. When in reality she just egged you on for more information about what happened with Bodhi.

“Is that why I didn’t see you running with her earlier?” A hint of amusement sparkled in her blue grey eyes. You wondered when she saw you because you hadn’t seen any trace of her the prior mornings.

You shook your head, “She just wants an excuse to gossip.”

“About you and Bodhi?” A smirk grew wickedly on her lips. You tried to keep a poker face, but she had let a real smile break on her face. “Sorry, Xaden and I saw you two sneaking out the courtyard a couple nights ago. He filled me in on your complex… relationship?” She tested the last word out to see how you would react.

You flushed bright red, no longer letting your face stay neutral. This girl observed everything. Huffing out a breath of air, you weren’t surprised Xaden knew. But you were surprised he kept it to himself around you. Him and Garrick often loved to tease the shit for anything they could, just to get you upset. Seeing as Garrick was who you grew up with for a better half of your life those two were the closest things you’ve had to brothers.

“If it makes you feel better, it seems complex relationships run in the family.” She reassured meekly.

Your refrained from displaying your shock, you had figured Violet and Xaden’s relationship went much deeper than a bonded pair of dragons and his duty to General Sorrengail, but to actually hear it. This was the most exciting thing you heard about his love life since he broke his betrothal with Catriona. You liked Violet a lot more, but you wouldn’t admit that out loud quite yet.

You decided to entertain the conversation more, if she had caught you red handed there was no point in going around the topic. “I think the only one making it difficult is me.” You admitted frowning, wishing that it could be that easy of an explanation as she said.

It wasn’t even a relationship, only a friendship, and it just seemed Bodhi was a masochist at this point. You wielding all the power and torture making it harder than it needed to be.

“Liking complex women runs in the family then?” She offered. Gods could she be any more down to the earth? Soon enough your icy resolve will be melted around her and you would have to kick Riorson’s ass if he hurt her. And then that’s ultimately another person on your list to care about.

“I don’t even think I could classify it as him liking me either—”

“Like I said: complex.” She popped an orange slice into her mouth.

“I-I can’t argue with that.” You sighed.

“Xaden said you liked arguing if you had talked to me.” She said in a matter of fact tone. This was a stark contrast to a year ago when Sorrengail first made an appearance into everyone’s lives.

Before you could even say anything, Ridoc’s laugh bellowed into the mess hall. Turning you saw him trail in with Sawyer, Rhiannon, and Nadine. The purple haired girl is now notably wearing a sling. Did you even want to know?

“So much for peace and quiet.” You muttered under your breath, earning a laugh from the girl across from you.

“Since when have you two started taking meals together?” Rihannon teased, but you didn’t miss the look of apprehension she gave the both of you.

Violet went back to picking at the orange peel on her plate, avoiding her friend's eyes.

“That’s what surviving a Gryphon attack does? Bring two unlikely people together right?” Lightly kicking her under the table when she was still staring at her scraps.

She immediately started nodding looking at the group. “Yeah, exactly?” She gave you a look. You wanted to facepalm yourself, she did not do well at being discreet.

You brushed her off and smiled, “besides we’re all second years now, and I haven’t been the most warm? Charismatic?”

Ridoc snorted, “you do a hell of a job at being charismatic when you’re drinking.” You didn’t miss how he took a seat next to Violet though the empty spot next to you was closer. He had been creating as much distance as he could since the other night with you, which was a shame. You liked riling him up.

Rihannon rolled her eyes, taking the empty place next to you. “You’re not wrong, this is the most you have spoken to us ever.”

“I like that there’s another person to add to the conversation.” Nadine added diving into her porridge.

“You just like the idea there’s four ladies versus just me and Ridoc.” You could barely make out what Sawyer said through a mouthful of egg.

“Solidarity versus your two’s dumb ideas.” Rihannon laughed.

“Are you still on about us wanting to sneak out to Chantara tonight?” Ridoc said exasperated. Chantara? They were talking about the town the first night when you were drinking with them. It was banned for the rider’s quadrant to go there, but cadets still did it anyway. You weren’t sure if it was a good idea, especially if you or Violet sneaked away. You two were already on close watch with Varrish around, and you could already hear Xaden yelling at you if you encouraged his little girlfriend to do something that could put more of a target on her back.

“Second year hasn’t even started and you already want to break out! How can I be okay with that as squad leader?” Rihannon hissed.

“Could you be any louder about it?” Imogen interrupted, walking up to the group, and setting her tray down on the table. You gave her a bewildered look. She was in on this?

Bodhi, who had also walked up with your best friend, gave Ridoc an annoyed expression as he sat diagonally across from you. “You never know who’s listening to us.” You then looked at him with the same expression, him too? After just barely making it through graduation?

He merely just raised an eyebrow in your direction, that stupid lazy smirk lingering on his full lips whenever you were around him now. Like he always knew something you didn’t.

“Would you two be in?” Ridoc asked, whispering.

Violet line of vision flitting from each one of her friends back to you.

“Please, please agree.” Sawyer begged. “That will give these two no choice but to agree.” He gestured to the girls next to you.

“Y/n’s not going to agree.” Bodhi chuckled. “She doesn’t like breaking rules.” His tone was smug, causing heat to rush to your face.

You whipped your head towards him, sending him a pointed glare. “Who says?”

The table got quiet, anticipating what was about to happen. “You, you never liked to sneak out your Mistresses house with the rest of us to the fields at night when we were younger.” The curly dark haired man reminisced on your younger days in Aretia.

“Or skip lessons with me.” Imogen added quietly. “Or leave the balls or those important dinners early.” Her head slightly tilted thinking of all the other times you’d refused to join your friends because you were too nervous.

“You know how strict my foster parents were.” You argued.

Bodhi let out a hearty sarcastic, “Ha!”

Your pink haired friend gave a side eye, “you lived with Garrick, who snuck out allll the time.”

“Well, that’s Garrick. I was held to a different standard.” You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest. You weren’t wrong. If it weren’t for the promise of being enrolled into the rider’s quadrant, you would have been held to the standard of an Aretian aristocratic lady once you were 18. Only then you had the capability to do what you wanted with your friends in between war strategy and training.

“How bad can it be going for a couple hours, no one will notice right?” Violet interrupted, looking at you. Did no one see the harm in this idea? Think this through? It is obvious leadership is already suspicious of what happened in Resson.

The man diagonal from you had a ‘told you so’ expression. That only made you more irritated, what was he trying to prove? More importantly, what were you trying to prove as you opened your mouth?

“Fine I’ll go,” you announced. “The minute though—and I mean it—the minute something goes wrong I am returning with or without any of you.” Cheers rang through the table. Ridoc and Sawyer rubbing it in Rihannon and Nadine’s faces that they had to come now. Bodhi scowled now. You had actually agreed, and that pang of irritation turned to satisfaction and you offered a smirk to the look of disdain.

“That’s that, we’ll meet in the west alcove after curfew.” Imogen stated hesitatingly, looking in your direction also warily. This is what they wanted so now why were they both so apprehensive you agreed?

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“I didn’t actually think you would agree?” Imogen fixed your shirt—well her shirt. If that’s what you could call it?

You wore a black corset tank top, and a cropped hooded sweater connected that only covered your arms. The sleeves covering a majority of your rebellion relics, only the parts that scattered either side of collarbones displayed. The corset tank top covering the top of your dragon relic, Cleasaí’s clubtail peeking out from the bottom. Paired with your training leather pants and boots.

“I don’t know why I agreed either now.” You fidgeted with the ties of the corset. “What if we get in trouble?”

“We won’t,” she turned you to face the mirror in the corner of her room. “This has been happening for years now and no one has batted an eye.”

“But Varrish is around now.”

“Varrish can kiss my ass, this is tradition for the second and third years. A rite of passage you can say.” The pink haired girl retorted. “It’s going to be fun, Y/n. I promise.”

You only casted a sideways glance her way, and with a roll of her eyes she stood behind you grabbing your shoulders.

“Look how good you look too, I forgot what you look like out of uniform.” She grinned cheekily, prompting you to roll your eyes now.

She had lined your top eyelids with kohl that winged out on the edges, along with adding some to your lashes, and applied some lip oil to your lips. You had to admit you did look good, and sometimes missed getting dressed up like you had done all the time in Aretia.

“How’d you manage to get all of this stuff in here anyway?” You changed the subject, looking to your left at her overflowing armoire of regular clothes. Most of it consisted of black, white, and grey, but a few tones of greens and blues popped out as well.

“Supply runs, do you think I’d be in my normal training clothes going to the pubs?” Fair enough, Imogen always had a penchant to be the center of attention. Never shying away from looks, and a chance to fuel her ego; the complete opposite of you.

A knock on the door sounded before Quinn popped her head into the room, and you could see the colorful top she chose to wear from the armoire. “You two ready? The girl’s are waiting at the stairwell.”

“Be there in a minute,” your best friend said. Quinn only nodded, closing the door behind her as she left you two alone.

“She doesn’t question where you get all this stuff?” You asked.

“Why ask when it benefits her?” She shrugged. Fair point too.

“What are you going to do with it all when you graduate?”

She grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the door. “You ask too many questions, Y/l/n.”

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The tavern was in full swing at max capacity filled with Basigiath students and civilians. The majority of the students were Healers and infantry mainly, a few scribes littered amongst the crowd along with some other riders that had snuck out as well were scattered in the crowd. A live band played on a small stage in the back of the establishment. people dancing in the spaces that weren’t occupied by standing patrons to the sound of mandolins, drums, lyres, and guitars. The warm summer breeze wafting through the doors and windows not doing much to evade the heat in the room.

You had been to taverns and music halls back in Aretia, but this was insane.

“Over here!” Ridoc called excitedly to your group. Him, Bodhi, and Sawyer had left earlier to save a seat for the group. They sat at a circular booth nestled in the corner of the tavern giving enough room for the group.

“This is crazy!” Rihannon shouted over the loud music and talking as Ridoc got up to give her a huge hug in greeting.

“It’s great right?!” Sawyer grinned broadly sitting at the furthest part of the booth.

“Absolutely insane!” Nadine agreed, as Ridoc wrapped his arms around her and Violet.

“Wow, does Basigiath provide those clothes?” Ridoc asked, looking at the group of you girls. Imogen had let the other girls borrow something for the night as well, begrudgingly deciding to not let them feel left out.

“No, you idiot. There are more things to do than just drink in Chantara like shop.” Imogen flicked him as he tried to greet her with a hug. “How much have you given these fools to drink, Boh?” She looked over at the man who casually leaned against the booth, nursing a glass of amber liquid.

“‘Thank you Bodhi for reserving a booth.’ Oh you’re welcome Immy.” Bodhi replied sarcastically not looking at her.

No, his eyes were on you. Making you subconscious of what you looked like under the dim tavern lights and how his brown eyes drank you in. It felt like he took an eternity within seconds scanning every part of you before he met your gaze. His usually warm brown irises were darkened, and a look you couldn’t distinguish lay behind them. He then broke eye contact only when Ridoc came up to you, unsure to give you a hug. He finally looked at the pink haired woman as you just held up your hand for a high five from Ridoc who beamed at the idea.

“Besides, I'm not their babysitter.” Bodhi added.

“But now we have to catch up!” Quinn shouted teasingly. “I got the first round of shots!” She took Imogen’s and Rihannon’s hands, dragging them to the bar.

“Come sit,” Sawyer urged the rest of you to sit. Nadine and Ridoc slid in to the right of Sawyer, and Violet took the other side. You slide in next to her, and Bodhi takes a seat by you. Great.

“You might have overdressed, don’t you think?” Bodhi’s breath caressed your ear as he whispered. Even sitting, he was so much taller, having to crane his neck down to speak to you. The smell of his usual cedar, patchouli and musk filled your nose along with the scent of smoky churam filled your nose. He started to trace the skin along the sleeve of your sweater, despite the heat, you could feel goosebumps rise on your arms. Your stomach flipped in waves of butterflies at the small gesture.

You kept your eyes on the empty part of the booth across from you. “Says the one wearing their flight jacket.”

“Sorry I don’t have an armoire of clothes at my disposal like Imogen.” He still kept tracing your wrist softly. The sensation was driving you crazy.

“Maybe you should start smuggling clothes in, instead of churam?” Sarcasm dripped from your tongue.

“Maybe,” he chuckled. “But churam is way more fun. And you know what would make it funner?”

“What is that?” You hummed, finally meeting his gaze. His stare had you frozen in place from how intently he looked at you, and your throat ran dry.

“If you joined me.” He murmured.

Your skin was warm from where his fingers were, and your cheeks were hot. Hoping the blush wasn’t noticeable, clearing your throat as you inhaled deeply through your nose remembering how to breathe. You hated what he did to you, and this had been the very reason you always tried to avoid him.

You pulled your hand away into your lap. “Funner’s not a word, Durran.”

He cracked a meek smile, pulling away from you. “Right.”

The girls returned with a tray of shots and drinks in their hands for everyone.

“Don’t say I haven’t ever done anything for you.” Imogen declared, passing the drinks around.

You straightened your back, trying to brush off the ignition of warmth that was still within you. Imogen had a smug look on her face when she handed you your drink and shot. You just subtly scratched your cheek with your middle finger at her.

“Welcome to your first night in Chantara newbs!” Quinn proclaimed, raising her shot glass. Everyone followed suit, providing excited celebratory ‘cheers’ and shouts as the clinks of the glasses rang out.

The clear liquid burned your throat when you knocked it back making you wince, the warmth spreading through your body instantly. Grimaces mirrored your expression from around the table, Ridoc downright making a disgusted face and noise causing a laugh to escape Violet’s lip and the remark of ‘pansy’ under Bodhi’s breath, but he too had a cringe on his lips as well.

The man you knew merely only a few years ago would have never made a face taking a measly shot.

“Lost your touch, I see.” You leaned over, your eyes full of amusement watching him take a big chug of the amber liquid finishing the glass.

He wiped the edge of his mouth with his thumb, his brows furrowed. “Me lose my touch? Y/l/n I think you have me mistaken.”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” You challenged him as you brought your own drink to your glossed lips. You could have sworn you caught him glance down as you took a sip, but his eyes were back on your own. You willed the shudder that wanted to escape you away, and the flip of your stomach at bay.

“Find me at the end of the night after you have had a few, then we’ll see who’s lost their touch. I finally get to see the real Y/n Y/l/n in action now that you don’t have to run back to foster mommy and daddy at midnight.” He taunted quietly, before standing up. “Immy you owe me a rematch of billiards from the last time.”

“So eager to get your ass beat?” She cracked her knuckles jokingly. “Anyone else want to join?” She looked towards mainly the guys.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Sawyer and Ridoc stood to join the two.

“I hope you two have some coins to spare, it adds to the friendly competition!” Quinn added cheerily.

“Well you ladies know where to find us.” Imogen called over her shoulder, and Ridoc tipped his head as if he had an imaginary hat on his head following the smaller group that retreated to the billiards tables on the other side of the tavern.

Fuck Bodhi and his nonchalantness, was all you could think as you glared at his back walking away from the table.

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Taglist: @ablev92

#bodhi durran x reader #bodhi durran #bodhi fourth wing #dain aetos x reader #emperyeon series #fourth wing fanfic #iron flame #iron flame fic #bodhi durran fanfic #fourth wing bodhi #bodhidurran #Bodhi durran fanfiction #Bodhi durran imagine #Bodhi durran series #shit at feelings fic

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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year

Note

Yoooo idk if you know what my hero academia is but what about a batsib( platonic) who’s a lot like dabi. Abused all there life has blue fire burns all over them. Abnormal body heat. Who would be more interesting in the fire? Who would help batsib take care of there burns. HOW WOULD THEY REACT TO THE STABLES COMING OFF!!!

Just the amount of chaos has me foaming out the mouth.

YANDERE BATFAM + YANDERE TODOROKI CLAN x READER

I tweaked your request a bit and added yan todo clan into the mix if you don’t mind anon? if you rather a version without them then feel free to request again!

I’ll prolly do a part two of this to expand more on the Todo family, Tim, Dick, and Bruce but who knows what my ADHD will hyperfixate on next.

God can I just say that I love Todoroki Clan v Batfam fics. However few and far between they are so I’ll be writing this with a Todoroki! Reader in mind. Perhaps a twin of Dabi.

status: unedited

Humans have a natural, visceral attraction to fire. One can’t help but be drawn to its glow.

You were born as Touya’s (fraternal) twin except your power didn’t have to rely on emotions.

You burned the day you were born. Hurting your mother in the process. Scalding her skin as she desperately tried to feed you despite the danger it meant to her well-being.

In spite of her growing hatred for her husband, you managed to sear your way into her heart and make your mark.

Rei adored you. You looked the most like her underneath all the flames and charred skin. She would coo at you while glaring at her failures. She would run her hands through your hair while the room slowly froze when hearing about that kid who asked for your hand in marriage.

You were her precious gem. A jewel amongst the icky, dark, coal the others call her children. She would do anything for you. Anything.

Enji had to admit. He loved you more than his ambitions himself. He abhorred the pained screams you’d make whenever you tried using your powers. Luckily, unlike his eldest son, you were much more susceptible to the idea of not becoming a hero. All of his attempts at another heir were all in hopes that you didn’t have to face the horrid world of villains.

Touya admired you ever since you two were little. Your parents would often speak of how he’d cry whenever you two were separated. Of how he’d wail whenever you’d get burnt by your own quirk as if he was the one who was hurt.

As you grew up, he grew distant. Envious of your flames that were already so strong. Angry that you born several steps ahead of him regardless of being his twin.

Natsuo and Fuyumi bore the brunt of his complaints. His parents were too entranced by your being so who else did he have to talk to?

It all came to a climax when Shouto gained his quirk. You’d never forget the hope draining from your twin’s visage. The flames that surrounded the two of you when he dragged you out into the woods only to take an attempt at your life.

As darkness consumed your vision, you reach out to your brother’s face and choked out as the smoke covered the two of you.

“I will . . . always . . . love you.”

You awoke to your parents in tears, the news that your twin’s body was never found, and your belongings packed in several bags.

You were to study far away. Have a new start. Where you’d forget your brother.

Gotham.

It was a place known for its crime rate, but Enji’s close friend Bruce promised he’d take care of you while you’re here.

You were greeted by one of his sons, Tim. He was around Fuyumi’s age and was utterly fascinated by your powers.

Through him you were able to appreciate your flames a little more. It was hard not to get close to him. You attended classes together, ate together, played together. He even made you equipment and salves that would ease the burns.

It wasn’t long before you found out about his vigilante persona and thus Bruce’s. But for the sake of safety (your own and their’s) you decided to keep that fact to yourself.

Dick often came by once in a while. It was rare but his visits started to become the highlights of your stay in Gotham. He was fun and energetic. Tim and Bruce were great and all but they always had an air of seriousness that reminded you all too well of your family back in Japan.

He’d often sneak you out and teach you some acrobatic moves. Through process of searching good old google about the Robins, you figured out he was Nightwing after a short while.

Although you absolutely despised them now, you couldn’t deny them their credit for reigniting your passion for heroics.

You started training on your own. Control was something you had already practiced in the past. You knew how to stop the flames when it flared up too much. But you never really got to the point of using it for attacks and combat.

You didn’t really get that far. The most you could do without getting suspicious was to ask your father for a tutor in self defense while only adding some of your flames for the extra damage.

Not to mention the fact that a fire based vigilante would definitely raise flags for the family you’ve been living with.

So you started your “hero” life without using much of your flames until such a time that you were able to either go back to Japan or move out to another state.

That’s when you met Jason. You didn’t know much about him at first. Only that he killed a bunch of the thugs that you were trying to handle on your own.

Without him you’d probably have been dead several times by now.

Thus you took it upon yourself to help him in any way you can.

From being a hindrance you slowly started becoming an essential asset to Jason’s patrols. So much so that he often would blow up if you disappeared for a week only to apologize profusely and buy you pizza when he found out you were gone because of exams.

Jason also made you discover a very important part of your power. While your quirk didn’t rely on emotions to be strong within itself, emotions still played a huge part of it.

And as he slowly placed his lips upon yours, a wall of flame sets off.

You never returned to him after that day.

Around your early adulthood, Damian was taken into the household.

It wasn’t that long before you figured out he had no filter and a lot of ego to boot.

He reminded you a lot of a cat. Your parents would never let you adopt one out of fear for you being scratched, or worse a cat barbecue so you often projected that childhood desire of yours to him.

So while he’d hurt you both physically and emotionally, you in turn would return whatever he gave with love and headpats.

It annoyed him to no end. Who were you to treat him like a baby? If it weren’t for your flames he could probably have you on the floor in a minute tops.

But whenever you’d disappear he realizes how much he enjoys your presence.

He was there when you came back after your encounter with Jason. Your burnt and tattered clothes.

He saw the news. He knew that you’ve been going out to save civilians with one of his predecessors. He knew all about your past and your powers.

And he knew that from this day forth, you were never going to leave the manor ever again.

GENERAL BATFAM TAGLIST: @the-sander-fander

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renlyslittlerose · 9 months

Text

Last week was the one year anniversary of me posting my first obikin fic, and over the last year being a part of the fandom has brought me so much joy and happiness and enthusiasm once again. Some of you knew me before 2019 and were aware that I was working on my Masters in the Classics, which included a massive thesis. While working on the thesis I was also working part-time at the museum, as well as battling a few chronic illnesses - some of which still affect me today - all of which drained me physically and emotionally. When I had finished my thesis and graduated from the program I was well and truly burnt out.

2020 was rough for everyone, and I was contented to just exist without doing much of anything that could be seen as creatively productive. But then 2020 came and passed and I thought maybe I should get back on the saddle, and started working on my own original story. I fell off of social media, didn’t interact in fandom, and tried to grind out a story that wasn’t working like I had hoped it would. 2021 and I still wasn’t ‘feeling it’; I had gone from writing about 1-2k words a day to 500 words a week - if I was lucky. A part of me wondered if I was tapped out for good, that I didn’t have it in me anymore, and that my thesis was my last creative outlet - my last hooray. I know it sounds a bit dramatic, but when you go from creating almost every day since you were sixteen years old, to suddenly believe that the well has run dry is terrifying. Maybe I was done for good - maybe I wouldn’t create something I was proud of.

And then Kenobi came out. I was a massive prequels fan since I was nine years old and the Phantom Menace came out, and an even bigger Darth Vader fan, but I had never interacted with the fandom in any meaningful way. I was contented to just watch the films and the shows and leave it at that. But as I was watching I had the epiphany that Obi-Wan and Anakin were actually ~roommates all along. I started reading obikin fic, came back on tumblr to see what sort of fandom there was, and suddenly found myself with ideas again, and a desire to create something.

So I wrote my first fic ‘Sacred to the Gods’ based off of a thesis I wrote during my undergrad about the psychology of a Greek demigod. It took me about a week to write, but in that time I had a lot of fun - the words started to come more easily, the vibes were there, and the passion was slowly but surely returning. One fic turned into another, and then another, and suddenly I had written two multi-chaptered long-form fics, some shorter multi-chaptered ones, and a bunch of oneshots, all about our favourite duo.

And in the that span of time, not only was I able to rediscover my passion for writing and feel inspired again, but I met so many amazing, incredible, kind, passionate, creative people who welcomed me with open arms. I was used to fandom being sort of a gate-keepy thing, where if you were the new kid in town it would take you a while to work your way into any circles. But it didn’t happen with this fandom. I went up to a few people, held out my macaroni art, and was overjoyed to see them take it and immediately put it up on their fridge.

There are a lot of people I want to thank, and I should thank, from those who read my stuff, those who send me asks on tumblr, those who bookmark and kudos and comment, and those who followed me, but there isn’t any space to do all that. So I hope that a general ‘THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU’ will suffice. Thank you for giving me my passion back, thank you for supporting me, thank you for being an awesome community that has it’s issues, but still cares deeply about the art they’re creating, and who care about fostering a community.

However, there are a few people I would specifically like to address, because I don’t think this post would be complete without you. I’ll put it behind a cut because this post is already cumbersome:

@bi-wan || My beloved! You were the first person to follow me on tumblr after reading one of my fanfictions, and the first to reach out to me to be my friend. Thank you for reaching your hand out to me and dragging me into the fold. Because of you I’ve made so many good friends who I treasure dearly - including you. 🥰

@ragnarlothcat || I feel like you and Cam are a packaged deal, and so I thank you for being curious about me and checking out my work, and for allowing me to occupy both you and Cam’s comfy little raccoon haven. You’re so supportive, and your work was some of the first I read in the fandom which truly secured my desire to be a part of it. Thank you 💖

@intermundia || I’ve told you this before, but you were the first person I approached in the fandom when I decided I wanted to dip my toes into the experience, and your warmth and welcoming nature secured my desires to be a part of this group. The fact that you support my stories and are so passionate about it really fuels my desires to keep creating (as well as feeding my ego). Thank you for being such a good presence in the fandom.👑

@theseptemberist || I have a feeling that Will told you about me, and I am so glad that he did because we’ve struck up such a friendship that I can’t see myself without. Our chats on discord over the past few months have been wonderful in so many ways that are too innumerous to say here. Thank you for sharing your heart, and for being so kind and empathetic. And thank you for sharing your encyclopedic knowledge of fandom tea ☕

@unspuncreature || Just like Rag and Cam come as a team, you and Cal (and Wren, even though I’ve never spoken to her but feel like I know her) are the trio that delight and entertain. Thank you for your brilliant art and creativity, thank you for letting me bounce all my ideas off of you, and thank you for collaborating with me. You’re brilliant 💗

@kyberkenobi || Beyond the fact that your filthy brain inspires me and delights me, and the fact that you’re willing to goed me on when I come up with something that’s delightfully nasty, your maturity when it comes to fandom is refreshing. At the threat of sounding like a proud grandma, you’re still so young and yet you’ve got a lot of shit figured out - most importantly, that fandom is supposed to be for fun and write what you want to write. Can’t wait for us to finally collaborate one of these days 💕

@dininginspace || What can I say? You’re a delight, you’re incredibly funny, you’re kind and understanding, and you’re the best cheerleader a loser like me could ask for. The fact that you jumped on the Buffy bandwagon when I drove by on it secures you as one of my favourite people. Thank you so much for your early and continued support 🧛‍♂️

@nuandia || Thank you for chatting with me all the time; keep up your writing, it’s brilliant and worth it, even if you doubt it sometimes. 💖

@grapenehifics || I had just finished watching MASH when you commented on Moonlight Serenade. The noise I made when I saw your username, followed by the continued joy I get whenever I see you on my dash or in my inbox, or when I see you’ve posted something new for the world to enjoy. 🧡

@palfriendpatine66 || You’re a delight. You’ve got things figured out, and how you can write so much with the life you’ve got is incredible. Keep going - you’re a gem. 💎

@binaryeclipse || Love chatting with you on discord, and being able to throw out random things about Canada into the chat that doesn’t need explaining - you just get it. Especially when it comes to Alberta politics. It doesn’t always feel like a safe space out there when you’re an Albertan who loves her province but also hates so many things about it, but you make me feel as if I can be a contradictory mess and still feel as if I belong in Canada. Your muse will come back soon, I trust in this ✨

@treescape || Your work is sublime and an inspiration. I read your fics first when I went hunting for things to read, and was immediately captivated. When you followed me back and weren’t at all weirded out by me bounding over to you like an excitable golden retriever, I was very grateful - I am very grateful. Can’t wait to see what you create next. 💛

@starsdies || Thank you for listening to me; thank you for being so inspiring; thank you for helping with community events and exchanges. And thank you for streaming The Last of Us for me because I’m too cheap to buy HBO Max. 🙏

@tessiete || You fact-checked the details I put into Moonlight and all I can say is THANK YOU. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting too lost in the details, but its people like you who google that shit that makes me feel good about my obsessions. 🌸

#personal #obikin #thank you everyone #I know this is messy and gushy and gross but whatever #Im sick with a cold so I get to be mushy gushy

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optimist-pine · 2 years

Note

Hey there, today I got stress tested and, long story short, I have an extreme case of burnout. I’ve been having panic attacks, dissociating, puking a lot, and have been struggling with a chronic illness, deaths in the family, etc. I really hope this doesn’t sound too much like I’m just complaining. I would really appreciate it if you could do the rise boys with someone dealing with… that whole situation. Leo and Donnie are my favorite btw. Thanks!

A/n: That really sucks, Anon. Thanks for opening up and requesting this. I hope this meets your expectations, and I really hope it helps even the tiniest bit. Please let me know how you're doing. (Here's a hug from me to you (⁠⊃⁠｡⁠•́⁠‿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)⁠⊃)

Word Count: 1,230

Warnings: Severe burnout and related symptoms

---

Leo:

• He's acutely aware of the buildup leading to your burnout

• If you don't come to him by a certain point he's going to gently - but firmly - make you talk things out and tell him what's going on

• Some of these things he already knows about of course, but there are still things he hadn't realized were weighing so heavily on you

• He helps you to establish and maintain a better routine while still giving you space to accomplish things on your own

• Be prepared for lots of non-verbal reminders including:

• Him setting out personal care items to have a "spa time" every evening to unwind

• The smell of freshly steeped tea coming from an area that's already set up for morning meditation/yoga

• Recruiting Mikey to make healthy family meals where the group conversations are filled with laughter and hope

• Maybe the two of you will even find a project to invest in together that benefits others within the city

• Ninjitsu is an exceptional way to relieve some stress so be prepared for a lot of training

• You'll go up and practice on the rooftops where you can feel the breeze across your skin and hear the people and cars go past

• He'll guide you throughout the movements and encourage you to go without shoes to really feel the cement ground you through your feet

• He hopes, with time, that he can help you to slow down and process things in a way that doesn't allow the stress to overtake and overwhelm you because he hates seeing you so severely burnt out

• He will always be there to listen and he really values communication so please tell him what helps and what doesn't

Donnie:

• Donnie's been there once or twice before, though maybe not nearly as severe as what you're dealing with

• If you tend to withdraw, he's not going to let you go it alone

• He may not be the best talker or listener or all that great with even his own emotions, but he knows something is wrong and he wants to help

• He'll make sure you go and actually do things and get out of your head

• Maybe that means testing out new inventions or going around the city to study the engineering and architecture of the buildings

• Anything to just do something while simultaneously not doing much of anything

• He may also egg you on to play the dance machine they have in the arcade since the physical exertion is good for clearing the head

• He lets you in on his next big secret project, allowing you to not only name but customize its design and final look since that can be the most exciting part of the creation process

• And even though he doesn't feel very confident doing it, he'll try to get you to talk things out because it would really help him understand what's draining you if you outright told him

• He'll make sure you get to bed and get a good amount of sleep, but he also won't let you avoid getting up in the morning since he knows it won't help

• He starts beginning the day with you in conversation about what each of you is looking forward to, and ending the day with what made your day good/better

• Even though he feels like he's the worst at helping you through this, he understands how you feel more than any of his brothers do

Raph:

• Look, it doesn't matter if the issue is physical, mental, or emotional, but this guy's number one solution is cuddles

• Obviously they won't fix things on their own, but it's a good start

• Being in charge of his younger brothers, he understands what it's like to feel like so many things are out of your control that you just can't keep up

• He's going to encourage you to remove yourself from as many responsibilities as possible and take a break - a long one

• He's the best listener if you'll tell him what's going on, although he'll probably ask lots of questions to really understand

• He does a good job of subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) reminding you how valuable you are to himself and the others

• How just your presence is so vital in him keeping his head on straight, so he's going to be right by your side through the thick of it

• This guy's default setting is protective so he may tend to lean towards being overbearing

• He knows this so he'll really try his best not to be - if he seems really awkward or unsure of himself it's not because of you

• He'll probably convince you to box with him for the connection between mental focus and physical coordination and reflexes

• He'll encourage you to really feel the connection between your body and your soul, how each movement connects your physical posture with your mental posture

• Out of all of them, Raph has the most difficult time watching you go through this

• He tends to take everyone's burdens upon himself, and this time he can't, so you can be sure he's going to be doing a lot of little things for you

Mikey:

• Mikey is pretty in-tune emotionally and mentally, so he noticed the progression of things going from bad to worse before they were even bad

• He really, really wants to help and he wears his heart on his sleeve so you can see it in his face constantly

• He doesn't really understand what you're going through, and listening and talking through things isn't his strong suit, but he's a master distractor

• Everything you eat, everything you wear, and everything you do is going to have some added razzmatazz courtesy of Mikey

• He'll drag you out to tag buildings late at night, scour thrift stores for crazy outfits, or serve food at a homeless shelter

• His plans may not have a lot of rhyme or reason but he really wants you to step away from everything and just feel alive and connect with other people

• Laughter is the best medicine, right?

• He'll scrounge up a bunch of art supplies and recruit you to help him spruce up some dingy part of the lair because he's convinced it needs your personal touch

• He'll ask you to come hang on the rooftops for an evening and watch the stars - even if you can't see them in the city

• Moments like this he can actually slow down and focus, so he'll encourage you to talk and tell him what's up

• It scares him that you're not acting like yourself, but he also knows it's something out of your control so he doesn't want you to feel guilty

• He'll grab you and his boombox and go bust some moves on street corners in hopes you'll be filled with the buzz of a group of strangers all hitting a certain groove together

• Mikey cares deeply for you and he'll do whatever he can to help you heal

• He wants to see the sunshine come back into your life

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hazbincalifornia · 1 year

Text

I like the thought of Verosika/Barbie where they meet in rehab and they're both just... assholes. Trying to detox sucks. Barbie reminds Verosika too much of Blitzo, and Verosika is just a rich, privileged, self-obsessed dick to Barbie. At first, they prickle at each other.

Barbie chased fame and it tore her to shreds, lost her her brother and her dignity as she fell into addiction while clawing to keep on top even as she sank under. Verosika has everything she wants, is looked up to, has a Crystal from Ozzie himself.

On Verosika's side, Barbie is a bitter, washed-up too-crass imp that spits swears like they're air, always sneaking in hits from somewhere and draped over the back of the center's couch like she's a cat on a windowsill, burnt by the world and hissing if anyone gets too close.

There are flashes of the entertainer she used to be buried underneath, though- she whips out jokes easily as breathing when there's the chance. She's whip-smart and agile as anything when soberish, seen on ledges more than the floor. When she gets attention, she positively glows.

Barbie wants the high of fame back, the chance to be something, be someone, and Verosika walks around with an air of being someone better than anyone else, and Barbie believes it. She blew her shot, and she blames the world the way her brother blames himself.

One day, she realizes nobody visits Verosika either. She only leaves when she's hired for a gig, which is still better than what Barbie gets, but she doesn't talk about missing anyone like some of the others do. (Many don't, it can be a weakness to tear at, but there are tells.)

(She was hired 'to lead their team' for Spring Broken, remember- those aren't her friends, her group. She might have known them, but they're not 'hers'. She's seemingly usually a solo act.)

Then, Barbie notices the tattoo. They'd never been in quite the right angle or this close before, and she knows exactly what that means. She doesn't know how to feel, but goes up to Verosika and says 'So, my dipshit brother broke your heart, huh?'

Verosika starts, staring down at her until Barbie hops up on the table and takes a swig of water like she wishes it was something harder. "Blitzo. He's my brother. He fucked off years ago. I'd apologize but I don't know what he did or if you deserved it."

There's a lot in those words, and Verosika's lips tighten. "He fucked off with my wallet and car, drained the cards on horse-riding lessons." Barbie wheezes with laughter at that, and it sounds so much like Blitzo that Verosika can't tell if she wants to smack her or kiss her.

"You know, all this time I've been picturing what I'd do once I got out of here, and taking you down a peg for being such a stuck-up bitch was on that list, but it sounds like he already did it for me." She has a lopsided grin, so very punchable.

Then it softens a little, and the growl in Verosika's throat dies. "Musta really fucked you up, huh? Everybody knows I haven't got jack or shit left at this point, but you had to like him enough to get his stupid name plastered right on your arm before he ripped you off."

Verosika considers for a moment, before giving a slight nod. "Yeah. He was an asshole. I thought we had something, but..." "He runs when things get hard. Fucking pussy." Barbie examines her claws, born with black polish. "Guess if he already fucked you up I don't have to."

"Oh, you're a doll," Verosika said sarcastically. "Because I have so much to fear from a washup nobody ever gave more than a half-hour's worth of a shit about." Barbie's fingers curl into a fist. She glares, and what Verosika sees in her eyes isn't as satisfying as she expected.

After that, it comes in bits and pieces. Slowly, Barbie sees that Verosika is still shuffled around like a talented pet and shoved back in order to keep her just sober enough to be useful. Slowly, Verosika sees Barbie as someone else who was hurt but never gets a second chance.

(The first time they kiss, it tastes of booze smuggled in through Verosika's chest and Barbie's boot, a little sweaty but a solace from the world that saw them both as tools, one still useful and one tossed away to rust.)

#helluva boss #verosika mayday #barbie wire #verbie #this was a twitter thread that turned out like 750 words oops #shadow writes stuff

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lohkeuncensored · 4 months

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Sometimes ranting about my issues help, but you're not obligated to pay attention

I've never failed anything school related; I was close once, back when I was 15, but I've always pulled through with mediocre to high grades.

The way things are going right now, that might change soon.

I'm on the 5th semester of my bachelors and I am so burnt out. I've gotten through a lot by the help of spite, but this semester (which I started out being so excited and interested) have drained me so much. And I blame all of it on my study group.

We are four in the group. Me, Tamara, Klaus and Martin. The class was split into two special lines at the end of the 4th semester, which made it difficult to create my own group for this semester as we were told to, as all the people I talked to chose the other special line of the education.

Tamara asked me if I wanted to group up, which I agreed to. I was just happy to be asked, you know?

The school wanted us to create 3-man groups, but on the first day after summer vacation it turned out that there was two 2-man groups, so we were combined into one 4-man group. I should have protested that.

Klaus was new to the class, as he'd just gotten back from a year with being sick due to stress, so I don't really blame him for anything; I know things can be hard, and I understand the struggles. Basic empathy, right?

The second time he called out from having a bad day, we all told him that we hoped that he'd feel better soon, as you do. And then the other two started talking about him in class, while he was home: they agreed that mental issues was just a bad excuse, and that you just had pull yourself together get past it. So, it was confirmed that I wouldn't be able to talk with them if I had issue, got it.

I told Klaus, privately, to let me know if there was anything I could do to help and that the others weren't as understanding to mental struggles.

We've been projecting a renovation of a 215 year old hospital/school building, and distributed different parts of the building between us. I got the top floor and the roof, and was to find a solution for getting more natural light.

The building is currently condemned due to mold, so we were geared up like we were in Breaking Bad when we got to go and see it.

Anyway, back to my issue.

I did sketches upon sketches of potential solutions, and we discussed it in the group, as one should with it being a group project, but every time I opened the digital model that we'd started on Martin had been in there and changed things in my work.

"Why is there a glass wall on my floor?" Martin thought that the best way to get natural light in a symmetrical building was to remove the right side of the hipped roof, making the ridge go all the way out the the wall and then put in a glass wall instead of bricks.

"Who moved the gypsum wall on my floor?" Martin thought that I had placed it wrong and moved it without asking.

On the topic of possible solutions for more natural light, I barely managed to suggest a dormer before Martin loudly proclaimed "no" and when asked for a reason, he said "because they're ugly" instead of being constructive.

Besides there being tonnes of more examples like this, he's also said things like "I have a friend who'd siding with Palestine, which is clearly wrong," and it feels like there's been at least one racist or general chauvinist comment on a daily basis, and it's just built up.

When I've complained to the others, they've been understanding and seemingly on my side, until I've tried to confront Martin on his behavior. I understand Klaus not wanting to get into a confrontation; he barely knows us and is still trying to get past his own issues. Tamara on the other hand are "apparently" trying to be neutral and find a middle road, without really noticing that Martin is messing with things that were already approved by the group and ruining several hours of my work without reason. But hey, it's not her work that he's messing with, so it's not that bad, right?

I tried to tell him that if there was things he was unhappy with, he should tell us when it first discussed, instead of bringing it up weeks later, when I'm about to put the finishing touches on my work. He legitimately just dismissed my complaint and ignored me, so yeah, I admit it, I got a bit emotional due to the disrespect. I'm a crier because no one ever taught me how to regulate my emotions, and I don't deal overly well when people won't listen to me.

And then fucking Tamara interfered by, condescendingly, saying "you shouldn't get emotional, Lohke. You're an adult and about to soon enter the workforce and no one wants to hire someone emotional."

Admittedly, I blew a casket.

I stood up and yelled at her "that it just doesn't always work like that, Tamara!" and fucked off to go cry in the bathroom.

I'm the oldest one of the four of us, but honestly Tamara seems to be of the idea that she's the most mature, presumably because she is the only one who has a child.

I can not with people talking down to me like that. I've been in the workforce for close to a freaking decade, and I've never been treated with this level of disrespect from someone who wasn't family before.

The last couple of months since then, I've stopped coming with inputs to the project, because I honestly don't care anymore. Everything has piled up too much and I've fallen into a hole of apathy, that I can't claim out of.

The exam is soon and I'm not overly hopeful.

If you've read this far, please cross your fingers that I'll at least manage a passing grade. Thanks.

#personal #mental struggles #i hate group projects

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taylorgraymoore · 5 months

Text

November 26, 2023

There’s something intensely cruel about shift work. I know what I said about kvetching, and I’m really trying to write about something else, but you’d be shocked (those of you who don’t work a labour job, at least) by how much this sort of work dominates your time and energy. Today, for example, I’m exhausted from having worked two shifts in a row going from 4pm-11:30pm, which kept me up late, and then I have this one day off before I go back to work a shift that starts at 7am, which will get me up early. So I can’t sleep in to recover from the shift before, I feel totally drained and unfocused, and then I can’t relax in the evening because I have to worry about being ready for to wake up super early and rush out the door. It doesn’t feel like a proper day off because, even if I’m not physically at work, the whole day is still dominated by the effects of work.

It’s partially my fault. I’m bad at falling asleep fast, so I stay up too late once I’m already home. I stayed up late reading. Vernon God Little, the novel I’ve plucked from the shelf I’ve left it sitting for years, and then a lot of related wikipedia articles—I do spend too much time on my phone, but at least I’m not doom scrolling social media. Not most of the time.

This morning I was a bit. Sunday means my grandpa makes pancakes, so the kitchen isn’t free when I come up to make breakfast. I stayed on my phone waiting for him to finish. I don’t like doing that first thing when I wake up, but I was too tired to do anything else. I tried.

The pancakes he makes are dense and burnt. Every Sunday, the dense and burnt pancakes. Sometimes more often than that, too. I am offered them and sometimes I eat one.

He likes them, which is good. He saves them in the freezer and will microwave one at a time to have for breakfasts.

The batter comes from a family friend, an almost ninety year old French-Canadian woman who runs an antique shop on Dunbar St. She comes by in her Jeep, stops by the back gate, and one of us runs out and takes the giant bowl of pancake batter. Okay, not always like that, but it’s happened like that and the event is burned in my mind as how the pancake batter enters our lives.

Mainly, I am just burnt out and upset about it. Thank you for attending my rant.

#prose #pancakes #writing #labour #i need sleep #rest

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searidings · 3 years

Note

hi, i just love you and your writing

can i suggest something - you are in love (taylor swift) and supercorp

i cannot listen to that song without going yeah, that's them

(also on ao3 if you prefer)

Five years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, five years from now, Lena will think back to this moment.

This moment, which is as close as Lena's come to happiness since she'd woken up ziptied to a chair in her brother's office. This moment which, despite the fuzzy feeling of her unbrushed teeth and the pungent aroma of burnt toast filling the air, is perfect.

Kara, bed-warm and sleep-heavy, is gazing beseechingly down at the charred remains of a slice of a bread as though if she only pouts hard enough, its edges will un-blacken and its corners will stop smoking.

“I'm so sorry,” she says as Lena rounds the screen separating Kara's bedroom from the rest of the apartment and perches herself on a barstool, tugging her borrowed sleep shorts a little lower down her thighs.

Kara's tone is mournful, her face so forlorn she looks to be one deep breath away from tears. “I wanted breakfast to be perfect, since it's your first time staying over and if it's terrible you might not want to stay again and I, I really want you to stay again, but I don't know why you would since you probably have a private chef waiting for you at home and I can’t even manage toast—”

“Kara,” Lena interrupts, biting at the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as Kara's bottom lip trembles. “It's fine, really. I once set fire to my dorm kitchen trying to boil an egg. And besides,” she winks as blue eyes meet hers. “I like to give my personal chef the weekends off.”

Kara huffs out a relieved chuckle, her face brightening. “Oh, well, in that case,” she grins, a sparkle returning to her eyes. “I'd better feed you up before you go home. Never let it be said that I don't look after you.”

Lena can't help the smile that pulls at her as the warm bright feeling in her chest grows and grows. She tugs the sleeves of Kara's sweatshirt over her hands, fighting the urge to fidget as the blonde orders a frankly obscene amount of food from the brunch place on the corner.

She feels exposed like this, face bare and hair sleep-mussed, unshowered with unbrushed teeth, huddled inside borrowed clothes after the impromptu invitation to stay over when last night's movie marathon ran late. It's a far cry from the regimented composure she fights so hard every day to project, and something in her chest twists anxiously.

Kara is a reporter, after all, and National City really doesn't need any more reasons to hate Lena right now. The darkest corner of her mind – the one which has been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to come crashing down ever since the whirlwind of Kara's too-good-to-be-true friendship had come blazing into her life – still worries that this may all be an elaborate ruse. A trap, a way to get close to her in order to assess her weaknesses, to bring her down with an inside scoop.

But in their six months of friendship, Kara's never given her any reason to believe she has any kind of ulterior motive. And despite the suspicions and anxieties hammered into her by a lifetime of hurt, Lena knows now that even if this is a trap, she'll take the bait willingly. Especially if it means Kara will keep looking at her like there might just be something in Lena that's worth her time.

"Hey,” the blonde says gently, leaning back against the counter opposite and pinning Lena with a searching look. “You okay? You kind of zoned out on me there.”

Lena jumps, blinking back into herself with a start. “Yes, sorry. I was miles away.”

The blonde only smiles, flicking on the coffee machine at her elbow. “You sleep okay?”

“Very well, thank you,” Lena answers, fighting to lessen the formality of her tone, to soften the edges her harsh childhood had sharpened into a fortress to keep the world at bay. “Your bed is surprisingly comfortable. I had a great night's sleep.”

"Perhaps the company had something to do with it,” Kara winks as she turns to pull two mugs down from the hooks at her shoulder. Lena thinks back to the smell of Kara's sheets and the soft pulls of her breathing, to the warmth of Kara's ankle against her calf and the strong fingers that had wrapped themselves in the sleeve of Lena's sweatshirt in sleep, anchoring them together. She blushes.

Kara only smirks, pouring their drinks and grabbing the milk from the fridge. “Well, the food's all ordered, it should be here soon,” she says over her shoulder, the waterfall of her golden ponytail mesmerising in the bright rays of morning light filtering in through the vaulted windows. “And you don't need to head off in a hurry, unless you have plans—?”

She glances back at Lena, who shakes her head. “Great!” she grins. “’Cause I was thinking, maybe we could check out the botanical gardens, since it's such a nice day? Oh, and there's a new bakery right across the street that I've been dying to try—”

Lena listens to the blonde's excited rambling with an endeared smile plastered to her face, feeling happy and warm and wanted with every fibre of her being. The feeling is new but so welcome she could cry, and Lena wonders – not for the first time – how she ever got so lucky.

Kara's presence in her life is like sugar in her coffee; meant only to sweeten that which has always been bitter.

Lena's always taken her coffee black. Softening the blow was never much her style.

But here, now, perched at Kara's breakfast bar with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug the blonde has brewed to perfection, sunlight streaming in and highlighting the angles and planes of Kara's face, the way she’s smiling at Lena like there's nowhere else in the world she'd rather be, she realises her reasoning is twofold.

Sugar isn't just appetising. It's addictive. And now that Lena's had a taste of sweetness, she's hooked.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

Four years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, four years from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which may well be one of the lowest of Lena's life. And she's had some doozies.

The two bottles of wine she'd managed to mainline between Sam leaving to orchestrate damage control at L-Corp and Kara arriving and attempting to confiscate her glass have well and truly caught up to her now. She sways heavily on her stool, the room spinning. Tears sting her vision and guilt scorches her throat as she presses a hand over her eyes so she won't have to look at Kara's face anymore.

“Please, just— just, stop believing in me, okay?” she slurs, heart full to shattering with the faces of lead-poisoned children. “I am not worth it.”

She hears Kara sigh, and the room falls silent for a long long time. Lena drops her head fully into her hands, fighting the nausea that's taken root in the pit of her stomach. It could be the booze that's causing it, of course, but it could also be the incessant headlines baying for her blood, the bullet James had taken for her that she'd fully deserved, the curse of her family finally fulfilling itself.

The guilt, the worry, the crushing disappointment of the knowledge that despite her very best efforts, she'll never be anything but a monster— it's too much to feel. It's too much to bear.

So, Lena drinks.

She drains her glass. She pours another. Kara watches, silent and disapproving, fingers twitching against the granite countertop between them.

Lena finishes her glass. Splashes the last dregs of the bottle into it, blood on ice. Still Kara watches, motionless and mute. It's only when Lena's swallowed the last of the red and is lurching unsteadily to her feet to source another that she moves, a hand reaching out to encircle her wrist.

Shame ignites beneath her skin and she pushes Kara away. Snaps at her to go home, to learn to recognise a lost cause when she sees one and just give up already. Kara refuses with a stoic shake of her head, and Lena sighs.

They repeat the same routine three times en route to Sam's wine rack, the blonde shadowing her every step. Each time, Lena wobbles, head fuzzy and room spinning. Each time, Kara steadies her, and Lena flinches from her touch like her palm is a brand, snarls at her to leave, to cut her losses, to just fuck off. Each time, Kara refuses.

She eventually retrieves the wine after a number of unsuccessful attempts but overbalances on her toes, bottle slipping from her grip as she sways dangerously. And then Kara is there, glass bottle caught a split second before it can shatter, a firm arm at her waist that will not be rebuffed.

Lena struggles, shoving and protesting, but this time Kara does not give in. “Enough,” she says quietly, firmly, blue eyes burning a mere inch from Lena's own. “Lena, enough.”

Lena's unsteady legs buckle further and Kara’s basically holding her up now, walking her slowly over to the couch and she shouldn't be this strong, surely, shouldn't be lifting Lena onto the cushions quite this easily. But it's such a minor concern when weighted against the fact that Lena is personally responsible for the hospitalisation of children that her mind brushes over it, forgets it immediately.

"Please go home,” she slurs as the blonde arranges her on the couch, as she stashes the unopened wine far out of reach and sets about finding blankets and pillows in various cupboards. “Please, just— leave me alone.”

“No,” Kara says, almost snaps, glancing back over her shoulder. Partially hidden in the linen cupboard, her face is cast deep in shadow, a splinter of half-concealed truth. “I made you a promise, I gave you my word. I'm your friend, and I will protect you. Always.”

She crosses back to the couch, soft blankets and pillows held out in invitation. When Lena refuses the offering Kara sighs, draping a knitted throw over her anyway and perching on the cushions beside Lena's hip. “I'm not going to leave you, so you might as well stop asking,” she hums, softer now, a hand reaching toward her that Lena no longer possesses the strength or coordination to bat away.

Long fingers make contact with her cheek, with the mussed curls tangling in her eyelashes, and Kara sighs. “You are not your brother,” she murmurs, fingertips grazing Lena's cheekbone, sliding back to thread into the fine hair at her temple. “And you never will be. There's too much light in you to allow for that kind of darkness, so put that fear down, Lena. Let it go. Be free of it.”

Tears spring unbidden to her eyes. “I poisoned children.”

Kara tilts forward and Lena wonders if it's just that her vision has upped its spinning, but then warm lips are pressing against her forehead, soft and delicate as gossamer wings. Kara's mouth moves against her skin, breath damp and sweet and unmistakeably her. “You saved the world.”

Neither one of them moves. When Lena speaks again, the words hit the elegant hollow of Kara's throat. “I don't deserve your kindness. I don't deserve you.”

Kara's lips are still on her forehead. “I don't care.”

Lena feels as if her throat is splitting open, every last fear and hatred and worry and insecurity gushing out of her in an unstoppable stream. “I'm scared.”

“I know.” Kara's lips press once more, and then withdraw. They watch each other in the dim light from the kitchen. Lena's vision is beginning to blur at the edges. Kara's hand is still in her hair.

“You will get through this,” the blonde whispers, so earnest Lena almost manages to believe her. “We'll figure it out. Together.”

Heart in her mouth, tongue sticking behind her teeth, Lena's eyes slide closed.

The sweetness of Kara's words, her gentle touches, seep inside her like honey. She doesn't deserve it but God, she wants it. She wants to be worthy of Kara's faith in her more than she's ever wanted anything in her life. She wants Kara more than she's ever wanted anything in her life.

And it's telling, she knows, that she's just lost the trust of all of National City, that she has no way of easing those children's suffering and no way to prove that she isn't the cause of it, that she's finally living up to the Luthor name she's been running from ever since she'd learned what it truly meant and yet in this moment, with Kara's hand in her hair and the ghostly imprint of her lips on Lena's skin, none of it seems to matter.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

Three years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, three years from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which stands alone as an oasis of calm in the turbulent tumult of the past days, weeks, months of chaos. Lex's escape from custody, Eve Teschmacher's betrayal, James’ shooting, the Harun-El serum, the whole shitty totality of it all has been weighing Lena down like an nth metal chain around her neck.

And Kara, Kara hasn't been around. The one person who has always managed to ease Lena's suffering has deserted her when she needs her the most and it feels like she's been sliced open, cracked in two.

She tells her as much, when Kara at last comes to see her. Tells her she's missed her, tells her she needs her, all but begs her to stay. And what does Kara do? She leaves.

And when she leaves, Lena is gripped by a panic so intense she fears she may never breathe freely again. So terrified is she that Kara is gone for good, that she's forced away the best thing that's ever happened to her, that almost before she knows what's happening she finds herself at Catco with apologies dripping from her own tongue.

Anything to get Kara back. Anything to keep her.

Lena apologises. Kara apologises. Lena cries, and Kara holds her, and tells her that the decision to help her brother when he was dying of cancer doesn't make her the monster she now believes herself to be. And standing on her office balcony with Kara's fingers wrapped around her biceps, with her own tears spotting dark on Kara's blazer, Lena manages to believe her.

When she's collected herself, smoothed away the wetness coursing down her cheeks, she speaks. “I really want to help you with your investigation on Lex.”

Kara's face lights up; Lena's whole world along with it.

“I'd love that,” Kara says, voice quiet and still a little tentative in the wake of their new truce. “But first— would you, um. Would you like to have lunch with me?”

Lena blinks. “Don't you want to get started on the exposé?”

“I do. But—” Kara's face is still painted that earnest shade from earlier, when she'd smoothed her hands over Lena's shoulders and whispered you are a brilliant, kind-hearted, beautiful soul against the sensitive skin of her neck. Lena feels her cheeks heat up at the memory, at the intensity in the blue eyes still roving her face.

Kara shuffles her feet but her gaze is clear, unwavering. “But you were right. I've spent too much time recently prioritising the wrong things. So, I want to work on this exposé with you, and I want to bring your brother down. But first, I'd really just like to have lunch with my best friend.”

Lena's heart trips in her chest. “I'd like that too.”

So, that's what they do. Kara asks her to wait, which she does, idly tapping out a few emails on her phone. And then the blonde is back, far quicker than should have been possible, with her arms full of takeout bags from the café on the third floor and she's taking Lena by the hand and leading her to Cat Grant's private elevator. She presses the button for the roof and Lena's gaze jumps to her face but Kara only smiles, and squeezes her fingers. “Trust me, it'll be worth it,” she hums, her excitement infectious. “You'll be safe with me.”

And Lena believes her.

That's how she ends up sitting at the edge of Catco's roof on a clean sheet Kara had borrowed from the builders on the second floor, heels kicked off, Kara's red blazer draped around her shoulders. It is worth it, she'll admit; the view from this high is phenomenal. The sun burns bright in a cloudless sky, glinting off the glass-sided skyscrapers of the business district, the glittering waters of the bay beyond.

Kara had picked up Lena's favourite salad, some flatbreads and dips, and they drink kombucha and eat strawberries in the sunshine. They talk and they laugh and they catch up and there's no more fighting, no animosity, no megalomaniac brothers or backstabbing secretaries or worlds needing to be saved. There's only them, she and Kara, and it feels like all she will ever need.

The blonde's hands are braced behind her on the rooftop and she looks happy and carefree as she regales Lena with stories of her upstairs neighbour's antics, and Lena feels the tight knot of tension that had taken up residence in her chest begin to unfurl.

"Hey,” Kara hums, pushing up straighter as Lena licks strawberry juice from her fingertips. The motion brings them closer, their shoulders brushing. “Look up.”

Lena does. High above them, a huge murmuration of starlings whirls and swoops through the air. Thousands of birds move together as one, a vast wave cresting but never breaking against the blue canvass of sky.

“Wow,” Lena gasps, awed.

Against her side, Kara hums. “Yeah.”

They watch the birds for a long moment, captivated by the ceaseless swirling and diving. When Lena at last tears her gaze away from the sky, Kara's eyes rest intently on her face. "Here,” the blonde murmurs, reaching out. The pad of one finger makes feather-light contact with her cheek. Lena's breath catches in her chest.

Kara holds out her finger, proffering the stray eyelash she'd captured with a smile. "Make a wish,” she whispers, her fingertip an inch from Lena's mouth. Her eyes never leave Lena’s.

Lena looks from Kara's face to the eyelash, and back again. From somewhere deep inside her heart, the truth bubbles its way to the surface. “I don't need to.”

Kara smiles, a brilliant, beautiful smile, and Lena knows. The stresses and anxieties of their current crisis feel far away here, harmless as birdsong. She's meted out forgiveness, received it in return. For the first time in her adult life Lena has communicated an issue with a loved one and been heard, understood. She has admitted her own mistake without having it spell out the end of her relationship.

Lena smiles back. The weight of the world sublimates into nothing beneath the bliss of a simple picnic in the sun.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

Two years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, two years from now, Lena will think back to this moment.

This moment, which has sapped the both of them to the bone. Another fight, another screaming match, another quick-fire back and forth of accusations and recriminations. Another night of cursing and crying and choking on all the things they never said before this, on all the things they can't now that Kara's secret has detonated in the shrinking space between them like a nuclear bomb.

Another round of bloodshed, and for what?

Lena sags against the arm of the couch, exhausted. Her face is hot, scratchy with salt from the tears still drying on her skin. She's dehydrated, probably, and half hoarse from shouting, tongue blistered with the bitter sting of betrayal.

Across the no man's land of her living room, Kara slumps against the floor-length windows, drops her temple to the cool glass. She's breathing heavily, cheeks wet, posture battered and eyes dark-bruised beneath the force of Lena's wrath. As Lena watches, her eyes slide closed.

It's been three months since Lena found out. Three weeks since Kara found out that Lena had found out.

Every night since, they've done this. Every night, Kara has shown up on her balcony and begged, pleaded, apologised, cajoled, defended, rebuffed, and sobbed. Every night, Lena has unleashed the hollow agony of Kara's deception masquerading as anger in her chest, incinerating the both of them in the fires of her desolation.

She would have expected the wounds to have cauterised by now. To feel some kind of release, the relief of catharsis. Or at least, to have expended some of her fury after all this time.

She hasn't.

They've been at this for three hours already this evening, and gotten nowhere. Kara's skin is pale above that fucking supersuit, face drawn and complexion sallow.

Lena knows how she feels. The singular exhaustion that is her rift with Kara has sapped her in every way imaginable. She can't sleep. She barely eats. She's no longer interested in work, research, friends. There's nothing in her life that isn't tainted by the shadow of the lies her best friend told and kept telling, every day for four years. Lena doesn't know how any amount of screaming and crying is ever going to get them past that.

Across the room, Kara sighs. It might be the saddest sound Lena has ever heard.

“Should we keep doing this?” she asks after an interminable silence, voice rough with tears still building. Her eyes are still closed.

Lena manages, with exorbitant effort, to raise her drooping head. “What?”

“Is there a point to all this?” Kara asks quietly, hunched body sliding a little further down the glass. "The explanations, the fighting?”

Blue eyes blink open. The weight of the sadness in them is unbearable. Lena struggles to find it within herself to care.

“Lying to you about who I am is the single biggest mistake I have ever made, and if it will make even one single shred of difference I will apologise to you every day for as long as I live,” Kara says into the aching chasm between them. “But I can't keep doing this. Not if it won't change anything. I can't— I don't want to keep hurting you.”

An hour ago, Lena would have scoffed at a sentiment like that. Would have parried back with some piercingly dry comment about how the blonde should have thought about that before she decided to betray Lena's trust as soundly as she possibly could.

Now, though— now, she's just too tired.

“So, should we keep doing this?” Kara whispers, throat working. “Or— God, Lena. Should we just— should we give up?”

Green eyes meet blue, two shattered hearts haemorrhaging between them. “Is that what you want?”

“No.” Kara's voice is loud, fiercely determined in the face of Lena's hesitant whisper. “God, no. Never. I don't ever want to give up on you, Lena. I don't ever want to give you up.”

Kara straightens then, with a strength Lena cannot imagine mustering herself. Perks of being a superhero, she supposes. Perks of being Kryptonian. The thought stakes another shard of ice through her bleeding heart.

“But I know that I've spent four years calling the shots for both of us by keeping you in the dark,” Kara continues. “I've taken away your agency. I've taken away your choice. I won't do that again.”

She sucks in a deep breath, a little of Supergirl's regality seeping back into the defeated slump of her shoulders. “So, I'm doing what I should have done from the start. I'm being honest with you, and hoping that you'll be honest back. I'm asking what you want.”

Kara's fingers twist anxiously before her, bottom lip bleaching white beneath the nervous pressure of her teeth. “Do you think we should keep doing this? Or do you— fuck.” Her voice cracks, the tears brimming in her eyes once again breaking free. “Do you want to give up?”

Jesus Christ. Lena never knew that the prospect of doing the right thing could hurt so much.

“Fuck,” she mutters as she kneads her knuckles over her closed eyelids, digging in until white lights starburst across her vision. “Fuck, Kara.”

“I know,” the blonde whispers from across the room, brittle and broken. “I know. I'm sorry.”

Lena slows her assault on her own eyelids, pinching thumb and forefinger hard at the bridge of her nose instead. “I want to give up,” she mutters, and in the taut silence between them she hears the blonde gasp, watery and thick.

Lena blinks open her eyes to find Kara's face crumpling, every facet of her seeming to fold in on itself even as she visibly fights to keep herself upright.

Lena sighs, and hates Kara, and hates herself even more. “I want to, but— I can't.” She sucks in a ragged breath, hating the truth that's just fallen from her lips, hating the lies that had necessitated it. Hating everything and everyone and most of all, hating just how much she's hurting. “I can't give this up.”

The tiniest spark of hope flares to life in Kara's eyes. Lena hates that she notices, hates that she cares, hates that the sight eases the tight knot of devastation clawing at her ribcage just the tiniest bit.

She also knows that this was inevitable. She knows that, though she hates Kara, though she's nowhere close to forgiving her, though she has no idea how they can rebuild from here or even if she truly wants to try, a question like Kara's could only ever have one answer.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

One year from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, one year from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which is barely even a moment at all. It's more like a dream, warm and faded and fogged in darkness, seconds stolen when sleep should have long since claimed them.

Kara's nightmare had woken them both. In the month since they'd pulled her out of the Phantom Zone, she hadn't slept alone once. Often, she stays with Alex, curling into her sister's side the way she would when they were just kids after one too many late-night horror movies. Once, she stays with Nia, tucked up snug in a borrowed pair of puppy print pyjamas.

Mostly, she stays with Lena. It's natural and unspoken and easy as breathing, the way Kara will show up at her place after a Supergirl save or Lena will let herself into the blonde's apartment after a late night in the lab. They cook dinner and watch Celebrity Masterchef and brush their teeth elbow to elbow at the bathroom sink and when Kara is inevitably tugged screaming and sobbing from her night terrors, the way she presses her face to Lena's neck and her hand over Lena's heart is natural and unspoken and easy as breathing, too.

Kara's racing pulse has calmed a little, her grip on Lena's body beneath her losing some of its urgent desperation. After a long moment of Lena's hand stroking her hair, of gentle reassurances and lips pressed to her temple the blonde pulls back, just enough to rest her head on the pillow facing her.

In the dim light filtering in through the bedroom window Kara's pupils are blown, her face solemn. There's something in her heavy gaze that Lena can't identify; something weighted and potent that prickles goosebumps up the length of her spine.

"Feeling better?” she whispers into the inch of warm air between them, reaching out to tuck a sweat-matted curl reverently behind the blonde's ear.

Kara catches her retreating hand and holds tight, twining their fingers together on the narrow swathe of pillow between them. If either of them were to move so much as a millimetre, their clasped hands would press against their lips.

The blonde nods and sure enough, the soft heat of her mouth brushes the back of Lena's knuckles. She shivers.

Kara is still watching her, the intensity of her gaze causing Lena's heart to thud hard in her throat. She squeezes lightly at the fingers threaded through her own. “What?”

A pause, heavy and sweet as overripe fruit. Kara blinks once, slow. “You're my best friend.”

Lena swallows down a sudden swell of emotion. The blonde nudges closer and when she speaks, the wet seam of her lips catches on the angle of Lena's bent knuckles, painting her skin with the words.

“You're the most important person in the world to me,” Kara whispers, breaths skating fire-flashes across Lena's fingers, voice muffling out past the mouth pressed to her skin. “You know that, right?”

Lena's voice deserts her in the wake of the quiet words. She leans forward instead, presses her lips to Kara's fingertips where they rest against the back of her own hand. It's answer enough.

She hears Kara's breath catch, feels the disruption mirrored in her own chest. Both their mouths are pressed to the joined hands clasped between them. If they were to move their fingers down even just a fraction, there would be nothing separating their lips but a promise, a prayer.

Kara's eyelashes flutter in the semi-darkness. The tip of her nose brushes Lena's own. Neither one of them moves their hands.

They only gaze at one another a long moment, and Lena wonders if the blonde is memorising the planes of her face the way she's memorising Kara's. She could look at her forever, be happy here with her forever, and in this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

For the first time, she wonders if she might not be the only one.

Right now, Kara is reaching across the table at Noonan's and taking Lena's hand.

It's been three weeks since they'd taken down Lex for the last time. Three weeks since Kara had stormed into the Tower's med bay to cup Lena's bloody, bruised face in her hands; since she'd brushed her thumbs feather-light over Lena's split eyebrow and purpling jaw and growled don't you ever scare me like that again. Three weeks since she'd leaned in and pressed her lips to Lena's.

It's been two weeks and six days since Lena, confined to a gurney but utterly uncaring thanks to the warm Kryptonian curled against her side, had pressed her aching face to Kara's shoulder and first whispered that she loved her. Two weeks and six days since Kara had first said it back.

It's been two weeks and five and a half days since Nia had walked in on Lena in Kara's arms, lips pressed to her neck and hands wandering beneath her sweatshirt, and promptly shrieked the place down. Since their friends had exchanged pointed glances and relieved sighs and congratulated them on finally making it official, their expressions ranging from overjoyed to exasperated to plain exhausted.

It's been two weeks and four days of she and Kara dating; of morning kisses and shared showers and the perfect partner at game night and all of Lena's wildest dreams coming true.

It's been less than a minute since Kara had admitted, hushed and wondering, that she'd known she was in love with Lena ever since she'd found herself suddenly prepared to poison National City's entire water supply rather than let Lena fall. That she hadn't been able to fully it admit it to herself until she'd found herself suddenly prepared to alter the course of all of history in order to get Lena back.

And right now, Kara is reaching across the table at Noonan's and taking her hand. She's looking deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice barely rises above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And now that she has, Lena is sure of her answer.

The highlight reel of her relationship with Kara lays itself at Lena's feet, each precious memory between them stretching out like a roadmap of her growing affection, with every hard-won step leading her right to this moment.

And in this moment, Lena knows. She's in love with Kara. Really, she always has been.

#sorry this took approximately 8932018207402 thousand years to materialise #if you've ever sent me a prompt and thought well fuck she's taking so long with this she's clearly forgotten about it i'm just here to say:#nope!#still here #unsure how inspired by the song this actually was in the end #it's either way too close to the lyrics or not close enough #who can say #but anyway yeah. supercorp song #thank your for the prompt and the lovely message! hope you like it #asks #anonymous #ridings writes #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers

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coweye · 2 years

Text

Commitment Issues - Part 5

Pairing: Benny Miller x Reader

Words: 2.1k

Summary: When you try and take your friends with benefits relationship to the next level, Benny’s response isn’t quite what you were expecting.

Warning: Unplanned Pregnancy, Pregnancy Complications, Benny being a slight dick but kinda cute xoxo

Author note: Ya girls back, was kinda depressed for a hot second there and couldn't write anything for shit, but you guys reblogging my story despite me not posting for weeks was and AMAZING feeling and gave me some much needed serotonin.

I love you all so much and can't thank you enough for the support. 💕

Without further ado... here's ma boi getting his head on right for once.

I made a very slight rewrite in 4.5.

I would recommending just rereading the very end of 4.5 so you're not lost if you read it before New Years 2022.

➢ Fic Masterpost

⇠ Previous Part

Your ears were ringing - you were furious, always it was about Benny’s feelings, Benny’s incapability to deal with everything, yes, he was going to be a father, but right now you were carrying another human being inside of you.

Your hormones were through the roof, you had vomited for the majority of the morning and your boobs were killing! When was it your turn to be a child?!

So, much like he had, you left. It was your turn to have a dramatic strop.

You went straight out the way you’d come in and you were seated in your truck long before anyone was the wiser.

You were done - so fucking done, with everything and everyone in your life.

Santi and Frankie’s drunken looks of disbelief and betrayal.

Will’s eyes filled with abject rage.

And Benny. Fucking Benny.

Everyone could mind their own business as far as you were concerned, this baby was yours. If Ben didn’t want to be around 100% then he didn’t need to be, you and this baby weren’t a ball and chain, you weren’t anyone's problem.

That's what you told yourself as you sat in your truck in the 7/11 car park, a half drunk slushie in your hands and the heating on full blast.

You could do this alone.

Already the dye was turning your tongue blue, easing your rage - despite the fact it was probably giving your unborn child a sugar rush.

Leaning back against your headrest, your eyes clouded with tears and your throat constricted almost painfully as you fought the urge to breakdown, you blamed this entirely on hormones, fucking Benny.

Taking a few calming breaths, you closed your eyes.

You felt exhausted; both emotionally and physically drained by the day's events.

You couldn’t say how long you were in the parking lot, whether it was an hour or three, perhaps it was 10 minutes but the busted analogue clock on your dashboard currently read that it was mid afternoon. Judging from the night sky, you could safely say that was incorrect.

Your brain awoke with a start, spilling the remaining slurpy down the only nice dress that still fit you.

“Fuck.” You hissed, reaching blindly into the back seat. Your hands grabbed at an article of clothing that had been left in the footwell behind the passenger side and began mopping at the residual blue raspberry staining your cocktail dress.

The second you saw the MMA logo you threw it on the passenger seat as if it had burnt you, slopping the icy mess with it.

You sat glaring at the article of clothing as if it had personally offended you for a moment, as if it was the idiot that knocked you up sitting next you.

In a moment of unhinged rage you grabbed at it and in sheer fury pulled at what used to be your favorite jumper. It was futile, of course, you were nowhere near strong enough to rip the fabric, but somehow warping the weaving of the cotton-poly-blend somehow made you feel better.

It was petty and ridiculous but it eased the pressure behind your eyes, as if you were getting some sort of revenge. Your manic arm movements as you tried to get a better grip on it caused your forearm to graze the horn. The loud BEEP brought you back down to earth; the realization of how insane you were currently being was enough to ground you.

Throwing it back onto the seat in defeat and leaning your head against the wheel; You figured the heat had to have died down by now. You were bound to get an ear full in the morning but that sounded firmly like tomorrow's problem.

Starting the engine you began your completely uneventful drive back to your apartment. It wasn’t until you rounded the corner that anything gave you pause.

There sat the father of your child, leaning against the main door to your apartment block, his arms crossed and eyes closed as if it was a summer's day and he hadn’t a care in the world as he bathed in the sun.

You couldn’t begin to guess how long he’d been here out in the biting cold.

Anger flared deep within you, maybe just maybe, if this had been three days ago it’d have melted your icy heart but it was quite frankly too little too late.

Instead, it pissed you off something rotten; he thought this worked on his timeline.

When he was ready.

When he could deal with it.

It was a bitter way of thinking, but perhaps if your evening hadn't gone the way it had you’d be a little more open to alternative methods of conflict resolution.

Instead, you thrust the door fob over the scanner, the movement of the door giving way inwards jarred the man awake, somehow catching himself before he hit the thinly carpeted concrete, that in itself annoyed you a little.

Ever the special ops soldier, he shook the grogginess of sleep from his mind and his eyes focused in on you.

“...Y/N.” He muttered his voice gruff with sleep whilst standing and dusting off his jeans.

Forgoing the lift that would slow you down, you childishly took the steps two at a time, kicking off the heels along the way until two flights of stairs were behind you and you stood before your front door.

Out of breath, you huffed to realize he was right behind you, your heels under his arm.

Benny was fitter than you on a good day but three going on four months pregnant, you hadn’t stood a chance of losing him.

After unlocking the door, you stepped in and went to close the door behind you, but his boot caught it a centimeter from closing.

“Move.” You hissed.

The surprise was evident on his face; he’d never seen you like this. For the simple reason that you’d never felt like this.

You weren’t cruel by nature.

You had simply never had reason to be this angry at another human being and right now you fucking loathed the man who currently wore his baseball cap backwards as if he was a fucking fifteen year old.

You had half the mind to tell him as such, but you refrained, in what you would consider a great act of self restraint.

All you wanted was to take off your ruined dress and get into bed, you weren’t in the head space to weather his self destructive, idiotic tendencies right now.

However, the size 11 currently stopping your door in its tracks clearly felt differently. So you fixed its owner with a glare that would stop any sane human in their tracks.

The thing about Benjamin Miller was, he wasn’t completely sane.

So he placed a palm on the door, not pushing but not conceding to you just yet.

“Y/N, Please.” Those baby blues weren’t going to melt you, not this time. He’d pushed you too far and this fury was too fresh. So in a moment of pure pettiness, you pulled back the door, his eyes lit up at what he thought was your surrender.

Alas, when you used the momentum to swing it closed on his foot, well, Benjamin should just be thanking his lucky stars that he wore his work boots.

You on the other hand were cursing whatever foresight he possessed, as the lack of pain meant that your plan had been severely underwhelming and his foot remained in the door jam, only now he was pissed off.

So like the children you apparently both were, you struggled against one another, him pushing; not quite with his full strength, but just enough to slowly slide you back with the door.

Just as he nearly had enough space to slide his shoulders through the gap you gave in.

Suddenly moving out of the way of the slab of wood, the shoulder he'd been using to push it open gave way quickly, his only saving grace had been the measured force with which he pushed against the door as he had been unwilling to hurt you. This gave him enough control to stop himself in his tracks as he barreled towards your living room floor.

If he wanted to be a child, you could be too.

“Really?!” He huffed in disbelief throwing your heels onto the floor, his eyes wide as he stared at you as if you were a feral creature who’s next move he was attempting to predict. You quite simply weren’t acting like yourself, you were always calm and measured.

Always thinking before acting. Look at where that had gotten you.

So, to bring this infantile act to its crescendo you turned on your heel with a shrug and began phase two; Blanking him.

As it turned out, quite fantastically, that was a soft spot for Benny.

He tried over and over to get you to engage, but you carried on as if he wasn’t there getting ready for bed.

“Really, you’re not talking to me?” He sighed whilst he leaned against the doorframe of your bedroom. “You?”

“You call me immature, whilst you’re pulling this shi-” You pulled your dress over your head, your slightly rounded belly caught his attention bringing his sentence to a swift end.

He had seen you naked more times than he could probably count, though your swollen belly gave him pause.

He came forward as you stepped into your pyjama bottoms, it wasn’t until he went to place a hand on your tummy that you reacted.

“Don’t touch me.” It held half of the venom of the last words you’d hissed but it was enough to make him heed your words.

Reaching into your drawer, you pulled out a large tee and pulled it over, concealing your bump from those prying baby blues.

“So what, you’re never gonna talk to me? Not gonna let me see my kid.”

You ignored him.

It was difficult to ignore the bait, but you managed somehow.

So you got into bed.

As your head lay on the cotton pillow in the dark room, you heard Benny moving around your apartment.

He didn’t leave.

No, you heard him settle on the sofa and turn on the TV.

Even that made your blood boil.

“...just needed some time… acts like an asshole…” You hear him brokenly mutter under his breath.

Suddenly blanking him just didn’t seem like a punishment, smashing the Television over his head however, much moreso.

The swivel of your head was comical, though the onslaught of abuse that followed it, less so.

“I’m sorry? I’m the asshole?” Benny’s head swings around and searches for you in darkness, you know he’s suddenly cursing your studio apartment. You're sure the regret would be clear as day in his eyes, but it's not enough to give you pause.

“I-”

“-No, actually. You’ve had your turn to speak… you… fucking… fuck… prick. I have tried to be reasonable, I’ve tried to be nice, but I am done babying you Ben.” You throw the quilt off of you in fury and take a few steps to stand before him. You’ve stunned him into silence so you continue your tirade, letting out all the weeks of heartache. “Me… Asshole… You’re the fucking asshole, Miller! Maybe if you could act like an adult for once in your fucking life, you’d be able to see I don’t want anything from you. Nothing, not anymore. Running from me at the 7/11 - What are you 8?! Fucking face me like a fucking - .” You can’t help the heavy breath that escapes you at the stabbing pain that lances your ribs.

Ben’s out of his shock, over the back of the sofa and at your side in a matter of moments, his eyes wide and filled with fear.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t Call Me -” The sensation takes your breath away again “Its the baby, I’m not sure - I’ve not felt this before, I haven’t read that stupid fucking book yet.” You huff pointing to the pregnancy guide on the coffee table, the pain returns again and you can’t help yourself as you grab at the sleeve of his shirt to ground yourself. It feels like a bad stitch, but instead of breathing causing the pain it's sporadic and twice as painful.

“Hospital now.” He says sternly.

“I don’t need-” You gasp in a breath of air at the sharp pain - it’s not the worst you’ve ever felt but the risk it poses to your child terrifies you, finally your fear outweighs your rage “Okay, hospital, now.”

⇢ Next Part✨

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wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.

Three minutes past check-in.

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.

“Hi.”

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.

But that’s not the worst of it.

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.

“You let me know if you need a break.”

Still, there’s no response.

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands.

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction.

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.

For that, Bucky owes him everything.

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.

You’d killed them all.

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow.

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you.

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly.

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye.

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you.

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax.

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze.

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you.

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again.

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n

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secondhand-trash · 3 years

Text

Tyrant

A/N: hi sorry to interrupt the event content but I just have to write this before I run out of motivation lol

Pairing: Fushiguro Toji x afab!reader

Description: You knew you were already conquered when he looked up with an uninterested gaze, and suddenly he did not look so uninterested anymore.

Warning: vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, degredation, daddy kink, Toji is not nice, yes I used the word “cunny”, breeding kink, he called you a good girl once, creampie, might give dubcon vibes at one point depending on how you interpret it (I don’t think it is but just putting it here to be safe)

Word count: 4018

The most subconscious, most primal base of your instinct told you to run when you met eyes with Fushiguro Toji for the first time.

He wasn’t even doing anything, just his hands twirling the empty shot glass in his hand mindlessly as he stared at it aimlessly with boredom. You had been avoiding this particular patron of the ragged pub you worked at for as long as you could, risking the annoyed eye rolls from your coworkers just to find whatever excuse you could to not go up to him.

They did not understand why you were so afraid of this man who was not even affiliated with any of the gangs that were a known danger in the city. You could not tell them why too, but you were convinced that some gut feelings were best to be trusted.

A sheep would know a wolf even if it had never seen one.

The other people who frequented this place was by no means the elite of the city, anyone who would choose to come into this shady bar shoved at the very center of one of the messiest neighborhoods of the city came because any other place would call on them the moment they even tried to walk through. They were all the same, same bunch from the same world and as a result, these people that were your customers had no issue talking about what they do for a living right in front of the bar table where many others could hear.

They knew that no one would rat them out, especially not the people that worked there, because it wouldn’t be very hard to trace back to exactly who it was that did it.

These people intimidated you, but the number of people from different walks all of the same field who gathered here also meant that none of these people would bother to hurt you and ruin the perfectly tipped balance of this safe spot. You could deal with the other customers just fine, they might be dangerous but most of them wouldn’t do anything but looking at the exposed skin of your short top far too directly when you put down their drinks.

It was an unwritten rule for the staff to stay as impersonal towards the bar-goers as possible, but the people who did the same thing always managed to find their circle and after a while, you would have a blurry image of what they do. Gang leaders would always found another man of their rank from the corner of their eyes, snippers and hired guns had their own corner of the pub they crowd at. Fushiguro Toji was not the same as the rest of them. He always came along, slipping into the far end of the bar counter without a word and just stayed for hours until most others had already left. You had never seen him interacting with any other people at the bar, making what he did for him to come here instead of any other place still a mystery to you. He was not eager to tell people what he did, how many scars he had under the same black shirt he always wore. He had never gotten drunk, never raised his voice, never showed a hint of interest when brawls broke out between the other drunken men. And it seemed the neglect was mutual, you didn’t think you had seen anyone trying to slip into the empty seat next to his at the bar even when it was the only one left. He was in his own bubble, away from the other gangs and mobs.

He did not look like he cares about anything, and that was terrifying in a man

Running away was not really an option, not when he was always here and you could only excuse yourself so many times before you started to sense that if you run again, it wouldn’t be so long until you wouldn’t even have a job anymore.

“Sir, your drink,” You were sure your voice was near shaking when you had to break him out of his daze as you put his usual shot in front of him. It was a Wednesday midnight and it was just you working at the front, and surely he was there on the day you finally had nowhere to hide. Heat drained from your face when you walked up to him, the feeling of the cooler’s wind fanning against your exposed skin beneath the skimpy uniform you were wearing made you feel all the more self-conscious. If he looked up, he would see the way your shirt rested just below your chest, the fabric taut against the curve of your bra. The cut of your jean shorts was almost meaningly, with the fray resting at the root of your thighs and barely below the roundness of your ass.

You knew you were already conquered when he looked up with an uninterested gaze, and suddenly he did not look so uninterested anymore.

Your body could not move when his eyes trailed down from your wide eyes to your nervously pursed lips, to your collarbone and your tits that were pushed out as you crossed your arms in front of you like a child, and down the skin of your stomach before going back up when he got to the flesh of your thighs. You gulped, feeling the fever that speeded through your veins and holding back the unknown urge to clench your legs tighter together out of reflex.

He knew you were afraid of him, and your timid posture seemed to entertain him greatly when he picked up the shot glass that looked miniature in his large hand and brought it up to his scarred lips. He was smirking now, opening his back as he tilted the hard liquor into his mouth. The knot in his throat bobbed, and you almost let out a disgraced whimper when you saw the lines of his abdomen against his shirt when he let out a sigh.

“Waiter!”

You jumped when you heard the yell from the other side of the pub, frantically pulling your eyes away and swallowing down the chills on your scalp. You gave him a quick nod before you nearly stumbled away, and your heart pounded in your ear when you heard a grumbled chuckle ringing behind you.

He was gone by the time you gathered enough courage to look at his usual seat again, but you could not stop thinking about the way he looked at you even after you were alone in your bed that night.

“What had you done with the man who always sat at the corner?” your coworker asked you in the changing room when you came back from your day off.

Your hands that were zipping up your hot shorts froze in place. “Nothing,” you hid the fact that you felt your skin heating up just as the familiar image appeared in your head, tugging your shorts as low as you could to hide more of your skin as you followed up, sounding as nonchalant as you could, “why did you ask?”

“Really?”

You felt goosebumps exploding on your skin when they said the one thing you had feared they would say.

“Because he asked about you when you weren’t here yesterday.”

Once the wolf locked onto its target, it wouldn’t stop until the little lamb finally fell into right where he wanted it to be.

He started to request for you to serve his drinks. Your owner couldn’t wait to send you his way, because the man who usually ordered two shots max was now ordering repeatedly as long as you were the one walking up to him. The more you could not meet his gaze, the wilder he seemed to grin as he started coaxing you to stay with him for longer after you put down his drinks. The primal instinct to bow down to the dominant and the one that pushed you to run from the predator battled in your head when he asked for you to sit down with him, with the former winning when you realised you were nothing but a puddle of water as soon as he put his hand on your wrist.

That was the most dangerous part about him, because he seemed to have figured out that your body wanted to obey him.

One hand on the wrist eventually turned into his palm on your thigh. His touch always soft enough for you to flinch away, delighting him all the more when you didn’t. It was only a matter of time before he asked for your name, how old you were, what you do when you weren’t here serving beer to gangs.

You told him you need the money, and he looked very understanding when he nodded and gave your thigh a pat before taking his hand back. “No wonder,” you sat up straighter when you felt the chills running along your spine from his calloused finger brushing against your skin, “I was thinking why a little thing like you would be at a place like this.”

One night, Toji did not come into the pub like he used to. He was already there by the time you walked up to the backdoor, your mouth parting but nothing came out at why he was here at the staff entrance and so early too.

“When does your shift end?” he asked, long fingers picking out a cigarette from the packet before holding it between his teeth.

Your skin crawled, before the warmth stirring in your stomach won over.

He nodded when you answered him, the sharp click of his lighter followed by a spark as he dipped his head down.

The shivers were back when he exhaled, throwing his head back as he leaned against the brick wall.

“Good,” he said, putting the lit cig back between his teeth when he made a gesture with his hand for you to go inside.

When you came out, he had just taken his last puff. There was a glint in his eyes when he saw you standing there in front of the door, your hands gripping onto the strap of your bag.

The half-burnt butt joined the several others on the floor when he pushed himself off the wall and walked up to you.

The wolf showed his claws once the lamb was in his lair.

Your head was hazy when Toji backed off of you for the first time after your back hit his mattress. A manic smile hung on his face when he looked down at the figure beneath him, shaking and panting as you were trapped between his knees.

He had an image in his head of how you would look with your body sunk into his bed, and boy were you a fragile, pretty little thing when he finally got to put his hands on you.

Your lips were puffy from his nibbling and sucking, looking awfully like a pout as heavy breaths fell from the trembling petals. Your arms remained where he had pinned them down above your head even long after his hands wandered away, your face buried to the side of your upper arm as you tried to hide your expression away. His rampant lips had left your head light and with his weight off of you, you finally remembered to breathe.

Toji licked his lips as his gaze burned into you, darting his tongue out to wet his lips as he racked his eyes all over your exposed torso. The first thing that he tore off of you was the flimsy crop top that he had always see as a pain in the eye, pulling it above your tits roughly right after he shoved you onto his bed. The gasp that fell from your lips had him hard in an instance when he yanked down your bra, your arms completely helpless from shielding your chest from him with him one step ahead of you and pinning them above your head. You made the most pathetic noises when he sucked on your nipples, licking and flicking the bud with his tongue as you writhed underneath him. Now they were hard and standing for attention as he groped the flesh while staring right into your face, the sheen left on your peaks from his saliva as he rolled it between the gap of his fingers.

Fragile, pretty little thing, and a sensitive one too, Toji sniggered to himself as he palmed his erection over his pants, his cock already twitching when he thought of how he could train your body to react the way he wanted you to.

A wet patch had already formed at the crotch of your panties and you let out a broken moan when his thumb pressed down on where your clit would be. “Little slut, getting so wet just from having your tits played with...” he mused, hooking the strip of fabric under his index finger and watching you squirmed when it stuck between your folds. You whimpered when he tugged it back and forth, your juices gushing out when it rubbed against your clit.

Your body jerked when he snapped it against your cunt, and he laughed. Your arousal formed a string when he pulled your soaked panties off of you, shoving it in the pocket of his pants but not before bringing the fabric near his nose and took a hard sniff. Your face burnt with humiliation and arousal at the sharp noise, but the heat dropped when he shoved the band of his wide-legged pants down roughly and his hard cock sprung up against his abdomen.

His head was already leaking with pre and a thick, pulsing vein crawling all the way down to his base from the crown. Your eyes widened when he fisted it in his hand, giving the girth a few jerks before tapping it against your cunt. His fingers dug into your thighs as he hooked it around his waist, rolling his hips slowly as he slid his length along your wet folds.

The weight between your legs was hard to brush off. He was hot, heavy, and his tip was right below your naval when his balls tapped against your ass. A loud squelch echoed in your ear when he pulled back, your wetness coating his cock from top to bottom as he dragged it along.

The fuse in your head burnt to ashes when you felt his hardness lining up at your entrance.

“Wait, please-”

Your blood curled when Toji froze in place, the drop in his lust-riddled gaze shifting from your cunt slowly to your face.

“Huh?” he huffed, the grumble sending shocks straight to your core as he hoisted your legs higher up his sides.

“Please, it’s not going to fit,” your voice was weak as you whimpered, feeling your nervous tears gathering at the corner of your eyes when something nudged at your pussy.

You hissed when he pushed his tip in. He let out a wolfish chuckle when your body shuddered, “It seems like it’ll fit in this needy hole just fine.”

“No, no...” the tears were pushed down your cheeks when you shook your head, “please, I’ve never had anything this big. I-”

The wolf, so hungry and ready to devour you, halted any of his movements. Your eyes widened when the grin on his face dropped, and a dark cloud hazed over his sharp eyes.

You had said the wrong thing, you realised that when a wide grin split on Toji’s face.

“Never had anything this big,” he repeated mockingly, staring at your watery eyes from above when he pulled his tip out of you, “I see how this is...”

You yelped when he suddenly pushed your knees all the way back until it was right against your chest. The pain at the sides of your thighs had you slamming your head back, arching yourself off the mattress as Toji licked his hips at the sight of your dripping cunt all out for his eyes to see.

“You are such a slut for me because no one has ever fucked you right before...” he mused, gripping you by the back of your knees as he positioned himself at your clenching hole.

“Tell daddy,” your face heated up when he purred, “how big were the other people that you’ve had before?”

A sharp mewl ripped from the back of your throat when he pushed in, not even halfway through but your hands were already clawing at the sheets beneath you at the stretch. Your walls clamped down at the newfound fullness, stretching apart by a girth you had never experienced before.

His cock pulsed in you when he laughed, his lips curling up at the way your toes pointed straight and your eyes rolling back. “This big?”

You could only whimper when he pushed more of his cock inside. “This big?” he asked again, his throat bobbing when your tight walls fluttered around him.

More. “This big?”

The laugh rumbled out from the back of his chest when your voice came out high pitched and broken. The painful hiss stuck at the back of your throat when he gave one final push, his heavy balls slapped against your ass when he was finally all the way in. Your body was being torn apart by the seams, treading between the line of pain and pleasure as your vision saw white from getting stretched. He was hot inside of you, and his cock sitting inside of you was impossible for you to ignore as every cell in your body was set aflame by the numbing feeling.

“Hu- ah!” you panted when he shifted his weight onto your body, nuzzling his tip deeper into you as if it was even possible.

“Let daddy show you how real men fuck their whores.”

Loud slaps echoed in the room when he started thrusting, holding your shaking legs tight as he pounded into your cunt with feverish intent. The crescent marks of his nails digging into your skin was painful, and your body did not feel like it was under your own control as he drilled in and out of your sloppy hole. Your ass jiggled under each slap of his thighs against your cheeks, everywhere his cock had dragged against feeling like it was set on fire as he fucked you at a frantic pace. Your mouth parted when the initial pain was taken over by an undeniable lust, your brain melting into mush with his cock bottoming out in you so hard you could not even think straight.

“Hm- mm! ‘S good, feels so good- Daddy, please please please...”

Toji laughed at your incoherent babbles. His chest pressing up against the back of your thighs as he thrust deep into you, there was nowhere for you to hide your lust-blown gaze from his eyes. Drool was rolling down your jaw as your mouth hung wide, your tongue almost lolling out with each slam of his hips against yours. Your vision was blurry and you could barely keep your eyes open, fighting against the urge to close them up under the stimulation your body was being put through.

He only went harder when aroused tears ran down your face, the wetness of his tongue licking away the salty droplet making you whimper. “Aw, what’s wrong?” the condescending tone made your face burn, his warm breath brushing against your cheek as he accentuated each word with a roll of his hips, “Crying because this is the first time someone has reached so deep into your cunny?”

You let out a loud whine. Cunny, how humiliating for him to talk to you like you were a thoughtless child when he knew you could barely breathe properly with how he was rearranging your guts. The tantalizing tuts of his tongue made your walls clench and he let out a beastly grunt at the sudden friction around his cock.

“Any of the men you always flaunt around would kill someone to trade places with me,” he grunted, nibbling at the sensitive skin of your neck as he dragged his teeth down. He chuckled and the vibration made you roll your head back, “A cock whore like you would love that, won’t you? People killing just for a chance to pound your naughty hole?”

“No, no-” you shook your head when he suddenly slowed down, every hair on your body standing up at the sudden drop and your hands flew to grab onto his shoulders just for a chance for him to keep going, “only want you. Only want daddy’s cock- Ah! Hng!”

Your pleas satisfied him greatly, even more so when your wanton moans rang loudly in his ears as he aimed each thrust right at the spongey spot deep inside of you. “I should just knock you up, huh?” he smirked when you clamped down around him the moment his words dropped, “fuck a baby inside of you so other men can’t ogle at your tits and ass in that fucking uniform anymore.”

You could not process a word of what he was saying, the only thought your head could generate was that you would do anything for him to keep going. One strong pound tipped you off the edge, and you could not stop the rambling from falling off your tongue as his cock kept driving in and out of you while the orgasmic waves rush over you.

“I’m not gonna stop fucking you until you’re nothing but daddy’s little cumdump, is that what you want?”

“Yes yes yes yes- fuck yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop-”

Toji cackled, and kissed you square on the lips.

“Good,” Thrust, “fucking,” Thrust, “girl...” Thrust.

He kept going as his load spilt inside of you. You whined at the warmth that filled you up, the stickiness leaking out with each push of his fat cock out of your abused hole and running down where your bodies connected. Toji leaned his body back as he slowed down, his eyes gluing onto the mess between your legs as your juices mixed with his released dripped onto the sheets.

You whimpered at the soreness when he slipped his limp cock out, the fluttering of your folds pushing his cum out of you. “Ha...” you sucked in a deep breath when he put your legs down, the twitching not once stopping when he leaned down and kissed your puffy clit.

Your sensitive body jumped at the touch, and he kissed the nub again as he pushed the leaking cum back into your pussy. “Good girl.”

You were far too worn out to do anything when he took your top off of you and unhooked your bra that had been sitting uncomfortably under your chest. The things he had said to you while he was ravaging you finally sank into your skin when you had the breaths to think about it, and Toji gave your head a soft pat when your eyes followed him like a lost puppy when he got up.

“Sleep,” he kissed your temple, and it appeared you still couldn’t win over the want to listen to him as the tiredness in your lids took in.

Fushiguro Toji watched as you drifted away into slumber, the silence stirring in the air as he contemplated what to do with you. It had been a while since he had last wanted something but he had been quick to recognise the fume in his chest when he saw you walking around and forcefully smiling at people not less dangerous than himself the first time he went into that pub.

The tyrant would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, and he had no plans to let go once he took his first bite.

You did not hear him, he took your sleepy whimper as an answer on his own when he whispered against your hair.

“We talk about you and that job when you wake up.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen smut #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji imagine #fushiguro toji imagines #fushiguro toji smut #toji smut

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jesphnie · 2 years

Text

here's a little angsty fluffy kind of Michael Myers/Reader oneshot I wrote that I'm deciding to post here since I think it's alright at the very least! 😸 this is written specifically about the original 1978 Michael, but feel free to insert whichever one you'd like as it's not too heavily enforced!

Warnings: general angst, Mikey's past abuse is mentioned briefly, talk of self-esteem issues

Loved, Despite Everything

I woke up earlier that morning than I had intended, sitting up and leaning over to give my boyfriend a gentle peck on the cheek before leaving the bedroom to take advantage of the earlier start─though it had been unintentional─so that I could be ready for work.

I had begun working from home more recently, as my job allowed that, so that Michael didn't ever have to be stuck home alone. Because despite being an asshole occasionally, I knew that he needed me to be there for him as company, and I respected that.

It was then, this early in the morning, when little inconveniences kept consistently happening to me. Minor, yes, but irritating nonetheless.

The first was when my toothpaste plopped right off of my toothbrush and onto the squeaky-clean tile floor. Then, when I was showering, there weren't any towels to use, so I had to sneak past a snoring Michael completely nude to get something to use from our bedroom.

At this point, I was completely and utterly over it. I wished that I didn't have to go to work, but I couldn't afford to take off any days with such little reasoning. Especially since my boss had been especially pissy in the more recent days.

I was finally able to get dressed and then headed towards the kitchen to fix up a quick breakfast for myself, and saw Michael getting up and tossing the sheets off of him in a particularly vigorous fashion.

Great, I thought to myself, rolling my eyes, just what I needed right about now.

I loved Michael with all of my heart, but at times it was draining to have to put up with him, especially when I'm already in a sour mood.

I opened my cupboard, taking out a box of my favorite cereal and picking out a bowl to pour some in, and I was just taking the milk out of the fridge when I noticed Michael's heavy breathing on the back of my neck as he snuck up behind me. It seemed he hadn't bothered to put on his mask, since his breathing didn't echo in the slightest.

I set the milk down on the kitchen counter and then turned towards him, asking in the gentlest tone I could muster, "What is it, honey?"

Michael hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on my bowl of cereal. He signed, "Hungry."

I sighed deeply before saying, "Why don't you get some breakfast yourself? There are options in the kitchen."

He cocked his head at me.

"Look, Michael, I need to prepare for work today, alright? As much as I'd love to make breakfast for you, I don't have time to." I noticed the way his eyebrows furrowed sadly and I quickly added, "How about this, I can make a big lunch for you while I'm on break!"

He shook his head, doing nothing but staring at you. I closed my eyes and counted to ten in my mind to avoid doing anything rash, and then turned, pouring my milk into my bowl of cereal, but Michael caught me by my wrist before I could walk off to eat alone.

"Michael," I muttered, and his lips tightened into a thin line. "Michael, I really don't have time for this."

I snuck out of his grasp and stepped away, but he grabbed me again, and I couldn't help it.

I smacked him right across the face with a loud slapping noise. He instinctively flinched away for a split second when the contact was made, and my heart practically shattered in two right there.

I couldn't stand the guilt that burnt deep into my heart, so I quickly picked up my bowl of cereal and hurried off into my office, shutting and locking the door behind me.

• - • - •

I felt bad about that morning all day, but I couldn't muster up the courage to confront my boyfriend about it. So I ended up avoiding him.

There were times throughout the day where I had to leave the room to go to the restroom or get something from another area of the house, and I ran into him every once and a while. He looked right at me with his pretty blue eyes of his every time, tracking me with his eyes, hoping I would say something to him. Anything.

Michael knew well that he wasn't a good person, but he tried to be. He'd been trying his best since the two of you first started the relationship, but it seemed to him that it still wasn't good enough.

Even after everything, it still wasn't good enough.

He still wasn't good enough.

And when it came down to it, he hated himself for that morning. He didn't often experience emotion so intensely, but knowing that his beloved was purposefully avoiding him made him want to crumple up into a sobbing ball on the floor.

He tried so hard to be the boyfriend that you so greatly deserved, but he'd never once loved before. Never been loved before. He had no idea where to start or what to do. But despite that, he was trying.

But little did he know, that you knew that, and you loved him despite his inexperience.

• - • - •

I ran into Michael again on my lunch break, which was unavoidable, and I was painstakingly reminded that I had promised to make him lunch this morning.

I held my breath as I walked up to him, tears threatening to leak from my eyes as I thought about what I should say to him. No, what I would say to him. I couldn't leave this problem in the air forever, after all.

I opted for studying his face as I thought, my eyes tracing his precious features as my head buzzed with all kinds of scary feelings. And scary questions.

How would he react? Does he hate me? How will I fix this? What if it can't be fixed? What if he doesn't believe that I didn't really mean it?

I was used to not being able to expect things from Michael, used to not ever knowing what he's thinking, or what he'll do next. I'd gotten somewhat used to it. Used to his unpredictability. I'd grown to like it; to consider it part of his (strange) charm.

But what I certainly didn't expect was for Michael to engulf me in a hug, one of his hands curling around my waist while the other resting on the back of my head.

My breath hitched and hot tears pried their way into my eyes, and I buried my face into his shoulder, feeling him begin to rub circles into my lower back, peppering the back of my neck with faint kisses.

I wrapped my arms around him and gripped onto the fabric of the back of his shirt, my sobbing slowing down to sniffles as he gently swayed from side to side, his chin resting on my head.

I eventually pulled away from him and caressed his cheek where I had hit him earlier, kissing it and running my hands through his thick curls.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have hurt you, baby." I whispered, and he shook his head, signing "My fault."

"No, it wasn't. It was my fault, really, I was just... I was pissed off and I─I took it out on you. And I shouldn't have. I'm so sorry, baby." I said, and he lifted his hands to sign back, but I gently took them in my own hands before he could, and pressed an affectionate kiss to his lips, rubbing circles into his palms.

"I love you, Michael. I really do." I smiled at him, and he wiped stray tears from my face before signing, "Love you too."

My bottom lip quivered happily, and he smiled faintly at me. I gingerly took his wrist and pulled him off towards the kitchen,

"Let's see about lunch, then, honey."

#michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #halloween #halloween 1978 #fanfic #angst #fluff #the chickens are lost

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aconstantstateofbladerunner · 3 years

Text

The Glitch

I get the Broken Reality au is a haha funny joke but there’s been some legit great art for it and since Butterfly is over and I haven’t gotten into the groove of my other projects yet, I decided to try some flash fiction of my interpretations. Note that this is very small and informal; I used whatever idea came into my head over the course of an hour or so instead of the weeks of planning that go into my usual fics. This was an experiment for fun. But if people enjoy the concept, I may be tempted to expand on it.

Credit to @lollitree @moonpaw @gentrychild @owlf45 and @cyber-phobia (I’m sorry if I missed someone I lost track of how many people were involved in this mess).

Content working for reference to infant death.

Please enjoy!

The city shut down for a typhoon warning. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Dark clouds blocked the sun so much that by mid-morning it still looked like it never bothered coming up. And yet the humidity made it too hot for coffee. Inko didn’t know how to feel. Work would have been a good distraction. But she didn’t want any coworkers or clients to see if today got to be too much. And it was already shaping up to be. She caught herself making two plates of food for breakfast.

Inko sat alone in the kitchen. She couldn’t bring herself to finish her own plate. Sickness set in fast. The food had been cold for a long time before she summoned the strength to get up and throw it away. Then she stood over the open trash can a while, debating whether to try and hold it together, or just throw up and get it over with. She eventually managed to keep her stomach steady enough to go back to her bedroom. There was another trashcan in there anyway.

A sound stopped her. From her office. The distinct sound of something heavy falling onto the carpet. Right as she walked past the door.

Please not this again…

She opened the door with her eyes closed. Her mind conjured a familiar image. A bedroom full of books and hero posters. Bright colors and personal touches. A child’s room. Inko opened her eyes to her drab home office. Some of the older case file binders slipped off the pile again. She really needed to sort those into storage. Not today though. She didn’t bother to pick it up.

Inko walked faster than normal the rest of the way to her room. She doesn’t want to face the temptation to search for old toys she remembers storing in the empty closet. Or search the walls for scuff marks from action figures tossed into them she could always see even after the walls were painted. She hid her planner on a tall shelf and put the ladder away to make it that much harder to go through it over and over looking for doctors’ appointments and school events she knew were coming up. Finally reaching her bed brought no comfort.

Of course she knew today’s date by heart. She hadn’t put it on a calendar in the fourteen years since she used to look at it every day. Inko stuck her head under her pillows, as if they could block out the silent noise of her memories. Memories of before, the time even when she was by herself, she was never alone.

Fifteen years now, today. With a shuddering gasp, the tears finally came. Thunder crashed outside. It’s not fair! Why is it still this hard after this long? Phantom kicks in her belly joined the growing ice there.

The hardest part was she still felt like that sometimes. Like she wasn’t really alone. Inko didn’t believe in ghosts, but the lost of what could have been was more than haunting enough. She felt it watching her. Judging her. Waiting just long enough for her to settle down into a peaceful, content existence before it reared up to plague her heart all over again. Cliché hauntings like spooky faces in the mirror or blood coming out of the drains would have been preferable. Those would be generic enough not to remind her directly.

Rain started outside. Her phone lit up with a notification she ignored in time with a thunderclap. The storm was getting closer.

Maybe I should call Hisashi, the thought crossed her mind. Maybe he’s going through this too. She bit her lip bloody. Her frustrated memories weren’t in question like the others. Probably not though. I don’t want to talk to him anyway.

Hisashi had been stuck in the denial stage of grief, which often came off as him acting like he didn’t take hers seriously. Not a year, not even half a year looking back, after they came home from the hospital, he wanted to try again.

“We can’t let mourning hold us up forever,” he said. “And it’s not like we lost a once in a lifetime opportunity! We’ve got at least another twenty years to keep trying!”

But we did lose him! she had wanted to scream. Still did, years later. Why didn’t he understand? He was your loss too! Inko wanted for the next roll of thunder, then shouted.

“I don’t just want any baby! I want Izuku!”

The lights went out. The temperature rose five degrees instantly when the ceiling fan stopped going. The rain stopped.

Power outage. Inko sat up with a sniffle. Turns out the notification was a warning about roving blackouts. Of course. Oh well. I wasn’t really in the mood to cook tonight any-

Thunder boomed even louder than before, making her jump. Then another. Lightning flashed outside at the same time. It was right on top of her.

What? I thought the typhoon wasn’t supposed to make landfall until later toni-

Another crash. It vibrated through her bones. Then another. The lightning lit up her whole room. Except for a shadow on the wall. Inko jolted to look, holding her breath, and found only her own shadow in the next flash.

“I’m such an idiot…” She went for her phone again. For peace of mind, she decided to use her data to check if an evacuation order went out. Or any updates at all really, since the weather came so much faster than the news said. “Nothing,” she sighed annoyed. “I hate being alone for weather like this…”

A new notification pinged.

[Mom]

Inko blinked rapidly. The message remained. All of her insides turned inside out in an instant, and she started crying again. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? No one ever got a chance to call her that. She touched the note to open it, but nothing happened. No app or source was displayed. Nor did it go away after a few seconds like normal.

“Wha- What’s going on?” she wept. In a mix of sorrow and rage, she wound up to chunk the device across the room. But she froze.

Outside her window, floating against the pitch-black sky, were two small orbs. Perfectly circular and glowing. Watching her. She didn’t dare move.

Another ping. She looked without moving.

[I’m sorry]

“… What?”

For a moment, all the sounds in the world dropped out. They all came back at ounce.

Lights flickered. Both the ones inside and the lightning going outside. Multiple strikes laid on top of one another. No relief. Thunder pounded over and over like a drum solo. It shook the whole building. Inko ran into the closet away from the window. She slammed her hands over her eyes but it didn’t help. Her terrified cried were whispers to the screams of the storm.

A child’s scream. She heard it. Each flash of light came with a cry. The distinct sound of a little boy calling out in pain blended with unyielding nature. It came from every direction. Every hair on Inko’s arms stood up in fear. She felt the charge in the air. But she had to go out. Her baby was crying for help.

She burst from the closet into the living room. All the lights and appliances turned themselves on and off. The TV showed only static between its flashes. Something drew her too it. The storm was deafening. It pounded through her head like a heartbeat. The beats got faster. The static flashes started to look like a face. Her usual caution was abandoned as she fell to her knees and touched the screen. The snow cleared for a single instant. Just long enough to look like the blank eyes from the window. She felt the heartbeat there too.

Then it stopped. All of it. The noise and lights all went quiet and dark. The TV went completely cold in an instant. Inko, stunned, palmed over it looking for something. Anything. The pulse. Warmth. A burnt fuse or faulty wire. But nothing. The rain started again.

She pulled her hands back to her lap. Her heart was still racing and tears kept flowing down under her chin. She looked around. Everything in the living room and kitchen looked the same. No sign of the earthquake-like convolutions the whole appartement experienced only minutes ago. Inko combed the entire space for evidence. An object knocked off the shelf. A picture frame fallen from the wall. The notifications. Toys in the closet or scuffs in the wall. Still not a sign. She even stepped outside her door to check the sky. Only light rain and shattered thunder, just like the news said the day before.

There was only one thing out of place. Back in her bedroom, the bottom drawer of her nightstand hung open. Inko had to steal herself before approaching it. There were only two things in there: a little green blanket, and a picture of the ultrasound. The most recent one from her last appointment. The doctor said he was doing fine.

“Izuku…” she whispered to it in her hand.

She remembered the squealing little bundling being put in her arms for the first time. The first time he smiled at her. Teaching him to walk, then immediately launching into play. Him coming home with bruises and scrapes after the kids at school were mean to him, and crying in her arms. Then, him coming home with his first real friends in a long time. She made them all dinner. Katsudon. That was Izuku’s favorite.

Only she didn’t remember. The same way she didn’t really remember the toys and scuffs. Those were fantasies. Daydreams of what could have been. She just thought about them so often they felt like memories. Especially today. It was his birthday after all. They’d fade back into vague dreams by tomorrow. They always did.

And she would be left with reality. The silence. The cold, still little hand between her fingers. Soft cheeks without blush. Eyes that never opened. Clutching him too tight to her chest, knowing the second she let go he would be gone for real and it would all be over.

But it was never over. Inko went through this same torturous song and dance every year for fifteen now. All the guilt and dread would subside slowly over the next one, until it all came back at once. Just like this.

At least it’s done for now, she tried to reassure herself, climbing back into bed. It still wasn’t even noon yet. Plenty of time for another breakdown. Hopefully the next one won’t be, feel, as loud. She sighed heavily into her sheets. This sort of thing can’t be normal. I should really try therapy again.

Against her better judgement, she kept the blanket out, and clutched it to her chest. Static electricity pricked her fingers. With her other hand, she reached across the bed, and tried to imagine someone else there. Not Hisashi, never him anymore. Izuku. He was fifteen and happy, but the storm was making him nervous so he came to lay beside her. She remembered it like it was now. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his warm, soft skin, with a healthy, if a little anxious heartbeat just underneath. The mattress warped as he sighed.

“We’ll be okay. It’s just a little rough weather,” she promised.

“Okay, Mom,” Izuku answered quietly. “… I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” I’ll start trying to get myself together tomorrow. For now, let me have this.

Izuku didn’t respond for a while. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Happy birthday.”

#midoriya inko #midoriya izuku #broken reality au #the glitch #mha #bnha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #aconstantstateoffanfiction #april fools #the long con

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cove-simp · 3 years

Text

Respite

A Cove x MC drabble about taking comfort in each other after feeling drained/ overworked

Life towards the end of summer had been… swarming with enough variables to make your head swim most days. Moving arrangements for both you and Cove had been taking up pretty much all of the time that you weren’t already devoting to work. Most days, you rarely even caught any of your family or friends before the night was over. When you were lucky enough to catch even a small break, the exhaustion due to your busy schedule tended to catch up to you all at once.

One more day… you told yourself pretty much every hour

One more day… meant another item crossed off of your busy seemingly endless to-do list

Cove wasn’t faring much better, though he always made sure to check in with a quick text at the end of the night, often riddled with typos due to his own sleep deprivation. His move would be first, already penciled in both of your calendars. You weren’t sure how you might find the energy to carry anything from point A to point B, but you wanted to squeeze in as much time together as you could.

When the aforementioned day arrived, the last thing you expected was for Cove’s dad to have hired a moving service. Cove had come over in the morning for a quick breakfast date your moms had whipped up, saying something about “needing your strength”. Twin looks of shock painted both of your faces when you’d headed back over, a giant truck now occupying the Holden’s driveway.

“I know my surprises tend to land flat but… I’ve been watching you kids run yourselves ragged for weeks now. It’s the least I could do” Cliff declared proudly as the three of you watched the two burly workers get to work on Cove’s things.

With the utmost seriousness, Cove turned to his father, placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “You did good with this one. Thanks, Dad”

Mr. Holden looked as if he might burst into tears on the spot at Cove’s heartfelt praise. You’d guessed it did run in the family…

After the sudden display of emotion, Cliff had sent you on your way to the apartment first so you could let the workers in. They made a day’s work look effortless, having everything of Cove’s in and out of the place within just a few hours. The only daunting task left for the day was the unboxing.

Cove and you had mutually decided that today you’d only unpack the essentials; dishware, toiletries and the bed. You’d had to push for the latter to be considered “essential” , as knowing Cove, you’d figured he would have rather just slept on the floor for convenience's sake.

***

“Ahhh” you let out a big sigh as you fell back on the freshly made bed. Weariness had already started seeping into your bones, and you couldn’t even fathom how much worse it might have been had Cliff not hired the movers. Cove must have felt the same, because he didn’t seem to have his usual reservations about joining you on the bed.

Rolling over to face him had led to you naturally curling up together in seconds. Neither of you spoke as you adjusted to get comfortable. Cove had your head tucked against his chest, right under his chin, a position that always made you feel safe and treasured. Your arms snaked around each other, one of you giving the other an occasional squeeze. For a while, nothing but the sounds of soft breathing filled the air.

“I really needed this” Cove had mumbled sleepily, finally breaking the silence. You’d hummed in agreement, still feeling a little too burnt out and sluggish to give a proper response. Using your position to his advantage, he planted a soft kiss to the top of your head, accompanied by another squeeze.

For a moment, you and Cove could just focus on one another- on the moment. A strange sense of peace washed away the lingering restlessness you felt. Tomorrow would no doubt bring another set of grueling tasks to get through, but right now, nothing made you feel more content than dozing off in the arms of the one you love...

#cove holden #cove holden headcanon #cove holden imagine #cove x mc #cove x reader #cove x jamie #our life beginnings & always #my writing

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technowoah · 3 years

Text

THESEUS - a dsmp story ( DreamSMP x Queen!Reader)

CHAPTER FIVE : AND I REALIZE THREE FUNDAMENTAL TRUTHS AT THE EXACT SAME TIME.

Chapter Summary: You had gotten what you wanted, but at what cost? Nightmares ensue, and Dream’s true colors begin to show.

pairing: c!wilbur x queen!reader

an// IM BACK!! hopefully yall like this chaper cause this is the last one that I wrote in the past, Im writing chapter 6 rn so it might take a while. Also sorry for not posting requests I really wanted to get this chapter out there

⚠︎ swearing, dsmp spoliers(?), angst, arguing, smoking, explosions, gaslighting(?), not proofread.

Series Masterlist

"Good job you two! This is all yours now.”

Dream had led you and Eret back to the castle, all of them still battered and bruised from the war they recently had. You had already taken off your armor and now you were wearing underneath your L'Manburg outfit that was torn and burnt showing some of your skin which was also burnt or cut. You had noticed on the way to the castle that Dream had kept on looking at the outfit that Eret and you had on with disgust, like a taunt.

You could finally relax in the huge castle that you apparently deserved because you and Eret had taken the first lives of the citizens of L'Manburg. In your heart you knew that L'Manburg was still a country. They all have two more lives and they will build the country up again with those two lives. You sighed then kept walking into the throne room. you looked at the two big thrones that sat next to each other. One for a king and one for a queen.

"Why are you standing there? Sit down! Relax!" Dream patted one of the thrones.

You and Eret had sat down on the thrones next to each other looking around the huge throne room and Dream smiling right in front of them. Once you both sat down you tried to sit up straight, but you wanted to slump down into the comfy, plush, velvet and gold chair. The two of them sat on velvet and gold thrones while in burnt and torn L'Manburg uniforms. It was a sight to see, and if someone didn't know the context of what just happened, this scene would've made sense to them.

"I'm happy you did this. You deserve all of this." Dream said while walking along the marble floor.

"It's beautiful, but I'm exhausted." You let your head fall to the side. You sighed wanting Dream to leave so you could finally get some rest.

"I bet."

"Eret are you okay?" You spoke up after Dream.

Eret had a look that you couldn't make out. He just stared off into space in his own mind. He shook his head after you called for him again.

"Yeah, yeah I am fine. I'm just thinking." Eret quickly responded.

"What are you thinking about?" Dream said in a monotone voice.

"If we did the right thing." Eret sighed.

You slowly nodded because you were thinking the exact same thing. They were traitors, you had built somewhat of a connection with those people you helped kill. And now what? you're living in a huge castle and apparently you "Shouldn't be feeling this way", Dream claimed.

"You two are overreacting. They are fine." Dream said bluntly while staring at them with a straight face.

That was a huge lie, their lives were taken today. They're not just “fine”.

"You two were never a part of that place anyways. This is your home! Why would you need to wear those hideous colors? They look bad on you, it's unflattering. There is no need to go back." Dream explained.

You hang your head not knowing what to say to the man, there wasn’t really anything to say but you spoke up hoping the words will come to you.

"I don't-"

"You don't have to say anything, it's okay. You're safe now. Did you get hurt?" Dream asked.

The bruises and scars said differently.

"Remember when I said that?" Dream pushed the question.

You rubbed a burn mark on your wrist and laughed a bit. "No! Actually I don't. We're safe now, but that doesn't mean we aren't hurt." You chuckled in disbelief.

"Well maybe if you listened to me you wouldn't be so anxious. If you listened you wouldn't have been so hesitant. You're safe." Dream said sternly.

"Maybe you're tired, Dream. We're all tired. Shall we go to bed?" Eret stood up and held out his hand to help you up from your seat.

You accepted his hand and started to follow Eret through the huge castle making your way through the huge, high ceiling halls. The three walked towards the king's and queen's room in the castle, Dream kept a slower pace and walked behind the two wanting to get one more word in before leaving the castle.

"If you two are ever in doubt just remember that you are on the right side of history." Dream said then turned around to leave the two alone.

You both stopped and turned around to see Dream’s back facing the both of you as he walked away. You and Eret eventually made it to your new bedrooms. There was a big door which held a huge room made for the both of them to sleep in and two separate rooms next to the bigger door which were made for one person. Eret and you stood in front of the bigger door staring at the intricate designs on the door not speaking to each other.

"So?" Eret laughed.

"So!" You exclaimed while chuckling.

"Are you okay sleeping in that huge room tonight?" Eret asked.

"I'm not totally comfortable with that, but it would be weird if we slept in the same bed. Don't get me wrong! You're a great friend, but-"

"Y/N/N stop! I'm okay with that too. I wasn't looking to sleep in the same bed. Yes we're married, but we're just staying friends, hey we might get a divorce later." Eret explained.

"If I do, we won't be king and queen anymore." You said softly to your husband.

"Is that what you want? To be "queen"?" Eret asked while putting air quotes around the word queen.

You paused for a moment then answered his question.

"I don't know where I'm supposed to be, Eret." You looked up at him sadly and he pulled you in for a hug. It took you everything you had to not cry into the L'Manburg uniform Eret was wearing. Today drained you mentally and physically, your hands were raw from shooting arrows, you had burn marks on your skin and your feet hurt from running through the kingdom. You weren’t sure about where you would go, because this didn't feel like your home.

"Let's go to bed and we'll talk in the morning. Rest on it because I'll happily divorce you so you can find your place in this huge kingdom." Eret laughed and let you out of his arms.

You chuckled and then let him go walking into what was supposed to be the queen's room and right next to it was the king's room which they both walked in after saying goodnight and closing their doors finally having time to themselves after a long day.

You finally took off the L'Manburg uniform and laid it on a velvet chair in the corner of the huge room. You stared at the uniform before going to the nearest closet and picking out something to wear for that night. The queen's room was basically the huge couple's room that you found before, but just with a smaller bed. There were still trinkets, jewelry and even clothes in the closet. you took a nightgown out of the closet and sat on the plush bed. You ended up laying down staring at the high ceiling thinking of the predicament Eret's question brought.

You finally retired for the night and crawled into bed and got under the soft covers. The window was open so a soft cool breeze was blowing through the room letting the curtains flow with the breeze. If you left you wouldn't have anywhere to go except back to L'Manburg, they would never let you back even if you tried. They probably hated your guts by now, so maybe divorcing wasn't a good idea. You had a set home here, you had food, clothes, and you weren't under attack every minute. you didn't have to watch your back for any enemies.

Your mind slowed down as you finally lulled yourself into a deep sleep forgetting the troubles in your mind for only a moment.

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

The sunset fell over the horizon making it a gold, red color. It was beautiful. The trees were illuminated and the lakes had a certain glow to them. you could see mobs began to crawl out of the ground and caves, but you was safe up here.

You looked down and saw the familiar obsidian walls. It seemed like a faint memory, but in reality the walls were real. It was like you could feel the stone underneath your feet at this moment. you could see inside L'Manburg.

you saw Tubbo and Tommy laying in the grass talking to one another. you saw Fundy sleeping in the grass next to them. There were two new faces you had never seen before. It was a woman with short pink hair and another man with a shaved head. It might've been your mind putting people in your dreams to fill space. Then you saw Eret sitting by a small river letting his bare feet flow in the water. It was a peaceful scene.

"Beautiful sunset isn't it?" A voice showed up beside you.

It was Wilbur. He had his uniform on, it was clean like the war didn't even happen.

"It is really beautiful." You agreed watching the sun continue to lower over the trees.

"You know everything the sun touches is yours? It's all of ours. It just so happens that you can see the sunset and sunrise from L'Manburg. You can do anything as long as you see the sun rise and fall." Wilbur said, keeping his gaze soft at the sunset.

You hummed but stayed quiet admiring his words and the sunset.

"Let me tell you what I wish I'd known when I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story. After you took one of my lives away I understand now. You can't control other people and their motivations."

You hang your head in disappointment, but then Wilbur continued.

"But I know that we can win. I know that greatness lies in you, but remember from here on in that history has its eyes on you. History will forever have its eyes on you no matter what you do." Wilbur looked into your eyes as the sun set on the two of them the stars began to shine.

The light brown eyes Wilbur had turned darker because of the sunlight being gone. You looked out back at the mobs in the forest and the huge towers in the sky made the kingdoms members. you turned around and looked into L'Manburg. Or what was considered L'Manburg.

There was no one there anymore, instead of people there were huge amounts of TNT that filled the walls behind them. you could hear faint voices around them, people that you didn't know. It sounded like chaos. you whipped your head around to Wilbur who was dressed in a brown tattered trench coat, brown pants, and a white shirt instead of the L'Manburg uniform.

He had a cigarette in his mouth and matches in his hands. He smirked at you as the voices around you got louder and your head sounded like you were in the middle of a tornado. your head was buzzing as your eyes couldn't focus on Wilbur in front of you. It felt like these moments were happening right in front of your all at one time.

"You want to be a hero Tommy?"

"You know if I die, this country goes down with me."

"if respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in the back, then respect is nothing, right?"

"Kill me, Phil. Phil, kill me, Phil kill me! Phil, stab me with the sword, murder me now, kill me! Look-"

"You know Y/N" Wilbur started next to you. He lit a match and turned around to L'Manburg which was now filled with TNT.

"Somethings. Somethings were never meant to be." He threw the match into the huge pile of TNT and all in a second the obsidian underneath your feet disappeared as you fell into the explosion beneath you.

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

"Fuck! Where am I?!" You shot up from your sleeping position in a cold sweat.

You frantically felt around the bed trying to convince yourself that you were physically at the castle in your bed. You finally caught your breath and laid back down in your bed finding yourself staring at the ceiling again. Even with the window open blowing cool air into the room, your skin still felt hot. You ended up tossing the covers off of you and making your way towards the entrance of the kingdom to get some air.

That dream was so much stuff in it you couldn't comprehend all of it. It was like Wilbur was there as if he was talking to you directly and it wasn't a dream and it made you second guess yourself and think that it may have not been a dream. You finally made it outside and sat on one of the steps that led people up into the kingdom. you sighed and breathed in the fresh air and it immediately relaxed your body and mind. You were alive, you were here and sadly Wilbur wasn't there. You closed your eyes and felt the breeze around you until you were startled by a figure beside you.

"You're up late. I thought you said you were mentally tired." Dream chuckled sitting beside you.

"I had a bad dream." You sighed.

"Hey don't take my name in vain like that" Dream laughed trying to bring up your mood.

Dream sighed and stood back up when he didn't get a response from his companion.

"Come one, let's go. Let's get your mind off of the one bad dream." Dream held his hand out, gesturing to you to take it.

You took his hand and then released it letting him lead the way to wherever the wind may take them. The dream is currently still stuck in your head. The voices from different people confused you and made your head spin.

"You want to be a hero Tommy?" What did that mean? Was someone threatening Tommy? Will someone threaten Tommy? You grew to care for that kid.

Who said "If I die, this country goes down with me"? What country. L'Manburg?

"If respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in the back, then respect is nothing, right?" That one stumped you the most. you didn't even know if this was being spoken to you or to someone else. All of them except for the Tommy one.

Were they all even dreams? The one that haunted your mind the most was the one where someone was telling a man named Phil to kill them. Were you there for that moment? Did Phil kill the person? Who was Phil? All these thoughts and questions plagued your mind so much that your feet mindlessly carried you wherever Dream led you to.

"Here we are." Dream led You on top of a hill, a tall enough hill to see the main attraction. The place you missed the most, L'Manburg.

Tears started to form in your eyes and you tried blinking them away. All the moments of that dream appeared in your brain, but even stronger. you never felt these emotions before. Maybe L'Manburg was your home all along. you missed seeing Tubbo, Tommy, Eret and Fundy doing their own thing while your and Wilbur had a deep talk inside the van. you had spent weeks with them growing too attached to them and then ended up becoming a traitor.

"That place. You never belonged there. You're too good for them." Dream started and you stayed quiet watching the stars begin to disappear.

"Do you trust me?" Dream asked.

You stayed quiet not having the answer he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear you say that you trusted him when in reality you couldn’t, you weren't fully there yet, not anymore.

"They lied to you. It's not your home." Dream continued on letting you listen and not talk.

"How did you know if someone said it was my home or not?" You asked, startled.

"I might've been keeping an eye on you. I wanted to make sure my flower was okay." Dream kept his gaze on L'Manburg.

"Stop calling me that." You sighed.

"I never started. This was the first time I said that. Who called you flower?" Dream suddenly got serious, staring at you.

you kept your sights on the obsidian walls, not sparing him a glance. The stars began to fade and the sun peeked over the horizon. As they stayed longer the sun rose over the walls of L'Manburg. You started to remember the words in the dream you had.

L'Manburg stands for independence. Independence. That word kept ringing through your head like a mantra until a few voices below the hill and near the walls alerted you.

"HEY! Hey Wilbur! Give me back my shit!" Tommy yelled as he stomped after the older man.

"Wilbur get Tommy to stop shouting and give him his swords back please!" Fundy yelled trailing behind the two.

"No not until he learns not to go start stabbing shit!" Wilbur yelled back at the other two.

You missed that. you missed the bickering and the nonsense they all shared. you were upset that Tommy still hadn't learned his lesson and you wished you were there beside them at that moment.

Dream spoke up giving you a look you couldn’t quite get. "You are never allowed to step inside those walls again.

"What gives you the right to tell me what and what not to do? Who does that make you? Who do you think-"

"YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO GO IN THOSE WALLS!" Dream yelled getting dangerously close to you.

You continued to stare at those blue eyes as the bright sun rose over the dark walls of L’Manburg. you didn't say anything but descended down the mountain alone with the sounds of Tommy, Fundy, and Wilbur bickering in the background, wishing you were there and not next to the man next to you who was staring at you angrily.

"I know what’s good for you! I know what's good for this country! Just trust me Y/N!" Dream yelled starting an argument

"Would you calm down! You came here to be all quiet and now you're yelling at me. You might want to be quiet before Wilbur hears you. Or do you want me to get him myself?" You yelled back, getting furious.

"Oh you wish! He doesn't care for you as much as me, Sapnap and George do! They agree as well!"

"Don't put words into his mouth!" You accused

"Oh! So if he cares so fucking much he would've help save you. And do you know what would happen if he saved you?! You would've died! I saved you! You were in a perfect situation and all you had to do is not complain! You're always overreacting." Dream ended with a huff and rolled his eyes while turning away..

you were speechless at this point. Overwhelming emotions consumed you. you couldn't believe you were overreacting. Maybe Wilbur wasn't everything you needed. you were overreacting, you were being selfish too. Dream was right. Dream walked over to you pulling you in a hug with L'Manburg was still in your sights.

"I did everything because I love you. You're too precious for them, you're not for them. They don't deserve you, you deserve someone who wants the best for you. A flower that needs a home and I'm here to give it to you." Dream softly explained.

Your eyes kept tearing up at the words and different emotions flowing through you. The sights on L'Manburg make your memories and questions come back. Where did you belong? But more importantly who was telling the truth?

Taglist: @hi-imuwu @k-l-a-w-s

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