eviesaurusrex

[eviesaurusrex]

Breathing for the First Time - Rhysand x female reader

Summary: Rhysand finally admits your mating bond after a heated argument with Nesta

Warnings: None really

Words: 2.4K

Y/N's POV

“I don’t care what you think, Nesta!” I snarl, the words tearing from me with a venom that shocks even myself. My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms as the fury courses through me, a wildfire spreading through my veins.

Nesta stands across from me, her eyes blazing with cold fury, her chin lifted in that arrogant way she always does when she wants to get under my skin. And gods, it’s working.

“Of course, you don’t,” she bites back, her voice sharp, cutting. “Because you never think, do you? You act first and deal with the consequences later. It’s reckless. You’re reckless.”

I can feel the pressure building inside me, a low thrum in the air as my power ripples beneath my skin, begging to be released. The very walls of the House of Wind seem to vibrate with it, feeding off the energy that crackles between us. My heart is pounding in my chest, the blood roaring in my ears as every word she says fans the flames of my anger.

“Reckless?” I spit, taking a step toward her, my magic swirling around me now, the air thickening with it. “You think I’m reckless? You, of all people, who shuts out everyone who tries to get close to you? Who pushes and pushes until no one’s left? Maybe it’s not me who needs to rethink their choices.”

Nesta’s jaw tightens, and I can see the flicker of hurt behind her steel-like gaze, but she doesn’t back down. Of course, she doesn’t. She never does. “At least I think before I act. You’re a storm waiting to happen, and it’s only a matter of time before you destroy everything around you.”

The words hit harder than they should, slamming into my chest, but instead of backing down, the fury builds, rising like a tidal wave ready to crash. The floor beneath my feet seems to hum, the sheer force of my rage making the very air around us pulse.

“How dare you,” I snarl, my voice low, dangerous now. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Nesta.”

“Oh, I know enough.” Her voice is sharp, like a blade cutting through the thick air between us. She steps closer, her face mere inches from mine now, her eyes daring me to do something. “I know that you’re not just a storm. You’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

My chest heaves with the effort to keep control, but I’m losing it—fast. My power flares around me, crackling with dark, untamed energy, and the room seems to pulse with it. The windows tremble, the floor beneath us groans as if it, too, is trying to hold together the volatile storm inside me. I can feel the magic bubbling just under the surface, wanting to tear free, to unleash the tempest that’s been building inside me for so long.

Before I can say anything else, the door opens, and a familiar presence fills the room. Rhysand.

His gaze sweeps over the scene before him, and for a moment, I swear I see amusement flash in his eyes as he takes in the tension radiating from me like a tangible force. His lips twitch, but he says nothing, simply leans against the doorframe, his violet eyes now solely focused on me.

“Perfect timing,” Nesta mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she steps back, her eyes flicking between Rhysand and me. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

But Rhys doesn’t seem interested in talking sense into anyone. His gaze never leaves mine, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at me now—something that makes the fire inside me burn hotter, but not with anger. There’s a dangerous kind of amusement in his eyes, like he finds my rage... enthralling. Like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

Nesta huffs, clearly sensing that she’s lost whatever upper hand she thought she had. With a sharp, frustrated sigh, she turns on her heel and storms out, leaving me standing there, breathing hard, chest heaving with the effort to contain the swirling storm inside me.

But I don’t feel calm. Not even close.

Rhysand pushes away from the doorframe, his footsteps slow, measured, as he approaches me. His gaze is still locked on mine, his expression unreadable, but I can feel it—the shift in the air between us. The low hum of energy that vibrates in the space around us, electric and charged.

He stops just inches from me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body, smell the intoxicating scent of night-blooming jasmine that clings to him. He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head slightly, those violet eyes roaming over my face like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.

“What?” I snap, though my voice falters slightly, my anger waning under the weight of his gaze. The fire inside me still burns, but it’s shifting now, turning into something else entirely. Something I’m not sure I’m ready for.

Rhysand’s lips curl into the faintest of smiles, but there’s no mockery in it. If anything, it’s... gentle. “You’re fascinating when you’re angry,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a purr.

I blink, taken aback by his words, but before I can respond, his hands come up to cup my face, his touch feather-light, yet it sends a jolt of electricity through my entire body. My breath hitches, my heart racing, and suddenly, everything around us seems to fade—the room, the argument, the entire world. All that exists is him.

And in that moment, something inside me snaps.

Rhysand’s fingers brush over my lips, light as a feather, and the world seems to still around us. The air is thick with tension, crackling with a different kind of energy now, no longer fuelled by the anger I had moments ago. It’s something new, something electric, thrumming between us like a tether I can’t escape. His thumb traces my lower lip, slow and deliberate, and my breath hitches as my gaze locks on his—those violet eyes, deep and endless, like the night sky.

Everything inside me shifts. The rage that had once pulsed through my veins now melts away, leaving only this. Only him.

Rhysand's eyes darken with something deeper, something raw and unspoken, and then, just as his thumb slides over my lips again, I feel it—a shift in my mind, in the very fabric of my being. His mental walls, the iron fortress he’s always kept up, fall. He lets me in. And it’s not gentle.

His thoughts, his emotions, his very essence floods into me all at once, and I stagger under the weight of it. His love, fierce and unwavering, surges through me like a wave crashing against the shore. I can feel it all—his longing, his desire, the way he’s been holding back for so long. The way he's seen me, wanted me, needed me, for longer than I could have ever imagined.

And then I see it.

I see myself through his eyes.

To him, I am not just a woman, not just someone standing before him with fire and rage in my veins. To Rhysand, I am everything. I see myself, bathed in starlight, fierce and beautiful, with power thrumming just beneath my skin. I see the way he watches me, not just now, but in every stolen glance, in every moment we’ve shared without me even realising it.

I am not just a person in his world. I am his world.

“You have no idea,” his voice whispers through the bond, soft and reverent, and his fingers trace along the curve of my jaw. How long I’ve waited for you.

It’s like I’ve hung the stars above Velaris, like every moment he’s spent in the dark has led him to this—to me. And I feel it now, the snap, the bond, settling into place. Not just in my mind, but in my very soul. The realisation of what we are to each other crashes into me with such clarity, it leaves me breathless. Mate.

His hands slide down, slow and sure, mapping every inch of me. As if this is the only time he’ll get to memorize every curve of my body, every dip and slope. His touch is gentle, reverent, yet filled with something that feels like desperation, like he can’t let go, like he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he moves too fast.

Through the bond, I feel it all—his awe, his desire, his absolute certainty. And underneath it, something more—something sacred, as if I am the one thing in this world he cannot live without. His hands rest on my hips now, firm but tender, pulling me closer, and I feel the heat of his body, the pull of him, like gravity itself has shifted around us. I can feel his love, strong and unyielding, wrapping around me like a cocoon, like I’m something precious—something he’s waited lifetimes for.

He looks at me again, his violet eyes burning into mine, and I swear, in that moment, I see galaxies. His thumbs trace slow, lazy circles on my skin, and it’s as if he’s trying to etch this moment into his memory forever. As if every breath I take, every movement, every tremble, is something sacred to him.

“I could spend eternity,” he whispers, his voice a low murmur, soft and reverent, “and it still wouldn’t be enough to know you.”

His forehead rests against mine, and for a moment, we just stand there, breathing each other in. I can feel the bond between us now, pulsing bright and fierce, a thread of power connecting us, binding us. There’s no going back. This is it—this is everything.

Rhysand's lips hover just above mine, the space between us charged with the weight of everything unsaid. The bond hums in the air like a current, and when he finally closes the distance, it’s like the world shifts—everything in me snaps awake. His lips claim mine, firm yet tender, and it feels like a shock to my system, like I’m breathing for the first time. A slow, burning fire unfurls in my chest, spreading through every inch of me, and I can’t help the way I press closer, needing more, needing all of him.

The kiss deepens, and my head spins, my heart racing with the force of everything pouring through me. His lips are soft, but there’s an intensity to the way he kisses me—a hunger, a desperation, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have. His hands cup my face, his fingers threading through my hair, holding me as though I’m something precious, fragile, yet powerful all at once.

And gods, I feel it.

The world narrows down to the feel of his mouth on mine, the way his lips move with mine, slow but purposeful, like he’s savouring every second, every taste. My heart thunders in my chest, and I gasp into his kiss, my breath mixing with his. It feels like my body is burning from the inside out, a fire I’ve never known before, and my shields—the ones I’ve always kept so tightly wrapped around my mind—begin to crumble.

For him, I let them fall.

I lower them, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but him. His presence floods me, his emotions wrapping around my own in a way that leaves me breathless. It’s overwhelming—the intensity of his desire, the way he’s craved this, craved me, for so long. I can feel the depth of his love, his awe, the way he’s trying to pour every bit of himself into this kiss, into me.

And I give him the same.

The kiss is everything and more. It’s a claiming, a promise, a silent admission of all the things we’ve held back. Every touch of his lips against mine sends sparks racing through my veins, igniting parts of me I didn’t even know were there. His hands slide down, skimming the sides of my face, trailing over my neck, down my shoulders, until they settle on my hips, pulling me closer. The heat of his body seeps into mine, and I shudder at the way his fingers press into me, holding me like he’s afraid I might slip away.

But I won’t. I can’t. Not when everything in me screams for him.

His mouth moves against mine with more urgency now, more need, and my heart pounds in response. I feel weightless, like I could fly, like the bond between us is lifting me higher than I’ve ever been. Every part of him feels like it’s consuming me, and it’s not terrifying—it’s exhilarating. I melt into the kiss, my hands sliding up to grip the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.

This kiss, this moment, it feels like the world has finally clicked into place. Like I was always meant to be here, with him, like we’ve been moving toward this our entire lives. My body hums with energy, the bond between us thrumming with power, and I feel alive in a way I never have before.

Rhys kisses me like I’m the centre of his universe, like I’ve hung the stars in the sky, and the way he touches me… gods, the way he touches me makes me feel like I’m everything. His fingers trace the curve of my jaw, gentle but deliberate, and it’s like he’s trying to memorize every part of me, every curve, every breath. His touch is reverent, yet laced with longing, and it’s as though he’s holding me like I’m the one thing he can’t bear to lose.

And as the kiss deepens, as his lips move with mine in a perfect, intoxicating rhythm, I feel something click inside me—a realisation, a truth I can no longer deny.

This is more than just desire. It’s more than just a kiss.

It’s the bond. It’s us.

And for the first time in my life, I know exactly where I belong.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

Tags:

@lilah-asteria

[eviesaurusrex]

All Night Long

Rhysand x Reader

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

BDAY CELEBRATION

Summary: Throughout the party his father threw for him, he only wished to spend time with you.

Cw: None

Rhysand knew that as Heir to Night, his father would always want to show him off, and even if he had to pretend to like the lavish decorations, the thousand tiere cake, all the people he didn't even know here to congratulate him. He didn't like it, all he had asked for was a quiet birthday in Velaris with Azriel and Cassian, and of course, you. But his father had brought him to Hewn City to throw the giant party he was dreading

His gaze drifted around the sea of unfamiliar faces, searching for any sign of his mother, you, Azriel or Cassian amidst the crowd. You were his only solace in this overwhelming celebration. Rhysand's heart ached for the simple gathering he had envisioned, just them, sharing laughter and cake in the comfort of Velaris.

The Heir grew increasingly restless as the night wore on at Rhysand's lavish birthday celebration. The opulent decorations, decadent feast, and lively music were all mere background noise compared to the captivating presence of his favourite - you.

Your radiant smile, the way your eyes sparkled with mirth as you laughed at your brother's jest, how you seemed to shine even in the dark of the Court of Nightmares, the gentle sway of your hips as you moved through the crowd, every aspect of you held Rhysand entranced. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt such an intense, all-consuming desire to be near someone.

As the party reached its peak, the dancing and music increasing, Rhysand made his move, slipping away from his parents and their expectant gazes. He wove through the throng of faeries until he finally reached your side, pulling you close into the shelter of his embrace, away from Cassian.

His scent enveloped you, a heady mix of dark magic, citrus, the sea, and something uniquely Rhysand that stirred your senses. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you flush against his chest as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

"I need a break from all this," Rhysand murmured, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers traced idle patterns on your lower back, sending shivers down your spine. "Will you dance with me, y/n? Just the two of us?"

His voice was low and husky, filled with a silent plea. At that moment, nothing else mattered except the pulse of his heartbeat against yours, the press of his lips so tantalizingly close to your ear.

Rhysand guided you onto the dance floor, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back. The pulsating rhythm of the music enveloped you both as you began to sway to the beat.

Under the flickering candlelight, Rhysand's movements were fluid and graceful, each step perfectly timed to the melody. His free hand found yours, intertwining your fingers as he drew you closer. Your bodies moved in harmony, a sensual, slow waltz that belied the intensity of the emotions simmering between you.

As you danced, Rhysand's eyes never left yours, drinking in every detail of your expression. He savoured the feel of your body pressed against him, the warmth of your skin, the subtle give of your body as you moved in tandem.

Your bodies moved in sync, a mesmerizing display of grace and sensuality under the shimmering lights of the grand ballroom. Every touch, every brush of skin against skin, was infused with a tender reverence, a palpable yearning that threatened to consume them both.

Rhysand's hands roamed over your curves with a delicate precision, as if tracing the contours of a precious work of art. Each caress sent ripples of pleasure through you, heightening your awareness of his closeness, the intoxicating aroma of his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

In this intimate space created solely by their entwined forms, the rest of the world melted away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a dreamlike state of connection.

"You're so beautiful when you let yourself lose control," Rhys whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Like a goddess dancing under starlight."

He spun you around, guiding you into a series of dizzying turns that left you breathless and giddy. In the whirlwind of movement, you clung to him, your cheek pressed against his chest, inhaling the addictive scent of his skin.

As the song slowed, Rhys pulled you close once more, his forehead resting against yours. "Happy birthday, Rhys," You murmured, your voice tender. "Though I'm not sure I'd call this the celebration I promised you... I suppose your father gets more of a priority over little ol' me in party planning."

His lips hovered inches from yours, tempting you with their proximity. You could almost taste the sweetness of his words, the promise of forbidden delights yet to come.

A low chuckle rumbled in Rhysand's chest at your words, vibrating against your cheek. "Little ol' you?" He teased, his fingers playing with a stray lock of your hair. "Hardly. You're the most important thing in this room, in my life."

He leaned back slightly to meet your gaze, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "But don't worry about my father. Tonight is about us, y/n. I'm about you."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion, as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. In those deep, violet eyes, you saw a depth of feeling that took your breath away - a raw, vulnerable longing that mirrored the tumultuous storm within your own heart.

"You've given me far more joy than any grand celebration ever could," Rhys continued, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin beneath your bottom lip. "Just being near you, dancing with you... It feels like coming home, like finding a piece of myself I never knew was missing."

Rhysand's confession hung between you, a fragile thread of vulnerability woven into the fabric of the night. In that moment, the pulsing music, the glittering chandeliers, even the expectant faces of the other guests faded into insignificance. There was only you, him, and the electric tension crackling between their entwined forms.

"Rhys, I-" You spoke, eyes misty, throat clogged, you didn't know what to say. Your voice caught on a hitch of emotion, unable to fully articulate the complex tangle of feelings swirling inside you. Rhysand's words had laid bare the depths of his affection, exposing the raw, beating heart beneath his enigmatic exterior.

He seemed to sense your turmoil, his own expression softening into a look of tender understanding. "It's okay, y/n," he reassured you, brushing a gentle kiss across your temple. "No words are needed. Just knowing you feel it too… That's enough."

Rhysand's lips trailed a path of fire along your jawline, pausing to nip lightly at your earlobe before whispering, "Let's get out of here. I want to celebrate my birthday properly, just the two of us."

Rhysand's words were a siren's call, beckoning you to abandon the crowded ballroom and its expectations for a more intimate, private celebration. The thought of escaping into the night with him, just the two of you, sent a thrill coursing through your veins.

"Yes," You breathed, your consent a whispered promise in the hush of the music. "Let's go."

Hand in hand, you slipped away from the festivities, Rhysand leading you through the winding corridors of the throne room. The sound of laughter and music faded behind you, replaced by the soft rustle of fabric and the quickened beat of your hearts as Rhysand summoned his wings, holding onto you as he flew you out.

Finally, you emerged onto the mountains overlooking the Court of Nightmares. The night air was cool from the snow that covered those tips.

"Would you like to go to the Moonstone palace or stay here, my darling?" Rhysand whispered, holding you close as the wind whipped through your hair, carrying the scent of winter and magic. The Moonstone palace gleamed in the distance, its ethereal beauty illuminated by the silvery glow of the full moon overhead.

"The Moonstone palace sounds enchanting," You replied, gazing up at Rhysand with adoring eyes. "I've never been..."

A soft smile curved Rhysand's lips as he nodded, his wings folding neatly against his back. "Very well, then. Let's make our way there."

Together, you soared through the star-studded sky, the wind whipping your hair into a wild tangle as Rhysand's powerful wings propelled you forward. The moon cast an ethereal glow over the landscape below, illuminating hidden valleys and ancient forests.

As you approached the moonstone palace, its radiant beauty took your breath away. Delicate spires and arches glinted like polished gemstones, casting cold colours across the surrounding terrain.

Upon landing on the palace steps, Rhysand turned to face you, his eyes smouldering with a hunger that had nothing to do with sustenance. He reached out, cupping your face in his palm, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone.

"My birthday wish has come true," Rhysand murmured, his voice low and velvety. "Being here with you, under this enchanted sky, makes everything else irrelevant."

"Well, I supose I will have to return the gift I got you..." You held your hands behind your back, hiding your face so he wouldn't see your blush.

Rhysand's eyes brightened. "You got me a gift? Oh, darling, you didn't have to..." He reached for you, holding onto your waist and pulling you in closer.

"Don't be silly, Rhys, it's your birthday." You giggled in his chest, "I... I don't have it right now, it's back in the cabin... I hid it there."

Rhysand hummed with a smile, resting his head on yours, "Mmm... Then I can't wait to get home, darling. For now..." Rhysand pulled away and spun you fast.

As the hours slipped by, Rhysand and you lost yourselves in the timeless rhythm of the night, moving together in perfect synchrony. The moonstone palace became a dreamscape, its ethereal beauty mirroring the enchanted atmosphere that surrounded you both.

Under the spell of each other's presence, you twirled and swayed, your bodies blending into one harmonious entity. Rhysand's strong arms cradled you close, his hands exploring the curves of your body as if committing every contour to memory.

The world outside receded further with each passing moment, until all that existed was the pulsing beat of the music, the soft brush of skin against skin, and the intense, all-consuming desire that burned between you.

In the heart of the moonstone palace, where shadows danced upon walls of living silver, you and Rhysand surrendered to the intoxicating embrace of the night. The music, a seductive melody woven from stardust and moonbeams, pulsed through your very being, igniting a fire that consumed all rational thought.

Lost in the depths of Rhysand's eyes, you saw reflections of your own desires, mirrored back at you in shades of darkest violet. His fingers traced patterns of possession upon your skin, branding you as his in a language only the heart could understand.

Time ceased to exist, measured only by the rising and falling of your chests, the synchronized thrum of your hearts. In this timeless realm, there were no boundaries, no limits to the passion that surged between you.

{General Taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff }

{Rhysand Taglist- @yeonalie}

[eviesaurusrex]

Could you do a fluffy fic with Rhys x reader? Like him helping drunk reader get ready for bed after a girls night out? I can just imagine Mor trying to drunkenly talk to Rhys mind to mind as they’re leaving Rita’s and be like “come get your mate, she won’t get up off the ground” lol

I absolutely love your work💜💜 hope you’re doing well💜

thank you sm honey, hope you're well too 🤗💜 This is SO cuteee, thank you for sending this request!

Home to You

Rhys x Reader fluff

Warnings: drunkenness/alcohol consumption, suggestiveness

Swaying your hips, you turned to Mor as you two belted out the lyrics to the song that was playing at Rita’s. Everyone was cheering the two of you on as you danced on the bar, putting on a show in your dress and heels. 

As the song ended, you climbed down from the bar top to hear a familiar voice. “Enjoying your evening, darling?” You looked around. Rhys wasn’t here, it’s girls night. A low laugh sounded again, and you searched the room. “Rhys, where are you?”

A sigh echoed through your head, along with a soft “by the cauldron.” You giggled, realizing he was speaking to you in your mind. You sent love down the bond to your mate as you danced your way through the crowd. Just then, Mor gently grabbed your arm, the look on her face showing that she had been talking to Rhys as well. It was getting late, and the two of you agreed you should head home to your mate. Mor winnowed you back, giving you a warm hug before heading off. 

You came in through the door, stumbling slightly as you caught sight of your mate. Gods, he was beautiful. A big smile swept across your face as you took in Rhys’s beautiful features. “Hi, handsome,” you purred as you sauntered over to where Rhys stood against the kitchen counter. He grinned down at you, brushing your hair back from your face as he gave you a sweet kiss. “How was your evening, darling?” he purred, making your stomach flip. You hummed, “it was gooood,” with a coy smile as you slung your arms around Rhys’s neck, leaning all of your weight into him. 

He chuckled, kissing the tip of your nose as he picked you up bridal style and carried you to your shared bedroom. He sat you down on the bed, kneeling to take your high heels off for you. You ran a hand through his hair, causing him to look up at you. “You’re so pretty, Rhysie.” He pulled your legs apart, still kneeling between them, “and you are beautiful, my little vixen,” he murmured as he reached for the straps of your dress. “Let’s get you into the bath. I’ll clean you up and get you some water, darling,” he whispered as he picked you up, you leaning your head against his chest as he carried you to the bath.

[eviesaurusrex]

Sweet Creature

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - The bond snaps after a rather brutal breakup, and after witnessing you with another Vanserra, Azriel is trying to find a way to avoid being hurt once again.

Warnings - fluff, angst, pining, swearing, unrequited love, heartbreak, sad Az, happy ending (yay!)

Word count - 8.4k (oops)

Based on this ask

It had become so intense in the House of Wind that you had little to no choice in moving yourself to the River House. Between Nesta and Cassian's bustling sex life and the constant bickering arguments between Azriel and Elain, you decided that you needed some peace.

And fast.

Rhys had welcomed you at the door that day, his sort-of sister in arms surrounded by brown leather bags that he could almost envision you launching down the House of Wind steps just to escape as fast as possible. Flipping him off and smirking at his chuckle, you slipped around his form stood in the doorway and headed right to Nyx who was more than thrilled to see you, babbling incoherently and grabbing for you the moment you were in eyeshot.

"I take it that it's getting a bit loud over there?" Rhys turned to you, his shirt half unbuttoned and hands burrowed into his pockets. He was lucky. To have a mate and a child. To not have to live with the band of animals currently residing in the Night Court's most opulent residence.

"How am I supposed to get anything done wedged between that lot?" Nyx smiled at your cooing, lapping up all of your love and affection, "I'd much rather be here with my favourite prince."

Within minutes, your bags were taken upstairs by Rhys who was grumbling to himself about never being able to have any peace to which you blissfully quipped that you'd be out of his hair the moment he bought you a lavish apartment in the city. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford it after all.

Your position within the Inner Circle was irreplaceable. Not only were you Rhys' childhood best friend, the only one he could truly depend on before Cassian and Azriel flew into the picture, but you were also known as a witch. A powerful celestial being that had the capability to destroy and create as you saw fit with an affinity to sky and water magic.

The scales could have tilted in the wrong direction had you truly taken up Amarantha's offer to be her pet, the only reason you had confined yourself to that chamber Under The Mountain was to make sure that Rhys survived, and you played your part well, just as you always had.

A break was needed, the air in the House of Wind was almost suffocating, and no amount of your power was able to drown it. Elain was spending more time with Lucien, her mate, and Azriel was not happy about it considering that they were meant to be in a committed relationship. The barking insults and shouting had become too much to bare, so intense that your own power was itching for release in order to silence them for at least a couple of minutes.

"They're going to break up, aren't they?" Rhys certainly wouldn't be the first to tell Azriel I told you so, but he'd certainly be thinking it when the Shadowsinger would inevitably return to the River House just like you had to escape the nightmare of his life.

Humming softly, sadly, you looked up at Rhys, your godson in your arms resting his head on your chest, "I think so. Az hasn't been himself lately."

It was true, your friend had become a shell of himself, wallowing in self-loathing and doubt, and you cursed Elain eternally for turning him into such a thing. How anyone could hurt Azriel was beyond your scope of realisation, he was perfect in every way, devoted, kind, caring, and definitely a force to be reckoned with in the bedroom if your ears served you right.

Being attracted to Azriel was a natural bodily response, you had told yourself at least, it was difficult to not want to jump the bones of the illustrious Shadowsinger who kept a watchful eye on your every step. Like he was waiting for his moment to swoop in and save you.

But you had never needed saving, and you never would.

Elain and you had never really gotten along, it wasn't as though you hadn't tried to be friendly with the Made sister, she just couldn't stand to be around you. Maybe her own abilities clashed with yours, perhaps she was terrified of you. You couldn't blame her, the idea of you was one that stalked travellers and gifted nightmares to the young.

A celestial witch. In the flesh.

Anyone who knew you well enough would be able to dispel any wrongful intent, but Elain was not one of those people.

"I did warn him," Rhys' finger drifted to hook itself around Nyx's outstretched hand, and he shook it gently as he continued on, "A mating bond is not something to get entangled with."

"Az needs us to be his friends right now, Rhys. A breakup on its own is awful, but when it's so close, when he's been waiting so long for it, it's bound to hurt."

A firm hand on your shoulder comforted you, you knew how tough it must be for Azriel to go through it, after how painful it was to hold out hoping that he would be enough to suddenly not be, "I know, Witchling," you scoffed at the nickname as you always had and always would, Rhys pressed a dainty kiss into your hair, like a brother to a newly born sister, "Whatever he needs, I'm here, and so are you."

If you had known what awaited you that week, you'd take the telling words back in a second.

Like you had guessed, Azriel moved back into the River House, residing in his own room across the hall from your own. And boy, was he a raincloud if you ever did see one. Even his shadows looked solemn, and they didn't have faces. Azriel looked positively awful, constantly messy hair, large bags of onyx that imprinted onto the skin beneath his usually warm hazel eyes that had turned into nothing but dark pools of heartbroken sadness.

In the night, you had heard him crying, you'd stood outside of his door, not saying a word, but hoping that he knew that someone was there for him even if he didn't want them to be.

You had tried to talk to him, to coax him out of his haze by offering to train with him, or walk with him along the banks of the Sidra, you'd even asked him if beating your ass whilst you wore a mask of Lucien would bring a smile to his face. Unfortunately, everything you had tried had failed you, and you were at a loss as to help your friend.

"Honestly Rhys, how do you reach anything in here?" Rhys was hovering in the doorway, eyebrow raised with delight as he watched you try and scale the countertops to reach the top shelf of the cupboard.

There were chocolate chips for your cookies up there, and they had your name all over them.

"It's not my fault you're not Illyrian," his eyes darkened into a smirk, "Why don't you just hop onto your broomstick and fly?"

Even a silent Azriel emitted a gasp from his place on the opposite side of the centre island. If there was one thing you hated, it was being likened to the witches children sang about in their storybooks. It offended you how utterly unalike you were, and it made you seethe when someone, usually Rhys or Cassian, would use that hatred to rile you up.

"Oh," you stood on the countertop, towering over the High Lord by a few mere inches, "Is that why all of the doorways are so wide? Because your fat fucking head needs all the room it can get?"

Rhys stood speechless before you, the room fell silent.

Then a laugh.

Not yours of Rhys', you had to check it wasn't you making any noise before your eyes landed on the owner of the most joyful thing you'd heard in weeks.

A smile. Curled parted lips as a howling laugh ripped through them. Azriel's shadows danced to the sound, and his body shook with it. You could have cried, but you kept it together, you choked down your happiness to witness the momentary return of the one who meant the most to you.

It was no secret that you used to be Azriel's favourite. There was nothing that the two of you wouldn't do together, even if it was a medial task like taking you to the bakery or finding you a new Starfall dress that would make Mor dim in comparison. Azriel was always happy to come along. Until Elain, and then you had stopped seeing another, you'd drifted so far apart that he didn't even properly greet you anymore, all you were adorned with was a curt nod and tight lipped smile before Elain would whisk him away.

The male in front of you was nothing like that one, not in that singular glimmer of hope at least. Once his laughter died down, and a serene smile planted itself on his lips, Azriel opened his eyes and moved them to you, they glowed with something you couldn't quite understand, and then they widened. His eyes faltered. His smile faded.

Azriel gasped.

"Mate."

Darting your line of sight to Rhys, you pointed at him, flickering your gaze back to Azriel who had rose from his seat "Him?"

Rhys swatted your finger away, "I'm mated, y/n," Rhys glanced between you and took a step backward.

"So?" It couldn't be. Not right now. Not now.

"I can't do this," Azriel was struggling to breathe, his chest was rising and falling rapidly, sweat beaded at his brow and his skin had paled.

Scrambling down from the worktop, you went to take a step toward him, one that he mirrored in the opposing direction, furling his wings behind his back and clawing his shadows into submission, "Don't, Az. I can go."

The visible wince of pain that shot through you was enough for Azriel to suck in a breath and disappear from sight. The bond was dull, a golden thread soaring across the night sky to meet a shield of inked darkness. Azriel had closed you off. Shut you out.

Silence befell the kitchen, the chocolate chips you had gotten from the top shelf now scattered across the dark oak wood beneath your bare feet. Rhys had never seen you cry, he almost thought it impossible, but then he saw that single tear roll down your cheek, he could feel the pain radiating from you from finding your mate for him only to run from you.

"Hey, it's alright," he wrapped you into his arms, shushing you softly as he ran his fingers through your hair to soothe the quiet sobs rattling your shoulders, "It's going to be fine, y/n. Azriel's just confused, he'll be thrilled soon. Just you wait."

The snap had been gentle, like you had just come home after a long day, like you'd stepped through the door to see everyone you had ever loved all in one place and he was at the epicentre of it. Safe. Warm. Perfect.

Being a witch, you were never sure how life would look for you. Not even the cauldron understood your kind, you had always thought that perhaps the cauldron overlooked your species for the things most pure, like mating bonds and children. Witchlings were rare, you were the lone example of it, perhaps a part of you thought that you weren't allowed to have any love or joy, that you weren't good enough for it.

And there it was right in front of you, with the male a part of you had always yearned for, dancing in ash.

In the weeks that followed, Azriel did all he could to avoid you. No reason was good enough to make Azriel even glance in your direction let alone utter anything to you.

It had gotten to the point where you had asked Rhys for the keys to the cabin, you packed up your things and stepped through time to stand on that cold wooden floor with moonlight drifting through the small square windows.

You’d never thought that you could ever feel so alone, but as you stood there in a cabin so cold that you could see your own breath, the loneliness certainly began to set in.

There was little else to do other than light a fire to warm the little cabin on the outskirts of the city and run a bath; the tub was surrounded by candles, the ottoman at the foot of it was full of scented oils and salts which made your heart flutter. At least if you were to wallow in your own heartbreak you’d be able to do it smelling like the ocean surrounded by candlelight.

Bubbles crept up your neck as you sank into the wooden tub, it should have been a tranquil moment for you, but it was far from it in reality.

Az, please. Just talk to me. I'm still y/n, I'm still your friend. Things don't have to change.

Instead of enjoying the alone time like you should have considering that it was rare to have a minute of peace in a city full of needy children, you sat and let your mind wonder just how everything had gotten so messed up. You understood his confusion, really, you did, you understood how conflicting it must have been for him to separate with Elain, the female he was ready to spend the rest of his existence with, to then find out he was mated to you, not just you as his friend, but you as a witch.

Talk to me.

Too many tears had been spilled, you couldn't stop them from flowing from your eyes each time Azriel would fumble some excuse to get away from you. The bond was cold, it was like trying to break through a shield, an icy 10 foot deep floor that wouldn't even crack under whatever you would throw at it.

If you need me to leave then I will, Az. I'll leave for you, so you can have space, so you can think.

In the weeks that followed the revelation, you'd done all you could to try and get through to him, to let him know that you weren't expecting him to accept it, that he could take all the time he needed to process everything before speaking to you, all you needed was a sign that he was listening to you, that you mattered. It didn't surprise you that Azriel hadn't exactly thought about you in the predicament, of what it had done to you, and you couldn't even be angry at him over it because you'd be the same.

It didn't mean that it didn't hurt though.

Dark skies littered with blinking starlight was cast overhead, too beautiful to be real, too beautiful that you were sure that it was some kind of abstract painting on a black canvas. The cabin used to be one of your favourite places, Azriel and you used to escape there frequently, spending nights upon nights drinking Rhys' best wine and talking about everything and nothing.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from the memories, your eyes drifted to the clock softly ticking on the wall and you frowned, it was quite late. Lifting yourself from the tub, you wrapped a towel around your frame and padded over to the door, your wet footprints embedding themselves in the wood below. Slight disappointment sliced through you when you opened the door to see Mor, Nesta and Feyre on the deck shivering in the brisk breeze.

"We brought supplies," Nesta pushed past you, placing a wicker basket on the table and shrugging off her coat, "By supplies I mean wine, wine, and more wine."

Mor and Feyre entered, sniffing the air with soft smiles, they had always loved your scent, it was peaceful, like ocean waves lapping against the side of a mountain at dusk, airy, blissful, fresh.

The news had spread around the Inner Circle rather quickly thanks to Rhys, he had told Cassian, and well, Cassian wasn't exactly known for holding his tongue. The Lord of Bloodshed had apologised to you, feeling guilty for making things worse between you and Azriel, but you didn't mind. All you wanted was for the Shadowsinger to simply look at you. Anything else was a pointless worry. Not worth your time.

Tugging the towel tighter around your frame, you forced a smile, "This is really nice. Thank you."

Strangely, both Nesta and Feyre had been surprisingly supportive of the bond between you and Azriel. To them it made sense, you had been friends for over 500 years, you both struggled with fitting in, and you only felt truly comfortable to let your walls down around one another. To them, the bond had been there for a long time, waiting for the perfect moment. Too bad that the perfect moment had ended up making feel like the most worthless creature on the planet.

"Has he let you in yet?" Nesta rested her hand on your shoulder, her other hand was busy handing you a goblet of wine which you hugged closely to your chest and shook your head, "I'm sorry y/n. I really thought he would have by now."

"Give it time. He'll come around," Feyre draped her cloak over the arm of one of the dining chairs, smoothing out her skirt. It had always astounded you just how perfect they all were, the Archeron sisters that is, it was hard to understand how any male couldn't be attracted to them. They were quite heavenly.

"You've all been saying that for weeks," you shrugged off Nesta's hand, exasperated, "If anything he's become colder. Azriel doesn't acknowledge me, he looks right through me, he finds any reason possible to not be in the same room as me and when he sees me in the halls he turns on his heels and runs."

"I'm now living in this damned cabin hoping that some space will help him," your shoulders dropped, "I've waited my entire existence for this, I started to think that I wasn't worthy of it, and when it happened and the bond snaps with the one person I know that I could be truly happy with," your bottom lip wobbled slightly, but you choked it down and swallowed hard, "He ran."

Mor leaned forward in her seat, wide eyes under her perfectly sculpted furrowed brows, "It has nothing to do with you, y/n."

"How am I supposed to believe that when he won't even look at me?"

Something thick and fluffy draped over you, Nesta's robe that you always eyed was resting on your shoulders, "Go and get in your comfy clothes, then we can talk and bitch until all you feel is anger."

Amongst the chatter, you spied the three leather bags full to the brim of differing clothes and cosmetics, and then you realised that you weren't alone, not really, not when those three bags of clothes and trinkets belonged to the three females in the cabin with you, clearly ready to move in and stay with you until you were ready to face life again.

Who needed a man when you had three raging bitch queens?

Nesta was right, you just had to get back to work.

If anything was going to be able to distract you from that aching in your chest, then it would be work.

Luckily, Rhys, whilst he loved your abilities greatly, saw you as much more than just a celestial witch residing in his court, he likened you to a sister, blood family, which meant that he trusted no one more than you to act on his behalf when it came to court politics.

Holding such a position meant that you were rather close with the High Lords, they never saw you as Rhys' lackey at all, they saw you as a being that cared greatly about the continent who would stop at nothing to ensure harmony in all jurisdictions. Such a role meant that you were also required to entertain the High Lords whenever they visited Velaris, a place you had extended to them after the war to aid their research and better their own courts, with your help of course.

That particular evening, Rhys had asked you to entertain a certain High Lord of Autumn, Eris Vanserra; he was visiting Lucien and his new mate, Elain, and the entire visit was putting Azriel on edge. So, naturally, you couldn't say no.

"I always love our dinners, y/n," Eris' whisky amber gaze burned into you, searching the supernatural speckles in your own.

It was no secret that Eris had a flame for you, a being he found intriguing beyond belief, in the grasp of the Night Court when Eris knew how much you would thrive in Autumn by his side. The High Lord had offered Rhys pretty much everything he could to try and convince him to let him near you. All attempts had been swiftly denied.

Plates were littered with blotches of sauce and chicken bones, two empty bottles of red had been disposed of long ago, and you were just about to order that sticky toffee slice that made your toes curl when Eris asked, "When were you going to tell me about you and Azriel, hm?"

Candlelight drifted over the side of his face, illuminating his eyes against the darkening backdrop. "What are you talking about?"

Eris smirked, swirling the second glass of your third bottle that evening in perfect circles in his palm, "Come on, y/n. You reek of him, that cedar scent that even I have to admit is rather interesting."

In all of your self wallowing and sudden busyness you hadn't realised that the scent of the mating bond lingered on you, entwining with your scent of blissful oceans to create something new, something drowning. Something suffocating.

"I can admit that the news did hurt me, just a little bit," Eris, since the war, had allowed his hair to grow out. It sat just below his shoulders, layered and playful, he had it lazily pulled back low on his head. Something about that hair and those eyes made you question everything you knew, and you did know that you weren't the only one who felt like that when around the High Lord of Autumn.

Fluttering your lashes at Eris, you ran your fingers across the line of your bodice, "I apologise. It seems that fate wanted to lead me elsewhere."

Eris dismissed the waiter, eyes grinning at you through his lashes, "Let's go to Rita's. I need to drink some more, and you," he pointed to you, knowing that he was interrupting a rather important date with a rather important pudding, and said, "Need to loosen up, Witchling."

That fucking name.

You were sure that steam was emitting from your ears, but you couldn't deny that he was right, you couldn't really remember the last time you let loose and danced the night into oblivion. So you grabbed your purse from the table, a ornate gold cage that matched the intricate details of your skirt, and rose from your seat, "I hate how right you are, Vanserra. Let's go."

The High Lord towered over you, like all of them did really, stupid high fae and Illyrians and their stupid perfect genes making them so handsome and mysterious and utterly fuckable.

Stumbling from the restaurant at the edge of the Sidra, you looped your arm through Eris' and he practically had to pull you along the streets of the city or else you'd go and do a ritual in a field or something. Despite his crush, Eris found that part you a bit odd. In a way, you did too.

"When are you going to come to Autumn, Witchling? You know you'd love it there."

Eris propositioned you with the notion every time he saw you, he clearly thought that if he pestered you about it enough then you'd agree to it one day. Even just a fleeting visit would be enough to satisfy him. Just a day or two. You couldn't deny that Autumn piqued your interest, and with everything going on, perhaps a little break would do you some good.

"Maybe sooner than you think," despite the shameless flirting, you were glad that you could call Eris your friend, underneath that mask of loathing, you found the High Lord to be complex, and he appreciated your understanding. You were the only being that had ever approached him with kindness and treated him for who he truly was and not what he displayed. "All of this stuff with Azriel is spinning my mind. I feel like I'm going insane."

Eris hummed, tugging you a bit tighter into his side as he draped his arm over your shoulder, something completely platonic that you knew would send a certain someone spiralling, "That's what mating bonds do, y/n. I know that everyone keeps on telling you that he'll come around, I hope he does. Truly." It was the first time you had seen him say something and know that he was sincere of it "But, for tonight and tonight only, you are mine and we are going to drink and dance until we physically can't anymore, alright?"

Inhaling deeply, you met his gaze, "Alright."

Rita's was packed to the brim, you could feel the music thumping through the air so intensely that the ground beneath your feet was vibrating in time with the bass. Suddenly, you felt overdressed, but Eris commanded that you not think of it as he pulled you through the doors and past the guards who nodded at you with a curt smile as you clicked by.

In Velaris, you were quite known for being the wild one, the entire city was in awe of you and the powers you displayed so beautifully. More often than not, you would be found in the poorer parts of the city enchanting the children with your magic, curls of water would dance along their cheeks, and they would gasp when you would pluck a star from the sky and rest it in the palm of your hand. You knew what it felt like to feel alone and forgotten, being the last existing witch in your coven and all, and you didn't want anyone else to feel like that. So, if some water and a star would bring some form of happiness to those children, then you'd spend the rest of your life bringing them that wonder.

Eris tugged you through the grinding bodies, some of which parted as soon as they saw your eyes glistening in the lights, and stopped at the bar, shouting over the music to order drinks for you both before he turned, handing you a glass of what you could only assume was straight liquor, "To stealing you from the Night Court, Witchling," Eris raised his glass, rolling your eyes, you met it with a clink and wasted no time in downing the liquid, relishing in the burn that travelled down your throat and chest.

"Keep dreaming, Vanserra."

Hand on heart, Eris swayed into you, "Oh believe me, y/n, I do."

If you had known who was staring at you from across the room then you would have taken a step away from Eris, much like if you had seen the shadows followed you since you left the cabin that evening you wouldn't have agreed to go to Rita's. It was too late to do anything when your eyes connected with his, yours widened in surprise and solemn shock as his own narrowed, flickering between you and Eris before softening.

Of course, the first time Azriel actually looked at you was when you were stood beside Eris Vanserra, a High Lord, the brother of the one now laying with Elain.

Fuck.

It was like he didn't even see you really, he only saw Eris standing far too close to the one the cauldron had decided to be his mate. There was no way to be blind to the hatred between them, and with Azriel's temper and Eris' flare for the dramatics, you weren't surprised that Rhys had asked you to entertain the latter for the evening.

Noticing how your body froze, Eris frowned, he followed your line of sight to the Shadowsinger perched at a booth across the room ignoring both Cassian and Rhys who were trying to speak to him, to keep him calm.

Rhys. I didn't know.

I know, y/n. It'll be fine. We can handle Az if you can handle Eris.

Stiffly nodding, you turned to speak to Eris, to convince him to leave and find another place to drink, but he was gone. Then you saw his red hair moving through the crowd and you cursed, colourfully, and you scrambled through the crowd to try and reach him before he did something stupid.

Rushing up the steps to the usual booth reserved for the Inner Circle only, you stopped in your tracks as Eris' voice sliced through the chilled air, "When are you going to give our sweet y/n a break, Rhys? I keep on asking her to come to Autumn but she keeps on refusing."

Stop talking.

"It seems that she could use a break now more than ever."

Stop fucking talking.

"Especially since the bond is unrequited and she's sat in that little cabin day in day out wondering what her fate will be."

Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you tugged on him, harshly, like you were reprimanding a dog on a leash, "Stop talking."

Little did you know, that one touch alone was enough to make Azriel visibly flinch and shudder with pain. That one act pierced his heart deadlier than Elain ever had or could, the way your fingers rested just over Eris' pulse, the way you looked at him with flame in your eyes, it was too much.

Eris wouldn't hurt you, you were the closest thing he had to a true friend, bit his loosened lips would be the end of you, "You both know that this isn't fair on her. Why is she the one who has to sit in misery and move to the outskirts of this city in order to make your poor Azriel more comfortable?"

Tension bubbled, Rhys was slowly rising from his seat whilst Cassian angled himself in front of Azriel, probably to stop the Shadowsinger from doing something he would come to regret, "Eris, you're making it worse," he finally gave you his attention, "Just wait outside for me, we can find somewhere else to drink, okay?"

It took him a moment, but your pleading eyes convinced him to listen, and Eris moved from your side, disappearing from you and leaving you stood before three Illyrians, all of which you were sure didn't wish to be around you in that moment. Fiddling with your fingers, you looked up from the ground at them, "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were going to be here. You told me to keep him entertained, I'm sorry."

Rhys froze, his breath caught in his throat, and Azriel was glaring at him with such intensity that it made even you shrink, and you didn't shrink away from anything or anyone, "I'll go. I'm sorry," your chest ached when Azriel didn't even glance in your direction, instead keeping his gaze trained on his High Lord who simply nodded once at you.

Then you left, you grasped Eris by the lobe of his ear and dragged him away from Rita's before Azriel could make him pay for his words, or even worse, Rhys. It took only a few blocks for Eris to swat your hand away, "I'm not a child, y/n." Eris rubbed the red tinged patch of skin at his ear with a pout.

Velaris watched on as you bundled down a cobbled path toward the bank of the Sidra, a place you went to often to channel your magic, it was serene and beautiful, and had been the perfect place for you to find your calm in the midst of such brutality, "That is my mate, Eris. Do you understand that? Azriel is going through so much already, he lost Elain to Lucien," Eris cocked his brow in warning but you continued, "Elain was meant to be the one for him, and as long as Az was happy then I could choke down everything I had ever felt for him because he deserved all of the happiness possible after everything he's been through. I could live alone for the rest of my days as long as he was happy. Then it turns out that he's mine, that he was always meant to be mine, it should have been the best day of our lives," tears pooled on your bottom lids and you were sick of it, of crying, you had never cried, it wasn't in your nature but it was all you could do these days.

"Azriel can't even look at me, I had to move out of the River House and isolate myself from everyone I love just to give him a moment to think and process everything," you turned to Eris, "You just had to prod him, didn't you? You just had to get under his skin. Do you know how this looks? Elain chose Lucien and then he sees me drinking with you?"

Eris ran a hand over his face and sighed, "I didn't mean to make things difficult, y/n. I just want what's best for you, what you deserve."

"I know and I appreciate that, I really do. I just wanted things to get better, not worse."

It astounded Eris how Azriel wasn't over to moon to have you as his mate, you were elegant and graceful, a formidable opponent, tactical and sharp, and one of the most beautiful creatures to ever walk under the skies of Prythian. Perhaps he could have been a touch more sensitive to the situation at hand.

The moonlight waltzed over the rippling waters of the Sidra which acted as a mirror to the sky above, clear and bright, full of possibility.

The bond strained in your soul, empty and unrequited, a lone dying ember searching for its flame, and you knew then that Azriel was going to pull away from you more than ever.

"You should go back to the House of Wind," your voice was small and weak, "I'll see you before you leave tomorrow."

Eris took a step toward you, fumbling, knowing that he had messed up, "Please, y/n."

"Eris," he paused his movements, "Just go. I'll see you tomorrow."

Knowing that nothing was going to change your stubborn mind, Eris retreated up the embankment and down the cobbled path, leaving you completely and utterly alone.

Pebbles brushed together under your weight, moving flat to accommodate your position. You hugged your knees to your chest, unclasping your heels and tossing them aside, rubbing the skin on your ankles softly to alleviate the pinching that was once there.

How long could you go like this? How long would be able to deal with the rejection before it broke you? How long until you took Eris up on his offer and left Velaris forever?

You didn't have much time to think of an answer, not when a familiar cool pressure coiled at the small of your back, travelling up your spine and over your shoulders. The shadows drifted through your hair and you smiled sadly at them, at the sweet sign to tell you that you weren't alone.

"How did you find me?"

A shuffle sounded from behind you, shoes scraping along the pebbles, "This is our place. Where else would you go?"

You turned then, peering over your shoulder at him, examining him for a moment. Azriel certainly looked better, his eyes had lightened by a couple of hues and his skin was healthy an tanned to perfection, though, sadness and doubt still lingered in his eyes.

Silently cursing yourself, you turned back to the water. It was yours and Azriel's place, it always had been, until Elain came along that is and then it became your place. Whenever either of you had a bad day, the other would bring them there, to listen to the water rushing up on the rocks and watch the stars, and you'd talk, about anything that was bothering you and causing you any pain, and then suddenly you'd be alright again.

You rose from the ground, brushing little fragments of twigs and dirt from the golden swirls of your skirt, and Azriel gazed at you as you did, wondering how his best friend had become a stranger so quickly, "If I had known you were there tonight I wouldn't have taken him."

"I know," Azriel had his hands bundled into his pockets, afraid that if they lingered at his side then he would reach for you and risk a whole other world of pain, "I think we need to break the bond."

The world stopped moving.

"What?"

Azriel repeated, "I think we need to break the bond."

Break the bond.

It writhed in your chest, it writhed in pain and sorrow, striking you so deeply that you thought you may stop breathing, "I can't do it again. I can't be broken like this again, not with another Vanserra, not with anyone."

Thumping in your chest, your heart cried out, lurching around in its cage, and you struggled to form any words, "Az-"

"It's what's best for us, y/n."

No. No, no, no.

"How can you say that?" Azriel frowned, his hazel orbs softening, like he too was in pain, "I have done everything I can to give you space to process this, I moved out of our home, twice, to give you space to process whatever you need to process and feel whatever it is that you need to feel. I have gone 500 years being perfectly content of being your friend and that alone, because that was better than not having you at all. I stood by and watched you pine for Mor, and then her, the one who put such a wedge between us that I was reduced to polite hellos and nods. But I dealt with it, for you and your happiness. I dealt with all of the comparisons and pain, I dealt with the punishment of your feelings for her. I would deal with every ounce of hatred you throw at me if it meant that you would feel better, hoping that one day you'd realise that I have always been here for you, that I have always loved you in ways that no one else ever could."

You were pacing up and down the riverbank, pebbles knocking together as you walked, and Azriel stood before you unmoving, unknowing of what to say and only knowing that he needed it to end, "You never even gave it a chance," your choked whisper put him on edge.

Azriel had never seen you cry, had never heard of it happening, clearly Rhys had negated to tell him just how deeply the last few weeks had impacted you. To the point where you had actually cried. Tears gathered at your bottom lids and he noticed how you looked up at the sky to prevent them from falling.

"You never let me in."

Everything within Azriel was screaming at him to reach for you, the bond that he had frozen in place behind a wall of shadow was battering against the shield like a ram to break free and comfort you.

You were right, you had been his best friend, one of the few he could ever really depend on for everything. Elain had never liked you, she had always blamed it on her abilities not being able to harmonise with your own, but Azriel had always known it was deeper than that. Elain was a seer, and somehow it hadn't dawned on Azriel just how much she could have been hiding.

Elain hated it when he spent time with you, and being as in love as he was, he believed that it was down to some strange jealously that lingered on the surface. No one would have blamed Elain for her jealousy, you were truly a sweet creature, the other half to his marred coin that he had so carelessly tossed away. What if Elain had seen something and had chosen to lead Azriel away from you in order to preserve what she wanted them to share?

"I've given you everything I can," you sounded utterly defeated, "I don't know what else to do, Azriel."

His name was like a sonnet on your lips, one of heart-breaking sadness and longing, and he stepped to it, his shadows swirled around his body and drifted out to you. They had always adored you. They had always sought after you, a stark difference to their hiding from Elain.

"I would ruin you, y/n. You deserve so much more, so much better than me," his fingers twitched for you, he was so close yet so far from holding you, from inhaling the coconut scent of your shampoo and the scent of your soul, of soft salted breezes and jasmine, "I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel like you weren't worthy of love, and I'm so sorry for making you think that you were alone in the world," you had cocked your head to the side in question, "Rhys told me."

Azriel took another step forward, exhaling with relief when you didn't make a move to get away from him, "Love scares me. Elain had my heart in the palm of my hand and then crushed it, and then the bond snapped with you, with the one person I know would never hurt me, and I just couldn't risk it. I can't risk it. I can't risk being broken again, I can't risk hurting you."

All this time, when Azriel had been wallowing in the loss of Elain, of having to deal with her and Lucien's bond, he had completely neglected you, and your feelings. It was something you had never done to him, something you never could.

A gentle breeze flowed through the air, it carried your scent to him, and on inhaling it, he felt his entire body relax, he felt his aching disappear, and it was as though the world had gotten clearer. You turned away from him, hands folded over your chest and facing the river so that he couldn't see your tears, "I thought I was destined to be alone. The rules of your kind and the fae have never really applied to me, even the Cauldron doesn't understand me. I thought that it took the chance of love from me, but now I see that it was just some cruel joke."

Let her in. Feel her.

The shadows cooed to him, faintly, like a lullaby to a new-born babe.

"If it'll bring you peace," your voice broke, "Then break it. Break the bond. I'll find some other place to be."

Don't let her get away. Mate. She loves you. Love her. Let her in.

As though the world was tilting, Azriel let down that wall, he felt that bond slither over the seam of it to reach you, and then what he felt brought him to his knees.

Love. Wanting. Hope. Pain. Sorrow. Longing.

It consumed him with light, fighting off the demons that had been left to plague him, decimating them with the most pure substance in Prythian. Love.

When you heard his knees hit the ground you had turned and ran to where he knelt on the pebbles, meeting him as you slid onto your own, ignoring the stabbing into your skin, "Az? Are you alright? What's wrong?" You cupped his face in your hands and he felt each one of your fingertips flow life back into him.

The two tethers to the bond were dancing with one another, meeting in the middle and thrumming as two became one, turning dark skies into ones of bright sun and opulent warmth.

It was you. Sweet and fierce you. You who had always protected him, you who had always put him first even when he couldn't return it. You.

"Az? Talk to me, tell me what's happening. Do I need to call for Rhys? I'll get him right-"

Azriel stopped you before you could rise to your feet, the act of wrapping his fingers around your wrists enough to make your words vanish in your mouth, "You love me."

Settling into the space before him, knee to knee with him and his shadows itching to pull you closer, you didn't remove your hands from his, the feeling of it so powerful that it wiped all of your pain away, "I always have."

Walks along the Sidra. Visits to the bakery. The countless thoughtful gifts for Winter Solstice. The nights spent locked away in the cabin talking about dreams and fears.

Azriel's fingers drifted along your cheek before resting there, his thumb softly soothing the tightness in your jaw, "Why did you never say anything?"

"Because you deserve to be happy, even if it isn't with me," Azriel watched your bottom lip wobble, and that stream of love within him rippled with upset. His thumb moved to it, dragging across that plump flesh that he had always wondered of the taste.

Would you taste sweet or of lightly salted oceans? Of the air at dusk perhaps?

All he had ever chased was happiness, how foolish of him to be blind to the fact he had always had it within you.

"I think the only time I've ever truly been happy, at peace, has been with you. You've always felt like home," your eyes met and he offered you a small, genteel smile; his fingers moved to your hair, raking over your scalp and floating to rest on the small of your back, "I've missed you so much."

"You have?"

Azriel hummed in admittance, "The worst part of all of this was that I left the House of Wind to be near you, because I could be, nothing was in the way of us anymore, and I knew you'd be the only one patient enough to deal with me. It was selfish, but you've always been the rocks on which the ocean crashes, you've always been the one I can turn to without fear of judgement. You understand me."

"I can still be that person, Az. I can still be your friend."

Resting his forehead against yours, Azriel spoke lowly, like he had just awoken from slumber, "Do you know how hard it is for me to not take you back to that cabin right now and make you mine?" The carnal desire was dwelling within him, a rabid need that begged to be satisfied, "But you deserve better, y/n. Better than what I've done. So if you'll let me, I want to do this properly. I want to court you and make you feel like you're the only woman in the world, and when you're ready, not me, you, then you can accept it for the both of us. Because you deserve the magic of the bond more than me, you deserve this happiness."

"And if you don't want to, then that's fine. I can live with what I've done, and if you want to move to Autumn and find happiness there then I won't stand in your way. In no world would I ever stop you from finding love and passion and joy, because you deserve it y/n, you are everything that is beautiful in this world and then some. Every single part of you is destined for greatness, for a love so powerful that people drown in it."

"I hate what I've done to you, I hate that I've made you feel unworthy of a mating bond and I'll never forgive myself for it. But if you let me, I'd like to show you that I want this, that I want you, and you can decide for yourself if a life with me is something you want."

Silence fell between you but you didn't make a move to pull away, you knelt in place, peering up at him with your hands resting on his biceps, channelling the pulsing energy of the Sidra as it ebbed and flowed downstream, "A life with you is all I've ever wanted."

The bond glowed, golden and blinding, and Azriel was struggling to keep himself together as he basked in the ocean of your love and devotion, "Can I kiss you? Please?"

If he wasn't searching for it then he wouldn't have even noticed the tiniest hazed nod directed at him. Even the stars had stopped their flickering to focus on you, their most prized possession, the only one capable of harnessing their power and turning it into something blissful and good. It was why they chose you.

Closing the gap, Azriel tilted your head upward to give him better access to the lips that had often haunted his dreams; the scent of jasmine entwined with his own and he felt himself hold his breath as he closed that gap between you.

Your lips were as soft and warm as he had imagined them to be, they tasted of fresh saltwater and some kind of sweet fruit from the gloss you always wore that made them shimmer in any light. It stopped the world from turning for a moment, the universe watched on as Azriel sealed your fates. Moving his fingers from the small of your back to your neck and deepening the embrace of your lips, Azriel relished in the taste of you, in your warmth, in the way his soul sang and his shadows pulled you in closer to him. It was a feeling he had waited his entire existence for, one you had also yearned for.

Utterly magical. Soul consuming.

Everything made sense then. How everything you had both endured was meant to be, just so that you could end up entwined in that moment. All of the pain and sorrow, all of the false love and distance, all of the laughter and sweet memories, it was all worth it. It was worth every morsel of agony.

"Such a sweet creature. My sweet creature."

"Yours?" Azriel hummed, pressing dainty kisses to the tip of your nose and cheeks, and you closed your eyes to consume his touch and shuddered when his lips landed on your collarbone, caressing the skin there, "I think I could get used to that."

Authors Note

Hey besties!

I got very carried away with this - sorry if it's not great, these pain meds are really kicking my ass right now so I haven't even properly proof read this yet xo

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[eviesaurusrex]

Ashes, Ashes | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw

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Six days after Maverick’s disappearance, Bradley isn’t quite whole anymore. But, there isn’t time to crumble.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc! avery mitchell : age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, extra warnings to be added chapter by chapter. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

“Rooster, those bandits are closing. We can’t go back.”

“Rooster, he’s gone. Maverick’s gone.”

It’s a stomach-sick, sweat inducing kind of fever that lingers now on this mild morning. Breeze blowing across his skin, patterned and rhythmic, reminding him every now and again to breathe.

It has been exactly six days since Pete Mitchell was declared missing in action. Six days since a missile meant for Bradley hit Pete’s plane and sent the sixty-five million dollar aircraft spiraling into miles and miles of desolate, freezing forest. Bradley has slept four times in those six days, and each time he has, his subconscious reminds him of exactly what he is responsible for

Today is a relatively chilly morning in May, and Bradley is sitting on the front step of a cottage near Bird Rock in northern San Diego. Today is the first day since he got home three and a half days ago that he has left his apartment. Natasha stayed over last night. She has stayed over every night. She slept by his side, on top of his covers, just holding his hand. When he was in the shower this morning, she laid out his clothes for him. She hasn’t ever known him to be this quiet. Ever.

He hasn’t said much at all since they got back. Natasha knows that he’s picturing himself alone in that forest. Dead, or worse.

Now, she sits at his side and rubs soft circles on his shoulder over the black fabric of his t-shirt. He would do it for her, if she was the one going through this. She would be too stubborn to listen to him too. They have known each other since flight school. Natasha got so drunk the first Friday that Bradley spent his entire first Friday holding her hair back while she threw up.

The next day, Bradley had embarrassed himself so badly in front of a girl he liked that he almost quit just so that they wouldn't have to see each other again.

That kind of thing bonds you for life: After that, they have remained pretty close. Especially now, when they need each other.

“Rooster, no one expects you to be here right now — you went through something awful out there.” She says it one last time anyway, even though she knows that it won’t change a single thing.

That’s one of the reasons that their friendship is so strong — sometimes a person just has to do what they have to do, Bradley and Natasha respect that sentiment. Even if it means texting back a no-good ex, or staying out a little too late on a work night now and again. Each other’s best interests are always at heart, but it’s human to not put yourself first now and again.

Bradley hasn’t sat on the steps of Maverick’s two bedroom beach cottage since he was thirteen. Right before Maverick pissed off an admiral and got shipped out somewhere crazy, somewhere cold — he can’t remember exactly where anymore, he never wrote a letter there.

That was all right before he started only seeing Maverick on holidays and special occasions, the occasional baseball game.

Pete bought this place back in the eighties.

He got it for a steal. A craftsman bungalow three blocks from the beach, with two bedrooms and a small yard. He had wanted to be close to Carole, and he had just gotten married.

Bradley’s memories of Charlie are faint, but he knows that her father helped Pete with the down payment. Maverick hated him for that. His first and, as it happened, only marriage hadn’t lasted very long. Two or three years, maximum. She was gone before Bradley finished second grade, anyway.

He remembers that she always made sure they had the ice-cream that he liked when he came to stay here — Mav had always been a little bit more forgetful when it came to that stuff.

The spare room here used to be Bradley’s. Back when his mom worked weekends at a hotel in La Jolla, and he and Pete would take Friday night trips to Blockbuster every week.

He hasn’t even been inside yet. He can’t imagine how much the interior would have changed since those weekends back in the nineties.

Glancing down at the IWC clock face on his wrist, the big hand has been creeping up on ten o’ clock for what feels like hours by now.

Breeze sweeps a strand of Natasha’s hair off of her face. She leans against her best friend, her palm trailing to the middle of his back.

Natasha has two parents. They definitely don’t see eye-to-eye often, but she knows where they are. It’s a Sunday, they’ll be at Costco. She has a sister who gets on her nerves but adores her nonetheless, Leona will be at a spin class this morning. None of the people she loves are missing. If one of them were, she would have others to lean on.

For Bradley, it’s just her now.

“I can’t let her turn up to an empty house.” Bradley’s voice comes out more hoarse than either of them is expecting it to. He hasn’t cried yet. He keeps thinking he might, the urge is there, but the tears just don’t come.

Bradley doesn’t even know her. Not really. Not even when he was a kid. It’s been sixteen years since Bradley was even on speaking terms with Maverick. Even when he still was, the news about Maverick’s accidental bundle of joy had been quite hush-hush.

He saw her a couple of times, the wriggling infant with perpetually sticky hands in an out of place looking car seat in one of Mav’s sports cars.

It doesn’t matter now that he never got to know her. Because of him, her life will be different forever. He’s got a debt to her father that he’ll never repay. For the sake of that, he’s willing to wait hours for her to turn up.

It has been six days. If Maverick survived the initial hit, and the ejection, then he has still been out in the snow for six days.

Probably injured. Alone. Being hunted. He’s gone. And yet, Bradley just can’t — or won’t — grieve him. Moving on isn’t an option.

So, he just sits here and waits. He doesn’t even know who, really, he’s looking for. He never met the mother, hasn’t really seen any pictures of you ever.

Pete Mitchell’s only child. The last time he saw her was when she was three years old, staring at him from the backseat of her mother’s blue ford escort with a pacifier in her mouth while your parents argued a few feet away.

He’d been sitting on these same front porch steps, pissed off because Mav was making him late for his baseball game.

Admiral Simpson is the one that has been doing all of the correspondence. He did Bradley a favour by giving him a heads up that the girl was even coming. Bradley wouldn’t have even known how to contact her himself.

He doesn’t have Maverick’s number any more, much less a girl he met a handful of times.

Back when he knew her, she didn’t even know her numbers. And her mother lived up near Oregon. She was a waitress. Most of the time Pete drove up to see her, or the weekends that she visited him, Bradley would stay with a neighbour.

He bows his head just slightly, elbows rested on his parted knees. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn sweats. He hasn’t ever let Natasha dress him before. Today wasn’t a good day to start. Meeting Mav’s kid wouldn’t be a formal occasion, but under the circumstances he reconsiders.

His ears perk up at the sound of an engine misfire.

Natasha flinches against him. She’s not been feeling that great since they got home either. Her dreams are like his too. It doesn’t matter.

The car squeals around the corner at the far end of the street like its driver is trying to get it onto just two wheels. He lifts his head in time to see a steel blue ford escort hit the curb on the street just past Maverick’s property line.

Instantly, he pushes himself onto his feet. That kind of maniacal attitude to manning a vehicle must be hereditary.

Both he and Natasha watch as the driver slams their fists into the wheel in frustration. Then, the driver notices them for the first time.

Hair twisted up messily, her face stark and tired, with a caught expression like a scolded child. She swallows.

Avery Mitchell has seen Bradley Bradshaw periodically throughout her life. There is no escaping his image when Maverick’s around. But, none of those photos are recent. They’re all from at least twelve years ago now.

She blinks, vague recognition in her expression as the engine splutters to sleep and she gets out of the car with the keys in her hand.

While she thinks Bradley looks different, he can’t find any semblance of the way he remembers her in her face now at all. She’s not a little kid anymore.

Natasha pushes herself to her feet, brushing the dust from her palms onto her jeans. A brief look is sent towards her best friend, but he doesn’t reciprocate. He’s staring straight ahead as Avery starts off with one foot on the pavement, swinging the groaning car door shut behind her.

High top black converse. The other foot follows next. Jeans. Normal, appropriate for the early May weather before the heat really picks up. She exhales and her hand flies up to wring at the nape of her neck, sore from sitting all that way.

“Hi,” She forces out. “Bradley, right?”

That’s stupid. She knows who he is. He knows who she is. Both of them know why they’re here.

“Yeah.” Bradley agrees without a nod. His hands are neither in his pockets nor doing anything else that might be productive. He tells himself that he should maybe shake her hand, but he doesn’t. He tells himself that maybe he should say something more, but he doesn’t.

Towering over the pretty brunette at his side, Bradley doesn’t look anything like he had in his photos at high school graduation. His face is longer and wider at the same time, his cheeks have lost some of their roundness but they still have a youthful pink flush. His hair is shorter, auburn and tidy around the back and sides. Still trying to be curly on top.

He grew up near the beach and his skin tells the tale. Freckles and a golden glow to his skin that is an all year round kind of thing by now. Slight redness across his collarbones, the high points of his body where the sun hits most when he’s drying off after a swim.

In his eyes, Avery searches; she was hoping to find the boy from the pictures. The grinning blond in the baseball uniform. Something familiar down here, at least. Instead, there’s something else.

Whatever that look is, she hopes it isn’t pity. Just because his dad — no, she stops herself, she shouldn’t think that. It shouldn’t start out like this.

“How was the drive? — Not too bad, I hope?” The tiny brunette finally bursts through the wall of silence that Avery and Bradley have been competitively building up since her sneaker touched the pavement two minutes ago. “I’m Natasha. I work with… — I — I’m Bradley’s friend.”

“Hi.” Avery starts out, dropping her hands down to her sides and shifting on her feet. She glances back at the car — practically a smoking pile of crap on the road. “It wasn’t too bad. I need to see a mechanic while I’m here, but — I don’t know. I’ll find time.” Just from watching her, Natasha can see that Avery is a personal all over the place.

Neither here nor there. She doesn’t look like you’ve been crying, either. Mascara intact, lips glossed, her makeup looks pretty.

But, there’s a restlessness in her eyes that gives her away.

Bradley knows that it has been a long time since he and Maverick were on speaking terms. He knows that even before that, they didn’t talk much about the kid he had a couple hundred miles away.

But, shit — he wishes now that he had at least seen a picture first so that he could prepare himself.

He remembers footie pajamas and drool and chubby, perpetually sticky cheeks.

Now, there’s a belt looped through her blue jeans makes sure that the denim hugs her in all of the right places and that tank top is confirming to him that she’s absolutely nothing like the faint image he has in some of his oldest memories.

There’s got to be something wrong with him — that that’s one of the first things that sprung to his mind.

That Mav’s kid got hot in the twenty years since he saw her last. He shakes it from his head. Physically. He shakes his head and finally springs into action.

“What’s the matter with it?”

For the first time in five days, it’s the first time that someone hasn’t started a conversation by asking how she holding up. It catches Avery totally unprepared, and her knowledge of cars leaves her under qualified to answer anyway.

Bradley Bradshaw takes three long strides along the stone garden path and he has reached her already.

He’s on a course right for her, and he’s big when he’s not squished into one of those photo frames in Maverick’s house. She leans back slightly, starting to brace for the impact of him hitting her.

He’s aware of his size and has learned to grow careful with it, stepping around her narrowly and heading straight for her old shitbox of a car.

“I don’t know. The steering is loose and the engine is making a weird noise.”

Bradley twists his neck and shoots an incredulous look at her, back over one of his wide shoulders.

It’s a fourteen hour drive down from the Oregon coast, on a good day, and this car ran like shit when her mother bought it twenty something years ago.

Popping the hood, Bradley finds himself thinking of something other than those snowy peaks for the first time all week. He lets out a deep breath.

Ahead of her, Avery stands confronted with Mav’s place.

The cottage she was forced to spend the occasional weekend or weeks in during the summer a couple of times through her childhood.

Most of the times that she had seen Pete was in her hometown. He was always the one who travelled. It seemed fair. His job meant that it didn’t happen often.

Avery’s memories of this house are faint, but the same uncomfortable restless feeling it gives her remains. She remember quiet days sitting on the couch with her hands in your lap, waiting for that court-mandated forty-eight hours to be up.

Natasha is facing the other way. She watches Bradley step off of the curb and pop the hood. Bradley has a technical knowledge of engineering from his career, and a slightly broader scope from his interest in vintage cars — but he’s not a mechanic.

A quick glance to her right and she takes note of the way Avery’s frowning down at the weeds poking through the stone path pavers.

Like watching a storm roll in before a big surf, Natasha has a bad feeling about this arrangement. There’s a competitive nature to the way Bradley needs to be busy — given the right permission, he’d run himself into the ground with it.

Two people who should be coming to terms with their grief, and it's clear to her that they’re both planning on ignoring this problem for as long as they can.

She stares at you, already planning on tearing up all of those weeds for the week to come.

“You can’t drive this piece of shit.” Bradley decides from the street. He stands back and plants his hands firmly on his hips, shaking his head.

Avery turns slowly on the balls of her feet and pushes her hands into the pockets of her jeans, glancing back at Natasha for a little bit of help here.

He doesn’t even look up.

Crowding over the hood of the car, glaring down at it. Thick shoulders filling out a plain black t-shirt and long legs hidden under loose fitting grey sweats. An auburn curl dangles over his forehead.

“I… Kinda have to.” Avery points out. A recent graduate with no immediate career plans, who just quit her waitressing job to pick up the pieces of her presumably dead, semi-estranged father’s life. Buying a new car isn’t exactly in the budget right now.

Bradley opens his palms and braces them against the open hood. He turns his head and looks first at Natasha. His best friend. Then, the house. He learned to ride his bike on this street. Maverick lived on this street. Finally, his attention turns to her. He watches her watch him.

Leaning against her shitty, old car like it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet. Squinting at her because he left his sunglasses in work and the doctors won’t let him go back there for another couple weeks. Natasha’s going to pick them up for him later today.

Avery’s staring back at him, wondering why he’s looking at her like that. Like he’s looking for something.

He pushes off of the car and stands, wiping his hands on his sweats. “I’ll take care of it. Whatever you need. I can drive you for a bit.”

As Bradley walks around to the back of the car and pops open the trunk to grab her bags, Natasha is struck with a numbing realization.

This really is a bad idea. She knows it’s more than him being nice, and it’s more than him owing Pete Mitchell.

Maverick put himself in an early grave trying to make up for a mistake he made when he was young, and she’s got a bad feeling that Bradley won’t stop until he does the same.

…

Tags: @ahoyyharrington @diorrfairy @just-a-harmless-potato @hangmanshoney @sgt-barnesveins @shanimallina87 @nykie-love-anime @lilyevanswhore @sammyrenae68 @moonlight-addisyn @pulisvertz @cherrycola27 @chxosunbound @tayygriffith @yuckosworld @callsign-magnolia @trickphotography2 @katieshook02 @atarmychick007 @sushiwriterhere @books-for-summer @thelonelyumbrella @angelbabyange @iwontshutuptilltheyaddgeckoemoji @stillreadingfantasy @casualhilarity @s-u-t @topguncortez @sweetwhispersofchaos @aaprilshowers @shadeds-library @bradswolfe @wishingwell-2 @roostersgirlfrxend @itsmytimetoodream

[eviesaurusrex]

Ashes, Ashes | B. Bradshaw

“No one to mourn you when you burn in.” The words haunt Bradley now, now that Maverick’s gone — and that there’s someone here, someone mourning him.

In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

Warnings: age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, extra warnings to be added chapter by chapter. bradley bradshaw x (minimally descriptive) oc avery mitchell. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

Playlist

Prologue

One

Two

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[eviesaurusrex]

They look like THIS and y’all are questioning if they are the rightful heirs?!?

[eviesaurusrex]

Long time no see.

I just went through my draft section over here and realized that the last draft I started was from sometime last year, and yeah. Now I’m feeling horrible.

My life has just been absolutely crazy, and I never found time to keep on working on my stuff, which I really despise, but what can I do, right? I still want to finish everything on my writing plate, and I hope I can find the time to do exactly that in the near future, even though only a few people will read it because I just… vanished, lol. I hope I get to continue the Royal Series in particular because that’s probably my favorite work so far, even though it’s nothing special or great.

So, yeah, that’s just a "Hey, people, I’m still alive!"-post and the promise that stuff will get posted eventually :)

Hope y’all had a great time and life is treating you way above average <3

[eviesaurusrex]

I AM SO SORRY ;_;

Waking up || S. Strange

[picture is not mine!]

pairing: Stephen Strange x Stark!Reader

word count: 3.4k

summary: Waking up beside the man you love more than words could ever describe is something entirely different.

warnings: so much fluff and sugar, you'll die from a sugar shock (maybe), the morning voice of Stephen (yes, that is a warning), kissing, cuddling in bed, suggestive topics because c'mon, they love each other so much, that's why this one is probably kinda 18+ (idk), an "I am so very sorry" end.

author's note: After my first ever uploaded story about Stephen (click me! no, click me!) I impulsively decided to create my own little universe around these two lovestruck fools. Enjoy!

[Minors DNI]

It was quiet inside the halls of the Sanctum Sanctorum while the sun rose steadily over the horizon to start a new day. Only the faint noise of the buzzing streets of New York City was heard where busy people went to their busy but boring jobs and didn’t spend a second glance at the building standing tall at 177A Bleecker Street. If they had, they would’ve gotten the strangest of all views and could’ve had the strangest of all stories to tell. Who would believe them that they saw a floating red cape in one of the windows without an actual human being wearing it? And if they had stood longer than a few seconds to witness the magic within this strange building, the busy New Yorker could’ve seen a Sorcerer hot on the cloak’s heels.

But instead, the steps and grumbling of Wong only woke a sleepy woman in one of the four-poster beds belonging inside the Sanctum. A nest of untamed hair peeked from underneath the large blanket in which she had rolled herself while dreaming of design plans, upcoming orders, and budget meetings. Nobody had said it was a pleasant dream that accompanied the usually busy woman.

A yawn escaped the fort of blankets and pillows, emerging with stretched arms and a sigh full of contentment before the nose of the Stark peeked over the blanket burrito. Ever since understanding how comfortable a blanket could be, she had the habit of transforming herself into a blanket burrito – and stealing every piece of fabric in the process of it. Tearing her mouth wide to yawn again, she rolled as slowly and carefully as she could muster in her current state onto the other side and pulled the blanket with her. Surprisingly, the lower half of the man lying beside her was covered with one of the blankets that usually had its place over the armchair in the adjacent walk-in closet. She couldn’t help herself but softly smile at the view in front of her droopy eyes, still incredibly heavy from the lack of a healthy amount of sleep.

Scooting closer to the black-haired man, she slowly unraveled her own blanket to share it with him like she always did as soon as she opened her eyes morning after morning. After she was content with the result, the Stark woman scooted even closer to nuzzle herself into his warm, inviting side before resting her head tiredly on his chest.

These mornings, lazy mornings, were her favorite because she finally could enjoy his presence, warmth, and love without fearing the alarm to get off to bring them both back into reality. She hated the concept of reality when she could stay with him but had to be a responsible adult again as soon as the sun was up. But today, she didn’t care about responsibilities, being an adult, and gracing the compound with her presence. Today, she would stay in bed as long as she could with the man she loved more than anything else in this world. Neither of them had to save the world today. The superhero exchange market was closed until the end of the weekend. Humanity had to call her brother and his not-so-secret secret boyband group for urgent matters.

Sighing again, the Stark tried to find a comfortable position on the soft mattress but without waking the man next to her, before giving up and just entangling her legs with the other pair in this bed. As soon as skin touched skin, the woman hissed lowly at the feeling of icy cold feet and almost jerked back onto her bedside. Throwing a glance down along the furniture, she determined the problem. With just another sigh – this time with much more frustration – she tried to push the fabric over his feet without waking him up. But his raspy voice thwarts her fruitless attempts.

“I thought we said something about sleeping in,” Stephen mumbled groggily, still half asleep and his blue eyes barely open. With a deeply apologetic expression on her beautiful face, the Stark leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth gently. “I’m sorry, darling,” she whispered, nuzzled against his cheek, and peppering his warm skin with soft pecks of her lips. “I stole the blankets again, and only tried to warm up your ice block-like feet.”

The Sorcerer Supreme hummed contently, eyes already fully closed again and a barely visible smile on his tempting lips. The woman laid herself over the expansion of his chest, both arms crossed over the hard muscles and bed the chin on her arms. “Blanket thief.” Still raspy from sleep, Stephen’s voice rumbled in his chest underneath her, and the woman chuckled. Glistening eyes were trained on the Sorcerer in front of them, and she smiled full of adoration and happiness.

“You knew that long enough to consider not letting me in your bed and near your blankets,” she grinned while bending her head to pepper the bearded chin with kisses. Chuckling softly at the tickly feeling of his stubbles, strong arms wrapped themselves around the delicate body on him, and Stephen pulled the woman even closer. Now they were nose to nose, and the doctor finally opened his eyes fully. “I like having you in my blankets, Miss Stark.” – “Of course, you do, Doctor Strange,” came the retort instantly while memories of last night flooded her mind.

Tangled bodies, flying pieces of clothing, and soft moans echoed through the bedroom after they had finally made it onto the bed, but not without shattering Wong’s worldview and probably marked him for the rest of his life. She still felt his rough, but nevertheless soft, hands on her body and felt the desperation behind each searing kiss that matched her own. Her lips were sore in the best possible way, and her fingers ached to bury them back into the black strands of the man underneath her. She was sure that he remembered as well because Stephen gripped her hips even tighter and tried to pull her even closer, even though not a single atom would fit between their bodies.

A low growl escaped him as soon as the Stark gave in to the desire and buried the fingers of one of her hands back in his hair, lowering her face closer to his. Stephen lifted his head to meet her halfway in an equally desperate kiss like he had given her only hours ago, but the woman had other plans. Instead of kissing him like her life depended on it, her soft lips barely touched his, before wandering from one corner of his mouth to the other, to the tip of his nose, his cheekbones. His forehead. His eyes fluttered shut and remained that way until she straddled him completely and dedicated her attention to his hands.

She loved his hands. They’re bigger than hers, swallowing her hands complete when the Sorcerer grasped them to pin her onto the bed, hold her hand in public or cover them while spooning the woman through the night. The scars reminded her of delicate lines on expensive paintings her parents started to collect and which Tony kept securely locked inside one of their many vaults. Lines that ultimately formed branches and full blooming trees, radiating the calmest of feelings the youngest Stark child had ever felt while looking at a painting. The scars reminded her what a fighter the man she loved was and how he overcame obstacles some people would never face in their whole life. And thus, Stephen Strange became one of the strongest persons she ever had the pleasure to know.

Soft lips left kiss after kiss on his warm skin, warm eyes laid upon his deadly handsome face on which a loving smile tucked at his lips. Blue eyes never left her face, admiring the view as he usually does, and she took her time to kiss every inch of every scar – until she reached his fingertips. “What are you doing, love?” His still raspy - and hot as hell -morning voice asked, full of curiosity, even though Stephen already knew the drill. Sometimes the woman upon him needed to take her time to admire him – and to show him through tender acts like these how much she loved and valued him. Grinning down on the tired Sorcerer, the Stark shrugged nonchalantly and started to kiss the fingertips of his left hand.

“I.”

A kiss on his thumb.

“Just.”

One on his index finger.

“Felt.”

Now, his middle finger had its turn.

“Like.”

His ring finger got a kiss, and the Stark woman instantly lingered a bit longer. At some point, she wanted to see a ring on this finger. A ring that screamed for the entire world to see that this man belonged to her and her alone.

“It.”

A last kiss on his pinkie finger before the woman moved straightly to his other hand. Stephen chuckled lovingly and shook his head in utter awe at this woman. “You are a strange one, darling.” Still grinning, she kissed the other thumb and cocked her head slightly. “Well, we have to match, love. You’re wearing the name, and I’m the fitting attitude.” It was easy as that, even though she desperately wanted to wear his name one day as well. It certainly wasn’t love at first sight – not on her part, at least – but now, after the disaster that was their dating episode and two years living in the relationship they started after date number twenty-three, she wanted nothing else. Maybe the doctor knew, maybe not; she didn’t really care because Natasha and Wanda would point it out to him in a more inconspicuous way if he didn’t start to think about it on his own. Her sisters – not biological, but on an even deeper level – would handle it if needed.

Nothing to worry about.

Stephen’s thumb and index finger gently grasped her chin and held it in place, so he could sit up between pillows and blankets. Nose to nose, they sat in their shared bed, and the Sorcerer couldn’t resist and rub them against each other. She could see how his bright eyes slowly fell shut, and her hands, which fell onto his chest at the sudden movement, rose with his deep inhale. Half-open lips touched hers, and the Stark couldn’t resist parting her lips too and sighing contently as soon as he kissed her lovingly.

“Someday…,” Stephen began, his hand now cradling her jawline and stroking her cheek, “Someday, you’re not only wearing the attitude, my love. Someday…” He only had to move not even two inches to brush lips over lips before kissing the woman like his life depended on it. Stephen’s hand clasped the Stark’s chin again, pulling her towards his awaiting lips and lured a breathy moan out of her body. He smiled a satisfied smile within the kiss while circling the other arm around her waist and pulling the soft body of the woman flush against his. Pressed against each other, he softly licked over her bottom lip before pulling only a mere inch away. She was out of breath, and the doctor showed his girlfriend one of his signature smug grins before he turned serious again. “You will wear my name, love because as soon as the time has come, I won’t tolerate it any longer that you’re walking around without a ring on your finger. Nobody knows that you’re mine.” Except for the hundreds of thousands of buyers of tabloids, she thought, smiling like a stupid teenager. “And I want this. I want you, for the rest of times.”

Leaning her forehead against his, the woman combed through his dark strands and nuzzled her nose against his. “And then you’re always saying that you are so bad with words. I don’t wanna hear this bullshit ever again,” she whispered, feeling tears full of utter happiness emerging. Apparently, she didn’t need her sisters because out of the blue, she knew with a shocking certainty that Stephen Strange loved her as much as she loved him.

The Sorcerer smiled at her words and pushed one of her locks behind her ear, kissing the tip of her nose. “Whatever you say, my love.” Sniffling, the Stark shook her head and laughed in disbelief. “If you wanna outdo this little speech of yours when the time comes, you really have to prepare something in advance, baby,” she said, with her hand settling in its usual spot at the nape of his neck, where she could play with the shorter black hair. Her other hand cradled his jawline now while her thumb stroked softly over his full bottom lip, where a smile tucked at its corner. “Don’t you worry, love. After it, there won’t be any other men in your thoughts.”

If he knew that he already has me wrapped around his fingers…

She grinned at that thought but started to groan as soon as the phone on the bedside table started to ring. Stephen furrowed his brows and shot the device a look that could kill a living human being in a matter of seconds. “Please say it isn’t work.” Stephen’s pleading words accompanied her as she bent over (but never left his lap, of course not) and got a hold of her still ringing and vibrating phone. An unfavorable picture of Tony beamed up towards her, and another groan left the younger Stark’s mouth. With an apologetic glance back to Stephen, she picked up.

“If you don’t have anything important to say, you can hang up directly, idiot. I’m on vacation.” Who needs greetings, right? A scoff came through. “I need fresh parts for my project. The kid blew it up.” Clattering was heard in the background, followed by a familiar voice. “I am so very sorry, Miss… Mrs... Doctor Stark! Please, tell her that I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, Sir! If you can hear me, M... Doctor Stark, I am sorry, and I will make it up to you, I promise!” The kid kept on apologizing, and Tony sighed. “You see with what I have to deal? I need adult contact, so could you just please skip your vacation? Speaking of the suspicious vacation: Since when do we do vacation? Did I miss a memo?”

While she listened to her brother with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Stephen nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck and peppered soft kisses over the exposed skin over one of his shirts. She tried to push him away to prevent the bubbling giggle inside her throat the farther he got to her weak spots. But the doctor was relentless in his attempts.

Grinning, the Stark submitted to her fate and leaned her cheek on top of his head, whereas her fingers carded again through Stephen’s dangerously attractive grey strands. “I decided I needed a vacation, so I took one. I’m a grown adult, Tony, in case you missed the last… twenty-plus years? However, you have to deal with the kid and the parts alone. Check Hangar o-seven; there should be the newest shipping stored. If you need special-special parts, you’ll have to wait till Monday morning.” She put the phone from her ear and chuckled softly as Stephen’s beard tickled her sensitive neck. “You need to stop, love.” It was only a hushed whisper, but Tony seemed to have picked something up. “Wait a second. You’re not here until Monday?!” – “Nope.” Popping the p was a habit of hers every time she spoke to her brother. Another scoff came through the line. “Let me guess. You’re with him?”

At those words, Stephen raised his head from her neck, took the phone, and ignored the gasp of his love. “Douchebag Stark, always a pleasure, but your sister now has something far more important to attend, so if you’d leave a lovely message on her voicemail and wait for her until Monday, she would appreciate it very much. Have a wonderful weekend; she certainly will have it, and my regards to the spider kid.” And with that, he hung up and threw the phone onto the empty side of the bed after turning it off.

With wide, round eyes, she sat on his lap, astonishment plastered all over her face, and a gaping mouth was all she could muster at this very moment. But then, she grinned, laughed even, and cupped his face while Stephen embraced her hips with both his hands. “So, where were we again? Ah, yes,” the Sorcerer mumbled before pulling her core against his in a swift motion, holding her close, and smugly grinned at the breathy moan that escaped her lips. “You’ll be the death of me,” was all she could whisper before the urge to kiss him grew too strong to withstand it any second longer.

Giggle and laughter filled the now brightly lit bedroom as Stephen pulled the Stark tighter against his chest and tipped them over onto the empty side of the mattress.

Neither of them intended to get up any time soon.

She woke with a violent gasp, eyes flying open and a hand shakily outstretched to feel the empty and cold side of the bed. Turning her head, the Stark felt the first tear escaping her eye, but she wouldn’t believe what she saw.

He is just in the bathroom. Just in the bathroom…

A mantra formed in her mind, and she left the bed instantly. “Stephen?” She softly but shakily called while crossing the room and knocking at the ajar door. It opened through the pressure of her knuckles and revealed a bathroom covered in darkness. Tears stung in her searching eyes, the dream still clinging to her mind, and with a suppressed sob, the Stark ran to the door and tore it open.

The silence within the halls of the compound was deafening, but she rushed through each corridor, nonetheless, calling his name in search of him. She needed to find him, to feel him and his warmth, to hear his voice that would tell her that everything was alright, that the fear was only an illusion.

“Stephen?”

She rounded the corner and stood in the kitchen, where Steve and Natasha had a deep conversation with her brother. The three of them turned around at the sound of her voice while Rhodey sat on the couch in the living room, watching the scene with a compassionate expression.

“Hey, bubba. Everything alright?” Tony walked over to her; his arms opened invitingly to give her a much-needed hug if she wanted to have one. But he stilled in his movements as a question arose from her. “Where is Stephen?” Every person in this room exchanged shocked looks before Steve slowly came over. Tony was too shocked to even lower his still half-raised arms. “He… he is gone, love. Like all the others, he didn’t come back.” Big tearful eyes looked up at him, and slowly the Stark started to shake her head.

No. It’s not true. He was here only minutes ago. I still can feel him on my…

She looked down at her hands, clenching and unclenching them, trying to determine if the lingering feeling of his hair, his touch, was an illusion all along or if he still was with her. But she wasn’t sure.

“He… But… He was with me, I… I’m not crazy. Not crazy…” The last words were nothing more than a whisper. Natasha softly touched her shoulders and carefully stroked her hair. “You’re not crazy, we all know that, but he is gone, dorogoy (1). We lost the fight against Thanos three months ago, and Tony saw him as he… as he vanished, remember?” (1 – darling)

Natasha’s words finally pulled the Stark back into reality, out of the dream she had dreamed the previous night, after so many nights without any sleep, and reality hit her hard. Sobs racked through the weak and sleep-deprived body while hugging herself tightly. She felt as if she would fall apart in a matter of seconds, with no hold in this world and nobody to understand her fully. She was alone, lost, helpless. She wasn’t even sure how she was supposed to live further and tag along with the never-ending grief left to hold everything together. The last three months were already like a walk through hell, and her tormented soul couldn’t bring itself to try and mend away again.

Shaking her head profusely, the broken woman would’ve dropped to the ground if Tony wouldn’t have caught and pulled her into his arms. Holding the violently shaking body of his sister close to him while sob after sob escaped her mouth, he felt hopeless. “Everything will be alright, bubba. Everything…”

But she didn’t listen. She couldn’t because she knew that nobody could undo what had happened, and no one could come back.

No one, not even the Sorcerer Supreme himself.

Comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated! Lots of love and thanks for reading! If you want to join the taglist, please reach out and let me know!

[eviesaurusrex]

Masterlist

Welcome to my master list. My name is Hope, and I'm just another fic writer obsessed with Bucky Barnes. I write MCU Bucky, no AUs. And I write for Bucky exclusively.

Writing angst is my favorite, but no matter how angsty my stuff gets, it always has a happy ending.

I also love silly, sweet, soft fluffy stories (because Bucky deserves more fluff).

Let me know if you'd like to join my tag list! 🥰

🚨🚫Please Note: I don’t write anything involving children / pregnancy / parenthood.

Closed for requests / submissions 💕

I do not give permission for translation and / or reposting of my fics on other sites.

Find my Ko-Fi here 💕

Bucky Barnes Fluff 💘

Bucky Barnes Angst 💔

Bucky Barnes Angst: Part Two ❤️‍🩹

Bucky Barnes Smut 🔥

[eviesaurusrex]

Desperate | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello hello hello! I’ve got some good, old-fashioned angst here for ya.

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: hella angst. Touch starved Bucky and reader. Some slight NSFW vibes, but nothing graphic.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice when you told him you had to step away for a moment. He remained focused on his clean up duties in the kitchen; he didn’t raise his head or look your way. In fact, he didn’t seem to be noticing you much at all, lately. But as you eyed your ensemble in the full-length mirror in your bedroom, you knew you’d win back his attention.

This was his absolute favorite lingerie of yours. The set that made him so feral, drove him so insane with lust, that he’d broken the headboard last time you wore it. After that, the two of you agreed you’d save it for special occasions only; otherwise, the apartment you shared would need to be entirely refurnished. And though tonight was just a normal, run of the mill Friday night, you needed to pull out the big guns.  

The black leather bustier- the one that made Bucky destroy furniture- hugged your figure perfectly. It’s plunging V-neck ended just above your navel. And the lacy details perfectly mirrored the cheeky black underwear Bucky gifted you last Valentine’s Day. A matching garter belt was the piece de resistance, and it held in place the thigh high stockings that drove Bucky wild. 

You gave yourself one final look before slipping on a pair of black stilettos and stalking out of the room. This was it- the perfect formula for recapturing Bucky’s gaze. 

He’d been distant lately. Almost cold. He hadn’t touched you- in even the most innocent sense- in nineteen days. It had been even longer since you were last able to steal a kiss. And the two of you hadn’t had sex in three weeks, which was unheard of.

Usually, Bucky gave his physical affections freely. He loved touching you, kissing you, holding you. He wanted to play with your hair, hold your hand, kiss your forehead- anything- as long as it meant he got to touch you. To feel you. When he had a rough day, your arms provided him with safety and comfort. And when a mission stole you from his side, your lips welcomed him home. He poured his love for you into every touch, leaving his fingerprints all over your soul.

To him, any moment spent without your skin pressed against his was a moment wasted. 

And your sex life was mind-blowing, to say the least. Bucky’s stamina and eagerness to please you left you breathless and seeing stars almost every night of the week. After a few rounds with him, you found yourself unable to speak, unable to think. The only thing that had the power to permeate your hazy, lust-filled mind was him. Your hunger, your need for him could never be sated, and fucking him only made you want him more. But he was more than happy to give himself over to you. He could pull two or seven orgasms from you before you even knew what hit you. And that was just his warmup. 

But the last three weeks had been completely void of any debauchery. Bucky didn’t slip into your shower or slide his hand up your skirt. He didn’t even grab your ass when you walked by wearing leggings. It was a startling difference that filled the apartment with a biting, bitter cold, chilling you to the bone. But Bucky said- he swore- he was fine. That he was just tired. Or stressed. Or busy with work. And while you knew his work-life was intense, it never before stopped him from jumping at the chance to make you scream. 

And it wasn’t just the lack of erotic touches that gnawed at you. It was the loss of all physical affections. He didn’t reach for your hand in the store. Didn’t pull you into his chest at night. Didn’t kiss you goodbye in the morning. It left you agonized. Miserable. Empty. 

Every day, you wondered what could’ve possibly caused Bucky to pull away. What could make him withdraw from you so suddenly. Worry ate away at you, slowly devouring you whole. He seemed to work late almost every night these past few weeks. And when he was home, your attempts to talk to him about the issue went nowhere. 

You thought he’d gotten past his urge to hide his troubles from you. It took time, but he learned to be honest. To communicate. And when you were finally confident that he’d stopped hiding his struggles, you learned to stop reading into his every mannerism. His every muscle twitch. His every vocal change. If he said he was okay, he was okay. And after working together- he trusted you to listen, and you trusted him to tell you the truth.

And over the last few weeks, he did, indeed, say that he was okay. That there was nothing lurking beneath his surface. And so, you did as he asked, and you believed him.

But after three weeks of nothing- no roaming hands, no bite marks, no early morning quickies- you were hungry for him. Aching for him. You feared that your bottled-up lust would actually drive you crazy. And so, you decided reach for your secret weapon. 

You found Bucky right where you’d left him: leaning over the kitchen sink, taking care of the dishes from dinner. 

You kept your tone light, innocent, casual. “Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, baby.” He didn’t look up. 

“Um, do you think you could help me with something real quick, Sergeant?” Sergeant. It was devious. Wicked, really. The sound of his title coming out of your mouth always got his heart racing, always made the blood drain from his brain and travel elsewhere.

But he didn’t fall for it.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just give me one second, I’m-” Finally, he looked up.

His words died in throat, his mind went blank. The pan he’d been scrubbing fell into the sink with a loud crash. Want filled his eyes. He could’ve sworn his mouth started watering. 

“What do you think, Sarge? You wanna come over here and,” you ran a few fingers up your thigh, “help me out?” 

You braced yourself, knowing Bucky was about to pounce. You figured you had less than five seconds before he swept you off your feet and hoisted up over his shoulder. He’d fireman-carried you to bed that way more times than you could count, and you knew this would be one of those nights. 

But five seconds became ten. And then fifteen. And then twenty. And all he’d done was stare at you. 

“Buck?” you took a few steps in his direction. “I thought we could have some dessert.”

He struggled to form coherent thoughts or piece sentences together. “Um, well, I was-” he gestured to the mess in the sink, “I was gonna do the dishes.”

“I know, baby,” you placed a light hand on his shoulder. “But I think you can finish them after- I mean, later.”

Bucky should’ve jumped at the opportunity. He should’ve taken you apart right there on the kitchen counter. But he didn’t. He didn’t even touch you. 

He cleared his throat, “I’m- I’m just gonna do ‘em now.”

Without a word, you turned on your stiletto and retreated to the bedroom. 

Humiliation flared in your chest. Tears gathered in your eyes. And your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rest of the world. Suddenly, you felt stupid. Foolish. Part of you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment. 

Bucky had every right to refuse your advances- that wasn’t the issue. It was his complete and utter lack of affection for you. If he didn’t want to have sex with you ever again, you’d (probably) survive. But the harsh and sudden halt of any and all physical affection was eating you alive.

You kicked off your heels the moment you entered the bedroom and found yourself stomping toward the bathroom. You needed to get away. To hide. To protect yourself from any further mortification. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and you leaned against the cool wood, hoping to find some peace. But the bathroom mirror only doubled your shame. And as you stared at yourself, clad in what you thought to be Bucky’s favorite lingerie, your breathing hitched in your chest. 

This whole venture was so idiotic. So thoroughly and excruciatingly mortifying. It felt like the final nail in the coffin. If Bucky didn’t want you in your best lingerie, he must not want you at all.

The hoodie you’d slipped out of only minutes ago sat crumpled in a pile on the counter, and eagerly you shimmied into it. Anything to cover up your failed attempt at seduction. 

What was wrong with Bucky? Was he not interested in you anymore? Did he find you unattractive? If he wasn’t seeking sex with you, he had to be getting it from someone else, didn’t he? Who was it? Who-

A gentle knock yanked you out of your spiral.

“Sweetheart…” Bucky called through the door. He tried the handle and found it locked. “Can you come out, baby? Please?”

No part of you wanted to leave the safety of the bathroom. Something deep within you feared that this would be it- the tipping point, the moment of truth. If you did as Bucky asked and ventured out of the bathroom, there was a chance that Bucky would drop some major, soul-crushing truth on you. 

Maybe he’d spent the last three weeks trying to figure out how to break up with you, and this was his perfect opportunity. Maybe he’d break your heart and ruin your life the second you opened the bathroom door. If you could just stay in here- forever- maybe he wouldn’t dump you. Maybe you could delay your heartbreak and extend whatever feelings he once had for you, just for a little while.

But if he didn’t want you anymore, what was the point of prolonging the inevitable? 

With a huff, you dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve and opened the door.

There stood Bucky, looking hopeless. Lost. Miserable. He was propped against the door frame with slumped shoulders and a downtrodden expression- but perked up a bit when you opened the door. A sad smile stretched across his face, and he stood up straight, but his frown returned as you brushed right past him. 

“Baby, can we please talk about this?” He almost begged. 

There was a heavy desperation in his voice. Panic blazed through his chest. Something told him he might be losing you.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you!” You removed your garter belt and slipped off one of your stockings. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for weeks! And you just keep saying you’re 'fine'. Or that you’re tired. Or that there’s 'nothing to talk about'- when there clearly is!”

Normally, Bucky could always make you feel better with a hug. Anytime the two of you got into a fight, a long, warm embrace helped ease both of you into open, honest communication. But Bucky didn't reach for you. He opted to keep his distance. To allow you some space.

But space was the last thing you wanted. 

“Look, if there’s something going on and you’re not interested in having sex, that’s fine,” you told him. “I get it. It happens sometimes. But the-” you yanked your other thigh high off and tossed it to the side. “The total embargo on physical touch is really fucking with my head.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your hands shook with wrath. “Buck, you’re never home anymore- you’re always ‘working late’.” You let out a sharp exhale, “and when you are home, it’s like you’re on another planet. You keep your distance from me- you won’t even sit next to me on the couch.”

All Bucky could do was nod. Everything you said was true; there wasn’t a point in arguing.

And as the weight of Bucky’s sudden frigidity finally hit you, your fury was snuffed out. Rage no longer pulsed through your veins with each beat of your heart. Grief took its place. It forced its way into your heart, into your bones. You could’ve sworn you felt fractures spider-webbing their way through your ribs. 

Tears trickled slowly down your cheeks at first, but a downpour followed soon after. “Are you- are you not attracted to me anymore?” You asked between heaving sobs. “Do you not want me? Did I do something?”

“Sweetheart, I-”

“Is there…” your voice cracked. Saying it was too much; part of you feared that vocalizing your fear would make it come true. As though another woman would materialize simply because you asked whether she existed. “Is there someone else?”

The question sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. Bucky stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. You did your best to get a handle on your shaky breaths and pained wails; if Bucky was about to reveal an affair, you didn’t want to seem so broken. So hopeless. So pathetic. You didn’t want to give him any ammo to take back to his side piece. Any dramatic tales that would make her howl with laughter.

But he didn’t admit to having a mistress. He, instead, let loose a few tears himself. Knowing that he’d made you question his loyalties, that you’d actually feared he’d been unfaithful, made him want to die.  

“Oh my god,” His voice wavered under the hefty weight of his pain,“Baby-” 

“Is there someone better?”

“No.” He couldn’t fathom the suggestion that there was someone- anyone- out there better than you. “There is no one better.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to be near you. In three quick strides, he arrived in your vicinity. But he remained just out of your reach. Everything in him begged - screamed- to hold you close. To kiss you. To take your hand, at the very least. His fingers twitched with the need to touch you. But he refrained. 

 “There’s no one else- of course, there’s not. There will never be anyone else. I still want you, I will always want you. I love you.” 

The overwhelming urge to remove himself from your space barked at him. It screamed and hollered from the deep recesses of his mind. And he knew he should listen. But he couldn’t- not when you were falling apart in front of him. Not when he’d made you feel unwanted, unattractive, and unloved.

“You didn’t do anything, doll,” he hated himself for doing this to you. For making you doubt his love. For reducing you to a sobbing, heaving shell of yourself. “I’m still attracted to you- I’m so attracted to you. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

His reassurances helped assuage some of the fear, some of the worry. But only a small portion. Because even though he’d refuted all of your hypotheses and accusations, he still hadn’t given you a reason. And he still hadn’t touched you. 

“Then what’s-” you forced yourself to take a moment to think. To breathe. To get your head on straight. “What’s the problem? What’s going on with you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t make eye contact. He simply stared at the area rug, tracing its border with his eyes. And though he knew you needed his touch, needed his affection, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t bring himself to slip his hand into yours or cradle your face in his hands. 

His silence sliced through you and tore you open. You could’ve sworn you were bleeding out. 

“Buck, I miss you-” It was needy. Ugly. But you didn’t care. “Please, just be honest with me. I’m worried about you. And this isn’t normal for us, so-”

His words came out so low, so hushed, that you struggled to hear him. “I just haven’t been able to shake what happened last time.”

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. He gave a small shake of his head. His hands balled into tight fists. He’d thought about what happened over and over and over again. He thought about it every day for the last three weeks. Relived the panic, the fear. And every night when he tried to fall asleep, the scene played out on an endless loop inside his mind. Horrifying nightmares plagued him each time he closed his eyes. He woke up shaking, covered in a cold sweat. There was no escaping it.

---Three weeks ago---

Things started around 8pm. It was all innocent enough, with Bucky spooning you as the two of you rewatched New Girl. But Bucky let his hands roam, as he so often did. And after only one episode, his hand had snaked up your shirt. His warm palm rested against your breast as his fingers swept over your skin. He teased your nipple once, twice. It was all the motivation you needed.

At his prompting, you pushed your body back against his, allowing your ass to grind against him. A low, animalistic moan vibrated deep within his chest. All bets were off after that. 

Before you could even blink, Bucky had you in his arms. He palmed your ass and positioned your legs around his waist as he set off down the hall toward the bedroom. His lips hungrily devoured yours. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on the strands every now and again. He let more depraved sounds loose and you happily swallowed them all. 

Time lost all meaning after Bucky laid you out on the bed. The world outside of your bedroom ceased to exist- only Bucky remained. The two of you were a frantic, needy tangle of pounding hearts and sweat-slick skin. Teeth marks adorned his chest. Scratches adorned his back and shoulders. And Bucky devoted all of his time, all of his energy, all of him to pleasing you.

He took his time, slowly working you over as though it were his job. He loved teasing you, love watching you squirm. And when he had you absolutely begging, he gave you exactly what you wanted. In fact, he kept giving it to you- and had no intention to stop. 

He’d lost track of time. Lost count of how many times he made you come. All he knew was that double digits had been reached- and that was a long time ago. Was it an hour ago? Or three? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had his best girl falling apart at the seams. Over and over and over again. 

He made sure to check in with you after every bout of world-shattering ecstasy, and you always gave him the green light. As time passed, your sentences turned into solitary words, which devolved into incoherent, needy sounds. But you always gave him a fervent nod, ensuring that you absolutely wanted- needed- him to continue. 

Even as sweat dampened the hair around your face, even as your lips grew swollen- you wanted more. More Bucky- there was never enough of him. It didn’t matter that he’d carried you to bed hours ago, you were insatiable. If he fucked you for a full twenty-four hours, it still wouldn’t have been enough.

At one point, you ended up in his lap, riding him like your life depended on it. He was seated upright on the edge of the bed, his chest pressed to yours. And by the depraved sounds and shaky breaths that fell from your lips, he knew you were close to yet another heart-stopping moment of bliss. His right arm snaked around your back, holding you firmly in place. He forced his vibranium fist down into the mattress; it gave him the extra leverage he needed to fuck into you even deeper. To push you over the edge. 

With a strangled scream, your orgasm crested over you. Your eyes squeezed shut. Sharp inhales filled your chest. Your mouth hung open. Every muscle in your body went rigid. Tense. Slight tremors rocked you every few moments- it was exactly what Bucky wanted. 

“Oh, that’s my girl,” praises dripped from his lips like honey.  A debauched moan vibrated out of his chest. “So good for me, always so good for me, baby.”

He watched as your eyes rolled back in your head. And with a final exhale, your limp body slumped forward, your face landing against Bucky’s chest. He put his movements on pause and allowed you to recover. To catch your breath. To rest.

He smoothed his cold, metallic hand up and down your spine. “You doing okay, sweetheart? You tired?” He dotted a kiss to your hair, “We can call it a night.”

You didn’t say a word.

“Baby,” he scratched gently at your shoulder blade. “Can you answer me?” 

But you remained silent.

Concern coursed through his veins. He feared he’d gone too far. That he’d pushed you past your limits. And if you were upset, he needed to do whatever he could to help you through. As gently as he could, he used both of his hands to lift your head from his chest. 

What he found sent a wave of chills rushing over his skin. 

You were out cold. Completely unconscious. 

Bucky found himself operating on autopilot. He removed you from his lap and laid you flat on the bed. His fingers searched your neck for a pulse. Your name fell from his lips in a horrified, desperate prayer. 

A breakdown loomed on the horizon, darkening everything around him. His hands shook, his chest tightened. The copper-penny taste of blood exploded across his tongue as he sunk his teeth into his cheek. But he couldn’t fall apart- not when your life depended on it. 

And massive sigh of relief left his chest when he felt your strong, steady pulse beating beneath his fingertips. 

And once he knew that you were, indeed, alive, he allowed himself to fall apart- but only for a moment. Tears dripped down his face and splashed against your chest as he loomed over you. He breathlessly told you he was sorry. That he loved you. That he didn’t mean to hurt you. 

But that was all he permitted. You still needed him, even if you weren’t in dire straits. And so, he forced his emotion behind a wall and pressed on. 

No part of him wanted to leave your side, but it was a necessary evil. He sped through the apartment and into the kitchen, digging in the freezer for ice packs. And when he found the two you required, he snagged a couple dish towels from the drawer by the sink and raced back to the bedroom. 

“Hey, I’m- I’m back, baby,” he said to your unconscious body. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I just had to get-” he held up the icepacks. Even if you couldn’t hear him, he wanted you to know that he’d never- under any circumstances- abandon you when you needed him. 

He wrapped each ice pack in a towel and tucked one behind your neck while the other rested on your chest. And then, all he could do was wait. 

He hovered over you, watching for any signs of waking, any signs of distress. His hands smoothed over your hair and drifted across your cheek. His fingers monitored your pulse every few seconds. His lips left kisses against your forehead. And though he knew that your life wasn’t in danger, it didn’t quell the shaking in his hands. Didn’t stop the waves of nausea cresting over him. 

And he didn’t take a full inhale until your eyelids finally began to flutter open. 

He watched closely as you finally blinked your way back into consciousness. Everything was kind of fuzzy, a bit hazy around the edges. A quiet ringing filled your ears. A slight tremor rendered your hands unsteady. And the world around you seemed to tilt and twist without warning.

But Bucky was right there, anchoring you to the earth. He let a gentle hand rest against your cheek. 

“Hi, baby,” his voice was soft, sweet, comforting.

But you couldn’t respond even if you wanted to, as your synapses refused to get their shit together. Words collided and melted together, dripping into amorphous puddles inside your mind. You swore someone had stuffed your head full of cotton. Everything felt far away; the entire world was muffled somehow, as though you were trapped behind fifty feet of glass.

Concern bled into Bucky’s words, “Sweetheart, are you alright?” 

And it wasn’t easy, but you finally remembered how to think. How to speak. You chipped away at the thick pane of glass separating you from Bucky, and finally answered. 

“’m okay…” You reached for Bucky’s face and allowed your fingers to gently trace down his jawline. His stubble pricked at your skin. His warm breath fanned your face. 

And without warning, tears slipped from your eyes. Rivulets coursed down the sides of your face and dripped into your hair. It was a sudden, jarring shift that sent Bucky’s heart leaping into his throat. 

“Oh, no- oh, sweetheart,” he gently cradled your face in his hands. “Baby, you’re okay- everything’s okay. You’re fine. You’re safe.” 

He did everything in his power to bring you some sense of peace, but the tears refused to stop. And he found himself desperately, hopelessly, trying to comfort you. He tripped over himself again and again, apologizing endlessly. And when that didn’t work, he changed tactics. He spelled out what happened for you in clear, easy to understand terms, ridding you of the dreaded unknown. He promised that you were only out for a minute or two. That you were perfectly safe.  

He left gentle touches against your skin and dotted kisses to your cheeks and hairline- just like you always did for him when he fell to pieces. And if it worked for him, he hoped it might work for you.

He wasn’t sure what brought an end to your waterworks- his reassurances or his touch- but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you’d finally stopped crying. That your breathing was returning to normal. The sharp pain radiating through his chest dulled a little bit as he dried your last few tears. Finally, your hands stopped trembling. And your heartrate slowly regressed to its mean. He thanked a startling number of deities that you were alive and seemed to be improving.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “How do you feel, baby? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Um…” you dried your damp lashes on the backs of your hands. “I’m cold.”

“Shit- sorry,” Bucky snatched your icepacks from their respective positions and threw them to the floor. 

Guilt bloomed in his chest; he should’ve removed the ice the second you woke up. Should’ve covered you with a blanket. Should’ve used his body to keep yours warm. Should’ve- 

He didn’t have time to spiral into guilt and shame and ‘should haves’. 

He leaned over the side of the bed and located his discarded hoodie, the one you’d yanked over his head only a few hours ago in your insatiable pursuit of his body.

“Hey, here you go, doll,” he gently helped you wriggle into the soft fabric and covered you with the bedspread. And once he was confident that you were comfortable, he slid under the blanket with you and vowed to give you all of his body heat. 

The second he laid down next to you, you rolled onto your side and buried your face in his chest. He curled his body protectively around yours; he wasn’t going to let anything else happen to you tonight. Or ever. His hand swept up and down the length of your spine on a seemingly endless loop. He whispered ‘I love yous’ and “I’m sorrys” until he thought he might go hoarse.

And when your world fell properly into place and you finally felt like yourself again, you plucked your head from his chest.

“Hi,” you reached upward and let your fingers slowly drift across his cheek bones. The slope of his nose. His lips.

“Hi, baby.” He couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his features. This was the version of you he knew. The version that, only a few minutes ago, hungrily egged him on in his pursuit of your pleasure. “You doing okay?”

You gave him a confident nod, “Yeah, I’m okay now.” Your lips drifted across his, “Sorry, it kinda took me a minute to come back to myself, you know?”

“That’s okay, doll,” he let he tips of his fingers ghost over your spine. “Don’t apologize.”

“And I really didn’t mean for there to be any,” you gave Bucky some unenthusiastic jazz hands, “any theatrics tonight. Sorry about the drama.”

Bucky gave a shake of his head, “No, baby, it’s okay. I’m…” he traced your features with his cold, gentle fingers. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine,” you shrugged. “It was weird though, right? This has never happened to me before- I’ve never passed out during sex.” You gazed at him with a spark of lust in your eyes, “You know, I’m actually impressed. You made me come so many times that I actually blacked out. None of my ex-boyfriends can say that.”

You let out a quiet laugh that Bucky didn’t return. He didn’t find it funny- he didn’t find any of this funny. But he put on a smile for your benefit.

“Oh, and sorry about all the crying,” you sighed. “I don’t know what that was about.”

“That’s alright- it happens,” he shrugged. “You went from really high highs and then fell to some pretty low lows. It’s just got to do with the chemicals in your brain, nothing to apologize for.” He trailed kisses across your forehead and down your nose, “Plus, you were probably scared. Or freaked out, at least.”

The guilt sunk its teeth into every fiber of Bucky’s being. And as you nestled closer to him, a tidal wave of revulsion nearly dragged him from the bed. He should’ve known better. Should’ve exercised better judgment. You weren’t like him; you didn’t have the enhanced energy and stamina to match his. He shouldn’t have pushed you to the edge like that. Shouldn’t have carried you past your limits. 

Normally, he’d do anything to be near you. He wanted- needed- to touch you as much as possible. And if he couldn’t touch you, he at least had to be close to you. But the voice in his head screamed at him, telling him to vacate your vicinity. And the overwhelming, urgent need to put some space between his body and yours yanked him out of bed. 

“Baby, I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? And a snack,” he headed for the door, “you stay there, I’ll be right back.”

It was the perfect excuse. He really did need to provide you with sustenance and hydration after your black out- but a trip to the kitchen also provided him with a reason to remove himself from your side. He counted it as a win-win.

And from that moment on, he did his best- his very best- to keep his hands off of you. To stay as far away as possible. To ensure that you would be safe. 

He couldn’t risk your well-being, not again.

------

It wasn’t quite what you expected him to say. And though it was a far better reason than the affair you concocted for him during your downward spiral, it still didn’t make much sense. 

“Last time?” 

What exactly happened last time? You wracked your brain, searching your memories for some terrible event- but you came up empty. And just as you were about to call bullshit on Bucky’s reasoning, you stumbled upon the memory of your innocuous, minute-long black out. 

“Oh, the thing with me passing out?”  

Bucky gave a solemn nod. At the thought of it, his face lost all color, all warmth. A sickly shade of gray tainted his skin.

“Buck, I know that was kind of weird and not at all ideal, but it was fine,” you shrugged, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

You took a cautious step toward him, and much to your dismay, he countered with a step back. 

“If anything, it was a fluke.” Again, you took a step in his direction. And again, he backed away. 

Bucky feared what might happen when you backed him into a corner, when his spine hit the wall. He knew he’d have to slip from your grasp and vacate the room. That he’d have to find an escape. But he knew it would hurt you. After weeks of no warmth, no touching, no physical intimacy, you were barely hanging on by a thread. And if he ran from the room, it would surely cause that thread to snap. But wasn’t that better than the snapping of your neck? Or your spine? Wasn’t it better for you to hurt emotionally, rather than physically?

“Buck, it’s never happened before, and I highly doubt it will ever happen again,” you said. “I didn’t sleep well the night before, and I had a long day leading up to that. I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, I was dehydrated, and I’d been sick the week prior. It was a perfect storm of circumstances that made me pass out. Not you.” 

You intertwined your fingers, locking them together in search of any kind of touch. Any physical reassurance. “Seriously, Buck, that will never happen again. I promise.”

Bucky knew of one surefire way to ensure it would never, ever happen again. All he had to do was keep his distance. If he could refrain from touching you, if he could keep his hands to himself, you’d be safe.

But you’d be miserable- he knew you would. And as he gave you a long once-over, a sharp pain shot through him like lightning. Tear tracks trailed down your cheeks. Your eyes were red and puffy. Dark circles stained your under eyes- you hadn’t been sleeping, had you? No, you’d been staying up all night, worrying about Bucky. About the state of your relationship. 

And when he noticed the way you’d tangled your hands together, the way your right thumb stroked against the back of your left hand, he could’ve sworn he’d been stabbed through the chest. You were so desperate for affection, so robbed of touch, that you were trying- and failing- to self-soothe. 

“I know it was scary for you,” he finally said. “And I know you’re the one who passed out, so I’m not trying to make this about me- I swear. But it was…” He, too, found himself absentmindedly searching for physical comforts. He slowly raked a hand through his hair a few times, but it didn’t have the same effect; only your hands could bring him peace. “It was scary for me, too.”

A pang of anxiety rocketed through you. How could you have been so selfish? So heartless toward Bucky’s plight? Of course, he’d been scared. Of course, the events of that night affected him, too. And you knew that if the situation were reversed, you would’ve been paralyzed with fear. With worry. 

You’d just gotten so swept up, so overwhelmed by the loss of his hands. His lips. His arms. It darkened your periphery and gave you tunnel-vision. All you could see- all you could feel- was the cold. The emptiness. The fear of losing him.

“Shit, baby, I’m-” you reached for Bucky but recoiled. “I’m so sorry. You just- you said you were fine. Every time I asked, you swore everything was okay. So I thought-”

“I know…” Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. He let his head droop, allowed his gaze to drop to the floor. And he stayed that way. For a while.

His hands dug deep into his pockets and his shoulders fell forward ever so slightly. He found himself awash in regret. Longing. Loneliness. He knew it was his fault; he’d done this to himself. He’d chosen to isolate, to pull away. But it was the safest option for you, wasn’t it? And your safety came before anything and everything else- full stop. 

“It took me a long time,” he finally said, “it took me a long time to be able to touch you. I couldn’t bring myself to do it for…” He silently thought back on that time, adding up the days where he kept his hands to himself- but they were far too numerous. “For a while. Do you remember that?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I- I guess I always figured it was just some old-fashioned, chivalrous, nineteen-forties type of thing…”

“Well, that was,” a small smile flickered across his face, “that was part of it. But the real reason is that I was too scared. To touch you, I mean.” His smile disappeared. His features suddenly fell. His eyes darkened. “Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength, you know? And I was too- I was so afraid that I’d hurt you, baby.” 

“Oh…” You hadn’t thought of it that way. 

“I had to kind of overcome that fear, and it took time. I think it took me over a month just to hold your hand- and even then, it was only for a second.”

Bucky’s words had an endless darkness to them- a darkness you were well acquainted with by now. When he was really down, when he was going through a particularly miserable time, his voice took on the pitch-black tone of the abyss. And when he found himself drowning in the obsidian sea, it was your hands that guided him out. You’d hold him close to your body, wrapping him in the safety of your embrace- and slowly, he’d wade out of his agony. 

But this time was different. 

No matter desperately you longed to touch him, to comfort him, to save him- you couldn’t. He didn’t want your hands, your body anywhere near him. Of course, he did want you close- he just wouldn’t allow it. 

“But you know I’ve never been afraid of you, right?” Your arm twitched with want. Almost on autopilot, your hand tried to reach out and touch him, but you forbade it. “I’ve never thought that you’d hurt me-”

“I know.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. You never saw him as a monster or a threat- you never saw him the way he saw himself. “But when we first started dating, I was having these nightmares. I actually had them for the first year of our relationship- at the least…”

Your heart sank. He had enough nightmares as it was; and to know that you’d somehow delivered him a fresh crop of terror made you nauseous.

“Every night when I went to sleep, I’d have these awful dreams…” His eyes took on a hollow quality as he hurdled backward and fell into his memories. “They always started out okay- they seemed like normal dreams. In some of them, we were hugging. In others, we were having sex. And everything was fine. But then, you’d start-” He dragged a few fingers across his bottom lip and down his chin, “you’d start bleeding out of your mouth. Your eyes would roll back in your head. And you’d collapse. You’d die in my arms. Every time.”

A small gasp filled your lungs, “Buck…” It was your most basic, most intrinsic instinct to comfort Bucky with soft, gentle touches. Your hands were his homing signal, and when he got lost in the dark labyrinth of his past, you automatically guided him to safety. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d ever caged that reflex- until now. He stood in front of you, completely despondent, and you couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.

“And the other night- it was exactly like one of my nightmares. You went completely limp, baby, and your eyes rolled back in your head. You were unresponsive. I was so scared, I…” He almost didn’t want to say the words. Didn’t want to tempt the universe by voicing his greatest fear. “I thought I killed you. I thought I’d held you too tight and crushed your spine, or something. I had to-” He cleared his throat, forcing the oncoming emotion away, “I actually had to feel for a pulse to make sure you were still alive.”

“Baby, I- I didn’t know that.” He’d conveniently left that out when he walked you through what happened. He’d sidestepped his horror and his trauma and put you first, as he always did. “But you’d never hurt me- you couldn’t.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not on purpose. But I thought I’d gone too far in the heat of the moment, and…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. “Even though you didn’t pass out because of me, I’m still- I can’t get over it. I can’t stop thinking about it. It was like one of my nightmares had come to life- it hit way too close to home.” He pressed his palms to his eyes for a moment and forced himself to catch his breath. Only when he felt his heartrate return to normal did he speak again. “So, I’ve been scared- too scared to touch you.”

It shattered you. All Bucky did- all he’d ever wanted to do- was protect you. And though he’d spent the last three weeks aching for his best girl, he didn’t dare lay a finger on you- all in the name of your safety. Sure, his execution wasn’t the best, but his intentions were pure and kind, as they always were. 

“But I know I didn’t… I didn’t handle this the right way. And I’m sorry- I’m so sorry I pulled away,” he tripped over himself again and again, desperately begging for your understanding. For your forgiveness. “I know you’re not happy- believe me, I’m not happy either. I’ve been miserable this whole time- I miss you so much, sweetheart. And I never wanted to hurt you like this. I just didn’t…” He gave a small shake of his head, “I didn’t want to hurt you physically, either. And I didn’t know what to do. So, I figured that keeping my hands off of you was safest. But I didn’t mean to upset you.”

All the work he’d done, all the effort he’d put into fixing his self-image had crumbled in one fell swoop- all because you didn’t have the wherewithal to eat breakfast and stay hydrated three weeks ago. Bucky’s normally upright posture was sloped, his shoulders curved forward. He had the same hollow look in his eye that he had when you’d first met him. And now that he’d spent more than five minutes with you, you noticed all of the fingernails on his right hand were bitten down to the quick.

“Shit. Buck, I’m- I’m so sorry, baby.” You dried your cheeks on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I fucked up…”

“No, no. This is all on me- I fucked up. I basically abandoned you.” His voice took on a harsh, sharp edge he only ever reserved for use against himself. You knew the inside of his head was a horror scene, full of admonishing comments and self-flagellation. You wished you could rescue him from his own mind. 

But his tone softened when he spoke about you, “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart-”

“Buck, I accused you of cheating,” you nearly scoffed. It was ridiculous. Completely absurd. That you believed for even a moment that Bucky could actually have a mistress proved just how out of your mind you were. But grief, you figured, was capable of making people believe crazy things. “That was absolutely wrong of me. And I didn’t even-” you shook your head. “I didn’t even think that the other night might have affected you-”

“You were upset, and rightfully so.” He absolved you of any blame, any guilt. “Plus, you were the one who blacked out, not me. My feelings on the subject aren’t nearly as important as yours.”

“But you witnessed it. And it scared you. A lot.” You hated knowing that he’d been too horrified, too paralyzed with fear to even hold your hand. And the fact that he’d dealt with all of it alone was enough to force you to your knees. “I should’ve known better- I should’ve known you were upset. I’m so sorry, Buck. This was so unfair to you, I-”

He held up a hand, halting your words. “You can’t read my mind, sweetheart. And I could’ve communicated better.” He flashed you a sad smile, “That’s something I said I’d work on- communication. And I’m getting better at it, but I’m not perfect yet.”

“I’m not either, so… I guess we both have some stuff to work on. I probably shouldn’t go around alleging that you had an affair out of the blue.” You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging them tight to your body. Even if Bucky wasn’t sleeping with someone else, he still hadn’t allowed himself to touch you. And you were no match for the bone-chilling cold that had settled into the apartment.

“Um, okay, you know what? We can actually- let’s completely forget I said anything about this. Just put it out of your mind, alright?” This time, it was you who retreated. You who stepped away. 

“Sweetheart, wait-” Bucky adopted your role as the pursuer. He took a few strides in your direction, anxious to close the gap between you. He felt you slipping through his fingers, like he may never regain what the two of you used to have. 

“No, Buck, it’s okay. We’re okay. I just want you to do whatever works for you. I don’t want you to be hurting all the time, I don’t want you to be scared.” Again and again, you stroked your thumbs over your upper arms, but it didn’t bring you a hint of comfort. “And if that- if that means you can never touch me again, I’ll understand-”

“That’s not what I want- that’s absolutely not what I want,” Bucky’s eyes were wide. Almost crazed. It was as though the thought of never touching you again threatened to push him to the brink of madness. “I just need to… I need to take it slow. I have to start back at square one, like I did when I first met you. Is that okay? Can you- ”

“Whatever you need, I’m on board.” It was an automatic, instinctual response. Your voice was steady and even, free from any breaks or signs of uncertainty. You’d do anything for him, anything to ease his mind. “We can move as slowly as you need- there’s no rush.”

“But are you… are you sure?” His words dripped with anxiety, with fear. “Cause I can- I can try to get over it. I don’t want you to be miserable, doll. I can-”

“Buck, it’s okay.”

“Baby, I feel like I might…” He nearly doubled over, “I’m afraid I’m gonna lose you over this.”

“You won’t- I promise, you won’t.” Another surge of need coursed through you, begging you to wrap Bucky in an embrace, but you kept your hands to yourself. You’d never push him, would never dream of making him uncomfortable. “You will never lose me. I’m here for you, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes.”

And you meant it. Now that Bucky let you in on his secret, you understood that there had to be some distance. Some space. Of course, you’d still miss the physical intimacy. The sleepy mornings spent with your body draped across his chest. The late nights full of depravity and lust. But with the looming darkness of a possible affair banished, you could wait.

Though, you didn’t have to wait long at all.

Because Bucky vanquished space remaining between your body and his. He strode eagerly, anxiously across the room and raised his right hand, desperate to feel you again. But just as his palm grew close to your cheek, he faltered. His brain struggled to reign him in, to put a pause on his possibly dangerous plan. Only millimeters remained between his skin and yours, but he couldn’t find it in him to close the final gap. 

“It’s okay,” you said. “Take your time.”

It was the final push he needed. And finally, he touched you again. His palm lightly ghosted over your cheek, and tears instantly crested over your lash line. The feeling of relief, of home, was almost intoxicating. It was the lightest, softest touch- almost imperceptible. But to you- to Bucky- it was like a fireworks show. 

And after testing the waters with his feather-light touch, he found himself nearly begging for more. 

He allowed his palm to actually rest against your face, to cup your cheek the way he always did. And it acted like an instant pain reliever. The excruciating ache in your chest relented, and your muscles slackened as they released their knots. An all-encompassing warmth wrapped around your entire body, finally ridding you of the vicious cold you’d suffered through all these weeks. This was the warmth you knew you couldn’t live without, the warmth only Bucky could provide. 

His knees almost buckled beneath him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow anything to take this moment from either of you. All this time, he’d felt unmoored, adrift, lost in a dark, endless sea. And no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t seem to find his way back to shore. But with his skin pressed against yours, he finally felt steady. Stable. You provided him with a guiding light. An anchor. He felt more like himself than he had in the last three weeks, all because of you.

Your tears dampened Bucky’s skin, but he didn’t mind. He brushed them gently away with a light sweep of his thumb. 

“Can I?” you motioned to the tears trailing down his cheek.

And after a moment of thought, he gave you a nod. Your hand drifted lightly over his skin to mop up his tears, but your touch only brought on more waterworks. He was so starved of your affection that even the lightest touch made him whimper. He let out a soft, grateful sound that knocked the breath from your chest. 

The two of you remained there a while, soaking in the sensation of the other. Bucky didn’t dare to hug you, and kissing you was still off limits. But his palm remained flush with your cheek for as long as you allowed- and you had no urge to ever remove it.  

You knew there was a long road ahead for him, but you didn’t mind. Starting back at square one with him was something you could handle. Something the two of you could handle together.

“It’s kind of a bummer that I didn’t get to make good use of your…” Bucky gestured to your discarded garter belt and thigh-highs, “outfit.”

You let loose a laugh that vibrated under his palm- the sensation sent a wave of warmth cresting over him.

“It’s alright, Buck. I’ll wear it again, I promise.” You leaned into his touch, greedily searching for more of him. “You can take as much time as you need, okay? I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

———————————

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

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RYAN CORR as SER HAWRIN STRONG

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 1.06 “THE PRINCESS AND THE QUEEN”

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We're off to battle again, old girl.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 2.04 The Red Dragon and the Gold

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Harry Styles | Daylight (Official Video)

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HELAENA + the boy

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HOUSE OF THE DRAGON S02E04 | Harry Collett as Jacaerys Velaryon