#Day 3: Angst/Fluff

[stevesgother]

Little Red Lighthouse - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings - exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, so much pining, cursing, alcohol & drug use, mental health themes

WC - 1.3k

AN - this was originally gonna be a super long oneshot, but in typical emma fashion I'm making it into another mini series

Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics <3

The Alcott. That was your favorite bar in Hawkins; and it was all you could think about sitting outside this shitty bar in Chicago. A mere few hours from home, and yet entirely too far. Just having finished school; it was an education completely orchestrated by your parents. A college you didn’t want to attend, a degree you had no enthusiasm for.

This was how you seemed to be spending most of your days post-undergrad: sulking and ruminating. Everything you could’ve had, but don’t.

–

“Steve, this is insane. That’s like a 15 foot drop!” 

You say as you peer over the bridge, shivering slightly in just your underclothes. It was only the cusp of Spring, the weather in Indiana hardly what you would consider “warm”.

“Oh c’mon. You said you would!” He barked a laugh.

“I told my mother that if you jumped off a bridge that I would too as a hypothetical.” You deadpan, even though a smile still tugs the corners of your mouth.

He looked lovely, always did. Moles adorning his cheeks, scattering their way down his back and into his boxers where your vision couldn’t reach. He shot you a grin only reserved for you.

“3..2..1 JUMP!”

“Wait!-”

Steve gripped your hand, pulling you down with him into the icy water below the bridge. Unable to decipher if the sinking feeling in your gut was from the rapid fall of his skin on yours. The shock of the bitterly cold water knocked the wind out of you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His smile gleaming at you. Water dripped from his eyelashes, beading on the apples of his cheeks.

 “It’s freezing!” you gasp as you surface. He starts to grip your shoulders in his warm hands, then pauses. A sudden nervousness settled and he was staring. You nervously wondered if there was something else in the water with you both. He never broke his stare. Your best friend for a million lifetimes, beautiful as ever. Looking at you as if you hung the moon just for him.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

–

When Steve finally peeled open his eyes and glanced at the blinking red of the alarm clock it read ‘3:00 PM’. His breath tasted of stale liquor as he slowly rose from his unmade bed. Skull pounding, he blindly reached for the painkillers he had made a habit of keeping on his nightstand, for afternoons like this.

Your old friend group planned a ‘welcome home’ party in anticipation for your return to Hawkins. Where you had gone to college out of state and made a new life for yourself, Steve hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his ahead above the violent current that was the trauma he endured here, in your hometown.

--

As you rested on the train back to Indiana, walkman in hand, you felt an air of nausea.You had started to regret leaving your car at your parents house 4 years ago; unsure whether the knot you felt in your gut was the result of motion sickness, or the thought of having to face him again.

Admittedly you were excited to see your friends again. You hadn’t come home for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, not even for summer breaks – always opting to stay as far away from that living nightmare as possible. You told yourself little lies. That it wasn’t because Steve Harrington still resided there, and with him, everything you lost. Everything you know you can never get back.

--

The air in Steve’s office was stiff and smelled of stale coffee. Robin sits in a less than lady-like position across from him in a chair unofficially designated for her. A plaque that reads “Chief” sat crooked between them from where Robin had set down the paper bag containing their lunch.

“You’re going to have to face her at some point, Steve.” Her voice snaps him out of his dissociative state.

“Yeah, I got it.” He sighs irritably, all traces of enthusiasm drained from his tone.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, “it's been four years. I’m sure she’s moved on, man. No bad blood.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but she doesn’t understand that that's entirely the problem. He gives her a skeptical stare. “Look, we’ll all be there. You have a ton of buffer people. Just stop by for a few minutes? For me?” The childish pout she gives in an attempt to guilt-trip is enough to push him over the edge.

“Rob- okay, fine. Stop making that face. For an hour. Not a second longer.” He points a finger at her, not unkindly.

–

As your car crunches over the gravel in the parking lot of Robin’s apartment complex, you can’t help but notice it’s already filled with cars despite you being perfectly on time. All the windows you knew belonged to her unit were lit a glowing yellow behind sheer curtains, allowing you glimpses of mingling silhouettes. You wonder briefly if this was intentional, or if in your never-ending brain fog, you managed to jumble the times.

A quick glance around the lot reveals that your friends still have the same cars they did all those years ago. Jonathan’s Ford LTD, Nancy’s Volkswagen Cabrio, and an achingly familiar maroon BMW 733i. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see it, accompanied by a sharp twist of betrayal in your chest as you don’t recall Robin ever mentioning he would be here. You suppose you can’t blame her.

You stop to take several deep breaths at the front door. You can hear the bass of an old, classic tune bumping inside and you try to time your breathing with it. In three, hold three, out three, and repeat. You raise your fist to knock before thinking it silly, so you just give the knob a tentative twist and walk in.

The room erupts in ‘Hey!’’s and ‘There she is!’’s. It’s a relief to realize they don’t hate your guts, even though they’ve always made it clear that they don’t. A nauseating guilt settles over you as you’re reminded of how long you’ve left them with barely any word from you at all– the pain of this town and everything that happened in it just too much to bear; even if they were your best friends.

Back then, talking to them sounded like long, mucousy vines that strangled and trapped. It sounded like the bitter cold and emptiness of your hometown mirrored just beneath your feet. It sounded like watching chunks of flesh be ripped from the stomach of the boy you loved. It sounded like his screams for your help and you just couldn’t– you needed time.

Now though, as they wrap you in hugs and you smell the homey scent of your best friends apartment, it feels less like then and more like now. Over Nancy’s shoulder, slightly obscured by her usually wild curls, you catch the eye of the one person not dogpiling you, and fight the grimace threatening to surface. You don’t hate Steve, not by any sense of the word– you just can’t look at his stupid, beautiful face without remembering what you did to him.

When everyone disperses, satisfied with their greetings, you can really take in Steve’s appearance in front of you. The years haven’t been unkind to him, but he looks tired. Day old, maybe two, stubble shadows his usually bright face. He fills out the red sweater and light wash Levi’s he wears nicely. You think he’ll always have that boyish Harrington charm, but he looks more like a man than when you left him.

You walk towards him hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

[necrotic-nephilim]

au - tim sneaking out of jason's room one night at the manor and accidentally locking eyes with dick who is sneaking out of bruce's room at the exact same time, breakfast is very awkward the next morning

(i did think of having it be jason instead of tim but honestly jason has 0 shame and even less issue outing himself if it means fucking with bruce and, to a lesser extent, dick)

i'm cackling I love these types of things so much. they're so silly. sometimes we deserve mindless crack for these ships. have a *very* low effort ficlet bc this just makes me snort, enjoy <3

Dick closed Bruce's door as quietly as he could. Usually, he didn't have to sneak around when he slept with Bruce. But the temporary room Bruce had given Jason in the manor was just down the hall, and Dick didn't feel like looking Jason in the eye if he walked out of Bruce's bedroom in the morning at the wrong time.

Just because he was pretty sure Jason knew, didn't mean he needed confirmation and confrontation.

Dick had almost caved to staying in bed with Bruce when Bruce tried to pull him back down, but he kept some level of wits about him, prying Bruce's arm off of him and giving him a final kiss on the cheek before heading for the door.

The one thing Dick did allow himself, though, was wearing one of Bruce's shirts instead of his own. It was a size too large on him but smelled safe and comforting. Dick breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the door latched silently. He let go of the handle, turning around to creep off to his own bedroom in another wing.

And found himself staring at another figure.

With all of the lights off and only faint moonlight streaming through the windows, Dick couldn't tell who it was, at first. His reaction was embarrassing no matter who it was, jumping nearly a foot backward and clutching a hand over his chest.

He was a goddamn vigilante. This was just embarrassing.

The other person wasn't nearly as shocked as Dick, but they stood perfectly still, staring with wide eyes that faintly reflected what little light illuminated their face. Dick squinted, leaning forward to see who it was.

"Tim?" Dick hissed, trying to keep his voice to a whisper. Bruce had fallen asleep and if Dick woke him up now, he was never going to get the stubborn bastard back to bed.

Tim, still looking like a deer in headlights, just blinked at Dick.

"What are you doing up this late?" Dick asked. They'd all agreed to take tonight's patrol off, letting Babs, Helena, Dinah, and Zinda handle it in exchange for tackling the massive human trafficking ring in the morning with fresh eyes and cleared heads. The job was the only thing that had gotten Jason to agree to work with them in the first place. Bruce barely managed to strong-arm Jason into sleeping in the manor, with a decent amount of guilting from Alfred.

Jason, who was in the room only a few feet away from Dick. The room that Tim's hand was resting on the doorknob of.

"That's Jason's room," Dick said slowly.

Tim just nodded. "I know." He wasn't whispering like Dick was, but his tone remained impossible to read.

He just saw Dick walk out of Bruce's room. Had he put it together? It was Tim, after all. if he hadn't yet, Dick assumed he only had a couple minutes before it dawned on Tim.

"What were you doing in Jason's room?" Dick frowned. If he focused on Tim, it could keep the focus off of him for as long as possible. Dick tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating.

Tim's expression was hard to make out in the dark. "We were talking about the case." Still, his tone remained entirely neutral.

Too neutral, for Tim.

"At two am?"

"Well, what were you doing?" Tim huffed slightly when he said it, folding his arms over his chest.

He was shirtless, Dick just realized.

Shirtless and coming out of Jason's room.

"I was-" Dick stumbled over his words, choking as he tried to come up with an alibi. "We were talking about the-"

"I already used that excuse, pick your own," Tim deadpanned. Dick was pretty sure he also rolled his eyes. "I've known about you and Bruce for years, you know. You don't have to pretend."

The noise that came out of Dick's throat was almost as mortifying as the realization that not only did Jason likely know, but so did Tim.

"It... okay it has not been years," Dick's face was hot and he was glad it was too dark for Tim to see his blush. "I mean- it's been a while but not years-"

"Whatever you say." Tim shrugged, sounding unconvinced. "There have been feelings between you two for years, close enough for me."

If Dick died, right here, in this hallway in front of Bruce's door, he hoped the cause of death would be put down as homicide instead of natural causes. Because every word from Tim's mouth made another piece of Dick die inside, just a little.

"It's none of your business either way." Dick tried to stand up straight to sound more in control of the situation, clearing his throat.

"Trust me, I don't want it to be my business."

Dick would've laughed, if this was happening to anyone but him.

"What about... you and Jason?" Dick asked carefully.

Tim shifted on his feet. "What about it? I told you, we were talking about the case."

"Right." It was Dick's turn to roll his eyes. "In his bedroom, at two am, without your shirt?"

Tim stared at Dick for a long, torturous moment. A moment that made Dick agree with Tim, about not wanting to know any sordid details.

"I'm going to bed," Tim said suddenly, turning away from Dick. "Goodnight."

Dick had a thousand more questions he wanted to ask. How Tim and Jason even got together, when it happened. Last Dick knew, they could barely stand to be in the same room.

But Tim was walking away at an alarmingly brisk pace and Dick just sighed. He was too tired and mortified about his own secrets to chase Tim down for an impromptu interrogation that would just end up embarrassing them both more.

Maybe it was best for Dick's sanity if he didn't know the specifics.

Dick didn't consider how awkward it would be until he was standing in the kitchen, staring at Jason bent over a cup of coffee.

Did Jason know Dick knew? It didn't seem like he did, but he had always had a good poker face.

When Tim ambled into the kitchen and grabbed overnight oats from the fridge, he didn't even look at Dick. He seemed to be pointedly avoiding it, sitting as far away from Dick as he could at the oversized dining room table.

All while Dick couldn't seem to stop staring.

"Your cereal is going to get soggy," Jason muttered, and it took Dick a moment to realize Jason was talking to him. "At least eat it before trying to explode my head with your mind, or whatever your staring problem is."

"I'm not-" Dick stuttered. he shut himself up with a mouthful of cereal when Cass gave him an odd look.

Would she be able to figure it out just from his body language?

Dick had never fully understood the lengths her ability to read people could go. he looked away from her and stared at a random spot on the table, trying to eat at a normal pace.

Bruce was the last to wander into the kitchen. He squeezed Dick's shoulder as he walked by, making Dick jump. It was an innocent enough touch that no one would question, but all Dick could think about was the brief look from Tim before he quickly averted his eyes again.

The silence around the table was going to eat Dick alive. He started eating cereal faster.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Jason broke the tension, throwing his head back and slamming an empty mug down onto the table. "Everyone knows you two are fucking, alright?" He gestured between Dick and Bruce. "Stop being so goddamn weird about it, you're acting like there's a bomb in the room."

Bruce choked on his coffee. "Jason." He tried to sound reprimanding, but his voice was a few octaves too high.

Dick threw his hands in the air. "I knew you knew about that, but I didn't know about you and Tim until last night so excuse me for feeling a little awkward."

"You didn't know about what?" Bruce nearly yelled, spinning around to face Jason.

"Damnit, Dick!" Tim groaned, putting his head in his hands.

Jason just scoffed, pointing a fork at Bruce. "Oh don't even give me that self-righteous bullshit-"

Their argument went back and forth while Tim just rubbed his temples, muttering to himself and glaring at Dick.

Worst of all, Dick was pretty sure Cass was giggling next to him under her covered mouth.

Dick just sighed and ducked his head, dutifully waiting for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

So much for his breakfast.

[beadelmare]

if i randomly like all your fics, it's 12am and i'm giggling and kicking my feet under the covers

[zwoftt]

8 hour finale better have good shitty angst, but it also better have dorym content that i can cry over (preferably happily).

[redhead-batgal]

Type: One-Shot (First part- Drabble) {If you want things to make sense you probably should read it, the first part, 😁😁😁}

Pairing: Fem! Student! and Soulmate! Reader x Damian Wayne/Robin

AU: Soulmate! Reader

Content: Swearing, angst, teenage stupidity, aged up kiddos 16/17, technical talk about soulmates, lowkey frustrations, some much angst yall, some fluff, mythology, toxic parents, and soul crushing

Word Count: 7,233

(P.S: Okay so this is going to be continuing from the I Feel a Sin Coming On drabble, I've been getting a few comments on it asking for a part two and someone sent in a request for a Shy and Smart Student! Reader with Damian and let's just say the gears in my head started turning. Anyways this could go on if you guys want it to, but it could also end like this! It will break you. I hope you all enjoy! :D)

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

While, unfortunately, it's true the somewhat cruel existence of soul mates was around and kicking, love- true love was still there. Or at least it was believed to be there. It supposedly thrived even more for some reason. Some speculated that it was because there was a standing of everyone deserving love. Whether they were good or bad or in-between, they got someone who would love them for the rest of their life regardless of all the mistakes they made or continue to make. Others said it was because the universe deemed people good enough to have someone for the rest of their lives. Which seems a little close minded for a society in which everyone has a soulmate. But maybe that was because of the belief that if things didn’t work out with your soulmate- if you didn’t love them as you should or didn’t get the love you thought you deserved- it was because you weren’t good enough. Weren’t good enough to get the right kind of love. But in the end soulmates do exist. They exist and are for everyone. For each person you pass on the road, there is someone out there for them. Just as there's someone out there for you.

But the daunting notion that you have to be the right kind of good to get your perfect love chilled you to the bone. After all, if it wasn’t perfect what did that say about you? Because in the end weren’t they made for you? Maybe that’s why some still believed in true love, that it was real. Both because of and not because of soulmates. Rather because of the concept. Someone made just for you. Even if that person was flawed-if you are flawed, just as they were made for you, you were made for them. But sometimes, what is made for you can harm you a lot more than what’s not. 

It was why you believed that the reason true love might still exist was actually because some people fell for their soulmate before they realized they were fated to be. Before that dreaded bond-that agonizing pull kicked, of their own free will they fell in love. Because they didn't have to suffer through the pull of a bond they never wanted, these people were blissfully ignorant of what forced love was like. They did not know the horrors of those forced to stay with someone their heart loved but mind did not. And despite all your animosity towards soulmates, despite your fear and hatred, what made this all the worse-all the more ironic-was that you were technically one of those people. 

Before you even knew what a soulmate was to you-before you were old enough to recognize the pull, to feel, it’s dark and fervent demand for attention-you fell for him. For his laugh: in the way he tilted his chin back as if trying to suppress its joyous sound and his smile: in the way the corners of his would curve showing a slight dimple in his left cheek and revealing the softness his eyes could have. For his kindness: in the way he disregarded what others said and lived his life freely as himself despite the demand of society for him to be like the rest-to be normal. For his mortality: in the way he would never allow bullies to pick on others around him, even if he thought they needed to toughen up. But most importantly for the way he tried each and every single day to learn more and be better even if you’re the only one who noticed. For the way he seemed to be all what you dreamed, something that should have caused you suspicion but instead drew you in. 

That is until your 13th birthday and, much like many before you, you felt the tug of that dreaded bond.

You were six when you decided to loathe soulmates. Six when you swore on your very soul- your existence that you would never love your soulmate. You swore to live in misery of your own making rather than fates. No matter who they were, you would hate them.

But fate... well fate hated to be tested. So, fate did the worst thing it could. It made you fall for the one person you swore never to.

Your soulmate.

Your very own soulmate who seemed like the only light in the dark and suddenly you began questioning whether or not these feelings- these emotions you had thought were your own and genuine- were actually yours. Or if they were just fate pulling its strings and making you dance and dance and dance.

To say you were upset was an understatement and... well let's just say fate might be prideful, but you were twice as petty.

At age thirteen you shoved the emotions you had so dearly cherished so deep in your chest they seemed like nothing more than echoes of naive mind. You distanced yourself from him and only let yourself feel in your loneliest of moments.

Four years, it had nearly been four years since you had begun your battle against fate. And- and and fate was getting stronger... as you have been told. The older you get- the closer you are to your soulmate, the stronger the bond is.

Those moments... those lonely moments happened more often, and those stupid annoying emotions rose up with the beating of your traitorous heart.

Which is exactly how you ended up in the last place you ever wanted to be. Face to face with your soulmate... with them recognizing you and what you were to them.

"I'm your soulmate." Damian Fucking Wayne said his eyes locked on you as you felt your heart jump to your throat and all the color drain from your face.

"Fucking shit, " You whispered, unable to break his gaze.

Shaking-hand shaking and heart pounding at your rib cage demanding you acknowledge him-that you give in and tell him he’s right. That you are soulmates and let fate drive you. But there was something fate and your treasonous heart seemed to forget. You were one petty bitch. 

Weakly smiling you let out a nervous laugh and turned, avoiding eye contact. Eyes darting around they finally settled on your bare wrist as your other hand scrambled to gather your things against your trembling chest.  

"Oh- my,” Your voice cracked as you shoved your things into your bag, “would you look at the time! I need to get going." 

Fingers racing over the items in your bag you went to zip it close and make your escape when your eyes rested on your final item. The book you were reading earlier. Which just so happened (damn you fate) to be right in front of Damian. Eyes raising to him, gazes latching for just a moment you did the one thing you should not. You looked down, down and back at your book before making the stupidly impulsive decision to lunge for it. Your fingers brushed the cover, nails barely scraping lines into it when a hand-warm and firm clasped around your wrist. Pulling you back towards the table in a quick tug that caused your stomach to slam against the tables side. Wincing you stabbed your nails into your palm, not daring to look up. You had fallen for his trap, the oh so obvious trap you could have avoided had you just not looked at him. 

"I'm your soulmate," He said again, his voice clear and stanch as he gently pulled on your arm, clearly trying to get you to meet his eyes, "and you are mine."

Soulmate- God why did you have to care about him. Why- why-did it have to be him? Why-

why couldn’t fate just leave you alone?

Something about the tone of his voice made your heart shatter. It was almost desperate, but you couldn’t-you couldn’t allow yourself to be weak. After all, you would not let fate win. Petty- you were so violently petty and prideful- oh even fate knew this yet- it still tried... this- you wouldn't let this stand. You could-no would not allow fate to get away with even attempting this. Taking a breath in-a deep breath- you raised your chin. Steadying your mind with the thoughts of your parents, of how you needed to be around them. Calm, poised, emotionless. Ignoring the well of tears in your throat and the pressure behind your eyes you finally met his gaze. 

Green. All you could see was those beautiful green eyes, wide and desperate. Yearning-yearning for you to give a reply. But the one you were about to give would only hurt those eyes, regardless, it needed to be done. One pain- one moment or time of pain and sorrow was far better than a life of them. 

Slowly letting out the breaths you previously let in you tilted your head, feeling his grip on your wrist lightening. 

“I do not have a soulmate," You began instantly seeing the surprise on his face-the confusion, so you continued, “I won’t have one. Not you. Not anyone. You see, I don't believe in soulmates. So, I do believe you are mistaken.” 

His grip dropped but seeing the broken look on his face made your facade crumble in an instant as your heart screamed to stop. To comfort him. To take back your words and press yourself into his arms. But you were smarter than that, even if you weren’t strong enough to hide the tears anymore. Throat bobbing, you felt your mouth tremble as your eyes stung and something warm began spilling down your cheeks. 

Pulling yourself away from him, you smiled a bitter smile, not even daring to acknowledge the tears you were shedding. Head high, you turned. 

Voice cracking, you bid farewell, “Now, if you excuse me, I have to get going.”

Feet scrambling you nearly dashed out the door, leaving the book that got you into this mess behind. After all, it was now only going to hold harish and painful memories. 

As soon as your feet touched the gravel, you ran. Tears freely spilled down your cheeks and you sobbed and panted. Mind trying it’s best to soothe the heart that had just torn itself into pieces. But there was nothing it could do. There was nothing you could do but cry and run. Run away from him. From all the pain you had and were going to feel. It was hell, yes. But at least it was yours. At least you knew how and why it had happened, at least you knew what was to come. At least you were still you right?

By the time you had finally calmed your tears-though your heart was still howling, you had made it home. Wiping your tears you took a deep breath in and held it, hoping it would steady your mind and breathing enough to face what was about to come. You hesitated for a moment, then let the breath out wiped your face again and walked up to the door. It was then you heard the shouting. The rage filled voices cursing at each other, dishes and shoes flying, shattering and knocking things about. 

Hand trembling you pushed down the doorknob and walked in. The barrage of insults and dissonance of things being thrown slammed into you. Your feet shuffled across the floor as you saw the shadows in the kitchen, too caught up in their most recent argument to even acknowledge your existence-that is until they came into view. 

“God you never listen!” Your father roared

“Better than sitting on my ass doing nothing all day!” Your mother countered

Quivering you slowly moved towards the staircase as their fight pushed into the living room. Your father’s hands waved as your mother rolled her eyes at him, arms crossed. 

“Really that’s how you’re gonna be?”

“Yeah it is.”

“Fine then, I’ll just take this lazy ass of mine and leave!”

“GOOD!”

With that your father turned and stormed past you straight out the door, slamming it behind him. You flinched and turned to see your mother staring at you. 

“Ugh! I can’t believe him,” She hissed before she shook her head, scowling, “absentee father, sitting on his ass all day while I make the money and take care of the needless kid. God, pregnant at 18- now married to that loser! My life went down the drain. If only it weren't for you...”

Those words stabbed at your heart, sinking in their little daggers in the spots they knew best. You knew she didn’t mean for you to hear them, but you always did.  It wasn’t the first time you had heard things like this, but it did seem to hurt all the more due to what happened earlier this afternoon. Sniffing slightly, you lowered your head and your voice cracking as you had to fight off more tears whimpered,

“I’m sorry mom.”

As if a flip switched your mom’s brown furrowed and scowl dropped. She looked you over, concern in her eyes and she took a step forward. 

“Are you okay honey? You don’t sound too good.”

Raising your head you tightly smiled and nodded, “Of course, just stressed cuz of school. I’ve got some exams coming up and it’s causing my emotions to be all over the place.”

She nodded eyes raving over you, resentment heavy in them as she plopped onto the couch with sigh, “Okay, you better be doing good in school alright? Don't want you to end up like that louse of man your father is.”

You nodded again, “Of course! Actually I was about to go and study.”

“Good, you do that.” She replied as she picked up the remote and flipped on the T.V.

You paused, for just a moment watching her as the resentment began to slide from her eyes, her face softening. She was so pretty, yet harsh lines from constant scowls and frowns bore their way onto her cheeks. Line surrounded her eyes from the tears and sleepless nights. And it was all because of you. Turning, your hands tight on your bag, you raced up the stairs, dashing towards your room where you collapsed onto the ground the second the door was closed. Hand against your face you pressed your head against the door and bit your lip. You did not have the luxury of more tears.  

Turning you found yourself looking at your own reflection. The combination of your mother and father. The perfect combination. It made you wonder what they saw when they looked at you. Did they see a reflection of themselves? Or just an echo of the person they loathed to love. You knew for a fact they never saw you, just you. It was always tied with one or the other. You could tell because today your mother avoided your eyes, that was because you had your father’s eyes. So today, she must have seen him in you. At least until your hair covered your face-her hair- and she saw herself. Maybe that’s why she softened; you didn’t truly know. They loved you, yes. But only because they saw themselves in you. Because on the good days, they saw each other. Because in a way you were them. What hurt the most though, was not when they saw each other or themselves in you. But the fact that they would never see you. And if your parents, the people who were supposed to love you the most, the people who brought you into this world could never see you, who could? 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had nearly been a week since you last saw and denied being soulmates with Damian Wayne. In said period you spent your free time dodging Damian and all his friends as well as digging your nose into every soulmate lore, history or origin you could find. While you didn’t want a soulmate, that didn’t mean Da- you soulmate should suffer because of it. So, you had made it your mission to discover if there was any way you could break the bond now. Research had told you that if one party ignored the bond for long enough it would fade for the other. But you didn’t know how long that would take and merely telling Damian you weren’t soulmates tore you up so badly that the mere sight of him sends you into tears. Therefore, you needed to find a way to break the bond. Both for yourself and for Damian. 

But as far as you could tell it was impossible. Every single myth, origin and lore of soulmates explained them as the other half of each other, inseparable even incomplete without the other. Part of you hated that thought. That you were incomplete without your soulmate. Because weren’t you a person, able to function live, laugh and love all on your own? Without a soulmate? Only Greek mythology even considers you as whole without your soulmate. Though it does say that they are meant to be together and once they meet they will not want to part. Which did not read well for your plans. In Chinese mythology there was the Red String or Red Thread of Fate 

A tangible string, perhaps it was something that could be broken. But from what you read it could not, at least you could not cut it or tear it with your hands. It cannot be broken. It cannot be broken. It can-

Taking a deep breath in, you rubbed your brow. It didn’t really make sense to you that the string or thread or whatever it was couldn’t be broken. It also didn’t make sense that a soulmate was to be bound to you for life. Logically speaking there had to be a loophole. Afterall no one feels their bond until they are thirteen. If you were truly bound for life, you would always feel it. Therefore, there must be a workaround. A way to break the bond or someone- or someone to break it- to remove it. 

Since it is not there from the beginning it cannot be like in the Greek, Jewish or Hindu myths. But it might be connected to that string of fate theory. And there was one person who you could think of that might be able to remove or break the bond. The very person who put it there. And if the Chinese myth is right it’s Yuè Xià Lăorén or Yuè Lăo. But as far as you could tell no one was meeting old men at night right before their thirteenth birthday. 

It felt like a lost cause. You doubted anyone actually ever seriously tried to break their soulmate bond. No one ever seemed to have your determination or rather stubbornness. Most people would have surely given up by now, but you desperately needed a way. Because despite how much you hated it, how much it made you hate yourself. You couldn’t help but love him. And it terrified you. 

Your parents started out in love and now they were-... it’d be difficult to say what they had was anything other than torture. Day in day out fighting. Yelling and screaming. Shouting. Such anger at someone they were supposed to love. It made you wonder, were they really in love? Were they really supposed to be each other's happy ever after? Each other's eternity? If so, what did that mean for you? Did that mean you were doomed to be stuck in the same cycle of love turning to hate? Did that mean that you were going to lose a love you always told you had? Did that mean that you were going to die unloved? It was a fear- your biggest if you were being honest. That the person who was supposed to love you forever, doesn’t really love you. And you could take the chance. Not with what you knew- what you’d seen. There was no way in hell you were ever going to let that happen.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was truly unfortunate that you just so happened to have a mother deeply involved in her job. One that resulted in her dragging you to a gala because she needed to show she had the perfect little family. What a joke. A cosmic joke as said gala was happening at none other than Wayne manor. And its host? You guessed it,  Bruce Wayne himself with his gaggle of children all in attendance. How did you know this? Well, your eye caught one of the many children. The one you were trying your hardest to avoid. 

Damian Mother Fucking Waye.

And it seems you caught his eye as well, because the second he looked in your direction his face lit up. That is until you turned away from him, the next you saw the color drained from his face and he practically stormed out of the room. Though any random bystander would have thought he calmly exited, you knew better. Which was valid considering you had basically spit in his face and said he wasn’t good enough. But it still hurts. Nowadays it seems that everything hurts. Though it was all probably due to the bond you were so determined to reject. 

So, to dull the pain you clung to the walls of the ballroom. Heavily nursing the glass of champagne you snagged from an unassuming waiter. It had been probably close to two hours since you arrived and you hadn’t even gotten halfway through it, however you most definitely did not want your parents to see. You were underaged and they wanted to keep their ‘perfect’ image intact. Which is partially the reason why when the people began to make their rounds around the ballroom, you decided to slip out. Though you abandon your drink, you thought wandering around the manor’s halls might help you relax even if it was only a little bit. 

Wandering down the darkened corridors you listened to the faint music that trailed after you as you got further and further away from the ballroom. Night encompassing each hallway you turned down it wasn’t long till the sounds of the strings playing was nothing more than a faint humming like the buzz of a fly. Darkness and silence swallowed the area-well near silence. The creaking and settling of the manor seemed to be the only sound. That is until you hear a clattering and an all too familiar voice cursing in another language. 

Maybe, it was due to the slight buzz those sips of champagne gave you-maybe it was the exhaustion from the days of fighting off your feelings-or maybe it was because the pull was just too strong; you walked towards the sound and pushed a door open to find a disheveled Damian Wayne sitting in on a couch, a bottle of whisky clutched in his hands, a crystal glass at his feet with half melted ice cubes surrounding it. 

He did not seem to notice your presence, so you slowly began to venture closer. Noticing his messy hair, unbuttoned shirt and missing tie. Why did he have to look so damn beautiful? Better hearing his mutterings which were half in English, you pause to listen. 

“Seems like Todd was correct,” He mumbled as a hiccup stalled his sentence, “this does improve everything… or perhaps not.” 

His body shifted as he hiccuped again, and had you not seen it yourself you would not have believed that the high pitched sound came from him. It almost made you laugh, but you were able to restrain yourself and move closer. This time, it seems Damian heard you as his head snapped in your direction. He blinked a few times almost as if he was trying to get water from his eyes. Head tilting he narrowed his gaze, voice slurring as he asked, “Y/N?”

Sighing you nodded and walked even closer until you stood in front of him. Smiling slightly you waved and took a deep breath in before replying, “Hi Damian.”

He blinked more, brow furrowing as he muttered something you could not catch. Sinking deeper into the couch he gave you a blank look. 

“So have you come to inform me of our ‘non-existent bond’? Because I assure you if you do not wish to discuss it with me I will leave it alone.”

You raised an eyebrow and crouched so you could be eye level with him. Meeting his eyes you found yourself once again admiring their beauty.

“Really? Then thank you. I appreciate that.” You paused concern stirring so strongly in your chest you couldn’t help but let the worry take hold, “ But I’m not here for that.” 

Damian sat up glaring at you and you did not move, swallowing as he got a bit closer. 

“Then what are you here for?”

“I’m worried about you.”

As if it was instinctual, he replied, “And who's fault is that.”

Though he winced afterwards despite you merely sighing at his comment. Resting your chin on your knees you gave him a sad smile and nodded. 

“You’re right… I owe you an explanation.”

Heart in your throat you met his eyes again and asked, “Would you let me give you one?”

Silence thrummed between the two of you for a lot longer than you would have liked. His gaze not leaving your face as you took a deep breath in and let it out. You should have done this from the start and at the very least if things go awry he probably won't remember any of this. 

His hand gesturing to the place next to him he said, “Sit.”

You snorted and rose to your feet. Then the seat next to him shifted a bit awkwardly before you turned to him. He looked at you out of the corner of his eyes as he took another swig from the bottle. It stung far more than you would ever admit seeing him like this. But- but it would fade. It will fade. He won’t be like this forever. He won’t. 

“So… I should probably tell you why I don’t believe in soulmates.”

He grunted in reply, and you weakly laughed, “I-hmm… this is rather hard to explain. You see my parents are soulmates and they-”

You stopped yourself, watching as he stared across the room. Realizing that telling him about this was letting him in. And you could not let him in. Biting your lip you swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut as you once again fought off tears. 

“I really don’t like their relationship. I hate it. And and to me it seems everyone with a soulmate is miserable. They aren’t happy. Shouting, arguing, fighting. I will not risk the chance of being like my parents. I refuse.”

He was looking at you now. Brow furrowed and the bottle slipped between his fingers. Your voice cracked and you winced, swallowing as you shrugged. 

“I- i am a coward. I refuse to take any chances because I don’t want to get hurt.”

The unspoken ever again hung on your lips as your parents' rage flashed through your mind. Fingers picking at one another you looked down. Unable to keep eye contact without crying. 

“I’m scared and- and worried and and I- I’m so sorry. You deserve better and i-”

His hand was over your mouth and you blinked in confusion looking up to see him pinching his nose, bottle still in hand. 

“Please silence your excuses.” Damian snapped, “I will not hear anyone talk about you that way.”

Something jolted in you and you froze, tears springing to your eyes, you nodded and he removed his hand. Fingers darting to wipe away tears you began to turn from him. His hand batted your fingers away and cupped one of your cheeks. The other still clutching the whiskey bottle half cupped the other. Damian pressed his forehead against yours and looked you in the eyes. 

“I care not that you are a coward. I care not that you are running away. I understand your unease, I understand your logic. But I disagree. I can do no better than you, my soulmate. My other half. I will be here for you and will ease your fears, I will drive your worries away and treat your scars. Emotional or otherwise. I am here for you. I do not know what I have to do for you to understand I am yours. Whole and solely yours. As you are mine. Please- I beg you. Tell me what I must do for you to allow me to love you to my fullest capacity.” 

Unable to look away, your heart taking control as that bitter bond turned soft and sweet you began to cry. Tears spilling down your face, you pressed your forehead more against his, words slipping from you before you could even think. 

“Be forever mine and let me be forever yours,” You whispered. 

Something softened in his eyes, a warmth in them you desperately wanted to see but hoped you never did. He began to lean in a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his hands shifted, the bottle falling from his grasps as he muttered,

“Was that ever in doubt?”

You tilted your head and his lips pressed against yours. He tasted of bitterness, a darkness that burned so sharply it had you clinging to him. Hands bunched in the cloth of his shirt you found yourself leaning in. His arm wrapped around your waist and as he pulled you in tighter, body shifting as he couldn’t get you close enough. As if there wasn’t a way to hold you where he was near enough. It was as if he wanted to shift-sinking-melting completely and totally into you. 

Air, you had no air left, but who needed air? He was here. His touch gentle and constant, reassuring as he pressed against you, gripping you as if he was terrified the second he let you go, you would disappear. And he was right. 

You broke apart both gasping for air and his grip loosened. Foreheads pressed against each other he smiled, a smile that sent your already raging heart racing. His hand rested against your cheek, fingers playing with your hair. Squeezing his eyes shut he muttered,

“I love you.” 

Your heart skittered and-

Tug, there was a tug a mother fucking tug that made your whole-body ache. One that stole the air you had just barely regained. One that sent shivers up your spine and knocked some sense into you. 

You couldn’t breathe. Standing up suddenly, your head spun. Blinking a few times as tears sprang into your eyes you shook your head. 

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, “I'm sorry, I’m sorry.” 

And with that, you bolted from the room. Faintly hearing Damian calling after you, you rush down the hall brushing past a butler whose name you think is Alfred. He gives you a soft smile and you nod, quickly wiping away the tears. He paused but you kept moving. You had to get out of here. You had to get out of here now. No matter what it took. 

Feet nearly tripping over the other you stumbled back into the ballroom. There would be hell to pay later, you knew it. But if you stayed any longer you could get hurt beyond repair. Allowing the feeling of everything that had just occurred loose, you promptly burst into tears as you stumbled towards your stunned parents. Your mother frantically moved to you as your father’s eyes widened and he began speaking to the people before them. 

“Y/N, Y/N honey we’re in front of a lot of people. Can this wait?” Your mother whispered as she got closer.

Sniffling you collapsed into your mother’s arms, feeling her embrace again for the first time in nearly a decade. Trembling as sobs escaped you, you were able to get out. 

“I want to go home. Please. Please. Let me go home.” 

At first, she didn’t reply, then she began moving you towards the door. 

“Alright. Alright. Let’s get you home.”

She did not even turn in your father’s direction. After all, they had done what they always do, taken separate cars. Unable to quell the tears, you let your mother guide you out the door before he came to pull you back into fate’s vicious plot.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Two days, you hadn’t left your room in two days. Not that your parents had noticed, not that anyone really did. You doubted anyone noticed your absences from class. You hoped no one would notice truthfully. You couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his face again. It was driving you crazy. So you locked yourself in your room and hoped-prayed-that these growing feelings would just die. Or maybe you could just die. That sounded like a solid solution as well. It was part of the reason why despite the late hour, despite living in Gotham you had unlocked and opened your window. 

There was a sound that awoke you, yanking you from the nightmares that never seemed to cease. And as you opened your eyes to the familiar shapes and silhouettes in your room you found one that did not belong there. 

"Who are you?" You whispered to the woman hiding in the shadows, not really caring if acknowledging her would lead her to strike. 

After all, who would lurk in the shadows of someone's room while they were sleeping unless you planned to kill them. It was a relief of sorts, that you were more than likely going to die soon. It would help you feel less guilt about Damian, about the situation that occurred a few nights before and the feelings that refused to listen to reason. 

Stepping into the moonlight the woman towered before you. Half her face tilted towards the light and you blinked twice almost recognizing it- but- but that couldn't be possible. There was no way you knew this woman. You hardly knew anyone, let alone an murder or assassin who would sneak into sleeping peoples rooms. 

"You don't have to worry about that.” She replied in a soft voice, her accent reminding you of something-something…something! 

You just couldn’t quite place your finger on what though. It nagged and nipped at your mind, tugging and swirling in faint recognition you could not connect. 

The woman took a step forward, her black hair swaying as she crossed her arms, her tone sharp and barbed, “I think who you are is a more important question.”

Her gaze did not leave you and you adjusted your blanket before glancing towards the open window almost blankly saying, 

"Nobody special I can assure you."

This caused the woman’s posture to relax a little. She hummed slightly as you crossed your legs and set your elbows on your knees. 

"Hmm, really?"

Nodding you rested your face in your hands as you looked at her shadowy figure. She seemed kind, in a way. She was at least talking to you before killing you. That was something was it not? 

"Just the byproduct of fate's meddling and destructive hands."

"Ah, your parents are soulmates?' Her stance relaxed even more and you noted how from what you could see her outfit was nothing like the things the Gotham vigilantes wore. 

"Unwilling but yes, soulmates." 

It was more of a snort than a reply, but it didn’t seem to phase the woman as she rested herself on your desk the moon light allowing you to see the curve of her jaw and shape of her nose. Familiar features that made your gut churn. 

"Oh, oh. I see. They did not choose-"

"To have me?” You interrupted with a sigh, shrugging you nodded, “I guess you could say that."

Silence followed and you saw the woman’s eyes narrow. She crossed her arms again, stance tightening. 

"... you do not seem the type to share your innermost troubles with a stranger, why are you talking to me?"

Pulling your face from your hands you gave her a shrug as a yawn slipped from your lips, "Well, for one I think you're here to kill me and two... I've needed to tell someone for a while. Why not a perfect stranger?"

"Your parent's fate troubles you that much?" Her voice seemed to begin carrying concern, which only troubled you because it made you think there would be a possibility she wouldn’t kill you. 

"They are living proof- hell I am living proof that soulmates shouldn't be forced together…” You paused crossing your arms with a scowl, “and because fate is cruel, I have a soulmate too. Despite how awful they are."

"Your soulmate is awful?"

Something in her tone said she did not believe what she was asking in the slightest. Which was true, yet it still caused that buzzing familiarity to ring just a bit louder. 

"n-no, he's not.”

Squeezing your eyes shut you sighed deeply, running your hands along your face, “ He's kind and- and all I could ask for but- but... how do I know he's all I want? How do I know any of this- any of my feelings are mine? How do I know that it isn't fate pulling my strings and wanting me to dance? How do I know he won’t leave? That the bond will only become apparent when we fight and won’t exist otherwise? When the love is gone and only the bond remains? How will I know that I won’t be abandoned again? That I won't be hurt again? That I will gain a love that will last? I won’t.  Not to mention even if I didn't like him... I would have to be with him."

"No,” The woman scoffed, “you wouldn't, dear."

"Yes, I would. My parents- they tried and now- now I live in the shambles of a home. They are together because of that damned bond even though they hate each other." You were crying now, of course you were, "fate does not like to be ignored and I don't like to be told what to do."

Angrily grabbing a tissue you blew your nose, faintly hearing the woman laugh. From what you could see, she had a look in her eyes that seemed soft- understanding. One you most certainly did not expect your killer to have. 

"Oh my, really?" She mumbled head turned towards the window. 

"Yes! I'd rather live in a hell I have control of, a hell I made rather than one fate forced upon me. If- if I ignore it enough... I heard it will fade for him, I- I will still feel it but- but because he tried, he will be spared. He'll have a chance- one I never had. And though- though I can't truly tell if these feelings are mine, it's all I want. I love him. I love him”

You stopped yourself trembling as you said it yet again, “I love him.”

Nodding you continued on, “and… I want him to be happy without me. Because- because I won't give way to fate, not even for him."

"Hmmm. I have a question for you.” 

“Yes?” You pulled the tissue box closer to you sure more tears would come. 

“Do you really want to die?”

“Excuse me?”

The woman shrugged, waving a hand, “It’s just, it hardly seems to me that you want to die. Rather it seems like you want to live.”

"What- I, I’m sorry I-." You were at a loss for words. 

She was smiling as she replied with a shrug, “You have told me of a cause you wish to live for, no? To fight against the soulmate bond. While I personally disagree with your choice, I hardly think dying will do anything other than let the bond win.”

“Wha-... I-,” You sputtered, mainly because what she said made sense. 

It made an insane amount of sense. So much so that it had your head spinning. Why exactly did you think dying was the best option? You may not have the best life, but it was yours right? 

“I’m-I’m sorry.” The whisper escaped not entirely directed at the woman but rather just as a declaration in general. 

The tears on your face felt silly and you blew your nose again as the woman sighed. Causing silence to spin about the room until she remarked,

"I believe I should be the one apologizing."

You laughed, wiping the tears from your face, "Why?"

"Because I'm not here to kill you."

Something in you skipped a beat and you shook your head. Of course she isn’t. Who would want you dead after all. You hadn’t done anything that would cause a reason to be killed.

"Oh darn." You snorted, rubbing the back of your hand across your face, "Here I am looking like a fool asking for something I don’t even want from someone who can’t even give it to me. Fate is cruel… Though life does seem crueler."

"Yes," She muttered looking over her shoulder at the window, "indeed it is."

A figure loomed where she looked, a familiar figure in green, yellow and red. The woman smiled at you again and she moved towards him patting him on the shoulder before climbing out the window. 

“It was nice to meet you Y/N.” 

Blinking in confusion you latched onto the vigilante who was now looming in between your room and the outside, "Robin? What are you doing here?"

He sighed, the woman disappearing as he rested on the window frame, "I am afraid it is quite difficult for me to explain at the moment."

"Wha-.... wait-wait."

In the silence of the night, with the slight breeze trailing in from the window where Robin was perched, you felt a tug. A heart wrenching tug you had felt just the other night. A tug that sent aches all over and made your throat tighten.

"...you're-oh."

Biting, you lip you fought off tears as he slowly entered your room. Breathing deeply, you began picking at your fingers before you finally found the courage to look him in the eyes.

He was right in front of you as tears spilled down your cheeks and through sharp stabs of pain you tightly smiled remarking,

"...hi Damian."

He was silent and you bit down harder, weakly you took in a breath. His voice was soft in reply,

"Y/N... are you- are you alright?"

You didn't know what to say. After all, he must have heard something... then again, he might not have but-

"How-" Your voice cracked as you avoided looking at him despite him being so close, but it was hard as you could feel the heat from his body, "how much... How much did you hear?"

His was quiet and you squeezed your eyes shut, heart dropping as you tasted blood. Pain dancing across your lips and air fighting to leave you. A tiny sob escaped you and you took a ragged breath in as you opened your eyes facing him. Rob-no Damian raised a hand and brushed it against your face before he leaned in. His lips almost pressed against your ear he said,

"I heard everything."

Tag List: @andromedaj2003 @thomasbeloved @instabull @zvtanna @daemonnix96 @neon-scenery @ssak-i @achromaticerebus @1lellykins @hyperfixiation-station @legendarylearner18

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

me: i'd like a little chaggie angst in my life.

me: nothing major. no blood or screaming or anything like that.

me: maybe something that could slot into canon without much trouble? something quiet. something sad. a small gut punch, is what im after

my brain: On in boss! Give me a sec.

my brain: .....

my brain: Okay how about this- Charlie was so hyped and determined to have Vaggie come with for the heaven trip not just bc they're partners, but also because- Charlie was gonna propose.

me: .... why would she propose? and in heaven? aside from it just being a nicer less gory place in general, i mean

my brain: Well Charlie was super excited about the trip, right? She thought there was a good chance they'd win their case, confirm Angel Dust's path to redemption, show their hotel could work, and prove the exterminations aren't needed and should stop. That's HUGE! That's her and Vaggie's current life goal getting checked off- and if they can stick together through making a hotel for redeeming sinners work, then marriage is kinda just yelling that for everyone to hear.

me: wouldn't charlie be freaked out by marriage tho. her parents are separated, and her family fell apart for while afterwards. she's only just started picking up the pieces with vaggie

my brain: EXACTLY!!! Vaggie got her talking with her dad, talking with him got him kinda onboard with the save sinners plan- the plan Charlie is trying to make her mom proud with! So her mom and dad aren't together, but they're least on the same page now! As far as Charlie knows anyway. Meaning them being married had REASONS behind it, reasons that haven't gone away even after they separated- so it's not like them being married to each other was for nothing or a mistake. It was good! It can still end good! And having Vaggie in her life is what helped all of that happen in the first place. Soooooo....

me: marry that girl?

my brain: Charlie was expecting her and Vaggie to get a great win up in heaven, together, as partners. What better time and place to say how much she wants to keep doing that with her?

me: hmm

my brain: Plus if Angel Dust got the green light for an eventual move to heaven, having the wedding before then would be kinda important if they wanted to be SURE he could be there for it. And Charlie would DEFINITELY want Angel there for it.

me: true, true.... so, what are we picturing here tho? how does all this... become a thing i can feel sad over?

my brain: Well first, imagine Charlie planning it. Being exited for it.

me: oh she'd be so very excited

my brain: Imagine her the entire time they're headed to and are up in heaven, checking her pocket whenever no one's looking, triple checking on the ring, grinning to herself- physically straining under the urge to just blurt everything out to Vaggie like she usually does BUT wanting SO MUCH for this to be a special surprise for Vaggie!

my brain: She goes on the heaven tour while Vaggie stays behind, and Charlie's a little relieved to get a break from the constant urge to get down on one knee whenever she looks over at her girlfriend- she spends the whole tour of heaven gushing about Vaggie, barely taking in the sights- maybe even lets slip, to her HORROR, what she's planning to ask (a beaming Emily SWEARS not to say a word)

Getting back to their room Charlie has to spend ten minutes pacing outside, muttering to herself and checking the ring and REMINDING herself NOT to just pull it out the moment she walks in and sees Vaggie again after a whole two hours apart- She goes in, buzzing with pent up marriage proposal energy, not sure she WON'T just say it all right then and there, and...

Vaggie's curled up on the bed, asleep, luggage open next to her and one of Charlie's spare shirts tucked around her like a blanket, a small stressed frown on her face as she naps.

Charlie melts. She takes a slow deep breath, lets out a long happy sigh, and tip toes quietly over. She does get down on one knee- to be on a level with Vaggie so she can smile at her and stroke her hair and smooch that pinchy frowny face, chuckling softly about how Vaggie never stops worrying about things, even in her sleep. At least Vaggie IS sleeping now. She hadn't gotten much of it, leading up to the trip here.

The ring is pulled out of Charlie's coat and slipped into pants pocket instead so Charlie can safely drape the coat itself over Vaggie, who's curled up as if Heaven's perfect temperature feels a bit chilly- and Charlie moves the luggage to make room on the the bed so she can snuggle in behind Vaggie, arms wrapped around her, maybe not able to resist playing with her girlfriend's left hand a little before dozing off herself.

Imagine Vaggie had been working up the courage to tell Charlie the truth when Charlie came back.... but she wakes up already safe in Charlie's hug, and it's- it'd be one thing to face Charlie across the room and see her turn away- it'd be another to FEEL her let go. Or to be the one who breaks the hold, maybe for the last time

So Vaggie doesn't tell Charlie.

And the trial goes, the way it goes, and Charlie- never tells Vaggie what she wanted to say either.

Instead of asking a question, Charlie gets answer, and they both find themselves on their knees in heaven- but for all the wrong reasons.

Then its bad. Charlie's up in their room alone with Razzle and Dazzle- and the RING- and she keeps trying to put it away or even chuck it out the window... but it always ends up tucked in her fist. Slipped safely back in her pocket.

In Cannibal Town, at Rosie's, when asked if she loves Vaggie, Charlie stumbles over her answer- not because she doesn't love her or doubt it, but.

She almost blurts out, at the worst moment- yes she loves Vaggie. She was even going to ask her to....

Everything all flies out the window back at the hotel gates.

They've got a fighting chance against heaven, hungry cannibals to arm with angelic steel, friends who chose to stay and FIGHT for their home and each other instead of running for cover- it's not what Charlie wanted but she'll damn well take it and she means to KEEP IT- there's no time to think about what the actual battle will be like or what (or if anything) comes after.

Charlie doesn't remember the ring again until days after the After.

At night in bed, after a long day doing more minor endless finishing touches to the new hotel (with Vaggie) and an evening writing out thank yous to everyone who helped hoping none of the overlords suddenly think of an extra cost to that help, rewording until her hand ached (and Vaggie took it gently and tugged her away with a "we'll finish them tomorrow, sweetie")

Charlie wakes up at night, in bed with Vaggie, and lays there staring up at the dark ceiling, frozen in panic- until she not frozen anymore but slipping out of bed and into carpeted middle of the room, hooves muffled as she paces, picking up KeeKee on the way and petting her frantically as she tries to THINK-

The ring, the fucking RING.

She doesn't know where the ring went.

Where she put it- still in her pocket when she was changing into her dress for the battle? Which pocket- pants or coat? Where had she put those- no one had bothered much with stuff like laundry when there were fortifications to be made! Not with Vaggie running daily drills on how to fight exorcists, not with Charlie scrambling to learn how to fight after a life of not ever wanting or needing to, but heaven had done those things to Vaggie, had hurt her, and wanted to do worse to their friends and Charlie would be DAMNED if-

had Charlie's one random set of clothes survived the blasts from the battle? Had they been sitting in the rubble somewhere? The ring- the ring should have made it- it'd been made to LAST after all-

Had someone else found it? She would've heard if anyone from the hotel had picked up a fancy ring though- a random cannibal or sinner maybe?

Or...

... maybe it was just lost. Just, gone.

Fallen in some crevasse or crack into some deeper part of hell, if it hadn't been melted and shattered with all the holy and unholy power being thrown around.

She knows exactly what that would look like, after all those times spent checking the ring, staring at it and trying to picture Vaggie wearing it without squeeing too loud. It would've looked good on her- but that daydream is gone too, and Charlie just sees the ruins of it.

Black obsidian band broken, gold edging melted, inner inscription burned away. The paired musical notes articulated with fermata like little rising suns above them (the pause, to be held as long as they wanted it to be) bracketed and bracketing the blood red, small, heart-shaped diamond....

All of it now probably just one dulled chip of rock lying somewhere no one will ever see.

Charlie, standing in the middle of her and Vaggie's new bedroom, staring at Vaggie asleep in their bed- her exhausted girlfriend planted face-fist into a pillow, silver gray angel wings flopped awkwardly over the covers and spreading out so long and slack (relaxed) they droop over mattress on either side, flight feathers brushing the floor.

The scars are still there too. Also silvery pale in the dim glow of hell outside the windows.

But when Charlie finally releases KeeKee and slips over to adjust Vaggie's pillow (she'd get a cricked neck otherwise) she has to stop and kneel down on the floor for a bit (down on one knee again too) and stare.

Vaggie's smiling in her sleep. Her eyepatch is off for the night, thin slit of black nothing peeking out under the lashes of that eye, and Charlie can see the fresh scars on her left arm from fighting off Lute.

Charlie, picking up Vaggie's left hand playing with it again, like she had up in heaven. Pressing a small kiss to the stab wound in it's palm.

It would've been nice to put on ring on that hand instead.

But Charlie finds herself smiling anyway, softly, as she squeezes into the thin strip of space between Vaggie and the edge of her side of the bed. She snuggles in close, Charlie's cheek on Vaggie's scarred hand and her arms wrapping tight around her own small piece of something way better than heaven.

Vaggie's wing stirring and drawing in, folding over Charlie like an extra blanket and a dreamy hug, not even having to be awake to want her closer.

"Next time," Charlie whispering as she falls asleep looking at her partner- her partner in every way that matters. "'m gonna wait for you to ask... 's your turn to worry about stupid rings, and, stuff...."

On the carpet in the middle of the room, KeeKee licks a paw. Stops. Coughs. Spits something out- something that chimes metallically as it bounces and rolls off the edge of the carpet an onto the floor-

KeeKee sniffs the thing curiously. Bats at it with one paw, pushing it under a dresser drawer. Then, bored, licks said paw and saunters off.

Vaggie's startled wings will fling herself backwards so hard and fast into the bedroom wall she'll end up giving herself a concussion, later, when she finds the ring.

it's her turn to worry about it, after all

XD

[mikareo]

“ ࣭⸰ ★ GARDEN SONG . . . ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ブルーロック ; itoshi rin x fem reader (6.8k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ rin's never been in love. he's never had the right to fall in love. so when sae is betrothed to a foreign princess, he doesn't bat an eye. you're just like every other girl who's attempted to marry his half-brother; yet, for some odd reason, he can't seem to shake you off. his heart aches thinking of you, despite how heated you make his head. he hates you. no. he loves you. no. rin doesn't know what he feels.

contains; royalty au, e2l, sfw, bastard prince!rin, princess!reader, reader is betrothed to sae, slowburn, rin calls reader names (like lowkey sexist sometimes), lots and lots of worldbuilding (bear with me please), forbidden love, swearing?, some sexual innuendos, kind of like...medieval dialogue??, tw rin literally calls reader a breeding ground like..., reader is very princess kaguya coded, some princess kaguya references near the end author's note; literally dropping this out of nowhere sorry lol :3 i think this is my best piece of writing i've like ever produced so pls give it a chance n enjoy it! i rewrote the whole thing today in present tense,, so there might be tense errors

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀this part of the fic is about 2 1/2 years old ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀originally a keiji akaashi fic,, lmk any name errors ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀extremely descriptive worldbuilding writing,, (heads up) if it's not ur thing then u likely won't enjoy reading this ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀will have a second part titled swan song in the future!

It’s humorous to Rin— the perception that titles and notability have complete control over one’s life, obligations, and status. The pure and blind belief that every problem or issue can be solved with a man on the throne; a man whose birthright has always stated that that is where he belongs. Where he’ll rule and live out his days, utterly unhappy and self-sacrificing all for the benefit of people, his people, that he doesn’t even know. Strangers. Where he’ll wear a weighted crown encrusted in sapphires and jade, bound to strands of hair that’ll be ripped out if he dare defy his solemn promise to protect his kingdom. The crown must always be worn with pride and honor— the two things in the unspoken king’s code that every man of status is expected to follow— two simple things that seem impossible in Rin’s eyes. 

Yes, he’s been raised according to the precept of manners and fulfillment of duties, but there’s something of the way his own father seems so distant and disconnected from the world around him— from the connections and relationships that he should be closer with— that makes the idea of being emperor completely disheartening. It’s completely and utterly horrid to Rin when he compares a life of golden chains to his dreams of travel and adventure. 

It’s for the best that he’s nothing but a bastard child, then.

Prince Rin of the Itoshi family is nothing if not a black sheep. He’s a man who gentlemen aren’t envious of and whom women never lust for. He’s simply a royal with no drive, no meaning to motives or dreams, and no purpose to carry him onwards. Fortune and prosperity have never and will never be the necessary materials for his happy ending— but freedom and individualism, two contrasting colors amidst blocks of the same shade, speak his language. For in his situation, there’s no point in slaving away his natural qualities in hopes of gaining an ounce of respect from his parents. 

The second born bastard child is but a shadow of a man when he stands behind the true heir—his half brother, Sae. The golden child, the pure-bred son of the true royal bloodline coming from their shared father’s genes. Sae, the future Emperor of Japan. 

An emperor who’s bound to be married off to an unsuspecting princess who’s just recently come of age, and live happily ever after with their countless children. It sounds positively dreadful, doesn’t it? A life that’s been bestowed upon all of the men that have come before Sae— a life void of real love and connection, one that pleasures the theory of bountiful rulings in retrospect to genuine happiness. A life that Rin has never wanted for himself, and has been lucky enough to avoid. 

But as his brother stands opposite to him, with his head held high as he’s about to meet his betrothed for the very first time, Rin feels pity.

It’s a sorrowful sight for Sae and the predicament that he’s been cornered into, but Rin knows his brother does not want his comfort. Their broken bond has been laced with new threads of sadness after years and years of competition— yet, everyone still deserves a choice in their future, in their loved ones, and that choice is being taken away from the crowned prince with every second ticking by. 

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The time is now. 

As the courtroom doors burst open, gold and silver accents vanish from sight. Five guests gracefully enter the palace— that of two guards, a handmaiden, a king, and the most important arrival…you. You, the princess of the neighboring royal family from the South. The royal family that will be merging with Rin’s father’s in a legal binding between you and Sae— the infamous royal wedding of the century. 

“What an honor it is.” Emperor Itoshi greets your father with a firm stare.

The two men analyze one another, squaring out in a power strike before stepping forwards for a decisive handshake. As their palms clap together, Rin can see that this king is much different than his father— seemingly gentle, showcasing a non-plastic smile that’s true and bright whilst his daughter stands behind him— and Emperor Itoshi smiles back. “It’s truly spectacular to finally meet you; well, you and the princess, of course.” 

At his words, your father grins and extends his arm out to you, encouraging you to step away from your trusted handmaiden and towards your future father-in-law— the man who’s retiring his lifelong title in a mere two months for the sake of passage that’s occurred for centuries. A sacred passage between fathers and sons, full blooded fathers and sons. 

“Your majesty,” you bow your head.

As you curtsy in respect, your skirt drapes to the floor— the gown’s extravagance dusting the marble tiles, shimmering beneath the dense candlelight, and reflecting off the mirror and shined surfaces scattered across the ballroom. Despite the perception of beauty and grace that his father and brother seem to share for you, Rin peaks through the cracks of your facade. He can tell this regal persona you’re displaying is nothing but an act. Your stoic expression speaks all he needs to know, that everything about you is princess protocol and lacking personality, and proper folk have never been his usual cup of tea.

While he’s been ordered to entertain ladies of the court and women in the social ring for years-on-years, there wasn’t one occurrence where he actually obeyed his father’s demands— rather string along every maiden sent his way and bid them farewell after a night or two of endless, droning conversation; that and perhaps a few turns in and out of his bed chambers, which is a fact that is infamous among the palace staff. Rin disregards them, though. Tuning others out is his speciality. He uses it in daily conversation, diplomatic meetings, as well as other important matters such as the one happening now, right in front of him. Just a few feet away. 

This is pointless. 

Why is he being forced to be here? 

It’s not like you're his bride.

Rin doesn’t even bother to tune into the presumptuous meeting of you and Sae. They don’t involve him in any way nor does he care for either of you. Typically, most others don’t give him the time of day, so who’s to say that they deserve it from him? The only thing he owes to others is his mere existence as the kingdom’s greatest mistake— all to remind the ton that there is a good and gracious prince, and they should be grateful that he is to be their ruler and not Rin. 

Rin, whose birthright is to stand still and respond to his father’s wishes with no choice other than to agree.

So, as the decadence concludes with the bowing of heads and nods of approval dispersing amongst royals and servants, Rin thinks nothing of the way you and Sae stand beside one another in light conversation.

It’s desperate. The sight of you attempting to find a sliver of mutual interest or some sort of connection that binds the two of you other than royalty, makes him look in disdain. He’s grateful that he won’t be the one spending the rest of his already grey life with you, ruling the kingdom.

You aren’t really his type.

“Rin!” Sae’s voice rings through the courtroom, his eyebrows raise in expectancy as he ushers his half-brother towards his bride-to-be, wanting to introduce the two that’re going to be living in close proximity for the weeks to come. “Do come close, I’d like you to meet my bride. Perhaps you’ll find something in common and make a friend for once, for this girl can’t be another one of your whores.”

Typical Sae.

Whether the dig was intentional or unintentional, Rin grimaces at his brother’s words—pursing his lips into a tight smile and closing his eyes in an attempt to disguise his disdain with faint exhaustion.

“Apologies, my brother. I’m afraid I’m rather tired and would prefer to return to my quarters.” Rin nods towards the two of you in respect. “Do enjoy her company, yourself. I’m sure the two of you will be sharing personal physical matters in the near future— best to be comfortable.”

With a quick turn of his heel, he carries on, making his way towards the exit of the throne room, to his grand living quarters— quarters that are fit for a bastard prince such as himself. However, his rancid suggestions aren’t left unanswered, instead contemplated by you as he hears your light voice speak to his brother. Rin hates first impressions. Not because he gets anxious or worried about being disliked; but because he already knows whoever he’s speaking to already knows his history. They know the truth of his bloodline, and they’re never afraid to step on his already small ego. You’re no different. 

“So the rumors are true then?” 

You speak aloud in a low tone, deciding the best words to use, and phrasing your statements in the most respectful manner you can muster— not wanting to offend Sae in any way, shape, or form while you address his little brother. 

“Your brother is not the royal he’s made out to be?” As your voice trails off, regret immediately overcomes you as the subject of conversation stops dead in his tracks.

A scoff escapes his lips, head tilting to the left as your remark settles beneath his skin— hitting that special little spot that enrages every buried emotion, feeling, and reaction in his heart. 

Rin spins on his heel with a manic look on his face as he analyzes the regret hidden in your weary posture; which is in great contrast to the confidence and poise you’d displayed a mere seconds before— poise that appears to be only a facade, a mystery that he’d gladly uncover if he actually cared just an ounce about your wellbeing. Taking long strides towards you, ignoring the words of concern from his half-brother, he stops to a halt at your feet— giving you nowhere to avert your eyes, gaze being forced to rest on his anger and distaste only. The rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach is like an over-boiling copper pot, scorching water taunting the brink of the lid, causing it to fly off and wreak havoc elsewhere.

“Tell me, princess.” He ponders mockingly, finding great humor in how tense he was able to make you with three simple words. 

“What is it that you make me out to be?”

There’s a shit-eating grin at the tip of his tongue, a taunting aura to his spite. Perhaps there’s a part of him that hopes your response will be genuine, positive to the darkness that’s held to his head on a daily basis— but no matter. He already knows what your misconceptions contain. He knows that you’d already filed him away in the troublesome cabinet at the back of your brain. It’s almost like he’s looking at an average cavern girl with great beauty. You’d be nothing without the small tiara on your head, that’s clear after determining the lack of assertiveness you assume. 

…but perhaps, for once, Rin is wrong.

Not a single response emits from your mouth, the silent stare down between glaring eyes being intimidating enough; there’s absolutely no way you were going to anger the bastard prince any further. Yes, he’s considered to be nothing but a brute, but there’s something in his sparks of blue that makes you believe otherwise. 

This man is an underestimated enigma, and you sure as hell aren’t going to be one of those common fools who blindly thinks otherwise.

“Your brother tells me you are a good man.” you speak enunciating each word to ensure that it gives its intended effect, that being of a derogative nature masked with falsified kindness and fortitude. “He says that your people adore you, that you are one in the same. Grounded. Of level head.” Bullshit. 

Sae would never say those things.

The people would never say those things.

Rin scoffs, listening to the meaningless and unoriginal acclamations being brought to his attention, tired of having to hear them day after day by not only his fellow royals, but staff and peasants— and every other person who’s ever been fortunate enough to cross paths with the royal family, always being disappointed that he is the one to be met.

As he steps closer, wanting to see just an ounce of fear in your eyes, a frown is brought to his beautiful features. What?

In no way are you intimidated by his presence. There’s no shudder, no wince, no flinching whilst his steps grow closer and closer to your position. Just a blank stare of nothingness at his furrowed brows. You aren’t reacting like the other princesses that’ve come to attempt to wed Sae; all princesses who have come and gone due to Rin’s dark intimidation. You have spirit, a fire that’s not willing to be doused by his ocean of hatred.

“Are these your words?” he interrogates.

One of his hands reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your right ear, noticing the tomato red of your cheeks. Smirking, he thinks to himself how dismantled you likely are beneath your stoney stance. “Or are these all of the things my brother has told you? Do you have any thoughts of your own, princess?”

“No need to answer that. I already know what you think of me.” Continuing on, deaf to the attempted precautions from Sae, he leans in— his lips just ghosting over yours, and whispers his final remarks. 

“You’re an open book, beautiful— and I can’t say that I'd ever want to read you.”

So, as Prince Itoshi Rin’s steps recede, the distance between you two grows with every second; and you feel a bright, red, rage bubbling deep within your heart. It’s a hot and heavy anger simmering within your soul for the sly man with dark hair— knowing full well that he will be one of the many, if not the biggest, challenge you’ll face in your newfound kingdom.

And never before, have you felt more ready to take on a challenge.

Annoyance is the most prominent emotion Rin has felt in the past two weeks. 

Utter disdain at the sight of you and Sae conversing through the courtyard, picking flowers in the rose garden, and taking romantic boat rides in the nearby lake. It’s one thing to fall in love, feel your heart begin to swell at the physical presence of that one special person— but it’s another to have to witness first-hand with no relation to the budding romance at all. Having no need to be involved in the newfound relationship, yet still being forced to interact as a third party member. It’s absolute madness.

He’s somewhat happy for Sae, he truly is. There’s a sense of pride in his soul at the sight of his half-brother stepping up to the position that he’s been in preparation for for all of his life— but with that promotion comes you.

With the rise of power comes your completely lethargic presence. 

Oh how he cannot stand you.

You’re just insufferable. You’re unapologetically and unequivocally insufferable to his mind. The mere sound of your voice sends him into a downward spiral. The mere thought of your existence ruins his day with ease. The slightest mention of your life-lasting role in the kingdom he’d grown up in ignites the most powerful feeling of disgust he’s ever known. The weight of his conscience burns with every snarky remark, dig, and insult that flies from your throat; your trained grace never falling scarce in melody, although your words could be considered crude by any proper lady. Words that allow you to terrorize his brain in the midst of night, keeping him awake whilst the moon becomes one with the sun.

He fully believes that you were created to be the bane of his existence…the hell to his heaven…the demon behind all corners in the everlasting game that he has the misfortune of living. 

“You’re looking a little grey today, Rin.”

Oh no���

“Perhaps it’d be wise to freshen up a bit!”

Please, just shut up.

“I’m sure the servants won’t mind spending a few hours by your side in an attempt to make you look handsome!”

He hates that damn sound.

There it is. The dreadful sound of your sing-song voice ringing through the hallowed halls, emptying the painfulness of your personality in the wake of the morning dew— as for some god awful reason, you always insist on being the first person to the dining hall, wanting to mark each new day with a classic and large Japanese breakfast.

“As I’ve said many-a-times before, princess.” His head swivels to face you, eyes rolling at the skip in your step. “You are to refer to me as Prince Rin, it is what I prefer.”

“Is it your honored title or is it what you personally enjoy?” you challenge, looking over your shoulder with a mocking pout, having the knowledge that he has certainly come to despise you in the short time you’ve known one another. “Greatest apologies, my liege; but it wouldn’t be proper of me, a woman, to call you, a man, a name that isn’t of great decadence.”

“Surely you can see where my true intentions lie?”

A pained grin comes to shine on his features, shooing away the rain clouds and allowing sparse rays of phony sunshine to shower you. His teeth bite his bottom lip as he struggles to keep his curses imprisoned between his heart and his tongue. You had to have been born of a despicable nature. In no world that is right, in no paradise would anyone deserve the punishment of having to know you— as Rin believes all tyrants belong with the street rats. Not to insinuate you’re a tyrant, but to express that you’re equivalent to a sickly rodent. 

“I’m not a fool, you know.” he spits, striding towards your retreating figure and grabbing you by the forearm and stopping you in your tracks. Rin smirks as his touch forces you to become overwhelmed in shock. “I see you, princess. I see through your poise and ladylike mannerisms. I can see what a lonesome and sorrowful shadow you’ll inevitably become. No wonder you’re going to be nothing but an objectified woman, an accessory to Sae’s power— a dull little doll of a woman who perhaps had moxie in her past— yet still became a lifeless puppet beneath a bejeweled tiara, stuck with the hands of judgment up her arse.”

You’re a fool to go toe-to-toe with him, of all people. 

Rin doesn’t think he’s ever seen such fire behind your eyes. Fire that burns hot, raging with seething anger and humiliation. If the world were to be supernatural, there’s no doubt in his mind that you’d have set it aflame in response to his vile predictions; the castle crumbling in ash with you standing alone in its wake atop his lifeless corpse that’s burnt to a crisp.

“You are entirely incorrect, never have I shown servitude for the sake of reputation—”

“Really?” his snarling voice interrupts you, refusing to let you get a single word in amidst his long-winded attack. “Then what is it that you’re doing right now, at this very moment. No princess with a functioning brain would ever find herself working with kitchen servants to prepare breakfast for two royal families. She’d simply order them to do it on their own. Every single thing you do is in order to gain likability from those who shouldn’t ever matter. If you had a backbone of any sort, you’d understand that— and you’d understand that titles are of nothing. They’re of no relation to any true purpose or meaning.”

“Then what are you?” you retaliate, ending the lengthy trail of hurtful words and confessions spewing from his mouth. “What are you but a sorry excuse of a prince…of a son?”

“You say titles are rubbish, yet you continue to wear that horrendous crown atop your hair. You choose to take it off of your placid vanity and wear it with honor; although you aren’t much of an honorable man, are you? If you were, then perhaps you’d have a grain of respect from your people. Perhaps you would spend your days in the throne room, being in the advisory alongside your brother— your splendid and valiant brother who has done nothing but serve for the greater good— instead of dallying away with mundane and useless tasks that no one cares to notice! As why would anyone bat an eye at a mistake, when they could be focused on someone like Sae. Someone of the sun’s decadence?”

The face opposite to yours is almost unrecognizable; with his red skin, flared nostrils, and dead-set eyes, Rin looks as if he’s just murdered a man out of spite and grief. He looks as if he’s just induced a homicide and is preparing to start anew, find another victim…that victim undoubtedly being you. 

He tips his head downwards, breath grazing against your upper hairline whilst his dark crown shifts in his hair— nearly falling off the front of his forehead, the large arches seem ominous and unwelcoming along with the deadly ocean depths of his eyes. The usual gem-like blues holding a more dangerous tone than a tsunami. 

Rin knows he’s frightening…

…and he’s enjoying it.

“You speak on things you know nothing of.” Rin fakes a straight toothed smile; his outside appearance looking completely opposite to the growing pit at the bottom of his stomach. If the peasant’s freak show has come to the kingdom, he’ll be the opening act—a fraudulent performer behind a mask of stoney emotions. “I have freedom and opportunity. If I so wanted, I could order a horse to be prepared, ride through those gates, and never look back. There is nothing holding me here— not my father, my brother, or the people. When will you realize how little your beliefs matter to me.” 

He’s boiling with rage, as are you whilst his words ring truer than you’d like to admit; each one hitting the most insecure corners of your heart. “Your meaningless and unimportant opinions in relation to my kingdom— when in reality, you’re simply another black plague that’s washed upon its shores. Another person who’s crawled out of the local sewers and weaseled their way into the generous hands of the royal family. It’s just so unfortunate...”

“...that in the end, you’re nothing but a breeding ground for my brother.”

On instinct, without a coherent thought in your mind, you feel your arm swing out— open palm flying through the air, only to land against the dark prince’s swelling cheeks— leaving not only a bright, red mark, but also an expression of identical shock on both of your faces.

Taking a step back, he reaches upwards to cup the bruise only to realize that you’ve done far more damage than a measly purple wound. You’ve managed to produce a cut, one that seeps through his scarlet blossoms and runs from the corner of his eye to the bottom of his chin; displaying the path of your anger whilst your ring-studded hand has directed itself across his face. 

Raindrops of ruby pour from the injury as you stare in horror at your blood splattered engagement ring.

The shimmering diamond turns dark as the tide of rouge rolls in, encasing the notion of property beneath your outspoken and unintentional hatred for Rin; and before you’re given a chance to respond, a second to apologize, the man has already stalked off towards his living quarters— not wanting to see the look of expected satisfaction on your face at the sight of his uncontrollable winces. You don’t deserve to smug as he rests in pain— despite how you are, in truth, regretful of what you’ve done.

Though, not that he’ll ever come to that conclusion.

As why would you, someone in the same likable ranks as a weathered gargoyle have any intent of remorse. Why would you, a woman who would soon have all the power in the world to hold over his head, care about a lasting scratch; no matter how deep. 

You’re a tyrant, and oh-how he loathes a tyrant.

A garden of statues would perhaps have more purpose than Rin in his current predicament— standing between his father and half-brother, listening in on the up-and-coming preparations for the royal wedding; whilst even the breaths he takes are ignored, lost in a sea of ignorance and invisibility. Emperor Itoshi gleams with pride, his mindset focused on the change of power— the crown on his head that will soon be worn by his eldest son, the one of pure royal blood. Yet, with the happiness in his heart, his smile only reaches so far; never shedding light on the tundra that consumes his bastard child. 

“Rin!” The man hollers beside him as he grasps Sae’s shoulder in a love-bound strength; his god-given touch of a father being miles-on-miles away from the fragile prince who needs it most. “Look at the life your brother’s going to make for himself! Witnessing him amidst the coronation will be splendid—”

“Remind me again, father.” Rin interrupts, not wanting to hear a minute more of the relentless doting. It’s night and day, a never ending string of praise and compliments, all for the great, Sae. “Where is it that I am to be for the duration of these wondrous festivities? I don’t believe I’ve heard spoken word of that as of yet.”

A wave of ignorance acts upon itself through his father’s careless hand, dismissing the trivial concerns of his youngest son; his heart only having enough room for one soul other than himself. “I suppose you’ll stand with the castle staff, it’s likely we have a limited space at the head of the church due to the size of our friends' traveling blood.”

The castle staff?

He’s to stand with lowly servants?

Rin doesn’t know why he feels so shocked, after all, he should’ve been expecting to be cast aside with those of low status. While his title associates himself with the royal lineage, he’ll never truly be accepted into the upper class— that divide has always been inflicted upon him by his own father. 

“So, I am not to be in our primary aisle? I am not to have a sliver of sight at Sae’s crowning?”

There’s a hint of spite in his tone, a spite that was usually hidden from the eardrums of others, revealing itself to the people who’d known it was lurking for decades. While Sae simply disconnects himself from the conversation, a privilege that he’s lucky to have, refusing to meet his younger brother’s eyes— their father pushes further. He’s well aware of the growing insecurities his bastard child has, but he also knows how to obliterate the subject in its entirety.

“You aren’t pure.” His voice is stoney and directed at Rin whilst gesturing to Sae, as he shakes his head at his least favorite son. “I can’t possibly have you, a boy I conceived with a gutter whore, stand at the equal sides of neighboring royalty. It would be seen as disgraceful.”

This isn’t the first time Rin’s heard these words.

“You are a disgrace.”

His father tells him these things often.

“All you are is a physical representation of my shame, boy. You’ve already embraced the darkness—it’s about time you allow the shadows to consume you whole.”

That doesn’t lessen the pain, though.

With that, Kyohei turns away and grasps Sae’s arm, leading him towards their higher chambers; ones that Rin has never been honored to walk upon. There are no glances, no solemn, not a single look back by his father to perhaps ensure that his son is somewhat okay or devastatingly upset— though, neither one is true. The only emotion racing through the thick blood in his veins is emptiness. Just the familiar feeling of being worth absolutely nothing in the eyes of the man who should see him as the world. From the beloved emperor that cares for nameless peasants and civil servants, his father is seen as just and valiant— his true nature of disdain and cruelty only being known by his immediate family.

So as he walks alone, with no council weighing down on his heart, no angel on his shoulder, and no devil in the ranks— Rin is blind to the world around him. He chooses to maintain blindness in relation to any matter that seems regal and of importance. Since, after all, who is he to state a claim on that significance…

…when he, himself, has no significance at all?

His feet move on autopilot, like a white pawn at the match’s first mark. As if there’s a knife at his throat, forcing him to play down the chessboard— across the bi-colored tiles and towards the blackened queen. Him being a simple sacrifice; one of many to ensure a victory, no matter the underlying consequences. No matter the fact of how he’ll never hear the final calling, the call of wind inducing the fallen king and victorious player— as he’ll be far too acquainted with death to rise back from the shattered stone. A small sense of relief overcomes him as he steps into the courtyard. His soul is satisfied and alleviated at the location his muscle memory has taken him. While the twilight moon is nearing, his mind is awake; fully conscious and stormy of his own self-doubt and insecurities. Two things that can typically only be dissolved by his favorite location on the castle grounds.

The secluded lake amidst the willow trees. It shimmers and glistens beneath the draping branches, and acts as a hub of life and growth. His secret spot is possibly the most beautiful feature in the kingdom, at least Rin feels so; with its evening flowers and low-light critters, the soft grass and blossoming lily pads, and the perfect view of Andromeda— it’s his safe haven.

A safe haven that he prefers to keep to himself. 

A place that no other person has stepped foot in for as long as he’d known of its existence.

A place that has just now been infiltrated by the disguised cockroach that is you.

“You torment me day and night within the walls of my own home; yet you still find it necessary to follow me as if you’re a lost duckling during ungodly hours.” he deadpans, shaking his head at the sight of your furrowed brows and taking a seat at the bay. Rin sighs deeply as his calloused skin comes in contact with the grassy fibers. “A proper princess would be in her chambers by the time midnight struck. It’s nearly 12:30, princess.”

Why are you looking at him like that?

The strange look on your face is laced with some sort of emotion that he’s never seen before. It's buried beneath the layers of organic makeup and skin. He can only assume it’s something similar to discomfort, and despite your intentional mask being well kept— he can see through anyone. He has the rare ability to understand the thickest of thieves, as he, himself, is the biggest phony of them all. 

The sparse shadows soften your usually antagonized features in his mind, a more human appearance alleviating in its wake; and Rin swears he sees a tear drip from your right eye, swimming down your cheeks, and dropping off at your chin into the dewey land— becoming one with nature’s true beauty. The earth embraces your unexplained sadness with open arms, blowing the willow branches around your body. In a strange way, Rin thinks this is the first time he’s truly seen you as what you are. A princess. You’re beautiful beneath the moonlight, but perhaps it isn’t your physical beauty that’s catching his eye…but your emotional vulnerability.

“Dearest apologies, my liege.” you mutter, voice droning on with not a sliver of spite in your tone; only exhaustion. “I’m afraid that I’m not much of a proper princess, tonight. If you’d prefer it, I’d be more than welcome to leave you be— perhaps I’d regain some of my lost dignity in doing so.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes grazing your posture, the physical habits you display on the daily are missing beneath the moon’s kisses. All that’s left in its disappearance is a small-spoken and sadness-consumed girl. A girl that’s tired and painstakingly sick of the expectations and predecessors that she’s been forced to live up to by birth…and as much as he hates to admit it, even just to himself, he’s found a similar identity in you. A familiarity he’s never quite noticed before.

“Stay.” His voice is so faint that even he is surprised at his statement. 

“Perhaps we’ll both freeze to death.” he continues on, feigning the annoyance he typically spits in your direction. “I’d quite enjoy seeing your ghastly face covered in ice.”

While Rin believes his offering to be nothing out of the ordinary, your expression tells otherwise. It’s clear that you’re able to read through the misconceptions he’s trying to give you; looking straight into his eyes with an amused gleam and giggling softly in response. He’s never made a princess laugh before— usually the only girls he spends one-on-one time with are the tavern girls who wish to sleep with a prince— and he’d be a liar to say he didn’t like the sound. You have a beautiful laugh and Rin hangs onto every second it continues to carry through the wind. Perhaps he’s been misjudging you just as you misjudged him. Perhaps you’re not like the others.

“I’m sure you would, Rin.” you smile, sitting down next to him on the plush comfort of uncut grass. “But I have had such an awful day, that I don’t think there’s anything you can say to me that will make it worse.” An awful day?

“May I ask what happened?” Why does he suddenly care?

“Yes, you may.” Why do you want to tell him?

A sigh breathes out of your lips, whistling in the wind and getting lost in the space of stars. “I’m a lousy princess.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and nudging your shoulder. There’s no way that you, little miss prim and proper, are a bad princess. You’re practically the model that every father bases his daughter on when raising her in a royal setting; he knows because he’s met his fair share of truly lousy princesses. “No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.” you’re not looking at him anymore, rather at the constellation ceiling above you. The stars reflect themselves in your eyes, and if you weren’t a princess on earth, Rin would think you were a gift from the moon himself. “I could barely keep up with Prince Sae today. We had dance rehearsals for the wedding, and our instructor is so strict that I can barely breathe around her without being reprimanded. I couldn’t even memorize the basic steps, I don’t know what is wrong with me. I have practically been training for this duty for my entire life and I can’t remember a few dances? I’m not fit to be a queen. I just turned eighteen, I’ve barely lived at all. How can I protect an entire kingdom, when I cannot even fend for myself?”

“Prince Sae is perfect. He’s amazing. I can’t possibly be enough to be his wife. I can’t live up to those standards. It’s impossible.”

Suddenly, all of the broken pieces seem to come together. They’re swept by a broom, one that the moon king holds above the two of you, as your shattered stars of insecurities collide into one pile of stardust. Rin sees himself in you. He sees himself from a perspective that he’s never known before. Never in his life has he met someone who understands and agrees that royal duties are impossible; usually common folk and other royals tell him what an honor it is to be of a royal bloodline. They don’t care or consider his feelings on having to be held to a higher standard, while also being at a disadvantage as a bastard child. You are different. He knows you won’t judge him for these fears he has; a small part of him trusts you now. 

“My brother is a golden boy.” Rin smiles at you, and it’s the first genuine smile he’s ever given someone. “Please do not take it too personally if you cannot live up to his excellence.”

You gaze at him in appreciation, scooting slightly closer while keeping a healthy balance that wouldn’t ensue romantic implications. “Thank you. I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it must be for you, though. How do you handle all of this? I can barely keep my head above water.”

Wow…you’re the first person who’s ever asked how he feels. 

“It’s difficult,” he explains, “but manageable. I’ve only ever known this life, so I’m quite used to being at the end of the line so-to-speak. My brother— I’m not sure why I even call him that, he’s not my brother, I’m sorry. My half-brother is the kingdom’s blessing. He’s my father’s blessing. He’s perfect like you said; but his destiny isn’t his own. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Your head shakes in confusion, not quite understanding where his story is going.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never spoken of these feelings before; at least not out loud to someone other than my own mirror.” His human instinct shuffles himself closer to you, wanting that physical comfort whilst knowing that he can never have it. “I’m not unhappy that I am not the one to be emperor. I would rather be a bastard, because at least I have freedom to run away one day without worrying about feeding the masses and avoiding war. I can leave this kingdom and not have to think about my father or Sae ever again. That’s the one luxury I have always had— and it’s the one thing that I look forward to. I’m so sorry that you don’t have that same privilege.”

Nothing comes as a response and Rin feels a little concerned, that is until your soft voice reaches his ears. 

“I’m sorry for being so difficult towards you.”

You’re apologizing?

“I don’t regret anything, though.”

That makes more sense.

Another laugh bubbles up from the pits of his soul, setting off the volcano of amusement that’s been dormant for so long. “You’re a tyrant princess, my kingdom should be more weary of you.”

You giggle beside him, “Tyrant princess sounds more fun than disciplined empress.”

Maybe he’s gone mad or maybe the chilling breeze has gotten to his brain and made him delusional, but Rin feels his heart pounding— and not in the familiar way of anger and aggression. This rapid heartbeat is something warmer…fonder…gentler. If he’s not mistaken, he believes it to be the warmth that comes with falling in love; something that he’s only read about and wished for when he does eventually run away from home. However, he never believed he’d find that feeling within the palace walls— especially with you, whom he despised prior to this night. He promised himself he’d never fall for another royal, but his destiny is shaping itself in ways that are unpredictable.

He should thank the man in the moon.

Rin stands, dusting off his pants, before offering you a hand. It’s an earnest gesture, one that you cannot ignore, and he’s vulnerable with his sincerity. “I can’t promise that I hold any skills near to my brother, but I swear on my soul that I won’t push you into that lake if you give me one dance.”

“Just one?” your tone is teasing, yet you accept his offer. The feeling of your hand in his sparks flickers of jealousy in Rin’s mind. Why is Sae the one who gets to hold you? It isn’t fair. “If you push me in that filthy water, I’ll give you a matching scar…”

“...right there.”

One of your fingers softly grazes his cheek, the spot underneath his right eye and flicks upwards, brushing against his thick eyelashes, before you lace your hands around his neck. You sway together, with the moonlight showering its stars down upon you, blessing you with well-wishes from the galaxy— and drift away from the worries of royalty and betrothals. Rin is miles from the anger that nestled itself inside of his heart, freezing it and shrinking it until he no longer knew what the emotion felt like. You’ve melted that ice. You’ve found a crack and broken the cycle of rage he’s so accustomed to…and he’s grateful. 

For this is the first time he’s ever felt loved…

…if only you were his…

…but you aren’t.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated! ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀will have a second part titled swan song in the future!

[reddamselette]

valgrace except it’s two days before new years. modern au for drabble purposes.

jason left america to visit italy. he and reyna haven’t seen each other in a while so after christmas, he had booked a flight, said his goodbyes, and boarded the plane. leo had stayed, driving from new york to texas with will so they can both see their mothers, introducing the women who just hit it off so well leo and will were a little nervous about their influence on each other.

it wasn’t all bad. just embarrassing childhood photos and stories leo had to suffer through before he and will went on tangents about the kids they’re counseling at camp.

during the days, jason and leo still kept in touch. they texted every single detail about their adventures to one another, even the littlest details. like how the ruins in rome would have annabeth with heart eyes, cafes here and there she would also like as well. sometimes they’d call to help each other pick out clothes, which colors would look good with which, reyna and will’s running commentary in the background.

they would just talk and talk that there wasn’t a moment they weren’t on the phone.

then leo and will drove back to new york on new year’s eve. the counselors set things up for the kids who didn’t have homes to return to, spend time with the others but within every hour closer to midnight, leo checked his phone. jason was supposed to come back but there was nothing. no phone calls, no texts, just silence.

needless to say, leo was anxious. and he was stressed.

and as they’re ready for the countdown, crowded by the bonfire with fireworks and food and drinks and games at the ready, leo’s name is called five seconds in.

he whipped around to search for the direction it came from because even in the loud chanting, the laughs and the giggles, leo can hear jason’s name anywhere. he spent so much time committing that soft voice to memory, the smile, how he’d say leo’s name.

and he runs off.

he runs like hell is on his heels and collides into jason who meets him halfway, arms around each other as the fireworks are set off and the clock strikes midnight.

[stevesgother]

Little Red Lighthouse (Ongoing)

When you move away from your hometown and your best friend turned part time lover to get a fresh start, you realize independence and freedom isn't always what it's cracked up to be. When you return, will you be able to make amends with Steve after 5 long years apart? Or will the resentment have festered too deep?

Little Red Lighthouse

Strange

Part 3 - Coming soon!

[littleseasiren]

Wait you love me?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angst, a bit of language, then fluff

Words: Just over 900 words

A/N: Welcome to day 3 of Flufftober. Prompt: "Wait you love me?" "I always have". Thanks @flufftober for this interesting challenge. Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from my tag list. Thanks for reading!

The drive home from the restaurant was quiet - too quiet. You had a magical night with Bucky, having fun watching a movie and then a lovely dinner at a sophisticated restaurant that Bucky had chosen. He knew you didn't need anything fancy, but he still went out of his way to spoil you often. The evening was going perfectly until it wasn't anymore.

Your dessert had just been placed in front of you when it started. You were having a slice of cheesecake while Bucky chose a chocolate lava cake when it happened. Bucky was giving you a bite of his dessert when a group of young men walked in and took the table next to you. When they saw Bucky's metal arm, they started whispering between themselves. It had taken you and the others months to get Bucky comfortable without wearing gloves, only for this one moment to ruin all his hard work accepting his metal arm.

At first, Bucky pretended he couldn't hear their whispers, but as their voices grew louder, even you could hear them commenting on Bucky's history as the Winter Soldier. You wanted to kick their ass, but Bucky begged you to ignore them. He didn't want to make a scene and asked you not to either. The two of you quickly finished your desserts, Bucky paid, and now you were stuck in a car so thick with silence, that you felt like you might choke on it.

"Bucky, those guys don't have any idea what they're talking about, don't let it go to your head. You're not him anymore."

"Hmm," Bucky mumbles, eyes focusing on the road ahead. His hands grip the steering wheel so tight that you're afraid he'll snap it right off.

Not knowing what to do, you try to give him space to calm down.

"Bucky, talk to me," you ask as you help him take off his suit jacket.

The two of you are back in your shared room, alone at last. Sometimes it's difficult staying in the tower with the other Avengers, everyone wanted to know how your date went, what you did, things like that. They genuinely wanted to know if you had fun, but you just wanted to get your boyfriend alone.

"There's nothing to talk about, doll. Everything is fine," Bucky says softly as he turns and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He's turned away from you, but you can still hear the hurt in his voice.

"Everything's not fine. I know you, Bucky. I don't want to push you -"

"Then don't! I told you, I'm fine!" Bucky barks out, his brows lowered and lip set in a harsh line as he throws his shirt on the chair. He sits down on the side of the bed and starts removing his shoes.

"The hell you are! I don't know what they said but I know you heard it and that it's going to your head, making you question everything." You stand in front of him, still wearing all your clothes, not willing to back down from this.

Bucky's anger disappears almost instantly. "Exactly, you have no idea what they said." He lowers his head as he takes a deep breath. When his eyes meet yours, they are cold and full of determination.

"This is just becoming a bit much, I thought I was ready for a relationship but I guess not." When your brows narrow in confusion, he looks away instantly.

"This is becoming too much? You mean me?" You feel like your heart is breaking, as moisture gathers on the corners of your eyes.

"I mean this relationship." When he won't look at you, you feel the first tear drop down your cheek. Things had been going great between you two. How could he say that to you now? No, you won't accept this.

"Bullshit!" You lunge for him, hitting him on the chest when he stands up to stop you. "You don't get to decide that! I don't care what those men said, I'm not letting you leave me!"

Bucky grabs your arms, holding them still so you'll stop pounding on his chest. "I care! I'm not good enough for you, you should find someone else to be with. Someone better!"

"There's no one better for me Bucky! Why are you saying this?" Your tears are running freely now, his words hurting more than you can take.

"Because I love you! You deserve the world, not some assassin with seventy years of blood on his hands!"

You still in his arms, his words sinking in slowly. "Wait, you love me?" You meet his tired gaze, daring him to take back his words.

"I always have." He says it so simply, like it's the one truth he is sure of in his life.

"Bucky, I love you too. I don't want to be with anyone else. You are the man I love, this Bucky. I don't care what happened in the past, I just want to be part of your future." When he lets go of your arms, you gently cup his cheek, sighing with relief when he rubs against your hand.

"Say it again? Please?" His arm wraps around your middle, pulling you closer to his strong body.

You gaze deep into his blue eyes, letting him see the truth in your eyes. "I love you, Bucky. And you love me. I'm not going to let anything keep us apart."

"I love you so much, doll. I never meant to hurt you, I'm so sorry," he says as he pulls you onto the bed next to him. You lay beside him, willing to take anything the world throws at you, as long as he keeps loving you.

@morganmofresh

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[akeedia]

"How precious it is to be with trustworthy partners in our life."

— Cheng Xiaoshi

Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life / Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life / Mary Oliver, The Deer / Jonny Bolduc, Ending

[filmbyjy]

TWITTER SUCKS! > sixteen! let me sniff [written]

synopsis > who knew you could become famous overnight for paying $8 for a single blue checkmark? however, it does come with consequences…what happens when the actual BELIFT Lab comes knocking at your door. all because you simply impersonated your bias.

masterlist | previous | next

WORD COUNT: 0.9K words

WARNINGS: I do mention sex here like a couple of times but they are just for shits and giggles. I could never write smut (though JAM OUT was a whole complete different level)

a/n: holy shit, first written chapter of the series😮 ALSO!! SELAMAT HARI RAYA TO MY MUSLIM FOLLOWERS🫶🏻🫶🏻 time to get your raya duit and spend it on enha😍

everything was fine. well at least what heeseung thought, he didn’t know that the staff he was practically close with was mean to the other members. until they told him of course.

he knew this staff was pretty quote on quote ‘touchy’ but heeseung never thought she was crazy. however, if the boys say she’s insane then it must be true. heeseung could trust the boys way more than her, after all she just recently started working with their team.

— placing this in case read more messes up —

“hyung, just watch and observe her for a couple of weeks. you’ll notice how mean she is with sunoo and sunghoon.” jay says.

and it’s what heeseung did. he observed her and he was definitely not surprised. jay always knew how to tell the truth, he was also never a great liar. there was also something in particular she does which ticks heeseung off. it was the way she handled things, especially with fans.

it was like those bodyguards at airports. who push those ‘fans’ when they were about to enter the waiting area. the only difference is the ENGENEs that they met were really nice and respectful, she was not. she had insist the ENGENEs weren’t allowed to photograph any of them. which seems fair since it was a private schedule but heeseung felt like it was unnecessary. the fans weren’t even asking for a photograph, they were simply shocked to see the boys and said hi.

“I get what you mean, she’s crazy.” heeseung says. all 7 of the boys were sprawled in the living room. ni-ki and jake were playing the PS5.

“I think she purposely approached HYBE to get a job and be close to heeseung hyung. she sees me and sunghoon hyung as a threat because she knows that we don’t fuck with her.” sunoo rolls his eyes.

“well, she’s creepy. how old was she again?”

“hyung’s age?” jake says. he yells after because ni-ki’s kart had pushed his to the side. “YAH! NISHIMURA I WAS WINNING.”

“too bad, jake hyung.” ni-ki sticks out his tongue, teasing the boy.

“she’s like one of the youngest staff member on our team. she’s definitely trying to seduce hyung.” jungwon says.

“the attempt isn’t subtle at all. we literally see her undressing heeseung with her eyes.” sunghoon complains. heeseung gasps before covering his body up as if he could imagine her eyes.

“she did that?”

“oh hyung, if only you weren’t oblivious. yes, she did undress you with her eyes.” sunghoon says.

“she literally slowly panned her eyes up and down your body. she looked like a total pervert.” jake gags.

“fuck, what do we do?”

“hmm, maybe we could…lowkey record her? use the en-core camera and like angle ourselves to where she is sort of seen but also off-camera so they won’t blur out her face.” jungwon says.

“won, you are a genius.” jake says.

“oh I know.” jungwon smirks. jay playfully rolls his eyes.

“anyways, are you going to confess to (name) noona?” sunoo tilts his head. he prettily flutters his eyes whilst cupping his face. heeseung shakes his head.

“I don’t like (name) like that. we are just flirting for fun, besides i can’t just risk my career like that.”

“then what’s with all the ‘god, she’s beautiful’ or ‘i wish I could date her’ muttered under your breath, hyung?”

“i just-I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to fall in love.”

“so you became a simp? that still shows you have feelings for her.” sunghoon says.

“I don’t know what love is.” heeseung huffs.

“booooo, for someone who flirts with ENGENEs all the time. you suck at realising your feelings.” jay grumbles.

“you are like jay hyung. a virgin.” jungwon says.

“man, I have sex.” jay folds his arms.

jake snorts, “with what? your right hand? that’s not sex.”

“hyung, ni-ki is right there.” jungwon scolds.

“it’s true though, what bitches is jay pulling.” sunghoon shrugs.

“your mom.” jay says.

“sorry but my mom has taste. reason why, she and my dad created me. the hot sexy bitch I am.” sunghoon flips his hair.

it went dead silent and sunghoon rolls his eyes. “I make the face of the group. you should be thankful for my visuals.”

“heeseung hyung is the face of the group but sure, we thank you for your visuals.” sunoo says.

“only sunoo has my back. you guys are fake as fuck.” sunghoon huffs.

>> next day >>

as per usual, the boys had their schedule. their plan had already initiated. today, jay was their videographer.

“heeseung, it’s time for your makeup.” heeseung was about to go but sunoo decided to put on an act knowing jay was already recording.

“jieun noona, could you help sew my clothes? it seems like there is a tear in the clothes.” sunoo says. jieun rolls her eyes.

“there are other stylists around, can’t you ask them? I have to prioritise heeseung first.”

“the other stylists are busy with the other members-”

“I don’t care, go find another stylist.” she pushes sunoo away. sunoo rolls his eyes once he turns his head away, jay was there to film everything. jay knew ENGENEs could trust sunoo’s judgement. he was always right when it came to feeling a person’s character.

another opportunity rises after the performance, this time jake records.

“heeseung, come here. you must be smelling horrible.”

“uh, yeah. I just finished a performing.” heeseung says, he could feel the awkwardness and he hated it.

she sniffs heeseung and sighs, “I knew it. come on, let’s get you cologne or something. you smell like sweat.” jake gasps behind the camera. jungwon watching in horror.

“nah, she’s foul for that.” sunghoon says.

“heeseung hyung must feel so bad now.” ni-ki pouts.

“you smell too ni-ki.” jake says. ni-ki shoves jake.

that’s all before jake shoves ni-ki and they start play fighting. like puppies.

series taglist[open]: @lovers-szn @shiguresohmas @moonshoon @byunappetit @strvlveera @rikisly @4lythe @lalalalawon @beansworldsstuff @enhastolemyheart @jaehaki @shinsou-rii @jeanbob @sxftiell @renchai @nyfwyeonjun @invusblog @lhees01 @donghyckl @enhafika @dimplewonie @foxsunoo @luv2lia @lvrjjun @curly-fr13s @bubblytaetae @raikea10 @ce1ight @luvlee1313 @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs @soobisrealgfnotfake @justkatehere @l0tisflower @jseobsky @haerinism @liliansun @kyanmeai @nobodyshallenter @faeryhee @pkjay @mlink64 @luxurystark-jackson @aleombre @yenqa @heestrawberries @soaen @ckline35 @http-gyu @climbingmandevillas @stopeatread @y4wnjunz @aetherlol @whippedforbeomgyu @elisabeth-02 @tlnyjoong

(to be added please send an ask or click here)

[ficbrish]

Threadbare

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 11th - New Beginnings]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, blood, blood drinking, past abuse, cptsd, choking kink, interrupted masturbation, alcohol, light hurt/comfort

Late in Act III, Astarion finds Vistri cuddling with his old shirt alone in their rooms at the Elfsong.

LATE ACT III SPOILERS!

“...And gave him a taste of a flaming fist! ” Karlach howled, leading the whole tavern in laughter.

Other mugs echoed her pounding on the bar with a dull, banging rhythm. Little golden drops of mead spilled over the tops, dripping down the glasses and mixing with condensation.

Astarion personally never tired of this story of hers. A Flaming Fist had been inappropriately whistling at Shadowheart, and Karlach responded by knocking the man flat on his ass in one swing. While Astarion smiled quietly and nostalgically at her recollection of those events, the other tavern patrons, who’d never heard it before, were an eager and raucous audience.

Shadowheart’s face turned Karlach’s color. Shouting over the Elfsong’s laughter, she protested, “I could have handled it myself. Really!”

Wyll threw an arm over her shoulder, “Come, come, Shadowheart. Was it not a bit satisfying for such a gallant devil to step in and exact your revenge?”

A huge smile spread over her face, “Galant devil could describe any of us.”

Astarion raised his glass, “Cheers!”

Wyll met his delicate wine glass with his own burly mug of mead. Unprepared for how much enthusiasm Wyll would use, Astarion ended up with red all down his front. A collective groan sounded along with wild laughter.

“It’s all right,” he assured Wyll, whose eyes were apologizing faster than his mouth could move.

“Astarion, I’m so—”

Funny thing, how such a sight affected him. Astarion wasn’t used to apologies. Or friendships for that matter. Wyll’s genuine sorrow over such a small inconvenience was like a hearty meal to a starving soul. He couldn’t let the apology continue. It was too painful to witness.

“No, no! It’s all right,” Astarion insisted, “Please don’t put yourself out. I’ll just go change. This tunic is hideous anyways.”

It wasn’t. It was a pretty blue thing with silver thread. But there was a prettier blue thing with silver scales waiting for him upstairs in their rooms, one he was eager to get back to.

Vistri was having a lie down. She wasn’t sick, just exhausted. Her body was fine, but her mind was ragged. Astarion was only reluctantly dragged from her side through her stubborn, repeated insistence to be left alone for a little while. He had the sense she’d been saying it more for his sake than hers. She didn’t want to be the reason why he didn’t spend time with the others.

“You say no one else has my heart, but they do!” she’d said, “You do!”

He’d frowned at the way she used his own words against him. Especially so inaccurately. Astarion was right, there was no one else like her. He’d stand by that forever.

“That’s not—!”

“Yes, it is! Go down there and have fun. Let them earn your trust as I have.”

Raising his brow, he left her with one last tease, “Certainly not in the same way you have?”

His charm wasn’t enough this time. He was dismissed.

Let the others in .

Well, he’d gone down with the others, had a bit of fun, and now he was covered in wine. He had the perfect excuse to go back up and check on her. The fretting in his stomach turned into excitement. 

So much had changed in so little time, after two centuries of endless, torturous consistency, spilled wine was now just spilled wine. He would just change his clothes, maybe wash up a bit, and there would be more waiting for him to wear. Choices.

Sewing was a skill Cazador forced on all his spawn. Keeping them all as cheaply as possible, they had to make every article of clothing last. No matter the care, or the tending, their clothes always ended up degrading into rags and tatters. Astarion was almost jealous of the way his outfits got to age and die. They had a temporal escape, while his torture was bound to be endless.

It also had the side benefit of shame. Sewing was for servants. It reminded the spawn of who they were.

Now that was all over. Cazador was gone. Ended by his hand.

And he had so many new clothes.

He had choices. How bizarre! Astarion was sure he’d forgotten how to make them.

And then he chose her.

A smile brewed on his face just at the mention of her in his thoughts. He took to the steps three at a time, surely looking absolutely ridiculous. He didn’t remember much from his life before undeath, but the more time he spent away from Cazador, the more he realized how much his desire to avoid appearing foolish was part of the weight of those old chains. If he tripped and fell on his face, he would probably laugh from the rebellious feeling of it.

The tadpoles brought him the sun and then Vistri. She helped him find love, true freedom, and then true love.

He decided looking a fool was worth it the moment he stepped through the door. His eyes found her immediately on one of the sofas by the fireplace. The dancing reflections of the flames rolled over the silver scales on her brow in waves. He could see it from the door. She was lying down; her eyes opened at the sound of his entrance.

She seemed a little shocked, “Astarion!”

“Hello, dear!” he greeted with open arms and a wide smile. It felt like ages since they’d been in the same space.

Although, reading her expression, he was a little worried she wasn’t as happy to see him.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, “Are the others—?”

“Just me,” he stated, then dramatically drew attention to his ruined shirtfront, “I’ve been decorated with libations! I need to freshen up. Is that all right?”

“Of course it’s all right! Don’t be silly.”

Vistri was a sorcerer; she was used to her thoughts becoming reality. But her mind was reeling from his sudden appearance. Like he’d stepped from her thoughts, but with an entirely different attitude. The Astarion in front of her was all lightness and soft good-humor. The one in her head was a whole other, harder side of his.

Their storage trunk was near the fireplace as well, by the other sofa. As Astarion walked towards her to rifle through it, she slowly removed her hand from between her legs, careful not to let the movement show under the blanket, which wasn’t even a blanket, but his old shirt.

Gods! It couldn’t be more embarrassing.

He came over to her first, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on her damp forehead. Astarion looked at her curiously, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Vistri nodded, humming a high-pitched, “Mmmm-hmmm.”

His brow was all questioningly screwed up, but he decided to drop it, and started unbuttoning his tunic.

Vistri subtly wiped her fingers on her thigh, then sat up, “Here, let me help you.”

“I’ve got it love,” he insisted, “You just lie down. Say… Why aren’t you in our bed?”

The way she smiled and repeated the words, “Our bed,” in that bright tone allayed all Astarion’s fears in an undead heartbeat. He was welcome. She was just as happy to see him as he was her. Poor love was just worn out.

He sighed and bent back down to kiss her. Her pulse pounded, he could feel it rush at the brushing of his lips. A rumble brewed in his middle and his fangs ached. She gave a little moan without meaning to, losing herself in the power of his affection.

“Don’t get too excited,” he teased, “I’m only here for a moment.”

“Why only a moment?” she asked genuinely.

With a smile, he tucked her braid behind her ear, “Didn’t you want to be alone?”

Her eyes were wide, like a begging dog, “I can be alone with you here.”

Astarion froze. He swallowed heavily, then giggled, “What a silly idea! Doesn’t that defy the whole concept of being alone?”

She pouted, and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he scoffed, sitting down next to her, “I can be—Hang on!”

Upon reaching for her hand, he finally noticed her blanket. Her expression filled with panic at his recognition, and too late, she tried to hide it.

He chuckled with sinister delight, “Why, is this my—?”

“No!” she stubbornly refused.

“Bloody liar! ” he laughed.

“It’s not!”

Vistri was cuddled up with his old shirt. She must’ve taken it out of the trunk and sat down nearby.

“That’s why you’re not in bed! You came over here for my shirt!”

Blushing deeply, Vistri was struggling to accept her fate. She couldn’t get out of talking about her feelings now. Eventually, she admitted, “...I did.”

His query was meant to tease, but there was something… raw and needy in his voice that made it something entirely different, “You were…”

She was nuzzling his old rags like they were something precious. Intentionally. Used her alone time to fish it out of the stuffed trunk, and secretly treasure it. While he was just downstairs in the tavern, missing her, she was up here longing for him.

“You were holding onto my old shirt?”

Vistri rolled her eyes and groaned. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed.

Astarion made a “tsk” sound and smirked, “Aw, don’t reject it now, darling. My poor shirt! You’ll hurt its feelings.”

“No! I don’t want that!” she whined, as if that were something possible to really do.

He held it away from her reaching grasp, “Nuh, uh! Apologize first.”

“Astarion!”

“That’s my name, dear. Not an apology.”

Vistri frowned. Astarion leaned in and kissed it into a smile.

“I hate you!” she giggled, playfully pushing him off her.

“I hate you too,” he said lovingly, “Now! Walk me through the process of deciding to take out my shirt. Was this before or after you shooed me away?”

“Must I?”

Savoring the look on her face, he nodded, “You must, dearest.”

She bit her lip, “Okay. Ugh. Fine. You left and I…”

“You what?”

“I missed you! ”

“Hah!” he boasted.

“Arsehole!”

“An arsehole you love to kiss,” he grinned, “Shall I call you butt breath?”

“No!” she protested, laughing, “Please no!”

“Here,” Astarion handed her his old shirt, “Hold this.”

He stood and finished undoing his tunic, then threw off the soiled shirt underneath. Bare-chested, he climbed over to her side.

“Scoot over,” he demanded.

“There’s no room!” she laughed.

He pulled her tight once his body was flush against hers, “We’ll make it work.”

Vistri felt dizzy. Like she was flying.

“Okay.”

Not letting it go, Astarion asked, “So you missed me, and then what happened?”

With his fingers absently drawing figures on her waist, Vistri had no fight left. Sighing, she continued to expose herself, “I started thinking about… When we met, and I first saw you.”

“How you adored me instantly?”

“No, actually. How much I despised you. Like really, really just wanted to… shake you.”

“That’s so romantic.”

She chuckled, “I’m sorry. It’s horrible, but it’s true. But then… I also…” She shifted so they were chest to chest, and she could look at his face as she spoke. Without thinking, her nose nuzzled his as she admitted, “I really liked you.”

He sort of snorted and sighed and called out in the same second, like a baby that didn’t know if it was hungry or tired or perfectly content. That didn’t know whether to coo or cry.

“You did?” he asked, heart on his tongue.

Nodding, Vistri admitted it all, “I think I’ve come to learn… It wasn’t you I was mad at, but everyone else you reminded me of. And part of me knew that, and the unfairness of it made me hate myself more.”

“Wanna know a secret?”

“What?” she chuckled.

“I hated myself and liked you too.”

Grinning, she humorously exclaimed, “And that’s why we had sex!”

Astarion gave a hearty laugh. It was rich and deep, and sounded like relief from a long-ago burden.

Instead of joining his mirth, Vistri’s expression grew more serious, “I don’t believe there’s a single thing I could hate about you. Not now that I know you.”

“Not a single thing?”

“Impossible.”

He caressed the length of her ear, gentle like a caretaker, then kissed her cheek.

“So what was that you were saying, about thinking of how much you hated me when we first met?” he whispered, stroking the side of her face with the tip of his nose.

“I didn’t hate you, I was falling in love. That’s what I was thinking of. Falling in love.”

“With me?”

She laughed, “Who else?”

He kissed her forehead, waiting with bated breath for her to continue.

She breathed deeply, leaning into his kiss, “I wanted to run down and get you, but we can’t be together all the time.”

“Who says?”

Chuckling, she shook her head, “We can’t!”

“And the next best thing was my shirt?”

“The one I met you in.”

He’d almost thrown it out. Now that he had new clothes, he no longer needed Cazador’s old rags.

But he couldn’t. And he was glad he didn’t.

“And then you just decided to relax here? And daydream about me?”

“Uh…” she said way too awkwardly for him to just accept.

Brow raised, Astarion repeated, “‘Uh? ’”

“It’s just so incredibly lame!” Vistri looked horrified.

“Then I have to hear it!” he giggled, thrilled to have her in this little trap she set up herself.

“I was… Oh gods! ” she rolled her eyes, “Can I just… tadpoles?”

He laughed, “It’s so embarrassing you can’t speak it?”

“Yes.”

Laughing even harder, he agreed. He put his forehead to hers even though they didn’t need touch for brainworm-to-brainworm communication. Relaxing into his embrace, she let her memory play out through his senses.

Vistri was thinking of him, and Astarion found beauty in himself he could only see through her eyes. Like freedom, it was overwhelming. A goodness he could drown in. That she could drown in. He was her, and she was him.

Knots in her stomach, tied like strings of fate, spelling his name in her blood.

Rushing, pounding, flowing. Her heart.

Stillness. Serenity. Bliss.

After lying down on the couch, she held his shirt to her face and breathed into it. Even washed, it smelled like him. Like his heat and his lusts and his heavy soul. She kissed its loose threads like it was his chest, where his heart was. Imagined his arms around her like they were now.

Astarion felt Vistri loving him; fell into her blurred line of desire and devotion. He could taste it on her tongue as he kissed her now and felt her love him through that too. Past and present blended, and they shared all of it like one being. In her memory, her hand traveled between her legs at the thought of his laughing face. Then there was the sincerity in his eyes as they both kneeled over his grave. I want you, spilling out of his lips. She was touching herself, thinking of him, adoring him, with the shirt she’d met him in clutched to her throat. As they lived through it together on the same sofa, he kissed her again and again.

She didn’t even mean to break the connection, but his mouth was too distracting. He just couldn’t help himself. It felt like coming home after two centuries.

“How rude,” he muttered, “I seem to have interrupted.”

“It’s fine,” she said breathlessly, “I’m glad you came back.”

He chuckled warmly, “Darling I was just downstairs. At your insistence!”

“I know,” she said plainly, holding him tighter.

His heart ached, still absorbing what he’d just felt and seen through her memory, “You… Thinking about me–how you love me–makes you…?”

Unable to look at him, she buried her face in his chest, “I told you it was lame!”

Helping her out of hiding, he lifted up her chin, “I don’t think it’s lame.”

His tone sounded like he thought it was the most extraordinary thing. A miracle that couldn’t even be perceived, even with it plainly in front of him. It tore her heart open, but filled it rather than took.

Astarion kissed her neck, “I think it’s quite hot actually. Makes me want to finish what you started.” Vistri felt the heat of her blush again, and he moaned, “Fuck! I love when your blood rushes.”

He scraped his fangs hungrily against her skin. Her heart grew heavy with the weight of his need. She wanted to be the reason he felt better. Stronger.

“Go ahead, Astarion,” she said comfortingly, “Have a bite.”

He kissed her neck, from her chin down to the base of her throat, and bit into the muscle that connected her shoulder. Vistri gasped, surrendering to the sharp pain, and to him, leaning into his bite. Her blood dripped between them as it rolled messily off his lips.

Just allowing himself a taste, Astarion released Vistri from his fangs, licking up the remnants and kissing her wound until it closed. The hunger wasn’t sated, but he was dizzy with power nonetheless.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked, still concerned despite knowing how much she loved it.

“More than all right! Are you—?”

He met her warm smile with one of his own, “More than all right.”

“Good.”

No other partner ever cared. Neither had ever been asked genuinely what they wanted or who they were. No one else but them, making such questions a lyrical aphrodisiac for them to exchange.

Astarion could read her arousal in a thousand different languages. His tongue could feel it in her frantic heartbeat. His teeth could smell it in her glistening sweat. She was a meal ready to be devoured, prey begging to be taken. His hands traveled along her waist, and she twitched pleasantly. All the places that usually tickled made her shiver with want.

Vistri was always so ecstatic that it was him touching her this way, and no one else, that her skin would cry if it could. He could have clumsy hands and awkward touches, and still his embrace would make her shake. Astarion could easily bring ecstasy to her, even if he didn’t know what he was doing, just because it was him.

But gods did he know what he was doing! He played her body like it was one of her instruments, and all he did was fondle her torso.

His fingers lingered just under her waistline as he rubbed his arousal against her thigh. Throbbing under his pants, Astarion let his hand dive into her knickers. The wet lace made him groan.

“You’re soaking,” he sighed, licking his lips, “Might I have another taste?”

Whimpering as he teased her sensitive skin with brushing fingertips, Vistri pleaded, “Yes!”

First, he undressed her one article at a time, unwrapping her like a gift.

It was better than being alone. The whole purpose of her rest was to not think. She didn’t want to disappear, not anymore. She wanted to be present, but out of her head, and this was so much better. However, her heart still ached and missed him. Demanding more touch, more feeling. 

Being wanted by Vistri was the prettiest sight. Astarion had only ever known admiration, not adoration. Images of her in her memory ran through his mind; and with them came echoes of her emotion as she’d nuzzled into his old shirt, desperate for his lingering smell, pretending it still held his warmth. As the monster in his head screamed to devour her, he slid a finger up and down her soaking slit.

Following the roll of her hips, he almost lost himself in their rhythm as he teased her clit. Her desire was one he’d never known, a love he’d never felt. Vistri gave herself to everyone, but never like this. It was the same for him. Everyone had him, but no one knew him like this. Between them, old habits were entirely new.

Crawling his way down her legs, he had another taste. Vistri’s hands caressed his head and her fingers wrapped around his ears in a way that made him hum with security.

She cried out at every lash of his tongue.

He whined licking her, the rushing blood just under her skin overwhelmed his senses as much as her taste. It made him feel alive. Pangs of need made his fingers tremble as they pushed into her, stretching her. She moaned, a song promising this would always be his. He wanted to fuck her until he saw stars.

And it felt good to want. The desire he felt was his. All his.

“Astarion,” she called out his name in a breathy voice, her body tensing with pleasure. Even without tadpoles, he knew how close Vistri was.

The next words from her lips yanked his heart out of his chest and brought it to his sleeve.

“Yours. I’m all yours.”

He’d planned to pleasure her in so many ways, but those words took away his will to perform. They didn’t need ecstasy as much as each other. She’d touched herself thinking of his laugh and his expressions; of his being, not his figure. Vistri just wanted him.

Lifting his head up, he asked, “Can I—?”

“Get back here!”

She pulled on his shoulders as he rushed to her lips, climbing her torso. She was so small, but it felt like miles. Ages until they were face to face.

His mouth was like a bully, commanding hers about. Vistri struggled with things like self love and acceptance, but could adoringly savor her taste on his tongue. It was so sweet mixed with his underneath. Astarion took her by the wrist to rub her hand along the outside of his trousers, almost growling as rutted into her palm. Being used by him was the best thing in the world, just as being used by others was the worst. Her ecstasy from it was as sharp as her bruised soul.

One long, deep, “Uuuuh,” from Vistri was the final snap in Astarion’s composure. One hand went to her neck as the other started undoing his laces. 

He licked along her jaw, and spoke in the crook of her throat as it called to him, “Do you know what it means? When you say you’re all mine?”

“I know what it means,” she looked him squarely in the eyes, seriously, which was unusual for either of them, “I say it because I know what it means.”

When there was enough give, Astarion pulled his trousers and pants down in one motion, just far enough to reveal himself. He spread her thighs apart and rubbed his aching cock along her belly to show off how deep he’d go.

Writhing, wanting him, she uttered, “Fuck, I love you.”

Astarion buried himself in her, saying he loved her too. Vistri screamed his name so loudly it probably answered what was taking him so long to change to the others downstairs.

“Wait, is the door locked?” he asked, suddenly remembering.

Vistri groaned, realizing it wasn’t, “Shit. Nooo.”

It was a rare occasion for their rooms at the Elfsong to be empty of everyone but them. Anyone could come back at any time, and they were in the middle of the room.

“Well, we don’t want to make an unsuspecting audience out of Shadowheart’s parents. Do we?”

Cackling, she suggested, “Or Withers.”

Astarion giggled, “Old bastard might try to join.”

Vistri’s laughter made her shake and pulse so pleasantly on his cock, he didn’t want to leave.

“Go lock it,” she could barely get the words out, overtaken by hilarity. Like she was wearing that cursed amulet again. 

Sighing with frustration, he reluctantly pulled out of her and got up, tearing the rest of clothes off of his legs. Her slick covered his whole length, making the air cool on his dick as it bounced with his steps.

At the sound of the lock snapping shut, Vistri stupidly called out, “Please!”

He stood by the door smiling with his arms crossed, “Please, what?” The crimson-violet scream of his skin, his retreated foreskin, and the precum pooling at his tip betrayed his casual nature.

“Fuck me!” she begged.

He smirked and held up two fingers.

Vistri buried her face in the side of the sofa to hide her laughter, “I cannot stand you!”

Wishing to see her face again, Astarion dropped his game and broke into a full run. She squealed as he leapt to her, and then cried out as he tore through her again. He savored the look on her face. Her eyes spilled the truth of her heart. Their expression exposed her even though she wasn’t trying to hide anything. Vistri belonged to him, gave herself over to him to use and take care of at whatever whim. As long as she was his .

“What was that about not being able to stand me?” he smirked, distracting himself from the pleasure shaking his spine like a tree in a rough storm. He wanted Vistri to find ecstasy at least once before giving into his.

Running her hands along his chest and stomach made him almost whimper. Vistri licked his earlobe and kissed his ear before whispering, “I lied. I actually adore you, and want you all the time.”

Roughly, he pushed her down into the sofa. He wrapped a big hand around her delicate neck and held it firm, like a brace. Slowing his thrusts to an unbearably slow pace. A teasing rhythm.

“Do you adore me now?” he asked. It was impossible for even Astarion to tell if he was asking out of seduction or sincerity.

“Even more,” she promised.

A devious smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “Turn around.”

After tucking pillows, and his old shirt, under Vistri for a better angle, Astarion playfully bounced his hard cock against her ass. They both laughed at the smack, but grew serious as he began to touch her from behind. She rocked back into his palm so deliciously he had to angle himself against her. With a slight push, he was covered to the hilt. They shivered in tune with each other. Vistri felt ripped open at his thrust; his hands firmly holding onto her hips grounded her.

She reached back for one of them, and his finger twisted around one of hers as they met.

He froze, “Is this still what you want?”

“It is all I want,” she answered, caressing his finger.

Even though Vistri couldn’t see his smirk, she could hear it, “Then let’s give the others an update on our whereabouts.”

He roughly pumped his hips, angling deep.

“Astarion!”

He wanted them to hear it, everyone her voice could reach; hear the news that she was his. Going faster made her louder.

“Astarion! ” 

“Yes,” he groaned, as he felt her tightening around him, “Yes.” It was a word he wasn’t used to meaning, and the truth of it felt like the sun tingling like home on his skin.

Gasping through the edges of death, in unison, too quickly, they cried out.

Astarion wanted to see the stars, and there they appeared behind both their eyes. They never really knew why it was called a little death before they met. It became clear the first time they transcended flesh and spirit together under the thrall of an all-consuming ecstasy. In that bliss, they were gone from the world, and in coming back to it, were reborn into their shaking embrace.

He rocked his hips gently, even when there was nothing left to spill into her. Just because he didn’t want the moment to pass yet.

As Astarion sat back on his knees, Vistri turned around and covered his face with a flurry of breathless, grateful pecks. He chuckled, and wrapped his arms around her. Vistri threw hers over his shoulders too and pulled him tighter.

“Never leave me alone again,” she half-joked.

Astarion was so happy his words had a sobbing laugh under them, “Oh, I’m never leaving you alone again!”

They squeezed each other even closer at the same time. Never wanting to let go.

Miraculously, nothing got on the couch. So all they had to clean off was each other. After freshening up, they crawled into their bed. Which wasn’t really their bed. It was rented. But, unless tents and bedrolls counted, this bed was the first sort of home they’d claimed together.

“This is my favorite part,” she said as she nuzzled into his chest.

“What are you talking about?”

Vistri hummed happily and sighed, running her fingers along his arm, “This.”

Smiling, he bent to kiss her head. She gave another happy hum.

“You’re perfect,” she said.

“No, I’m not,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Looking up, she poked him on the nose and refuted his denial, “Yes, you are!”

Astarion smirked and made a show of trying to bite her finger. Vistri squealed, laughing.

“No, don’t bi—”

A series of loud, rapid bangs on the door snatched them from their lighthearted moment, and instinctively, they got ready to fight. Each made a protective gesture over the other. Astarion sat up and pulled her closer by the waist, as she positioned her body in front of his.

Drunken shouts answered them before they could call out and ask who was there.

“—en it!”

“‘S’locked! ”

“OY! WHY’S THE DOOR SHUT?!” That would be Karlach.

Vistri smirked at Astarion.

Brow raised, he remarked, “Looks like this time, we forgot to unlock the door.”

She snickered, “Ready to let them in?”

He made a show of thinking about it for a moment as kicks and insults shook the door, “Hmmm, I don’t know. I think we should make them wait.”

The burst of laughter that left Vistri was loud enough for the others to notice, and the muffled shouting now included their names.

Astarion rolled his eyes and got out of bed, “You’ve done it now, love.”

As he walked to the door, he took a look back at Vistri, who had sunk back into their bed, holding her sides in a laughing fit. He felt as free as she sounded, and so full of happiness Astarion couldn’t feel his feet on the ground.

Vistri was wearing his old shirt. She’d insisted on changing into it when they got dressed. Telling him she didn’t want to spend a second without him wrapped around her.

The sight made him smile so broadly his cheeks ached.

[rainbow-rebellion]

This my first time writing fanfiction, so please be gentle! I also decided to try a different writing style than my usual, so I hope it’s still enjoyable! Anyways, here we goooo….

Oh look I’m on AO3 now too

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Supercorptober Day 3: “Kara”

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When she first meets Kara, she remembers thinking “what a beautiful name”.

And then Lena remembers how her breath caught in her throat when she looked into the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen, and she knew in that moment Kara was not anyone she was going to forget anytime soon.

At first, Kara was just interviews and polite conversation over tea and coffee. But she was also a very attractive woman and easy on the eyes, so who could blame Lena if she secretly looked forward to their occasional interactions?

Lena soon came to find that Kara was unlike anyone she had ever met. Kara was genuine in a disarming way, in that way that almost seemed too good to be true - but time and time again she proved that she truly had no ulterior motives - she quite simply just wanted to be Lena’s friend. Lena, self deprecating as ever, couldn’t understand why Kara was so determined to nurture the tiny seedling of their fledgling friendship, but she found herself helpless to resist Kara’s radiant smile and the joy that it brought to her life (or the way her heart beat just a tiny bit faster every time she looked at her).

Before long Kara was weekly lunches, and kombucha dates and spin classes, and text messages with silly stories and pictures that sometimes made Lena laugh until her sides hurt. And then there were the hugs - so many hugs. Lena didn’t think she had ever been hugged so much in her life, but suddenly she couldn’t imagine her life without them, without getting to feel the way she felt when Kara’s arms were wrapped around her.

Kara was warmth and comfort personified, like snuggling up in a soft blanket in front of a fire on a cold day.

Kara was shy smiles and playful smirks and cheek splitting grins. She was long rambling sentences and clumsy stumbles and the endearingly awkward way she always fidgeted with her glasses. She was pizza and ice cream and movie nights, silliness and laughter and bad puns that Lena loved even though she pretended not to.

Kara was a cardigan-clad wrecking ball who unexpectedly smashed down every wall Lena had painstakingly erected around her scarred and wounded heart, walls she put up long ago to keep herself safe… but somewhere along the way Kara had become her safe place, her sanctuary. She felt protected and cared for… and for once, truly loved. Perhaps not in the same way she ever so slowly found herself falling for the charming blonde, but loved nonetheless.

(Because Kara was also the butterflies in Lena’s stomach, and she was stolen glances and sweaty palms and Lena’s nervous habit of biting her lower lip. She was the rapid beating of Lena’s traitorous heart, and affectionate smiles that tried to say what Lena could never find the courage to put into words).

Kara was sunshine, pouring light into all of Lena’s darkest places, banishing the shadows lurking in her soul with gentle but confident assurances of better days ahead. Kara was hope and perseverance and finding the silver lining in every cloud. She was everything good and true in Lena’s life.

Until she wasn’t.

In the blink of an eye, Lena found herself struggling to stay afloat in a raging sea of doubt and confusion, suddenly questioning everything she thought she had ever known. And the one person who could possibly save Lena was the one pushing her head under the water, drowning her in lies and betrayal.

So Kara was Supergirl. She was a goddamn fucking superhero. A so-called symbol of goodness, a supposed paragon of virtue.

Supergirl was “hope, help and compassion for all”.

How ironic.

All Lena felt was hopeless and helpless, all other emotions gone numb aside from the simmering hatred and rage threatening to consume her.

Kara was now nothing more than secrecy and deception. She was cowardice and regret and misplaced trust. Kara was the dull knife blade twisting in Lena’s back. She was the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, an imposter hiding behind a carefully crafted mask.

Kara was Lena’s heart fractured into a million jagged little pieces, ripping her insides apart and leaving her raw, exposed, vulnerable. Broken and bleeding.

Alone.

Kara became silence. The aching hole in Lena’s chest, an emptiness that nothing could fill.

Kara became endless nights finding the bottom of a bottle of expensive scotch, and crystal tumblers shattered against walls when the pain became too much to bear.

Lena wanted so desperately for Kara to become a distant memory, nothing more than a warning to her future self, packed away in a tiny box in Lena’s mind. But no matter what Lena did, Kara was still there, like a stubborn stain on a white shirt.

As time went on, Lena began to liken the feeling to the experience of getting a tattoo. Her emotional tattoo of Kara was a swirling design of pastels mixed with bold and vivid colors, rife with personal significance and symbolic of so many deep and indescribable emotions, both good and bad. And even though it was initially inscribed on her soul with gentle hands and a delicate touch, it still left her heart red and raw, covered in angry scabs that were so easy to pick at even though she knew it would only cause her more pain. But it would heal eventually, as long as Lena allowed it to. The pain would slowly fade away, leaving behind a permanent manifestation of memories both beautiful and bittersweet.

Simply put, as Lena had come to discover, Kara was unforgettable. No matter how much Lena tried to hate her, the truth was she loved her too much to ever let her go. And once Lena finally came to terms with that truth, she decided it was time to stop fighting what was clearly a losing battle.

Lena was finally ready to heal.

Lucky for her, Kara was ready to heal too.

And like dipping her toes cautiously in the edge of the water before diving in, little by little Lena let Kara back into her life.

Kara was different, and yet the same. Kara was layers for Lena to peel back one by one, finding her old friend still there alongside another Kara she had yet to meet.

Kara was forgiveness and second chances. She was the return of weekly lunch dates, and getting to know each other all over again. She was hope renewed, both of them learning to trust again and learning to be honest with each other.

Kara was previously untold stories of Krypton, and Lena’s realization of how the burden of Kara’s trauma weighed so heavily on her broad shoulders. Kara was deep sorrow, and fierce protectiveness, and a deep-seated sense of duty and determination to never let Earth or her loved ones befall the same fate as her former home. Kara was vulnerability, opening up to Lena about her past regrets and deepest fears. Lena learned to recognize the distant pain in Kara’s eyes, how well she hid so much of herself from everyone. And Lena learned to comfort the real Kara, in the same way she realized Kara had always been there to comfort her in her own darkest hours, even when Lena had taken it for granted.

Kara was the overwhelming urge Lena had to learn to speak and read Kryptonian just so that Kara would feel less alone. To be someone she could proudly share her culture and heritage with.

Kara was once again the destruction of the walls around Lena’s heart - but unlike before, the walls come down slowly, brick by careful brick. And this time, Kara’s walls came down too. When they finally had no more walls between them, together they took the bricks and built a bridge between their souls.

“El Mayarah,” as Kara would say. Stronger together.

Kara was once again light and laughter and the one person who could always make Lena smile. She was cuddles on Kara’s couch and spontaneous adventures and Lena finally overcoming her fear of flying. Kara was the confidence Lena needed to start a new business and make her own mark on the world.

Kara was all the affection and longing in Lena’s heart that never truly went away, and only grew stronger the deeper Lena dove into the surprising complexity that comprised all of Kara’s personas.

Kara was still butterflies and blushing cheeks, but now she was also the internal battle between Lena’s overwhelming desire to know if her love for Kara could ever be reciprocated, and Lena’s desperate need to never lose Kara as a friend again.

Kara was the impossible dream Lena finally dared to dream. She was a leap of faith, a trust fall, a plea to the heavens for a blonde haired angel to be the one waiting to catch her.

And now.

Now Kara is the first name Lena says in the morning and the last name on her lips at night. She is the shoulder Lena cries on, the strong arms that hold her close and keep her safe. She is promises and candlelit dinners and sweet whispers in her ear.

And now, as they lace their fingers together, and Lena stares lovingly into those beautiful blue eyes before pressing a gentle kiss to Kara’s impossibly soft lips, Lena can say she knows without a doubt who Kara is.

She is the missing puzzle piece that completes her, the glue holding all of Lena’s broken pieces together. She is the daily warmth and affection that fills Lena’s mended heart to overflowing.

Above all else, Kara is and always will be home. Just like she will always be Lena’s perfect partner at game night, and she will always be the person who takes Lena’s breath away, who makes her feel like the luckiest woman alive. And if there is one thing she knows for certain, it’s that Kara will always be the love of Lena’s life.

Kara really is a beautiful name.

[smowyashe]

Younger Logan had trouble sleeping, always scared of the monsters under his bed and in his cupboard. Fortunately for him his mother, knight in shining armour, would always sit beside his bed. Elias would sometimes stand outside the slightly cracked door and listen in on their little late night chats.

When Mama Walker decided Logan was worn out and distracted from the monsters, she'd start to sing. She sang many different songs. Top of The World by Shonen Knife and Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds by The Beatles, to name a few.

Though when she got ill little Logan would be the one sitting beside her bed. He wasn't a very talkative kid, but during those long nights he'd hum quietly.

Cellophane flowers of yellow and green Towering over your head Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes And she's gone...

[rillils]

i hate my angst loving self so much sometimes

think about a confused and not-entirely-there bucky screaming at steve, asking him why he left him there on the snow, asking why he didnt come back for him, telling him how long he waited for him to come and save him

FINE HONEY, YOU WANTED ANGST, I'LL GIVE YOU ANGST. AND I'LL CRY ABOUT IT 😭

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, tw: suicidal thoughts, very mild gore, nightmares, post-catws, angst is definitely not my thing what am i even doing here asjdhsjdh wordcount: 3815 a side note: while the language here is used in accordance with steve's profound sense of guilt, it doesn't reflect the author's personal beliefs on the matter - aka IT'S NOT HIS FAULT SKDLKS MY POOR BABY 😭😭

It always starts off quiet, like the darkened hall of a theater in the split second between the curtain opening over the stage and the actor’s first line. Silence, please. The show is about to begin.

The scenery changes sometimes, but it’s the mountains Steve sees most often in his dreams: the soulless gray of stone, and the blinding white of snow coating everything, from the peaks, to the valley, to the copse of fir trees, huddled together like children in the cold. Just like he remembers from that day in the Alps. No one knows how to torture him better than his own mind.

The wind rises sharp and icy, lifting sleets of frost with it, and a chill rolls down Steve’s spine. It’s not the cold, though.

It’s fear, congealing like a dead weight in the pit of his stomach. The show is about to begin. And he’s watched it all to the end countless times before.

“Steve?”

His head whips around, and Bucky’s right there, like he always is. A fixed point, unchanged, unmovable, his boots sinking soundlessly in the thick layer of snow beneath them.

He looks so beautiful, so oddly alive against the backdrop of his desolate place; a man at the peak of his youth, the pink of his cheeks nearly glowing next to the deep blue of his uniform, his hair combed to a movie-star shine, parted neatly to the side. It’s cruel, how perfect he is. Preserved like a cherished heirloom in Steve’s mind, never fading, never aging; a living picture, soft and rosy-cheeked. He belongs in a dance hall, in a crowded street, in the cheerful chaos of the fourth of July, in the color and noise of fireworks, in the tangle of ooh’s and aah’s under the firelit sky. He doesn’t belong here. But he’ll never leave this place.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s head tilts to the side, confused. “You left a long time ago.”

“Bucky,” Steve tries to say, but the name dies on his lips.

The light in Bucky’s eyes dulls to a flicker, carrying a heavy gloom over his features. He looks so sad, all of a sudden. He never looked sad when Steve was around, Steve remembers that – and Steve never learned how to make it better.

He can never make this better.

“Steve.” All the color’s draining from his cheeks, quickly, leaving only the paleness of death behind. His eyes – they pierce right through Steve, empty and cold, so cold, and Steve shudders from head to toe.

“I waited for you for so long,” Bucky’s blue lips say, with a mournful lilt Steve used to hear in his mother’s voice when she would sing to him, all those heart-twisting songs about a home she’d never see again. “Where were you?”

Something dark spreads from within across the pristine blue of Bucky’s coat, dripping slowly from his shoulder, black like ink–

blood

– smothering the rich color underneath, reaching down, down–

he fell

– down along Bucky’s arm, until it’s streaking the back of his hand–

blood, it’s blood, he fell, he’s going to fall

– pooling ruby-dark at Bucky’s fingertips.

Soon the drops will spill all over the fresh snow, staining it red, too.

“You left me here.”

Steve can’t breathe.

“Why did you leave me here, Steve?”

Steve can’t breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps, and the next breath stings in his lungs, ice-cold and merciless, “I’m so sorry, Bucky, so sorry. It’s all my fault, all my fault,” he chants, hands clawing at his own chest. But what will it help? He can’t undo this. He can never undo this. “I should have held onto you,” he sobs brokenly, and it’s strange, how he can never tell when he starts crying in his dreams, but he always feels the tears streaming down his face, real as his grief is real, clogging up his throat. “I never should have let you fall.”

Bucky steps forward, dark blood trailing behind him on the ground. Steve’s heart jolts like a spooked horse, pounding loud and fast with adrenaline.

“Why didn’t you look for me?”

He sounds so gentle. So devastatingly sad.

“Did I mean so little to you?”

Steve shakes his head, No, no, no, everything, you meant everything, always, I swear, tears flicking off the edge of his jaw to be lost in the snow-packed wind. “I t-thought you were dead,” he sobs, like he’s still curled up into the blown-up flank of that train, like he’s still got his face pressed to the ice-burn of its metal and praying for everything to end, now, before reality can reshape itself around him and tell him that Bucky is gone forever.

Something mean slithers behind Bucky’s eyes. “And you would have left my body to the wolves?” he says, his voice dangerously sharp over the moaning wind. “You didn’t think I deserved a proper burial?”

It’s snowing on the outside, but it’s inside that Steve feels ice gripping at his guts.

“You could have sent me home to my folks.”

It burns.

“To my sisters.”

It burns so bad, the shame crackling under his skin.

“At least then my family would have had a body to cry over. But it never even occurred to you, did it.”

Steve’s tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he pushes out uselessly, “I’m so sorry, I should’ve–”

“Or did you think that I was like you?” Bucky presses on, a cruel sneer forming on his white face. “Is that it? You fooled yourself so nice, you really thought I was like you? Like poor little Stevie? With no one left in the world who would miss me? No one who would even care if I was dead or alive?” He pauses, lips curling as though a new and amusing thought only just occurred to him. “Oh. Stevie, no. Did you think you were my whole world? Are you really that pathetic?”

“No,” Steve rasps, swallowing back tears and still drowning, drowning in them, “I never thought, I never– Please, Buck, I’m so sorry–”

Bucky’s silhouette blinks in and out of sight, and when he comes back, one moment later, he’s standing right before Steve, so close he need only reach out to touch him. His sneer is gone, but the depth of hurt in his eyes slices at Steve’s heart just as sharply.

“They took me, Stevie. You left me behind and they took me. Look,” he says, showing Steve the torn flesh where his left arm used to be – it was here just a moment ago, it was, Steve could swear it, it was right here – the bloody pulp of it, a frayed shard of white bone jutting out through the ripped muscle, sickening. His mouth, when Steve can finally look back, is curled back to show his teeth, the smile almost kind if it didn’t feel like a knife tearing at Steve’s own flesh. “This is all your doing. Isn’t it pretty?” Bucky tells him sweetly. “Tell me it’s pretty, Steve. Tell me it’s pretty.”

Without warning, Bucky’s hand darts up to clamp around Steve’s chin, gripping his face viciously. His touch is like ice, searing painfully into Steve’s skin, and Steve staggers in place, helpless but to look right into Bucky’s wide, desperate eyes.

“I was so scared,” Bucky whispers, hot tears spilling over his deathly pale cheeks. “I was locked in that place for so long, I couldn’t tell day from night anymore. It was so cold, and I was so alone, so alone without you, Stevie.”

His fingernails claw into Steve’s skin until they’re drawing blood, and Steve can only sob, can only take it, can only hope this will sate the hollowness he sees in Bucky’s eyes, if only for an instant. But it won’t, he knows it won’t. It never does.

If he could kneel at Bucky’s feet and beg for his forgiveness, keep him warm with the heat of his own tears, wash the blood away–

“I thought I was going to die. Every time they dragged me back to that table, I would tell myself, this is it. This is how it’s going to end,” Bucky tells him gently, nodding his head. “Sometimes, I even thought I should end it myself, before they could. But do you know what the worst part was? I didn’t die. No matter how bad I wanted it, none of the stuff they put me through ever did it. Hope kept me alive,” he snarls, soft through his bloodied smile. “That was my curse. I believed in you. I thought you would find me, save me. I told them you would come for me, and they laughed in my face, Stevie! They knew better.”

The sound that spills from Bucky’s mouth is the twisted, poisoned imitation of a laugh, emptied of all feeling, sharp like fingernails scraped across a blackboard.

“Don’t say that,” Steve whimpers, shaking his head, “please, don’t say that, no.” And he’d cover his ears if he could, lock that ugly truth out of his mind forever, but no muscle in his body will move until Bucky’s done with him.

“Do you know what happened then, Steve? You do know, don’t you?” Bucky asks, thrusting his face into Steve’s until only mere inches separate the tips of their noses – his eyes staring into Steve’s, a creeping echo of insanity gleaming from their depths. “They took my arm first, and then they took everything else.”

Hell. This is Hell.

“Because of you.”

This is what true torment looks like. No fire and brimstone, no howling souls of the damned, no blazing hail raining down upon him.

“It was always because of you.”

Just him and Bucky’s ghost, and a winter that never thaws.

“Bucky...”

The snowstorm rises against him with violence, angry, roaring in Steve’s ears, spreading frost over his chest, his arms, his bare face, freezing the tears caught in his eyelashes. Quiet, it demands. Don’t you speak to me. You have no right to speak to me.

But the yawning hole in Steve’s chest won’t stop screaming at him, starved for forgiveness, for a respite, for a mercy he never earned.

“Please, Buck... please...”

Bucky’s hand guides him down, pushing him to his knees. He crouches over Steve, gaze locked with his, heedless of the blood dripping dark and thick between his fingers; leaning in like he’s about to share a secret.

“I held out until I just couldn’t anymore. I tried to be strong, for you,” Bucky says in a harsh whisper. “But you never came.” His face, twisted by grief, wet with new tears. Steve cups it in his palms, but it’s no use: he can’t soothe this hurt. It’s too late now.

“Bucky, Bucky, sweetheart, forgive me– please, forgive me...”

Bucky’s grip on him relents; his fingers smear red over Steve’s cheek, four bloody streaks, and he strokes his knuckles over them, unbearably gentle.

“I waited for you for so long,” he says, mournful. His face is as cold as ice between Steve’s hands, stinging, burning. “Why didn’t you look for me?”

It hurts, it hurts so bad, so deep inside Steve’s heart.

“Why didn’t you look for me?”

The wind surges up around them, rattling Steve’s bones from within. The snow’s soaking into his pants, swallowing up his knees, colder, colder, the blizzard’s smothering him, blinding him, only Bucky’s eyes bright in his vision, crying, accusing, screaming, screaming, screaming–

“WHY DIDN’T YOU LOOK FOR ME?”

-

Steve jerked awake in the darkness, gasping for breath, a handful of sheets clutched dangerously tight in his fist. He barely even registered the soft, alarmed noise coming from the other side of the bed.

“Steve? It’s all right, you’re safe now.”

His eyes scoured the dark bedroom frantically, fighting through the chilling veil of ice still creeping at the edge of his vision. His heart hammered loud like thunder in his ears, pulsing so wildly in his throat, he thought for a moment that it would burst out of his body.

“Steve.”

Where was he?

The mountains–

“It was just a dream. You’re safe now, I promise. You’re home.”

His gaze focused on the only source of light: the faint glow filtering in through the blinds, the familiar orange hue of the street lights in their neighborhood, casting a striped pattern on the floor. A rug, there was a rug there – and a pair of slippers flicked just a bit too far from the bed.

“Come back to me, baby.”

The crumpled lumps of two discarded socks, that never made it to the hamper – oh, Bucky hated it when he did that.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me?”

A flicker of white–

– snow–

– Alpine, uncurling from her favorite spot and slipping soundlessly out of the room.

“Can you look at me? Steve.”

He turned his head towards the sound, staring wide-eyed into the shadows until finally, the outline of Bucky’s body emerged, sitting only an arm’s length away from him.

“That’s it, that’s good, Stevie.”

There was kindness in his voice, but his brow was creased with worry. His torso was half-twisted towards Steve, his body poised as though ready to reach out for him, but Bucky hadn’t touched him yet. Good, that was good. No. It hurt. That hurt.

Steve swallowed.

“Breathe with me, sweetheart. Can you do that? For me? Slow and easy, c’mon, with me.”

It was only then that Steve became aware of his own heavy breaths, the harsh sound of which filled up the room, gasp after gasp. He let go of the sheets and lay his hand on his own chest, where he could feel his pounding heartbeat, and tried to match Bucky’s calm, measured breathing as best as he could. He thought he was going to throw up.

“That’s it, just like that,” Bucky encouraged him.

Bucky–

Something flashed before Steve’s eyes; a fragment of a pale white face, with sneering lips and blood-stained teeth, taunting him with its cruel laughter.

You left me behind and they took me.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It was just a dream, it wasn’t real.”

Bucky shifted minutely on the bed, and a fleck of light caught the metal plates of his arm, a silver gleam darting quickly in the night.

Steve’s chin trembled. His throat closed up.

They took my arm first, and then they took everything else.

The tears came back before he could stop them, gathering hotly behind his eyes, pressing urgently to spill over.

“Bucky,” he choked out, and in the next moment he was crawling into Bucky’s open arms, curling his shaking body into Bucky’s sturdy frame. Bucky cradled him close, rubbing a soothing hand between Steve’s shoulder blades as Steve sobbed freely, pouring all of his anguish in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“W-when you fell,” Steve stammered pitifully, clutching at the back of Bucky’s t-shirt with the desperation of a drowning man, “I should have come looking for you, I should’ve been there, should’ve– should’ve brought you back, I–”

“No, no, Steve,” Bucky rumbled, rocking him gently in his arms, “don’t do this to yourself. Please, baby, I’m begging you.”

Steve shook his head no, hiding himself deeper into the nook offered by Bucky’s neck, just beneath the hinge of his jaw. His chest felt too tight, too full – like a balloon filled with water and straining to contain it, the paper-thin skin tense to the point of bursting.

“I should have come for you, they – they never would have taken you, I wouldn’t have let them,” he stumbled on helplessly, “I would have died first! God, I would’ve... I would have died first, I swear, Buck, I swear...”

Bucky stroked his hand over Steve’s hair, kissing the spot above the shell of his ear, dark with cold sweat. Steve felt the dampness of it across his whole body, under the clinging cotton of his pyjamas, the unpleasant moisture cooling on his skin and leaving him to shudder in Bucky’s embrace.

“Look at me,” Bucky called softly. It was a simple request, laced with just the same gentleness Bucky would use sometimes to coax Alpine into his arms, but still Steve felt panic pool in his stomach.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to look Bucky in the eye, not like this. Not when the truth – Because of you. It was always because of you. – was out at last.

What a scam he was. A whole lifetime spent preaching bravery, and the one time it truly mattered, he couldn’t even be brave enough to face the consequences of his own mistakes.

Please, don’t hate me, he sobbed silently against Bucky’s neck. You should. You have every right to. But please... please...

“Sweetheart, please, look at me.”

It took more strength than Steve had ever even known he possessed, but slowly, hesitantly, he let himself be pulled out of his hiding spot, and lifted his gaze to meet Bucky’s, if only for a fleeting moment.

Bucky’s flesh hand reached up to cup his jaw, working his thumb tenderly over Steve’s skin to wipe his tears away – a sweet, but fruitless endeavor, as more salty tears rolled down Steve’s cheeks, relentless.

“The truth is, neither of us could have known I would survive that fall,” Bucky said.

Steve shook his head, his eyes screwed shut against the flood of fresh tears. “I should’ve tried anyway, I should have come to you. I should have been there with you.”

Bucky grasped him by the arms, barely squeezing at all. The force wasn’t in his touch; it was in his voice, quiet to match the nighttime gloom, but firm nonetheless.

“What if they had taken you, too? What if they’d made you like me, what then?” he said, an edge of desperation coloring his voice, as if he couldn’t bear the very thought. “Do you think you could have lived with yourself, if you’d woken up one day to find that you had the blood of innocents on your hands?”

Steve’s head snapped up then, heat flashing fiercely in his chest. “What would I have cared, when you were there with me!” he cried out, panting heavily in the wake of that outburst.

Perhaps he couldn’t call this bravery; but when Steve could breathe again, their eyes finally met again.

If he’d feared he would see hate, or disdain, or resentment looking back at him, he didn’t find any of those. What he did find instead, staring at him from Bucky’s ever-familiar face, was the stubborn mark of love, shimmering brightly in Bucky’s eyes.

“Of course you would have cared,” Bucky whispered fiercely, cradling Steve’s face in both of his hands. “It would have killed you, and it would have killed me too. I could have never, ever forgiven myself, if they’d gotten their filthy hands on you because of me.”

His voice wavered, heavy with the weight of unshed tears. Steve could see the glossy sheen of them, threatening to spill over Bucky’s cheeks any second now, and felt his own heart split in two at the sight.

“Bucky,” he rasped, wetly, clasping Bucky’s wrists with his own hands to hold onto them, turning his face into those beloved palms to kiss them helplessly, one and then the other. Bucky never stopped holding him.

“Listen to me,” he said urgently, “listen to me now. We can’t change the past. We can’t, Steve.” A new sob ripped itself painfully from Steve’s throat, one he couldn’t have helped if he wanted to. “We can’t. It’s done, it’s there, we can’t take it back. And God, do I wish we could, believe me. But I want you to hear me when I say this: I am so grateful for what we have now. In the present. Our present.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath that rippled through his whole frame, as he openly struggled to keep his words clear and his voice steady. He was always the braver one, Steve thought, thrusting one of his hands out to grab a fistful of Bucky’s t-shirt, right over his breastbone.

“Steve. God, could you have ever dreamed that we could have this? I never even dared to hope for something like it, not even on my best days.”

He paused. Steve clung to him, his chest tight with emotion.

“The way we got here... Would I have chosen that? If I’d been given a choice, would I have wanted it to happen like that? No, of course not,” Bucky continued. “But if you asked me now, would I do it all over again, just for a chance to be here with you? I would say yes.” Steve whimpered, shaking his head, tears rolling down his face; but Bucky held him firmly, looking him right in the eye and nodding just as stubbornly, a watery smile on his lips. “Yes, Steve. Yes. A million times yes.”

He broke at last, and Steve lost what little control he had of himself. He tugged Bucky forward by his shirt and threw his arms around him, crushing their bodies together as if his life depended on it. Bucky returned the embrace with that same urgency, holding him tight as Steve muffled his sobs against Bucky’s shoulder, and buried his face in Steve’s hair in return.

The pinprick-like sensation of Bucky’s tears wetting his skin, as Bucky trembled quietly against him, felt like a bruise to Steve’s naked heart.

“Forgive me,” he begged, and he couldn’t have said what it was that he was seeking forgiveness for: if the pain he had caused Bucky now, or the one he couldn’t prevent so long ago.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Bucky murmured in his ear, his voice thick. “But I’ll say it, if you need to hear it.”

“Please,” Steve whimpered.

Bucky hugged him impossibly closer. “I forgive you. Always, sweetheart.”

The tightness within Steve’s chest unraveled, and in that moment, he breathed anew. Relief washed over him – and he cried, and cried, like a person cries when they’re gifted with kindness for the first time in a very, very long time, he cried until he thought he’d exhausted all his tears.

Bucky laid them both back against his pillow, chest to chest, shushing Steve’s hiccupping breaths with whispers of sweet nothings, never once letting him go.

“All that’s left to do now,” he said softly then, pressing a kiss to Steve’s brow, “is for you to forgive yourself.”

Steve burrowed deeper into his warmth, spent.

It would take a long time for that, and a tough, strenuous walk on the tortuous path towards that healing place. In the meantime, though, he could wrap himself into the safety of Bucky’s arms, and slip into a dreamless sleep for once.