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moosemonstrous · 4 months

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(There's no time to explain, get in the jaeger)

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - perception shift

“They, um. Mapped all the seizure points. The risk is minimal. I just don’t know how long it will take, so—”

Robbie doesn’t know who he is trying to convince – himself of Gabe’s shift teacher. Mrs Lai has the expression of someone who has had to sit enough children through conversations like this. He catches her glancing towards the box of tissues on her desk. Her eyes are dry.

“Of course. Gabe is more than welcome to stay in the children’s centre as long as you are away.” Mrs Lai winces, just a little. “But, just in case—”

“Just in case,” Robbie repeats like it’s a spell.

“We don’t have any next of kin information. Is there anyone...?”

He sat through a four-hour long psychiatric evaluation last night. He’s not going to break down in a teacher’s office. You cried in the shower like a little girl. And now he’s fine. Great. Can we get a move on? When he doesn’t answer for long enough, Mrs Lai nods to herself, one sharp movement like she’s putting a decisive dot at the end of a sentence.

“I will make sure to schedule Lisa for a wrap-around shift. She and Gabriel get along really well.”

He opens his mouth to say: that won’t be necessary, and shuts it again. Just in case.

Mrs Lai recommends that Robbie leaves through the staff entrance to avoid bumping into Gabe, then insists when Robbie wants to see him before he goes.

“It’s already halfway through the music class,” she says. Not unkindly. “I saw you tell him you will pick him up as normal. Let’s stick to that plan, shall we?”

Robbie never lies to Gabe. What is he doing? What the hell did he agree to? Only the best chance at making something out for yourself. Come on, move it, let’s go let’s go let’s go! The weird mix of dread and excitement makes him too queasy to even consider breakfast. He sits on the stairs at the back of the children’s centre with his head in his hands for who knows how long, until enough people passing give him weird looks that he has to go or attract security.

See, another benefit. Rangers don’t have to worry about security. Yeah. They only have to worry about catastrophic brain damage. The only type of brain damage worth having, if you think about it.

Robbie has been living out of the academy sweatpants for several weeks and the way the undersuit clings to his skin feels a little suffocating. It’s heavier than he expected, too. It’s all the circuitry. Pull the hip plates up or the techs will do it for you, and they ain’t gentle. The neck brace clicks in place, just push it together, it won’t break.

It’s like going through the motions, even though he’s never seen one of these suits up close before. Or maybe it’s just not that hard to figure out. Like in the academy, he has the vague sense of what to do next, and next, and next, and it all breaks apart if he thinks about it too hard, so he lets the instinct drive him forward in an unknown direction and hopes it will all turn out alright in the end.

Did he watch his dad suit up at some point? He must have.

Each active jaeger has its own dedicated drivesuit room, most at the top of the dome with the detached Conn-Pods waiting to be lowered onto the mech, and Cherno Alpha’s right off the walkway, feet away from the open hatch to it’s built-in cockpit. Hell Charger doesn’t have one set up – yet – so the techs have rigged one of the maintenance rooms a level below the access point with all the monitoring systems. At least a dozen pairs of eyes fix on Robbie as soon as he walks out from behind the stack of boxes serving as his changing room. Somebody takes his phone and clothes out of his arms – he meant to text Gabe before turning it off, is it too late to—of course it’s too late to back out, don’t be a pussy.

“Damn,” the head tech lifts up his goggles to take a better look at him. He’s a big guy, tall and broad and clearly used to people giving him a wide berth. “Ain’t this a blast from the past.”

Robbie swallows around the growing lump in his throat. “Yeah?”

The man reaches out for a handshake. At least the undersuit hides how sweaty Robbie’s palms are all of the sudden. “It’s Canelo. I used to run power routes for The Charger back in the day.”

Oh. Oh! “R-Reyes.” Don’t get star-struck, he’s just a wrench. “You knew my--?”

“There’s still a few of us around from the good old days, yeah,” Canelo slaps his massive hand on Robbie’s shoulder and pulls him to the centre of the room. He makes ‘good old days’ sound like a curse. “We’ll catch up once this whole thing shakes out, hm? I assume Cho talked you through the procedure.”

Robbie nods to confirm. When he looks, Cho gives them a thumbs-up from across the room. He always looks three coffees past bedtime, but he’s been extra jittery today. Even now, he’s gesturing around the screens with an open can of an energy drink and the tech next to him might brain him with her power tool if he spills anything.

“Stand still, limbs apart,” Canelo instructs Robbie, pointing to the markers on the floor. As soon as he takes position, he’s surrounded by people carrying pieces of the drivesuit armour. It’s not a full set; just enough to ensure Cho can monitor his brain activity. The uneven weight distribution makes him feel half-dressed.

“We disconnected the joint motors.” Canelo’s booming voice carries over the noise of the drills screwing the pauldrons to the chest plate. “You’ll only be able to move the head and upper torso after you plug in. It should lighten the neural load, keep you from going under.”

Killjoy.

Robbie does his best to cooperate with the techs, but he hates being prodded and he hates people looking at him, and rather quickly he finds himself hating the way the circuitry against his skin heats up when the switches get flipped. You can feel that? Shouldn’t he? Is something already going wrong?

The hot spiderweb along his spine cools down almost immediately. Huh. Maybe it’s just the initial power surge.

“Right,” Cho appears in front of him like he wasn’t just elbows deep in a mess of cables leading from the monitoring station to the back of Robbie’s drivesuit. His gloves are black from grease and some of it made it up his forearms. He’s got a surprising amount of know-how in this department for someone ostensibly in charge of the biology side of things. “Everyone else will be watching the feed up on the bridge. Canelo got a new helmet prepped; we’re going to modify the Conn-Pod so you don’t have to initialise the drift yourself.” He peels the gloves off to take said helmet from another tech. Yet another wraps the thick cable running from it’s top on a pole to hook it directly above Robbie’s head. Now that he's noticed, the whole ceiling looks like it's crawling with tentacles. Cables. They're just cables.

Here we go. It’s happening. Cho hands him the helmet and it’s honestly a miracle Robbie doesn’t immediately drop it. Keep it together. Think about the—the medical insurance or whatever. Come on, you’re panicking, do the breathing thing. He does, and Cho must notice, because his expression turns into something... guilty.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he says, sounding as confident as usual but with a very different set to his eyebrows. “I will see a seizure coming before you even get a tingle. We’re not taking any chances, we’ll pull you out the second there’s a blip on the radar, okay?” He puts his hands on the shoulder guards on either side of Robbie’s neck. “I’m not getting you killed.”

Robbie wonders if he feels like he did when speaking to Mrs Lai. He licks his lips, but there’s nothing to say, so he just nods instead. Cho nods back before stepping away, and then all there is left to do is to pull the helmet over his face and hope like hell he wasn’t lying.

The relay gel immediately washes down the HUD, the display flickering to life. He can tell when each circuit activates by the hot flashes travelling along his skin and he has to force his breathing even again. You’re doing great, kid. Keep it up. You’re nearly there.

“Alright, everyone to position,” Cho calls, muted through the helmet. “Prepare for drift protocol.”

Oh god, he’s going to throw up. You’re fine. Stay on the surface and don’t go chasing whatever you see, and you’ll be just fine.

“Drift activating in three, two, one—”

The washed-out blue pulls him in like a whirlwind, completely out of his body. It’s like travelling at high speed past monochrome images – he sees himself carrying Gabe on his back through the flooded ruins of Los Angeles, the face of the firefighter urging him through the break in the fence, Gabe strapped into the seat of the first car he bought. On the other side – there are no directions, everything is happening forward and all at once, but there is his side and the other side – somebody gets punched in the stomach, and his dad is stepping in front of him, and a helicopter barrels down from the sky. He does his best not to look – impulse triggers, Dr Montesi said. That’s how you lose the thread. Each scene flashes for maybe a fraction of a second, long enough only to register before moving on, and on, and on, until both sides crash into each other and—

Fuckin’ A, kid! A voice whoops like there’s someone standing right next to him. No, don’t focus on that. The egghead’s talking.

“—process successful!”

Robbie blinks. He realises he’s bent his neck forward at some point, and when he lifts his chin, it’s like the helmet suddenly weighs several tons. There’s a loud creak outside the room, followed by a second of stunned silence inside of it. Robbie blinks the blue away to see a tech run to poke her head outside the door.

Cho waves a hand, and Canelo steps into Robbie’s field of vision. “Any bright spots? Nausea?”

Without thinking, Robbie shakes his head no. More creaking from the outside, like a bridge settling. The lookout tech shouts something in Cantonese and Cho’s focused expression breaks into a grin.

“No signs of kick back,” he says. “Hey, Reyes! Can you shrug?”

Slowly, it dawns on Robbie what’s happening. He lifts his shoulders, the extra weight becoming more natural by the second. Someone cheers. Watch this. Next time he blinks, he’s looking at the hangar like he’s standing on the access walkway, and—

Oh god. He can see through the jaeger’s head cameras. He’s standing in the middle of a concrete room, and he is the jaeger, and then there’s a third view – he’s inside the jaeger’s cockpit, watching the status displays light up with something that feels almost like happiness blooming in his chest.

Excuse you, that’s my side.

When he blinks back to the control room, nobody seems to be talking to him for all the noise of multiple people speaking all at once. He blinks again, and the LOCCENT bridge seems to be within reach of his arm. The more he does it, the easier it gets to hold both views, like he’s inhabiting two bodies at once—

Three bodies. The third view settles in among the others, unmoving but undeniably there. He’s pretty certain Cho talked about this – normally, there are three views, but Robbie doesn’t have a co-pilot.

Don’t think about it too hard.

Are you--?

Relax, we’re one and the same, yeah?

Robbie focuses on his real body. Behind the monitoring equipment, Cho is frowning, but doesn’t look concerned so much as—

He’s fucking thrilled, that’s what he is. He wanted a solo drift and here you are, drifting solo. Enjoy the moment.

He wishes he could see The Charger move when he does. He’s seen the footage from his accident, but the miniscule shift of the giant head was almost imperceptible. Now, he can feel the hydraulics under the steel hull like he can feel the way his muscles strain when lifting a kettlebell.

Pretty cool, huh?

It—it really is pretty cool. He’s really doing it, and other than the quick bursts of heat along the circuit lines there is barely any discomfort. His bad eye feels a little hot, but it’s no worse than having a bright light shone into it during medical exams.

He’s not going to die. Told you. He’s drifting, and it’s working, and Robbie isn’t going to die.

“Reyes, talk to me,” Canelo taps on the side of his helmet. “How’re you doing?”

“Good,” he croaks out. He sounds a little manic. “Good, is it really moving?”

Yeah she is!

“Yep, we’ll get you the side-by-side later. Medical wants to know if your vision is clear in both views.”

He doesn’t even have to blink to be sure. “It’s clear,” he confirms.

Canelo nods and pushes the mic from his comm link to speak into it among the noise: “Pilot confirms, vision clear,” and the realisation hits Robbie like a freight train.

He’s piloting a fucking jaeger.

#ghost rider pacific rim au #robbie reyes #eli morrow #merry christmas yall #we're at the first high point of this ride strap in you know how rollercoasters go

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fictionkinfessions · 3 days

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im gonna stop saying i have kinmomalitneddnhd i can't even remember the fucking word. it's so hard to spell. i'm not using it anymore i have Kin Diseases. its an affliction. related note i have "leading lady in a diablo cody movie who kills someone in a forest" disease -jennifer check [jennifer's body]/lisa swallows [lisa frankenstein] #🍭✨😈💥

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #🍭✨😈💥#lisafrankensteinkin #murder cw #jennifercheckkin #jennifersbodykin #lisaswallowskin #mod party cat

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eden-mp4 · 2 months

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I have never kinned a character as much as i have kinned Lisa Swallows, other than Anne Shirley when i was in middle school

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clemkruckinnie · 2 months

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have u seen lisa frankenstein & if so did u like it?

LOVED IT!!! lisa swallows is at the top of my kin list now actually, thank you for asking. bought blue mascara and peach rings the day after i saw it. new hyperfixation UNLOCKED

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girlthing-changeling · 2 months

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Kin List

Otherkin

- Changeling

- Mermaid

- Dragon

Fictionkin

- Lisa Swallows (Lisa Frankenstein)

- Mrs. Lovett (Sweeney Todd)

- Jonathan Sims (TMA)

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thran-duils · 3 years

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Dubious Representation (P.4, Final)

Title: Dubious Representation (Part Four, Final) Summary: Fem!Reader x soft Dark!Hank Palmer. Reader’s husband is facing jail time and although Hank Palmer entered the counsel for pro bono, he is still going to get a form of payment. Recently single, he’s been lonely and he’s looking for some comfort. Even if it means obtaining it from less than savory means. Words: 3,110 Warnings (for entire fic): Eventual smut, sexual coercion, infidelity, mention of past domestic violence, verbal abuse

Part Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Hank came downstairs, buttoning up his dress shirt. You looked over your shoulder from where you were making breakfast, something you had gotten accustomed to when you stayed over. It was relaxing. He was right about one thing; you did love to cook. And it was nice you had someone who actually seemed to appreciate it rather than taking it for granted. Not to mention, his kitchen was top notch, and his fridge was always stocked cause he gave you the money to do so.

He caused you to pause for a second as he grabbed your shoulders to hold you while he kissed your temple.

“Morning, doll,” he spoke against your skin before he pulled away. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You always did on his expensive mattress. Especially after he wore you out.

You finished up and made up two plates. Turning around you found him at the island, clicking away on his phone. You placed his plate in front of him, him thanking you, and slid onto the stool next to him.

He swore under his breath and tossed his phone down before he started eating.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Lisa is being a bitch as usual.” He held a lot of contempt for his ex-wife.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about.” He took another bite and eyed you. “I’ve got Lauren this weekend again.”

You made sure you were away when she was there. He never made you feel like you had to be but the few weekends he had with her since you had started seeing him, you made yourself scarce.

“Good. You haven’t seen her in a while,” you told him, and you meant it. It had been a couple weeks. “I need to clean my apartment too, so this is good.”

“You don’t gotta go home.”

You shot him a look at that and saw he was staring at you with purpose. You swallowed your bite and forced a shrug. “It’s okay. It’s good you guys have time alone together.”

“We don’t have to always be alone together,” Hank said, taking another bite. He shrugged in turn now, fixing you with another intense look. “I’ve thought about you moving in.”

That was unexpected. And all you could muster was, “Oh.”

“‘Oh’ what?” He sounded like he was going to get on a combative route.

You rested your hand on the counter, meeting his eyes. “That… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? Explain it to me.”

You blinked. How did you explain how wrong you felt about falling into another man’s bed so soon? The same day Rich had left, you were back with Hank. Not that you had not slept with him before then but… and how guilty you felt about your feelings for him? His relationship had already been done and had been for a while. You were moving on without a consensual party who had no idea what was happening outside their jail cell. No matter how free you felt since you were not afraid of what kind of mood Rich was going to be in when you got home, there was still history.

“It seems too quick.”

“It’s been six months.” Hank grabbed the jug of iced tea you had placed on the counter and began pouring you and him glasses.

“A lot of people would say too quick.”

“Rich is refusing to see you when you have gone to visit. I don’t think it’s quick enough we make this more serious.”

He sounded bitter about the Rich comment. When you had told him you were going to visit Rich in prison the first time, Hank had been frigid. And then the next two times, he was still bristled. And he had had a “told you so” attitude about it when you came back mopey because he was right about that: Rich refused to see you. He would walk in and see it was you at the table and turn around and walk back through the door.

“Don’t you think?” Hank continued as he finished pouring the iced tea. “You are already sleeping here half the week. It’s a waste of money for you to keep the apartment.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. The apartment was yours now. Something you had not had to yourself for years. But you felt more comfortable here.

“I guess when you put it that way,” you said.

He saw your resolve crumbling and he capitalized, leaning on his arm to come closer to you. “Then what’s the issue?”

“My apartment—"

“You know. I brought it up to come to the point to just tell you: Don’t worry about it. I’ve already contacted your building manager about paying off the rest of the lease. You had only four more months left so that wasn’t a huge expense. You need to sign the paperwork though.”

“Hank!”

“What?”

“You didn’t even ask me. And they just spoke to you about my lease when you’re not even on it?”

Hank waved you off, “You’re getting distracted. Did you wanna keep living there with no AC in the summer and then shitty heating in the winter? And that carpet was atrocious in the halls. Do you not like my house?”

“I like it. A lot.”

“Then again, let me ask, what’s the issue?” You had nothing to say, and he grasped your hand. “Doll, all you need to do is go pack up the things you want to bring here — I’ll get you boxes — and then the rest of it we can send to the thrift shop. AND—" he rose his voice as soon as he saw you were going to protest, and you closed your mouth. “The other stuff — you know things of his — we can ship to his next of kin.”

“His parents.”

“Good. They can inherit it. Just like they’ll inherit him when he’s out.”

You let that sink in for a couple moments before you realized a way out of being here while Lauren was here. “Well, then I should go to my apartment this weekend to do that…”

Hank looked impressed for a split second before he agreed, “I suppose so. But I want you available on Saturday morning. You don’t have to stay here but we are going to the botanical gardens and then getting lunch. I want you there. Is that fair?”

It was a type of compromise, a rarity.

“Yes.”

He had still gotten his way. As usual.

<><><>

Lauren was a sweet girl, eleven years old. She was headstrong just like Hank, and you had to smile watching them go back and forth about their opinions. She was going to be a force to be reckoned with.

When she got you alone for a moment, she was watching you closely.

“What’s up?” you asked, trying to hide your unease.

“I told my dad that daddies don’t get lonely when he asked me who I wanted to live with when they were getting divorced.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They move on quick.” Your stomach clenched, worried where this conversation was going. “But my mom was dating someone before he was. Like almost immediately. It’s just weird. But I’m glad he has someone now.”

You relaxed and nodded before you told her, “Me too. He makes me happy.”

<><><>

A week and a half later, there was a voicemail on your cell phone. You did not recognize the number.

You pressed on it and your blood chilled hearing Rich’s voice.

“Y/N, what the fuck is this about all these boxes of my shit showing up at my parent’s house? You know they don’t have the space in their two bedroom. And what the fuck are you sending it away for in the first place? If you’re even thinking about kicking me out, you’ve got another thing coming, you little bitch. Do you understand me? Moving on like a fucking hussy now that I’m in here and you’ve got space in the bed? I know you’re helpless when it comes to providing for yourself but if you think I’m gonna let it slide that you are spreading your legs for some other fucking guy cause you can’t hack it on your own, you are sorely mistaken! I—”

The voicemail cut off. He must have run out of time.

Your lip was warbling as you stared down at your phone.

“What is it?”

Hank’s voice startled you. He was rubbing his hair with a towel, another one wrapped around his waist, straight from the shower.

“Nothing,” you said wiping at your eyes.

Hank’s arm dropped from his head, and he stalked over. He reached his hand out, gesturing for you to hand over your phone. He did not buy it when you said nothing. You slowly relented and he took it from you. Pressing play, he replayed the button and you flinched, the words hurting just as much if not more than the first time you heard them.

Snorting, Hank deleted the message. “Fuck him. And his condescension. You’re doing what’s best for you, and you are hacking it on your own. I say it’s about time you got a new number, Hmm? To avoid that bullshit.” Your lips parted in surprise, and he held your phone back out to you. You took it as he said, “I’ll add you to my plan, baby. We can go tomorrow. I don’t have meetings in the afternoon.”

With that, he turned and walked back towards the bathroom. He had not waited for you to respond.

<><><>

As soon as you were two weeks late, Hank brought home a test. He had stopped using condoms months ago when things had progressed. That same night, he had taken you out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate. He had taken you there before and you had adored it. That time though it was like a fog was clouding the room. You were happy, you had wanted to be a mother, and he was happy. But you were still married.

Hank had obviously been thinking about that too because a couple days later, he brought it up bluntly as he was watering his flowers.

“You should get a divorce.”

Pushing your sunglasses up, you stared at him in shock. You were reclining on a lawn chair, reading a magazine.

When you did not respond, he looked over his shoulder. You knew this conversation was coming but the knowledge of that did nothing to soften the blow.

“That seems heartless.”

“What? Fully leaving? Or are you telling me you’re planning to go back to him?” He was using that challenging tone.

“No!” you blurted. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

He turned the hose off and dropped it turning to face you.

“Y/N, he’s been in jail for over a year. You’ve already sent his shit away, he’s gotten mad about it, you don’t know if his family cares cause you aren’t at the apartment, you’re living with me. And you’re not at your old job. So, they can’t find you there. And you got a new number so no one can contact you. I think the writing has been on the wall where this is going. So what’s with dragging your feet?”

“It’s… hard.”

“A lot of things are hard, but we deal with them. Look, you’ll feel better once it’s over and done with and so will I. I don’t like knowing you’re still legally tied to that bastard. Can you understand that? Not just as the man you’re with but from an attorney’s viewpoint. It’s not good news. I’d sleep easier at night knowing he’s not gonna try to pull some shit.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest if you initiate and oversee this?”

Hank gave a brief chuckle, “No. I’m allowed to represent blood family even. I’m supposed to be unbiased of course but it’s legal to do it. I’m allowed to represent anyone.” He came closer, looking down at you on the chair. “And honestly, if I have it under my belt I represented him — that is if the bastard decides to take it to court, which I’m doubtful he will — and ‘saw the errors of my choice’ and now I’m trying to help you out, that’ll help in court.” He saw the look on your face and shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t mean to be insensitive but that’s how juries are swayed. Sob stories. And I could hit that shit out of the park.”

Swallowing, you contemplated. You had been thinking about divorce for a while. Even more so now that you knew you were carrying Hank’s baby.

You had taken too long to respond again, and Hank added, “Free of charge for you of course.”

You gave a small smile and said, “Hank… yeah, fine. I know.”

“‘Fine’? ‘You know’? Doll, you know I like you to elaborate your firm feelings.”

“I’ve been thinking about it. And I need to take a plunge. I wanna be invested in us. Fully.”

Hank nodded, “That’s better.” He nodded once more. “I’ll get them drafted up tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“And?”

“Don’t you wanna enjoy the weekend?”

Hank simpered, “What’s a weekend?”

<><><>

Hank strolled past the security gate and swooped his briefcase up. The visiting room in the prison was bare and beat up. He was seated at the table, waiting, reading emails. As soon as the prisoners were trickling into the room, he kept an eye on the door.

The moment Rich walked in, he hesitated seeing Hank. Unlike with Y/N, he ventured into the room and pulled the chair back, sitting across the table from Hank.

“Surprised you haven’t found yourself in max yet. I was expecting to talk to you through glass. Whatever works though,” Hank clipped, sitting up straight.

“What are you doing here?” Rich asked, his tone tight. He ignored Hank’s jab.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Hank said, opening his briefcase and pulling out the pile of papers. He tossed them onto the table and leaned back, waiting for Rich to respond.

Rich stared at them for a few moments and shrugged, “What are these? Early release? I thought I made it clear I didn’t want you representing me anymore.”

“Ah, no,” Hank laughed. He was unable to hold it back. “Divorce papers actually. And I’m not representing you. I’m representing Y/N.”

Rich’s face darkened and he snapped, “What?”

“She’s divorcing you now that she’s not afraid you’re gonna bash her in with a monkey wrench. You’re right here, my man. And she’s free out there.” He leaned in closer and said, “Seriously, you fucking up the way you did worked out best for everyone. She’s positively glowing.” He tapped the papers and said, “So, it’s all in here. Just need you to read it over, get your signature, and it’ll be solid.”

Rich was staring harshly at Hank and Hank could pinpoint the moment the realization washed over him. He looked murderous. “You.”

“Yeah, me.”

“You son of a bitch. Just swooping in when you saw weakness,” Rich growled, slamming his hand on the table. The guards took notice and he immediately reeled it in, much to Hank’s amusement who had not even flinched. Through gritted teeth, Rich vowed, “You’re not going to get away with this. She’s my wife—"

“Yeah, a wife you have refused to see for over a year because what? You’re mad you had to come to her rescue because you were rolling too hard to pay proper attention as she almost got assaulted? Great. Husband of the year award right for you. I’ll make sure it’s delivered.”

“I’m not going to roll over on this!”

Hank waved him off, quipping. “Take it to court then. We know how well that worked out for you last time.” He smiled cruelly, “Do you understand how even more easy it would be for me this time to get them to turn against you than the DA did last time? I could easily paint myself as the white knight and yeah, sure, you would get a day out of the prison to come to court, which might seem worth it to you, but it is worth the cost for good representation? I don’t think so. You will get the floor mopped with you and the end result would be the same.”

Rich looked furious and Hank threw his hands out. “Think about it this way. Once you’re out, you can find another woman who was just as naïve and young as Y/N and do what you will. It’s wiping the slate clean for you, fresh start. Plus, Y/N’s already pregnant, so she’s pretty settled in already with me. Don’t wanna go messing that up cause trust me, motherfucker, I will make that hell for you. I’ve got the resources to do so. And man, do I have a vendetta against your ass. So, do you really want to try me?” If Rich could look more furious. His fists were clenched on the table, shaking, but he was keeping himself from lunging across the table. Hank was even impressed; the bastard really did not want to go to max.

Clearing his throat, Hank leaned over and grabbed his briefcase, standing up. “Anyways, you can wipe your ass with that if you want, but it’s still going to go forward. And I have more copies. Just let me know what you wanna do.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and carelessly tossed it onto the table. “In case you forgot my number, champ.”

<><><>

Hank came up behind you and kissed at the nape of your neck. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“You weren’t home when you normally do it,” you told him, running the water from the hose over the hydrangeas that he cherished so much.

“I’m only thirty minutes late,” Hank chuckled.

“But you are particular.”

“That I am,” he breathed, kissing you again on your shoulder. He nuzzled in and nipped at your ear, drawing a smile out of you. “I got the papers back today.”

That caused you to stall, your hand dropping every so slightly, the water not arching as high. It had been a couple weeks since Hank had gone to the prison and all he had told you was that he had left the papers with Rich. You had not heard anything since. Hearing that he had actually sent them back signed…

He noticed your demeanor and his hands came around you, coming to your stomach. He held you protectively there and breathed reassuringly, “Looks like our family is going to be okay.”

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx

#hank palmer x reader #rdj character #my shit #dark!hank palmer #hank palmer

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vr2 · 3 years

Text

i think kaeya’s suffocating one-way loyalty to others, especially diluc, is one of my favourite parts of his character. an inhumanly knightly ideal stretched transparent, gauze-thin to try and obscure the deficit of your own personhood. like clawing shut a black hole with bloodied fingers but still finding it weeping uncontrollably, hysterically. it’s not exactly self-sacrifice but more like some ill-fated way of seeking validation, plunging yourself into the dark to reaffirm that there is something light, barely alive, faintly flickering within. something worth saving, something human after all. its knowingly asking a question that cannot be answered or taken back. an irreversible change of state is the culmination of rubedo, the metamoprhic stage preceding it symbolized by the peacocks tail, cauda pavonis. understanding the true weight of flesh without blood is to kill the creature beforehand, but this is the only way a true value can be known. childhood dreams denature into scar tissue, charred memories leave a bitter taste in your mouth no matter what you wash it down with. twisting the knife to feel agony once more, confirmation there was some soft underbelly to to the beast, still made of blood and bone, steel carapace and blood-dark claws nothing more than bygone idles. this body can catch alight, can burn brilliantly. this maddening fragility can only be human.

an enduring but deceptively frail nature. i think most of his potential as a character is just waiting for him to shatter and reveal what exactly is left underneath it all like a kinder surprise! but the surprise is abject misery compounded upon whatever fucking awful events would have to cause him to break cleanly in two. i think, naturally, if left to his own devices with little change other than his tentative limbo with diluc, the niggling fear of his truth being exposed and his true utter loneliess, rather than breaking, kaeya would slowly be eroded with time. already well entrenched in the safety of his masks in the city he all but rules, slowly the glaciers hes built turn into the sea and without realising it one day he’d be stranded in an ocean of his own making completely and utterly desolate. eventually kaeya will find himself swalloed by the abyss and he will not struggle as the water comes to claim him.

as fun as that is i think there are much more interesting avenues to go down. for all kaeya is mond’s glacial cavalry captain he’s paradoxically also characterised by his emotional vulnerability. and i just think it’s delicious to prey on that and have some extreme emotional distress that tears him apart. although it’s never alluded to ingame outside of jean’s story quest it seems that kaeya orchestrates a lot of things and is relatively deeply involved with the personal lives of many characters who could not particularly offer him anything in return. specifically jean, klee, lisa and amber. somehow slowly he has scraped together some semblance of friendship and camraderie if not outright family. with him being abandoned twice over, one more final abandonment making kaeya compeltely lose all sense of reality would utterly break him for the last time. like realising all this time, all this change, everything yous aid and did was not only pointless but it was a distraction. the ice beneath your feet is is cracking even if you screamed for help you’d simply be damning another person to die with you, selfishly, thoughtlessly, cruelly. realising your purpose was nothing so grand, but with lies and misdirection they sent you to die in the snow convincing yourself a martyr. there is nothing to catch you, nothing to hold onto but whatever is lurking beneath. you can at least trust a beast to be beast, you were denied to live amongst the land of men but in the depths of the abyss you monsters you call your kin reach out to you, knowing. its only a matter of control now, to either fall off of the edge of the world or dive into it.

like a bird trying to swim beneath the water and finally succumbing to the waves. abandon yourself to your fate. revel in it, drink it down in huge gulps, fall into the spiral and dont look up, don’t acknowledge any other ending than this. there is no use making wishes, the stars are not listening.

i think the event that makes kaeya lose his tenuous grip on reality will actually be completely unnoticeable to anyone who doesnt particularly know him ie other than maybe jean, rosaria and diluc. kaeya will not endanger mond directly, but he is aware, that when he falls, so does a pillar of mond’s defence. he will not raise his sword against the place that gave him a wonderful illusion of belonging but he will not save it either, there was no way for him to understand this land of wind, as someone who was born not knowing the sky.

kaeya would mostly act as usual but there’s something distinctly off-kilter. his usual teasing more strange and obtuse, his usual silvertongue tempered into something more humble, cut with a strange truthfulness, a quiet gentleness of a youth from long ago. as if the captain had suddenly turned back time, as if slowly opening up and blooming like a flower. jean is happy to see kaeya smile again, even if she knows it if an affectation of a memory of a memory. she feels like the anemo archon had gifted him wings, this lightness a blessing she should be thankful for rather than weighed down with niggling worry for her oldest friend. rosaria finds it rather liberating, feeling as if kaeya has finally had the strength to shake off the great weight he carried, that burdensome melancholy has finally thawed. if it was not for the face master diluc is making at him however, she might have missed how wide and unseeing that smile seems.

diluc would be torn. there is something wrong with kaeya. but at the same time isn’t this what he wanted? perhaps in another life if kaeya ragnivindr had the chance to grow up, to bloom into adulthood, this is what he’d be. there is a childish softness he had thought he had burned away, the specter of a boy from another life warm and real before you. that makes something in his throat catch, the back of his eyes ache. diluc would feel tormented, kaeya surely had found some peace but here diluc has convinced himsef its ill-gotten. theres a warring inside him of wanting to reach out and hold this person you’ve never seen before, lest the disappear like snow come dawn and at the same time dig your fingers into it, sift through it until its in pieces before you and find what must exist in the heart of this illusion, even if it means tearing it to pieces. its often, often, he curses demanding the truth. honor and code and chivalry mean nothing any more but he has chosen the path and he can no longer go back. because now it means he cannot leave this kaeya, who can at least pretend to smile like he used to, intact. even this short reprieve must be burnt away.

questioning kaeya is painful, he uses his truthful emotions to disarm and its impossible to get anywhere. kaeya knows what hes doing. if he must be a liar to the end, he will give them the grandest, most beautiful illusion he can create. he pulls on his own strings until he feels them dig into skin, closing around his throat. choking down all his childish wishes to be saved, and turning once more to the audience. smothering it is the kinder alternative than to let the small voice in his heart live, take pitiful struggling steps and have to watch it fizzle and die out with a whimper under the weight of the world. the show must go on, such a mundane performance is not worthy of the king of khaenriah.

kaeya has always known that no matter how he comes to the finale, he has his part to play. in the end his choices dont matter, nobody has ever let kaeya have anything but (a photograph set alight by the fireplace. black satin ribbons tied in neat loopy bows, order in unruly heads of hair, scratchy facial hair against your cheek, the smell of cologne and grapes, not yet wine, three bodies curled on an armchair, a book of fairy tale held in two sets of hands. there is hole is in the center). his body has always belonged to khaenriah, his sword to the knights of favonius, his life to mond. there a quiet vindictive selfishness still, of owning and having complete control of your heart. one ill retaliation that gurgles out of your throat and takes the form of half-aborted laughter spilling out like tar, like sickness. turning the world upside down and righting your positions. kaeya sets the board to its rightful place.

is it still falling if you jump? no need to fear of someone letting go, if you had no intention of holding on. one final indulgence, one last rebellion. the childish vindictiveness of taking something from someone and not giving it back, getting the last laugh even if you laugh alone.

the peacock stage in alchemy, is the stage of transcendence, to destroy the original form and purify it to its final rubedo. the peacock must be swallowed by the phoenix. burning through its brilliant colours to achieve the transmutation between the mundane and divine. this is the the purpose of the cauda pavonis. it is to represent a form that is to be destroyed to achieve completion. a sacrifice.

to kaeya, knowing his purpose yet still foolishly living beyond it is the thing that truly truly sinks its teeth in. knowing that everything he built will be destroyed and he must allow it for being foolish enough to build it in the first place. he knows his impermanence and yet still he is beside himself with a festering rage called humanity creeping into his bones. having no way to process this as anything other than some inherent malignant evil that must be intrinsic to himself, i think kaeya takes ‘pleasure’ in not only burning that bridge but proving to everyone that he was an awful person who deserved this and he really is getting the last laugh. and truly there is something about it, for once, destroying something for your own pleasure. even if it is taking your own chance of redemption, that weak-hearted hopefulness and crushing it between your teeth, finding your saviour just to spite their naivety. the onyl thing left ot destroy is yourself so kaeya will make it absolute and spectacular! a performance seen this night and never again.

but the just straight up sacrifice for the sake of devotion, feeling as if he truly has nothing left but himself and he is his own person to destroy, his only act he can take, the only move on the board is sexy too. in another world, those deeper desires never breaking the ice, layers of permafrost scarred over and scratched raw - idle fantasies of love and forgiveness and belonging, mundane dreams reserved for better people - that could not be burnt out of you that night, like your hair, like your hands, like your flesh, like your heart. an ashen taste that lingers, a bitter aftertaste ever present no matter what you try and wash it down with. you can at least appreciate that the ache of your lungs filling with water, with wine, with the heavy weight of lies -- you can imagine you will sink, heavy with this grief. no one can change this punishment you have decided for yourself, they cannot save you without your consent. you see an invitation to be smothered, for your death to have a purpose, just as your life and birth had predetermined value, how could you deny such a privilege?

what is this if not a final act of devotion? to who, it’s undecided. but the fact you have burnt through this life for others, that you have bled for them, have been their hope, perhaps with this you can finally earn the title of a good man in their eyes. but your own dull gaze is the only one that looks back at you.

to think of their faces, their names, their warmth would sully this divine duty with pointless sorrow so you would close your eyes and clutch at the chest, where an abyssal heart would beat fast and scared, a betrayer and coward til the end. in the cold water, the outline of a dream, the gauzy silhouettes of people you loved, the light of the sun cast shadows across lands both alien and comforting, and, and - anything at all would be worth it. anyone but you.

perhaps this is simply the end. the final act lay unwritten for there is no point writing words that will never be read. perhaps the mask has slipped and you never noticed, insisting the show must go on when there is no one to play to. a performer perpetually stuck on the stage, turning about the head of a pin, boring into you with every revolution.

the depths of the abyss, pale in comparison to a gaping maw of this despair so wide, that this ocean is nothing but shallow waters to you. walking into the sea, with sword in hand, a sickness in the form of a love that is incomprehensible and cold. to finally rest free, a sojourn with no hope of return a voyage to far away from here. kaeya alberich falls to the end of the world and you will not save him.

as well and good all this rambling is, i think my favourite rendition of kaeya alberich shattering into tiny little pieces is to the tune of ‘kelly clarkson - since u been gone’

#damn you ren #its a banger song #i like my vindictive kaeya he deserves it king #renshin impact #unhinged kaeya rambling time #cw suicidal ideation #i am jus rambling its nothing coherent #organic free range delusions served fresh and hot #if even 20% of this is intelligeible i am a goddamn GENIUS #unfortuantely i will never know since i do not intend to ever read this again

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Man and Wife Pt.08

The Reconciliation

04/21/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 11,265

*Masterpost in Notes Warnings: lusty scenes, language, depression, fucking angst in boat loads

A/N: I am...emotionally exhausted. I’m also hungry. I got home from work, answered all the comments for chapter 7...and then started work on this one. I have only gone through to edit ONCE. So if you see something funny, please ignore it for me. I will come and edit again, probably tomorrow, but I didn’t want to keep you guys in suspense and I wanted to know what you all would think. I’m so excited to read your reactions to all of the different things we learn in this new chapter. I hope this pieces some of y’all’s hearts back together a bit. As always if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You wander the streets completely out of your mind. This night seems more silent than any night before it. The world has died because you’ve died. Inside, you’re broken, raw and cut, bleeding heart turning your limbs cold. Or is that the winter air?

You’re not sure what time it is but suddenly you’re not moving. You hear a mumble…a distant hum of sound and syllable. Warmth bleeds through your sweater, Bucky’s sweater. Why had you dressed yourself in his clothes out of all the damn clothes you had?

It feels like another life, this morning when you chose the light gray piece and pressed it to your face to inhale his heady scent. He hadn’t even worn it, but your apartment had been filled with the smell of him.

You look towards the warmth and see dark hands. They’re large and the veins on the back protrude as they hold you harder. Your body jerks back slightly and you look up towards the mumbling.

It’s not a face you want to see. You blink, trying to clear your vision of it, but it won’t go away.

You don’t want this face. You don’t want any face. You’ve never wanted to not exist. From the moment you were born, through the death of your parents, after your grandma died, and then after your grandpa left you last—even then, when you were alone with no kin to claim you, you hadn’t wanted to disappear and dissolve into nothing.

Tonight, you do. Tonight, is hell. It didn’t happen. It can’t have happened.

You turn to look back the way you probably came. You don’t remember walking this far. You don’t remember choosing to go this way. Maybe you should go back and check to see if you’re wrong?

“Y/N?!” A final firm shake, and you jerk your head back towards Henry’s bewildered face. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Answer me.”

You watch his mouth move and then look up into his dark eyes with your own blank expression.

“I’m cold.” You confess and realize you’d left your coat at home…no…not home. The apartment. Bucky’s apartment. How can that be your home when it’s been defiled and disrespected?

Henry sighs heavily and shrugs his long tan coat off then wraps it around your shoulders. He shuts the top button and then rubs your arms to warm you with friction.

“What are you doing out here this early?”

Early? You look towards the left and see that the sun is rising making the sky pale and winter gray. The cold seems to bite more fiercely, and you finally reach up to wrap your arms around yourself. You’re still a little numb. Angry.

You can feel unforgiving fire rush through your veins, charring your heart as you flash back to the image of a beautiful, perfect, Amazonian blonde laying in your bed, her bottom barely covered with your sheets. Bucky laid out beside her, staring up at the ceiling as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Is it? Had this already happened before? Has he done it often? Is that where he’s always been? Sleeping with other women? Had he just been that angry with you today that he’d brought her home? Is she his girlfriend? His mistress?

“Y/N?” Henry shakes you roughly, jerking your head back and forth sharply. “Damn it, say something or I’m going to take you to the hospital.”

“I can’t go home.” You sigh.

“Why?”

“Bucky he…can you take me to Casey’s?” You ask, unashamed of needing Henry right now. You might have walked to Casey’s eventually but it’s so cold out.

Henry leads you to his car, talking, asking you questions but you’ve drifted into thought again. You think about all those days that Bucky has been away from you and wonder how many more girls he has.

When the car stops, you look around and get out on your own to head towards the old redbrick townhome. All the lights are out but Case will get up for you, right? Even if you don’t have your husband…You stop at the base of the cement steps as the agony of what you walked into suddenly decides to catch up to you.

Slow footsteps walk up behind you, the scrape of sole on dirty cement. “Y/N?”

His voice is gentle, soft, and kind. Your eyes begin to water as you whimper, afraid to breathe, afraid to speak, afraid to blink because if you do, you’ll shatter and there will be nothing left but the dry flakes of your broken spirit.

You had tried so hard to make him happy. So hard…and he wasn’t happy.

Henry moves around you, staring at your face as your lip quivers. Your eyes continue to water but with your refusal to breathe, your face starts to show signs of your lack of oxygen.

You can see that Henry is at a loss for how to help you. He hurries up the steps and rings the bell. He rings it five times. Long presses to wake Casey up.

“What?” Casey's sleepy voice snaps, annoyance sharpening her voice.

“Casey, it’s Henry. Y/N is out here, I-I think something’s wrong.”

There’s silence and then the sound of the intercom buzzing off. Less than fifteen seconds later, the foyer light shines yellow and the heavy black door is pulled open. Casey’s holding her robe shut at her chest, her eyes flash to Henry and then search for you before she nearly jumps the stairs down to you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” She demands, her hands on your shoulders.

You look at her, searching for comfort in her green eyes and you finally breathe. A harsh gasp in and a long wracking sob out as you slowly sink to the ground. Casey goes with you, trying to hold you up but she can’t seem to do it.

Henry rushes down towards you and Casey, hovering beside the pair of you unsure of what to do.

He and Casey exchange a loaded look but then Henry’s helping you up. He lets you lean against his chest as he supports most of your weight as you continue to sob loudly, almost violently in the way your breathing stops and then starts again with pure pain.

His warmth moves with you until you feel yourself settling onto a bed. Your old bed. Where’s Lisa?

Your brain doesn’t seem to be working correctly. It’s like you come in and out. Like tuning a radio to a really shitty station.

You hear talking. Then darkness. You feel the bed. Then darkness. You feel the cold slip away. Then darkness. You see Casey kneel in front of you. Then darkness. You feel Casey sitting beside you. Then darkness. You see Henry disappear through the bedroom doorway. Then darkness. You hear a phone ring. Then darkness. “Are you fucking kidding me, Wilson? You just got back! You didn’t even give me any of that sweet sugar.” Then darkness. “Listen…I think something happened with Y/N and Bucky. She’s here but it’s like she’s gone catatonic. She was crying for a bit, bad crying. Like when her parents died. I’m scared, Sam. I’ve never seen her like this.” Then darkness. Casey is smiling. “I can’t wait for you to come back and keep that promise.” Then darkness. “Steve is going? Good. I hope it’s nothing too serious. I’m going to try and see if she’ll sleep.” Then darkness.

Casey then helps you lay down. She coaxes you down on your side, and you shove your hands between your knees. You stare at the wall until you’re once again swallowed by darkness only this time it stays.

Bucky stands in his kitchen archway, staring across at the picture—the selfie—that he took. Your hair is dusted with flour, so is his for that matter. There’s chocolate cake mix on your cheek puffed out as you laugh, your brilliant blinding smile making his chest burn with regret.

His own eyes are shining bright, faux surprise on his expression, mouth wide open, as your left hand—with one finger sticking out and covered in brown—holds his right cheek so that his left is pressed flush to your right, a large chunk of that same chocolate cake mix dabbed on the point of his nose.

Bucky cries. Soft slow tears that drag down his cheeks heavily as he stares at the shared bliss in the picture. He’s still not even completely sober. This pain will be worse when he is. How could he have let you leave? He should have held you. He should have clung.

He should not have slept with the stupid blonde!

What has he lost? What has he done?

How long he stands there, staring at that picture he doesn’t know. The alarm for his morning workout goes off in the bedroom. It’s suddenly cut off and Bucky realizes that his guest must finally be awake.

Bucky will never drink again for the rest of his God forsaken life. How could he have let this happen?

Warm hands wrap around his chest and he grabs them, squeezing too tight and jerks them away from his body.

Penny’s eyes are wide with surprise and her mouth open in a pained gasp. “Ow…”

“Get out.”

“What is your problem?!” She demands. “Oh…”

Bucky glances at her and sees her staring at the same picture.

“That’s right…you’re married.” She licks her lips then tries to reach out again. “It’s okay, baby, everyone slips up sometimes.”

As her skin touches his, Bucky recoils, glaring black and death. She retreats a step, blinking with fear at the look on his face.

“GET OUT!” Bucky screams, so loud the room shakes.

Penny jumps and she disappears down the hallway again. A moment later she emerges, dressed but barefoot, the long zipper up her back still undone. Bucky walks into the kitchen as she passes behind him and doesn’t stop until he’s resting his hands on the blue tiled counter. The front door opens and for the second time tonight, slams shut.

He looks up at your face, that beautiful face…every kiss, every touch, every caress he's given you has been tainted. The last time he saw you, the last time he told you he loved you, he’d been reckless and unsympathetic towards your civilian capabilities. You weren't a soldier. You weren’t an agent. You weren’t even a normal person with advanced athletic ability.

You were you, and he'd made you feel inadequate. How is that the last time he’d shown you any sort of affection? He should have been more careful. He should have show you he loved you every second of every day. Instead he watched as your heart tore in two. He ripped it out of your chest, laying naked beside that girl.

Bucky shakes his head, still staring at your laughing face, wishing he had the real thing before him so that he could beg and plead. Even at his worst moments, when Hydra’s darkness had edged close once more, Bucky had never wanted to end it all.

It had never even been a fragment of a thought. But with the prospect of facing a lifetime without you when you’ll never smile at him like that again…how does he fix this? He has to fix this.

“Bucky?”

He turns, finding Steve with his hands clenched at his sides, shoulders wide and heaving. As new tears trail down Bucky’s cheeks, he can already see the disapproval in Steve’s eyes. Steve knows. Probably passed the girl on her way out.

“What did you do?” Steve asks, disappointment and anger burning behind his sea blue eyes.

Bucky licks his lips, tastes the salt of his tears as he looks down at the floor then back up to his closest most trusted friend in the world.

“I lost her, Steve. I need to get her back.”

“Are you still drunk?” He asks, unforgiving and harsh in his voice.

Bucky licks his lips again then shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Then suit up. Elias resurfaced. We leave now.” Steve turns and leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

The sounds of the office are deafening. You have such a headache. An unwelcome visitor that has more than out stayed its welcome.

Your eyes mist over as you massage your temples, wishing for relief. But you can’t take any pills. Not yet. Your hand flutters down to your stomach, pressing and rubbing at the area where your baby waits…not even a baby yet. Nothing more than a small bean, somehow still growing and flourishing in your wrecked body.

Your phone beeps again. Just a singular and short beep. You’d changed it from the old tone, too long and to jarring to keep when your mind is already splitting.

You look at the screen and your eyes water as you read the message preview.

The Perv: Y/N…please…? You don’t have to answer my calls but at least text me back. Please. I made a mista-

The screen dims out and you shut your eyes tight. The picture of you and Bucky at your wedding, still in its fancy silver frame shines like a beacon of failure on your desk. Lyla saunters up to you and eyes you warily. You’ve never been this reserved and unapproachable at work before. Of course Lyla is the only one willing to do so.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Would you please, fuck off?” You ask, ruder than you’ve ever been in your entire life. You have no time for Lyla and her passive aggressive teasing or her just plain aggressive insults.

“Jesus, what the hell crawled up your ass?”

“Oh my God, Lyla! Just leave me the fuck alone! Every day I come in here and have to deal with your petty ass bullshit. Henry doesn’t want to fuck you, alright? Get over it. Stop being so desperate and get a damn life!” You rise, grabbing your purse from underneath your desk, and push past her.

Lyla jumps as you brush past her, everyone else in the office stopping to turn and look at you as you stalk towards the elevator.

You hear Henry’s door open as the previously noisey office is plunged into stunned silence at your outburst. When you move into the elevator and slam your fist on the button, you turn to see Henry with his hands on his hips, staring at you as you disappear behind automatic doors.

Bucky sits relatively still, wearing dark pants, a black t-shirt, over which he’s thrown a dark gray blazer with a breast pocket on the left to level up the look. He’s wearing black Chucks, so the outfit is really just casual.

“Are we just going to sit here?” Says a warm, slow speaking voice. It’s almost monotone though the single tone it speaks in is friendly, easy, and coaxing. It comes out of a woman who looks to be in her late fifties, with dark brow hair a streak of gray down the top left that flows into her carefully piled high bun.

Bucky sits up straighter, holding his hands between his knees as he leans forward a little and twiddles his thumbs gently.

“No. No.” Bucky assures the woman.

“Okay. Tell me about yourself.”

Bucky sighs. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes and Sam referred me to your office.”

“Mm.” The lady says, nodding quickly twice. “And why are you here, James?”

“Bucky.” He corrects her, gently. His anger has long since left him.

The woman smiles. “Why are you here, Bucky?”

“I…had a wife.”

“Had? You’re not married anymore?”

“No, I am. I have a wife. I’m married.” He nods, adamant suddenly. You are still his wife…it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t seen you in a month. “She…she left me.”

“Why?”

“Because I…I slept with someone else.” He tightens his jaw, smooshing his lips into a quick thin line before relaxing his mouth again.

“Why did you sleep with someone else?”

“My wife, Y/N, she made me angry, but it wasn’t her fault.”

“Making you angry wasn’t her fault?” Bucky shakes his head. “Why?”

Bucky sighs heavily, inhaling through his nose then releasing with a slow stream of air through his mouth. He reaches down and scratches his ankle with his shining metal fingers. The doc doesn’t even look at them. She’s a real pro.

“I shut her out. I’d been snapping at her. Overreacting to things that shouldn’t make me angry.” He shakes his head, staring at the floor by the doc’s feet as if he’s arguing with himself in his head. “She wanted to be in my life but…I can’t let her be there all the time.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not safe and I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid I’ll hurt her. Worse than words. Worse than sleeping with someone else. Sometimes, I…I snap. I get violent. I don’t mean to and it’s been better since she’s been around, but it still happens from time to time.”

“Does she know why you keep her at a distance?”

Bucky nods, the weight in his chest increasing. “Yeah, she knows. But not because I chose to tell her. My friends told her best friend Casey and Casey told Y/N while I was on mission.”

“And how did she react? Did you two get to talk about it?”

Bucky scoffs. “No. We didn’t get to talk about it but that's also my fault. I picked a fight as soon as I got home and during the argument she alluded to me never telling her anything, but she didn’t come right out and say it.”

“How did that make you feel? Knowing that she knows even though you didn’t tell her yourself?”

“Like shit. It makes me feel like I’m a terrible husband. I should have told her.”

“And are you a terrible husband, Bucky?”

Bucky thinks for a moment then nods. “Yes. I pushed her away. I hurt her.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Because I’m a dick.”

“No, Bucky. Why have you been pushing her away?”

“Because I want her to be safe and I’m not safe. Not always.”

“So, you’ve been trying to protect Y/N?”

Bucky nods, thinking about the judgement he’s received from his friends, especially Steve. He’s so angry at Bucky for hurting you. For ruining this. But it goes further than that. Bucky saw it in all of their eyes at the gym while he’d been training you. All of them want to protect you.

“Yes. Even my friends are—they're really invested in her being safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“I don’t know? Me? I’m afraid to ask them.” Bucky admits, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Why?”

“What if they say yes? I’ve hurt them before.” His mind shifts to Tony.

The doc is silent for a long moment and Bucky shifts his gaze to the floor, picking at his cuticles with his metal thumb.

“Let’s go back to you keeping your real reasons for pushing Y/N away to yourself, Bucky. Why was it so important for you to hide the truth from her?”

“I-I didn’t want her to be scared of me.” Bucky admits, looking down at his fisted hands, gripping each other tight.

“Why would she be scared of you, Bucky?”

“Because I’m a monster. A murderer. She had a vague picture of what my life was before we got married but she didn’t know how many lives I took. She didn’t know what I was truly capable of. Now she does and I don’t deserve her.” He admits and he knows that it’s true. You’re good and sweet and pure and gentle and even in the heat of your anger literally moments after you’d found him in bed with another woman, you hadn’t been able to hit him. He’d been ready for it, recognizing the strength in you. The strength he’d fallen in love with at the water park when you’d slapped him for telling you breasts were awesome.

But the hit never landed. You had looked almost stunned at your own display of violence and whatever reaction he’d had to your raised hand; it had scared you.

The doc leans forward, pulling Bucky’s gaze back to her. “Does your wife love you, Bucky?”

“Right now?” Bucky asks, bitter and sarcastic as he thinks about the hundreds of missed calls. All those texts still unanswered. You’d completely cut him off. “I don’t know. She did. Before I did what I did. I’m sure she did.”

“Should she love you?”

Bucky shakes his head instantly. “No. She deserves better than me. She shouldn’t love me. I hope she doesn’t.”

Even as he says the words, he doesn’t mean them. He wants to mean them. He wants you to have a safe and fulfilling life with someone that can make you happy. But when he pictures you with someone else, Henry for example, rage fills his belly, stinging pain and hard jealousy shadows his mind and no, he can’t stand it if you don’t love him.

He needs you. More than ever, now that he knows what his life is like without you in it, he needs you.

“Don’t you think Y/N should be the one deciding that?”

Bucky meets the doc’s eyes and he knows she’s right. Regardless of what he wants, hopes, or needs, all that matters is what you want.

You’re cold. The table’s too cold. The synthetic plastic sticks to the skin of your arms so you lift them and place them on your stomach.

A loud sharp click echoes in the sterile room and you jump, startled by the rush of noise. Your hands flutter up to your chest, but you quickly compose yourself as a woman with kind brown eyes and dark wavy hair moves into the room.

“Mrs. Y/N Barnes?”

“Yes.” You smile nervously at the doctor, her pristine white coat giving you relief for some reason.

“Is this your first time with us?”

You nod and the doctor smiles. “I’m Doctor Carroll-”

“L-like Lewis Carroll?” You ask her stupidly, too nervous to stop your own mouth from moving.

She chuckles and nods as she takes her seat to your right on a black rolling stool. “That’s right. Just like the author. I’ll be your attending OB-GYN from now on so if you have any questions regarding your pregnancy, please feel free to call the office and I will call you back as soon as I am able. Okay?”

“Okay.” You reply timidly.

You hate to admit it but when you’d been with Bucky…you weren’t this shy. Being with him, knowing he’d chosen you, had filled you with some strange confidence. An audacity to put yourself forward and now…

“Can you lift your shirt, Y/N?”

“Of course!” You hurry to do as she asks and bundle the soft jersey fabric of the button up sweater at the crease beneath your breasts.

“When was your last period?” She asks curiously as she reaches over and adjusts the paper sheet that you’ve laid over your legs, your bare nakedness under it making your ears hot.

“Uh…about two and a half months ago? Maybe longer? I’m…I forgot to keep track.” You’d been so wrapped up in Bucky that you’d completely forgotten to mark your cycle days in your phone’s period app.

“Okay.” The doc says with a smile then scoots closer to the ultrasound machine. She removes a tube of what you know will be that weird jelly stuff you’ve seen in movies. You had never pictured yourself here, waiting for her to say- “It’ll be a smidge cold okay? Sorry.”

She’s really nice. You nod as the inner corners of your eyes prickle.

There’s a funny squelching noise as she applies the gel to the wand, but you don’t laugh, though maybe if things were different, you might have.

When the cold gel hits your lower belly, you gasp lightly but your eyes zoom towards the screen. The doc looks at the screen intensely, staring for a bit then reaching over to click a few keys on a small keyboard. The coloring on the screen changes and there’s more white than black, another few clicks, then more black.

“I-Is everything okay?” You look at her face, frantic with worry suddenly.

“Mmmm. I can’t seem to…find…”

Can’t find? Find what? Where’s your baby?!

The doc picks up the wand and sets it aside. “Give me one sec, I’ll be right back.”

She gets up and leaves as your mouth opens and closes as you try to call out to her, to ask her questions, because your mind is in a flurry. You can’t think suddenly. A panic rises in your chest making your heart ache in lamentation. Had the pregnancy test been wrong? Were you just having irregular periods now?

You scrunch up in the only form of crunch you will ever do voluntarily, as you watch the doc disappear through the door, she’d come in.

This can’t be happening. Yes, you are angry. Yes, things are shit. Yes, you aren’t sure what is going to happen between you and Bucky but…that’s your baby!

For two extremely long minutes, you wait. You stare at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry because you don’t want to blubber in front of Dr. Carroll.

You jump again as the door clicks open, accompanied by a harsh, “Ugh!”

You jerk your head towards the door and watch as Dr. Carroll sits back down and unhooks the little wand again.

“I-Is everything okay?” You gasp and Dr. Carroll punches two buttons near the top of the keyboard then applies more gen and presses the wand gently back to your tummy.

Loud thrumming fills the room and your heart explodes with relief. Dr. Carroll turns a kind smile towards you.

“New machine. I’m so sorry, I’m still trying to figure out the exact way to get it to do what I want it to do. Our ultrasound tech is out on vacation.”

But you’re not hearing her. You don’t care what she has to say because you’re crying, staring at the screen at nothing apparently but it’s there, the heartbeat and until this moment you had no idea just how much you wanted this baby. You’d been excited to do this with Bucky and now you know that even without him, you will do this. You will raise this baby gladly.

“How about some pictures?” Dr. Carroll asks and you nod frantically.

“I-Is she-I mean, I don’t-” There’s no way to know if it’s a boy or a girl, crazy. “Where is it?”

Dr. Carroll smiles. “You’re only eight weeks so it’s just a tiny little blip but, right…there.” She points at a small smudge. You cry harder, shutting your eyes tight as you smile.

“Thank you.” You sigh and lean back to watch the screen a little longer.

“You’re very welcome.” Dr. Carroll says with a sympathetic smile. She looks slightly uncomfortable for a second, opening her mouth then shutting it before she finally decides how to word what you know she’s probably been dying to ask. “How many copies should I make?”

Do you want one for the dad? That’s what she’s asking. Where’s the daddy? That’s what she wants to know. Out of professionalism, she’s not asking you, but you see the question in her eyes.

You can’t keep this to yourself forever. “Two.”

Dr. Carroll presses a few more buttons and then a printer buzzes away in the corner. She gets up to retrieve the pictures and holds them out to you, the small smudge right at the center. Sadness begins to overwhelm you and your eyes mist over making the image blurry.

You’ll give it to him, right? You have to. Only question is, when?

Bucky opens the door to his apartment and moves inside, dragging his feet because he doesn’t want to be here.

Your blanket it still on the sofa, exactly where you’d left it on the right arm. You always got cold watching movies, so Bucky had bought you an ultra soft green throw. It smells like you and he’s afraid to touch it in case he somehow contaminates it with his own scent.

The kitchen sink is clean…he misses the dishes neatly piled at the center of the basin. You hated doing dishes. If you forgive him, he’ll do the dishes from now. Forever.

It’s depressingly empty inside. A small pile of your clothing is still sitting in the corner of the bedroom in the low pink chair he’d bought you to read manuscripts in while he slept. He liked you close. If you forgive him, he’ll never complain about the clothes being left out again. He just wants to watch you read until he falls asleep again, like he used to.

Bucky settles onto the end of the bed, new green sheets bought for the bed—those yellow ones, the ones you’d loved so much, he’d throw out. He begins pulling off his boots slowly listening as muted music shakes the ceiling.

Everyone is celebrating. The music dies and there’s rhythmic counting. There’s a shout of, “One!” followed by a louder shout of “Happy New Year!”

He tosses his boots at his dresser, they hit and fall with dull thuds on the carpet. His eyes find the picture of you and him, his metal arm around your shoulders as he holds you tight against his side while you rest your head in the crook of his collarbone. Your smile is sweet and real, and Bucky misses you so much he could die.

“Happy New Year, baby.”

You sit by your desk, sighing lightly as you reach for another cookie. You munch on it unenthusiastically.

Your office party has almost completely died down. Music is still wafting from the stereo but almost everyone is gone.

“Hey, you doing okay?”

You look up to find Henry, completely sober because unlike his employees, he’s not one to drink and get all silly. He’s wearing such a nice suit, all dark and sleek with a shiny silver vest underneath to celebrate the new year.

“Of course.” You nod, turning your eyes back on Lyla and her cohorts. They’re all drunk and acting stupid. “But you won’t be if she spots you. She’s drunk enough to do something bad enough that you’ll have to fire her.”

Henry smiles wide. “You’re probably right. I should go. I don’t want to tempt her. I’m glad you came, Y/N. Casey was right, you need to get out and get back into the world.”

You frown. You don’t want to talk about this again. You’ve been doing your best. This isn’t easy. Christmas had been so hard. It would have been your first Christmas with Bucky and you’d spent it with Jess and Jeff and their kids, then Casey and Sam when they’d torn themselves away from Tony’s lavish Christmas party.

Henry seems to sense your train of thought and he suddenly grows nervous. “Right, well, I’m going. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Happy new year, Henry.” You give him a smile but gasp as he suddenly leans down towards you. He presses a kiss to your cheek, letting it linger before he pulls back to stand up straight.

“Happy new year, Y/N.”

He walks away, leaving you to deal with the nervous flutters in your stomach and the painful ache in your chest. An ache that seems to have soldered itself into your very bones. Into your soul.

An hour later, you’re shutting off the lights, and pulling on your coat to go. You’d told Casey that you’d be home late. She and Sam had been invited to Tony’s New Year’s Eve party—so had you but they knew you wouldn’t go—so she knew that at least you weren’t alone which meant that she could have fun without you and not worry.

You fix the collar of your heavy red coat and lean in to shut off Henry’s office light when your eyes scan his desk and a bright blue binder catches your eye. “Shit.”

The manuscript! You rush to it and flip it open. He hadn’t approved the edits. The office is closed today, and it needs to be in the mail first thing Wednesday morning. Which means only one thing.

You knock on the door again, loudly, using the side of your fist to hopefully rouse Henry from his sleep.

His neighbor’s door suddenly opens and an angry looking man with dark curly hair and black bushy eyebrows glares at you.

“S-sorry.” You stammer, nervous when he steps out further, his eyes looking you over hungrily. You know that look, even if it is dulled with sleepiness.

You bang one more time, even harder, as your heart panics.

“Alright, alright!” Henry’s voice, easy but clearly drowsy comes through. The door opens and you squirm inside, pushing against him so that you can shut the door behind you.

You push yourself up onto your toes to look through the peephole and tremble as the fear passes.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Henry puts his arm around your waist and pulls you aside to look through the peephole himself.

“Nothing. I…your neighbor creeped me out.”

“Good. He’s an ex-con. Nice guy, usually, but I’d rather you not bump into him again. What’s going on? Why are you here?”

You sigh and hold out the manuscript, thick and heavy, and needing his approval. “You forgot it in your office. We can’t miss this deadline again. The author’s getting impatient.”

“Shit, I forgot. Thanks for bringing it over.” He takes it from you, and you realize as he holds it to his chest that his chest is bare. His beautiful dark skin on full display for you to gawk at if you wished to.

You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t nice. His body is hard as a rock, his muscles etched as if in stone, cut and clean. His Apollo belt barely hidden by dark, low slung sleep pants. The atmosphere shifts quickly first curiosity rages within you and then pain. So much pain. Your heart squeezes hard as you shut your eyes and try not to picture Bucky.

His body laid beside that stupid blonde, perfect and sculpt, even more than Henry’s. The world sways beneath your feet and you teeter backwards towards the wall.

“Y/N, you alright?” Henry’s right hand finds the back of your left shoulder and he helps hold you steady.

Instead however, you go tumbling towards him. You fall against his chest and he wraps his arm around you.

“Jesus…” Henry says in slight shock, but he holds you against him just the same as you lean, not because you want to but because if you try to stand you will fall.

You know the dizziness might just be because you’ve been running around all day and you haven’t had a real chance to catch your breath. But the fire in your chest, burning, charring, and blackening your heart is what steals your breath.

It makes your eyes sting and before you can stop them, tears are springing forward.

It’s New Year’s another important first that you don’t get to share with Bucky. You’re so angry at him. You’re so furious and yet you miss him and wish things were different. You miss feeling safe. You miss belonging to him and the way he belonged to you.

You want to feel needed and wanted and desired again. Was it you? Did he go to her because you weren’t enough?

“Y/N…” Henry whispers, and you look up at him. His dark eyes are intense pools of black, searching your eyes for a rebuke to his arm around you but even if you wanted to pull away, you still can’t. Your world is still spinning.

“I wish I knew how to fix it.” You sob. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Then don’t fix it.” He brings his other hand up, dropping the manuscript to the side so that it falls to the floor and pages fall free of the flimsy metal binding, and caresses the sides of your face. “I can make you so happy, Y/N. Let me make you happy.”

You’re sobbing when he leans down and tentatively kisses you. His lips are soft. So damn soft and it feels so good to be caressed and cared for again that you give into it and kiss him back. The kiss gets deeper as Henry licks your lips and your mouth opens to welcome him in. The burn in our chest still hurts but it also flutters and sparks.

It feels good to be kissed. But not as good as it had felt with Bucky.

You pull back and whimper, the pain cutting and deep. You don’t want to think about Bucky. It hurts.

Henry unbuttons your coat and slips his hand back along your sweater, wraps it around your waist, and pulls you up to lean against his chest. His lips dive back towards yours and he kisses you a little harder, commanding and demanding reciprocation.

Your sob splits your mouth and Henry delves into the depths of you, tasting you, reminding you that you can still feel other things besides betrayal and hurt.

He holds you tighter, dipping his hips and you feel the unmistakable rock of his cock. You gasp against his lips and your sob turns into a moan.

The sound ignites him, and he walks you back until you’re pressed against the wall.

Bucky disappears completely from your mind as Henry’s hands find the skin of your back, your coat is discarded, and when you’re both naked he takes you into his bedroom and falls with you into the bed to make sure you understand just how well he can take care of you.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re not numb. You can feel every sting of confusion, every bite of regret, every hint of agony that Bucky’s indiscretion has left with you. You can see a life beyond Bucky, beyond your marriage to him. You can see how you might move on and how you might create a new life away from what he did to you.

As Henry’s arms wind their way around your waist, you realize that this isn’t what you want. You catch his wrist and pull it up, away from your body as you sit up. The silk sheets of his bed fall away, baring you for him once more.

“What is it?” He asks, curious but otherwise unaware that anything might be wrong.

You blink, fighting the renewal of the need to cry. All you seem to be doing lately is crying.

“I’m married.” You remind him.

The atmosphere shifts and you can feel the spark of passion ice out. The nerves radiating off of Henry as he scoots closer, reaching for your exposed hip. You grab his wrist again and stop his hand from touching you.

“But I thought-?” He begins, hopeful.

“This was a mistake.” You whisper, hating to hurt him but hurting so much too.

“Are you seriously going to stay with that guy? After what he did to you?” Henry demands, getting a little agitated.

“I don’t know.”

“Then why-?”

“Because I’m married, Henry.” Doesn’t he see that you’re just as bad as Bucky now? You needed to feel wanted, you’d been coming to Henry so much when Bucky wasn’t paying attention to you, for comfort and company when you should have been telling Bucky that he was making you feel excluded.

“Married?!” Henry asks, indignant, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He grabs your left hand and holds it out for you to see. “Like this?”

You know what he’s pointing out and you yank your hand out of his grip where there still rests no ring.

“I don’t need a ring to remind me that I’m married.” You argue and for a moment you wonder if Bucky had had a ring if he wouldn’t have cheated. It’s stupid to think that a ring might have prevented what happened but you’re grasping at straws here.

“He ignored you, Y/N. He clearly wasn’t ready to be your husband.”

“And I wasn’t ready to be his wife.” You point out. “Don’t pretend to know what we went through, what our marriage is—was. You weren’t there.”

You get up and gather up your clothes, pulling them back on as quickly as you can.

“Y/N…please don’t do this. Let me show you what it’s really like when someone loves you. I’ll marry you myself.”

You don’t look at him as you pick up your coat.

“Goodbye, Henry. I’m sorry.” You hate yourself for giving in. You’d fought it for so long. You’d pushed Henry away for so long but in the end, you hadn’t been able to fight four years of history. What you know now though, is that you don’t love Henry and you never did.”

When you reach the spot where you’d given in to your physical needs, you quickly begin to gather up the spilled manuscript. When it’s piled neatly, you move to the large desk in Henry’s living room and place it neatly at the center. You grab the title page and flip it around to its blank side then quickly scribble with a red pen from Henry’s desk,

I quit. -Y/N

Winter is at its end, the wind chilly but with the sun on one’s skin, it feels pleasant and refreshing. Many people seem to think this because they’re all out wearing shorts and thank tops, t-shirts and dresses, enjoying the large park and the small buds of the coming spring, blooming in the carefully fenced off shrubs by the concrete path.

New leaves are growing, small and fragile but green and soon they’ll turn the park jade again.

Beside him, Sam is walking, at ease as he looks down at his phone. His fingers fly across the keyboard. Bucky seems almost as eager as Sam does in his steps, moving with a wide stride towards the center of the park.

A snack stand comes into view, wooden, made to look like a small log cabin. In it a man is selling lemonade and pretzels. In the small queue, Bucky spots their target; a blonde with short blonde hair, freshly cut and styled in large curls.

“Case!” Sam calls out, shoving his phone into his pocket and lifting his hand up into the air so that Casey won’t miss him, completely ignoring the fact that she couldn’t even if she wanted to with the large super soldier walking beside him.

At first, when she hears his voice, Casey smiles. She beams, excited and happy to see Sam. Then her eyes drift to his right and she spots Bucky. Her eyes blaze and she stomps out of line. Sam hurries forward and catches her in a hug—no…wait, he’s holding her back.

Bucky stops. She’d already known he was coming but he should have expected this reaction anyway. Bucky’s eyes aren’t watching Casey anymore though, he’s scanning the crowd, steel blue eyes hungry for sight of you.

He hasn’t seen you in three months. Three months!

No other time in his life has Bucky felt so empty, not even when he’d literally been emptied of everything that made him who he is.

“You have a lot of nerve!” Casey growls, Sam sighs but holds her around her waist. “She’s not here, dumbass.”

Bucky’s eyes fly to Casey and her blazing red face and toxic green eyes spew hate at him, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is that you aren’t here.

“What?” It’s the reason he came. He was here for you! He knew that he might not be able to talk to you. He’d known that he shouldn’t.

“Why the fuck did you even ask her to marry you if you were going to dive into some other chick’s snatch at the first sign of marital problems?! Asshole.” She makes another jump and swipe at Bucky, but Sam wraps his arms around her more securely, closer, distracting her for a moment as she looks up at him.

Bucky’s shame is endless. He swallows hard because she’s right and he’s suddenly even more desperate to see you than he was before.

Sam is whispering to Casey, calming her down somehow.

“Is she really not here?” Bucky’s voice is so heartbroken that when Casey looks back to him, Sam barely looking over his own shoulder at Bucky, he can see a softness in her green eyes. She feels bad. Maybe for the situation? Or you? Or both of you and him? She’s not only angry at Bucky, that much is clear.

There must have been a lot of Sam pleading Bucky’s case to her over the past three months and Bucky suddenly feels a swell of appreciation for his friend.

Casey sighs heavily, reaching down to intertwine her fingers with Sam’s. He squeezes hers, reassuring her.

“I-I won’t talk to her, Case.” Bucky pleads. “I just want to see her. Please?”

Bucky can hear his own desperation and he doesn’t care. He needs you. Even if all he can do is watch from afar.

There’s a guilty shift to Casey’s eyes and Bucky’s not sure what to make of it but then it doesn’t matter because she lets Sam pull her closer, hugging her tight, and rests her head on his chest. “She’s around the corner, sitting on a bench. She knew you’d be here. She didn’t want to see you!” Casey raises her voice to call out after Bucky because he’s already pushing through the line and around the snack cabin towards the path where it curves to the left and right.

Which corner? To the let or the right? He’s almost tripping over his feet as he searches for you. He chooses the left path and he doesn’t even turn completely when he spots you about halfway down the walk, sitting on a bench, hunched forward as you reach down to scratch your shins.

You’ve got your navy dress hiked up to your knees, it’s long, floor-length but you’re wearing brown sandals.

You’re perfect, your hair loose and flowing, the look on your face neutral—much better than the way he’d seen it last. He half hides behind the corner he’d almost turned down to stare at you more, greedily eating up your form with his eyes. His chest is burning with satisfaction for only a second before it’s full of yearning.

You’re so close. Finally seeing you has only strengthened his need to have you, to keep you, to hold you. But he can’t. You don’t want to see him. You need your space and he gets that. You still haven’t even responded to any of his calls or texts which he still sends you tons of. He only calls once a day. Just before bed. To wish you good night. But you never answer.

Bucky could stand here all day, staring at you, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, but he can’t. If you see him, you might turn and run, and he doesn’t want you to feel like you need to flee. He should be the one running. He was the one in the wrong.

He begins to edge back towards Sam and Casey, moving in inches because he can’t bear to tear his eyes off you. Then you stand and his heart leaps into his throat because what if you turn and see him?

But then you straighten out and the dress falls to your feet. It evens out, and for a moment Bucky forgets how to breathe.

There is no way that he’s seeing things because even though the dress’s skirt is loose, the waistline just below your breasts is tight and it he can see the top bunched up section of the skirt stretch outwards.

He stops trying to hide and steps back around the corner, standing tall and straight in his white t-shirt and jeans. His black leather jacket left unzipped. His eyes, stare with his jaw slack from shock, as he stares at your clearly pregnant belly.

It’s not big…not yet. Just extended enough that he can tell.

Then you sigh and your shoulders sag, but your hands move down to that belly and rub affectionately as you turn towards him, confirming that yes, you are indeed pregnant.

The shock on your face as you spot him, your eyes wide, your mouth falling open is barely noticed as Bucky begins to move towards you, his arms hanging limply at his sides. You are frozen it seems because you don’t dare budge. Your hands are still curved around the tiny swell of your tummy and Bucky can’t find the words as he reaches you because he can still only stare at it.

He knew he wanted you back. He knew that he couldn’t do anything about it because it’s not what you needed. After seeing that belly, he knows that he must stop at nothing to win you back.

“How?” He finally sputters. He sees you gasp at his question, agony rips through your eyes. “When?”

He’s needs to know, he has so many questions. So many hopes. The guilt in your face is understandable. You hadn’t told him. Of course, you’d feel like you did something wrong, but nothing matters. Nothing else other than that you’re clearly several months pregnant. How many months? Do you know the sex? Have you heard the heartbeat? Shit, did you go alone to the doctor? No. He should have been there.

He looks back up at your face and finally, you speak. “I slept with Henry.”

This must be what it feels like to die. This sensation of endless falling in suffocating darkness. And then the pain as you finally hit the ground. Brittle bones breaking and your insides splayed out in vivid reds and pinks, your guts torn asunder. If he hadn’t already felt like he’d lost you for good, he might feel worse…and then his eye drift down to that belly.

Is that not his baby?! Horror fills him up, gnawing at the small hope he’d found in seeing you pregnant.

“Is…is it-?” He can’t ask. He doesn’t want to know. What if it isn’t his? What if you’re with Henry now? Are you going to ask him for a divorce?

“I’m four and a half months.” You tell him and Bucky feels like he can breathe again. He breathes in deeply through his nose as he pinches his mouth shut, fighting the grief that threatens to break him. For one horrible minute he thought that baby wasn’t his and it was everything that all of his worst nightmares are made of.

He brings his hands to his hips, turning away from you a little as he struggles to compose himself. He whimpers a little, so quiet that no one but you, standing so close, can hear. His eyes are bloodshot as he fights the urge to sob. When he turns back towards you, he can see your own beautiful face contorted with sadness. Your lips pulls down deep at the corners as your eyes water.

“I was going to tell you but…but then…I need to go.” You suddenly say and turn to leave the park, but Bucky can’t let you go. He can’t. That’s his baby! You’re his wife! His everything. He has to make you see.

“No, wait. Please…” You stop and turn to look at him, his heart ripped in two as he watches your lip quiver. The last image he had of you was of the pure rage when you’d caught him in bed with another woman, this broken beauty, made pitiful with a quivering lip is not what he wants to see. And he did this to you. He broke you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, please…please don’t go. Come home.” He begs.

You look away from him as your tears begin to fall, down at the ground, you don’t hide your face from him.

“I can’t.” You sob. “Let go.”

“Y/N…baby, please?” His own voice breaks but you pull out of his grip and when you dash away, he doesn’t follow.

“Y/N, is this really a good idea?” Casey asks as the two of you move into the now fully restored elevator of your old apartment. Your home. Can you even come back to it now? Bucky begged you to come back but was that because of your baby? Or because he still loves you?

Even after you’d told him that you’d slept with Henry, he’d only cared about the baby.

“You said they’re out on mission, right? That Elias guy is in the states now?” You ask, your eyes glued on the doors before you while you lazily rub your stomach. A habit you’ve formed from worrying so much about how you were supposed to tell Bucky. Now that he knows, the movement is simply to comfort you.

“Yes.” Casey nearly growls. She doesn’t want to be here. She doesn’t like drama, especially when she thinks she might just stab Bucky through the eye if he makes you cry again. You’d been inconsolable two days ago. “They took off for Nevada this morning.”

“And Sam said they wouldn’t be back today, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I just need to grab a few things, Case. Then I won’t have to worry about coming back here and I won’t need to see him again.” Seeing Bucky is dangerous. You’d nearly caved at the park. Hearing his voice, seeing his face, the tears that he’d cried…You wanted him. You still want him. It’s not fair.

It’s not right.

You’re still angry. You can’t trust him. But you love him, and you want him. Why can’t you stop wanting him? He’d hurt you so much.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Casey asks, eyeing you suspiciously. “Moving out?”

“Yes.” You lie.

You press your thumb to the small panel and are stupidly relieved when the door clicks, and you can pull it open. Why you’d half expected Bucky to have removed you from the system, you don’t know. Surely, he’d put hers in so she could come and go as she please…but then, why did he ask you to come home?

Thankfully the apartment is empty. You don’t give yourself time to look at the pictures of you and Bucky hanging on the walls or sitting on tables and shelves. You breeze through, hurrying to get a bag packed with your things so that you can get out of here. Even if you’ve been assured that Bucky won’t be here, you’re terrified to see him, here of all places.

You just might stay if he asks you to.

It takes you twenty minutes to track down all the items you wanted and quickly zip up the brown leather bag and throw it onto your shoulder. It’s heavy. You groan as you lift it and struggle to hold it there on your shoulder as you move back out of the hallway and into the living room.

Casey stands staring towards the front door and you follow her gaze. Your eyes land on him just as the door snaps closed.

No.

You see his blue eyes flash with questions, curiosity, agony, wonder, agony, hope, agony, and then he finally settles on desperation.

You look at Casey and she looks at you, her eyes a screaming question of What do we do?

You look down at the floor and grunt lightly as you re-hoist the bag on your shoulders.

“We’re leaving.” You assure Bucky, avoiding his gaze but before you can even take a step, he’s there in front of you, his hands on your arms.

“No! No, please don’t go.”

Casey moves towards the door, slowly, trying to be unnoticed.

“Bucky-” You begin.

“I-I’ve been going to therapy, Y/N. I have so much to apologize for. So much to make up to you. Not just what I did that night but everything that came before. I pushed you away, I can see that now. I wanted to protect you from the person I was, the person I can never stop being. I’m broken, Y/N. So much more than you know. I should have told you everything from the beginning, but I didn’t want you to be afraid of me. I didn’t want you to hate me.”

As if you could ever hate him. You want to! But as he reaches up, placing his hands on the sides of your face with his fingers eagerly, in desperate need like an addict finally getting his hands on his vice, stroking your cheeks and your hair and whatever other part of your face he can touch, you know that you don’t hate him.

He hurt you and you’re angry at him. But you can never hate him.

“It was stupid and selfish of me to keep that part of myself from you. Please forgive me. Not only for that but for everything that followed. If you’d known that the reason I was getting upset was because of my struggle with…with the memories and the flashbacks then maybe we could have found a way to work through it together? I failed us by shutting you out. I didn’t trust your strength and you lost it because I didn’t let you use it. I’m so sorry…please…And I know I wasn’t the greatest husband. I left you alone too much. Saying that I wasn’t used to having someone depend on me and want me around is a cheap cop-out…I was thoughtless, Y/N. I didn’t think about your needs. I only thought about mine. I will never, never do that to you again. You are my life, I love you. If you come home, you’ll have to chase me out the door with Barnes before I leave you again.”

You might have laughed if things weren’t so strained between the two of you. Barnes, his favorite handgun, is still stored at Casey’s. You’d stopped carrying it with you everywhere because it hurt too much to know that a piece of Bucky was always with you…the baby doesn’t count; the baby is part you.

“Bucky…” You sigh, crying again because how could you not cry when he so fearlessly bares himself to you. “Henry…”

Bucky’s hands freeze, his breath hitches as he struggles to find his voice again. His slides his hands down along your neck and it feels so good you think you might pass out.

“A-are you two t-together?” He wonders, struggling to keep his voice even.

“No.” You sigh. Should you have lied? “It happened once, on New Year’s. But I slept with him Bucky, and you hurt me. Do you have any idea what it felt like to see you laying there next to that woman, whatever her name is?”

“Pe-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” You gasp, almost shouting at him because the last thing you need is a name to put to the body.

“Sorry…” He whispers, or maybe he just doesn’t have enough air to speak louder?

“I-Is she the only one?” You force the question out because this is what’s tormented you since the night you left him. How many more athletic blondes are there? “Or have you been with more-?”

“NO!” Bucky’s adamant denial startles you and you jump. He adjusts his tone, quieter but just as assertive as you look up into his frantic blue eyes. “No, Y/N. It was just the one time. I was drunk out of my mind because I thought you’d left me, and I was so…nothing I say can ever make right what I did. Even if I was drunk, I should have known better.”

Yes, he should have. So, should you.

“I don’t know what to do with this, Bucky. I don’t know how to not be angry at you. Every time I picture that night, I wanna throw up. I want to punch something and yell and I’m so mad at you. How could you do that to me? To us?”

Bucky groans, leaning forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder.

He smells so good this close, like home.

“I-I don’t know if I can trust you. We had a fight. A big fight. And you slept with someone else. How do I know that you won’t do it again? If we were to get back together-”

His head shoots up at these words, hope flowing from them.

“We will fight again, Bucky. How do I know that you won’t go looking for another woman with a better body than mine again?”

The jealousy is stupid but it’s also there, etched into your bones because of how perfect that woman had been. It’s like he looked for just the right person, the one that would check all of your insecurity boxes, and then he fucked her in your bed.

“I won’t, kitten, I promise.”

“Stop making me promises you can’t keep.”

“I can keep it!” He insists. “Let me prove it to you. Come home. Please, please come home.”

That pet name. Why had he used it? He’d been doing better without using it. Now you were so very aware of just how much you wanted to stay. How much you were already leaning towards yes.

It scares you and you panic.

“I…I can’t do this, Bucky.” You say suddenly then move to go around him, avoiding looking at his eyes because you know what you’ll see there, and you won’t be able to resist it.

It’s almost like he knows what you’re thinking because he suddenly drops to his knees right in front of you.

It startles you because yes, you love Bucky. Yes, you believe him when he tells you that he loves you.

Before all this shit happened, the two of you had been trying to make this marriage work but for him to get down on his knees? He didn’t even do that when he proposed. It makes him look small and desperate and as you find his eyes, you realize you’ve brought him to this point.

The two of you have brought each other to these exact points, one scared to stay. One desperate to keep.

This constant misery that the two of you have been in, this torment is your fault as much as his. It would have been easier to leave him if you’d lied to him about the baby being his. Now that he has you back home, he’s almost wild in his need to keep you here.

“No! No. Please, please, Y/N. Please don’t say that.” He begs, pulling you close with strong arms that you know you can’t pull out of.

He leans slightly to his right to bury his face into the side of your slightly extended tummy. Your baby, probably reeling from the cacophony of emotions racing through you, kicks. It’s so faint but you feel it. You know Bucky can’t have felt it. Your little one isn’t strong enough yet.

With that kick comes the realization that this is bigger than your wounded pride. This is your family. However, broken it might be at the moment, this man clinging to you, and the life growing within you is all you have.

This had been your dream. A loving husband. A beautiful baby. More than one beautiful baby hopefully. You’ve been alone all your life. Casey the only exception. Her and her family had accepted you so openly but as much as you love her and them, they aren’t yours. Not like this.

Your eyes water and you sigh with shallow breath, struggling to breathe.

“Please don’t leave me. I kn-know that I haven’t been the best husband or even an adequate husband. I know that I ignored you and I didn’t mean to do it, really, I didn’t. I just didn’t know how to…I’ve been so used to it being me. I know that’s not an excuse. I asked you to marry. I moved us in here. I didn’t call you when I should have. I left you alone every morning. None of this is your fault so please, please…” He pulls back to look up at you, his eyes pouring and red. “Please don’t give up on me. You are my life’s only gift. Please don’t take it away from me.”

He hides his face in the side of your belly again, clinging to you and the future growing inside of you.

You cry with him. For several minutes, the two of you just cry. Your arms hang at your sides as Bucky’s are wrapped tightly around your waist and bottom.

“No.” You finally say, your voice cracking and morose.

Bucky jerks his head back to look up at you with his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide and searching but already full of defeat.

“No, Bucky. You didn’t do this alone. I told you, I slept with Henry.”

“Don’t-” Bucky grits his teeth and looks at your belly. He reaches up and places his hands on the sides, probably reliving the moment that he thought the baby might not be his. “-don’t say his name.”

Finally, a real reaction to your own mistake. Something believable.

You can’t blame him for not wanting to hear Henry’s name. You stopped Bucky before he could tell you that blonde’s name, and you don’t care to know it either.

“I made that mistake.” You say, determined to at least not torture him with Henry’s name being spoken aloud and in your home. “But this is also my fault. I knew that things weren’t going well with us, and I said nothing. I kept my mouth shut and let things fester because I didn’t want to fight. I thought maybe I was being sensitive? I’ve never been married before. How much attention do wives get from their husbands?

“I should have told you that I wanted to see you more, that I felt like I wasn’t important to you.” You watch as Bucky leans in, scrunching his eyes with the regret that he made you feel that way. “I betrayed us by not being honest about the struggles I was going through. I’m sorry that I didn’t speak up. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s eyes search our face, also stained with tears, and then looks at your tummy. “Then, will you stay?”

As his eyes meet yours you shake your head. “No, Bucky, I-I can’t yet. But I wanna try and make this work. I love you…and I miss you…but I’m still so angry at you. I want to trust you, but I don’t know how.”

“I’ll show you. I’ll prove it to you.” He nods. “By doing what we should have done from the very beginning.”

“And what’s that?”

“Will you go out with me?”

The question confuses and startles you. After a few blinks, you shake your head.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I want to take you to dinner and maybe a movie? Or whatever stupid things couples do on dates. We’ll go play mini-golf.”

You laugh once and it’s like you’ve given Bucky back his reason to live. He holds you tighter, stands up to pull you closer. You one laugh igniting a fire within him, a fierce determination. He leans in to kiss you, but you shake your head.

“No.” You’re not ready for that yet.

He doesn’t complain. “Go on a date with me?”

And after a long moment of staring at his beautiful face, you sigh. “Okay.”

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