#Just been wanting to figure out how their stories intertwine with those both living and dead

[colonies-of-the-shells-and-fish]

Definitely gonna be making a blog based on @residents-of-the-darkforest for my own wc project’s dark forests cats

[junkdrawerfics]

Not So Simple Moments

Some of you requested a part 2 to "Simple Moments" so this is that! It's not what I planned, but I like it and I hope you do too!

Summary: You decide it's time to broach the topic of you being turned with Jasper. He really doesn't want to talk about it, but you're both adults and you love each other, so you talk about it.

Word Count: 1362

Warnings: nothing serious, mostly a little bit of angst and fluff

---

“Alice says you’re going to turn me,” you mention offhandedly as you run your fingers through Jasper’s hair, sectioning off a few pieces before starting a braid.

The blond stiffens where he’s sat in front of you. When you invited him over to watch Wall-e, this was certainly not what he was expecting. 

“Alice says a lot of things,” he murmurs slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the rusty, little robot on the screen.

Out of all the movies you’ve made him watch, this one seems to feel oddly familiar. It’s much like your story. Him, an old creature, obviously out of place in this world, falling irrevocably for something so sweet and fiery like the white robot, like you. Being terrified of letting you go. Terrified of you getting hurt.

Pinning the braid to the back of his head, you move to the other side of his temple and quietly ask, “What do you say about it?”

Jasper takes a deep, unnecessary breath, his next word slow, hesitant to roll off his tongue, “Darlin’...”

You press your lips together. That's a familiar tone. It’s the one he uses when he wants to avoid a conversation. You need to talk about this though. 

“Does it scare you?” You ask, voice still soft as you twist the strands together.

The blond is silent for a moment. The only sound in the room is the soft music of the movie, and you hum along as you tie off the braid and pin it with the other, forming a little crown around his head. You know he’s thinking, trying to figure out exactly what to say, he just needs the time.

Fondly, you curl your arms around Jasper’s shoulders and give him a soft squeeze. You’d wait a million years for him, if that’s what he needs, and that feeling must rub off on the vampire, because he leans into your embrace, rigidness slipping away.

“I don’t understand you, darlin’,” Jasper drawls, tilting his head a fraction to look at you. You press a gentle kiss to his lips, drawing a familiar, slanted grin from him. “I’ve lived 161 years and never met anyone like you.”

“You’re avoiding my question, Jas,” you chastise, despite the blush dusting your cheeks, “Don’t think you can distract me with your southern charm.”

“You don’t think it’ll work?” Those amber eyes gleam with mischief as he beams up at you.

“Not today, cowboy.” You carefully ruffle his hair before straightening up and letting yourself be a little more serious. “I think we should talk about this, Jas. It’s important to me.”

Jasper’s brow furrows, all too aware of how truthful you’re being. Pushing himself up from the floor, he settles down next to you on the bed. He leaves a respectful gap between you, just a handful of inches, but it feels like a chasm, so you scoot closer and take his hand. Jasper instinctively intertwines them, his thumb brushing tenderly over your knuckles, and it just feels right.

“Does it scare you?” You ask again, voice practically a whisper.

“Which part?”

“Either?” You analyze Jasper’s face, searching for any clue of what he might be thinking, but his features are carefully blank. The buzz of nerves in your chest only worsen at that. “Do you want me to turn?”

“Yes.”

You let out a heavy breath. The single word eases every sliver of doubt you’ve been carrying the past few weeks, and he can feel it.

“It would be nice to not want to kill you, darlin’,” Jasper jokes (only partially) with a small smirk as he brings your wrist to his lips, pressing them daringly to your pulse, “And I’d be a fool to not want a forever with you.”

“Well, you are no fool,” you giggle, heart racing away, and you know Jasper can hear it when he perks a teasing brow at you.

“I most certainly am not, ma’am.”

“Don’t you dare start with that.” You shoot him a glare, but the smirk never leaves his lips as the vampire presses another kiss to your knuckles.

You linger in the moment, in the feeling of his cold touch. The silence between the two of you is heavy but comfortable, like a blanket, sealing you off from the rest of the world. You don’t even remember the movie playing in the background. It’s just you and Jasper.

“So you’re scared of the “you” part,” you whisper eventually, finitely.

Jasper replies, reluctant and quiet, “I can’t hurt you, darlin’.”

“Even if it’s something I want?”

His lips draw into a tight line. You can practically see the conflict play out in his eyes, like flashing gunfire. Like a wild animal, frozen between fight or flight and fear. Fear of himself. A sad sigh slips past your lips when you realize why. He still sees himself as the monster.

“Jasper,” you start and drop his hand in favor of cupping his face gently. He needs to feel you on this. His amber eyes bore into yours, wide and uncertain. “I will never make you do something you don’t want to do, ever. What you want is important to me. We are a team, right?” He gives a slight nod, and you smile. “So I want this, and I want it to be you, not just because I love you, but because I trust you, Jasper. But if you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

Jasper’s eyes dart between yours, edged with an unspoken desperation. It’s like he’s not 160 years old, and instead the young teenager he was when he was turned. The years slip away and he feels just as scared as he had back then.

Yet here you are, with far fewer years, only the existence of this small town behind you, looking at him, and telling him he has a choice. Telling him you trust him. And he can feel it, feel the absolute earnesty in your words, the love pouring off of you as you look at him with such gentleness and understanding. It’s like warmth pouring over him, something he hasn’t felt in such a long time.

“Now,” you hum, reassured by the way his eyes settle and how his shoulders slump, like the weight is finally falling off of them, “that was a lot, so we are going to finish this movie, okay? And you’re going to take your time to think about it, because we’re not rushing into anything.”

You lean forward and give him a kiss. It’s soft, just the barest press of your lips to his, but when you draw back, there’s that relieved grin pulling at his lips again. Jasper catches you by the waist before you can pull away, drawing you right back in. His lips press insistently to yours, though his touch remains overwhelmingly gentle, like you are the most fragile piece of porcelain. It makes something warm pool deep in your chest, leaving you breathless when you finally pull away.

“I’m afraid we might have to start to movie over,” Jasper muses after a moment, and you can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, still trying to catch your breath.

“Were you enjoying it?” You ask, eyes suddenly wide with excitement.

“I was.” The vampire presses another, fond kiss to your forehead, drawing the cutest sigh from you. “Though I enjoy your presence even more.”

“...You just liked me playing with your hair, didn’t you?”

You can feel his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin, and you swat playfully at his chest.

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t enjoying the movie” he defends himself, voice bright with concealed laughter.

“Sure, cowboy, now shush. I don’t have the energy to lecture you twice,” you declare, twisting so you can look at the tv again.

“I wouldn’t dare bring your wrath down again,” he teases as he pulls you into his lap, chin propping on your shoulder.

“If you think that was my wrath, we’re in for a bumpy road, cowboy.” 

“It’s a good thing we’ll have forever then, won’t it darlin’?”

You smile, heart fluttering at the promise behind his words.

“It certainly is.”

---

This definitely took on a life of its own when I started writing, as most of my stuff does. I'll hopefully write another part with the actually turning, because a few people wanted that, but I liked this conversation and thought it'd be important.

Also, Jasper identifying with Wall-e is something I never knew I needed in this life, but it just works so gosh dang well.

[martialartslover7]

Headcanon time: Am I the only one who feels like, Jiraiya should have left this little compensation gift for Tsunade, before heading off to fight Pain? Dying in the process, while still leaving a remainder of his legacy behind? Making up for lost time, and allowing the two to heal together, after years of fearful denial and trauma?

I get that the Naruto series is practically infamous for how poorly the female characters were handled, but honestly, this one time, where one woman in the series would end up pregnant, where I would wholeheartedly SUPPORT it, would be Tsunade. Think about it, after the war, after fighting Madara, she practically returned to the same solitude lifestyle she had, before encountering Naruto. She didn't change for the better, in fact, she regressed completely. She returned to living without any purpose, going back to gambling and getting senselessly drunk, practically every day.

Look, I get it, by the time Kakashi becomes Hokage, she might have just retired and wanted to be left alone, but is this really all there is to it? Just regressing back to negative habits, because, screw you? I dunno, man, this is that one time where, if she DID end up having a child to take care of, it might have elevated her character, instead of "putting her down", because it would mean: She has a purpose for living. And it would mean, her love for Jiraiya wasn't a "curse", like how it was with her previous lover, Dan. Jiraiya's love for her, saved her life, in the end. He turned out to be that one guy, that, even post-mortum, still managed to have a positive influence on her. And the child is a daily reminder, of how closely intertwined the two were, in spite of the trauma. That just sounds so beautiful, and far more conclusive to Tsunade as a character, than what happened in the actual story. Plus, she and Kurenai could have become besties and connect over the difficulties with pregnancy.

And yeah, I hear you calling: BuT tSuNaDe Is ToO oLd To GeT pReGgErS! Listen, the Strength of a Hundred Seal kept her entire appearance and body about twenty years younger, if that also applies to her organs and her uterus, that isn't a dead topic. Plus, we all know how much of a horny perv Jiraiya is, he couldn't have just left it at just one time, and then never again. Especially since, this is Tsunade we are talking about here, the one woman, he had always held so dear. And I can only imagine, the moment the dam breaks between the two, it would get... SPICY.

It wouldn't even come close to all these sex worker ladies that Jiraiya had probably slept with, while thinking about Tsunade, since he would always go for those, who KIND OF resemble her. But I will bet, in spite of his attitude, I doubt he would have even minded to see Tsunade all wrinkly and old. His love for her was genuine and deep-rooted, I doubt he would have had any problems with her getting "saggy". She would have been THE golden exception, to most of his "rules" on what he finds attractive, because to him, everything about her, is attractive, not just the looks.

But another point to consider, just imagine, IMAGINE, the look on Naruto's face, the moment he learns that part of his father figure will continue to live on, inside Tsunade. That all his sacrifices were never in vain, and he finally got over himself to tell her the truth, resulting in the birth of their child, the one to carry on both of their legacies. Naruto would have cherished this baby, just imagine him tearfully cradling it in his arms, swearing to protect it, the same way his mom swore to him, when he was still a newborn. Oh god, my heart...

...it would also be a nice callback to how Kushina held Naruto, right after birth.

Plus, it would have given Naruto, much like when Shikamaru revealed to him, how Kurenai bore the child of her and Asuma before he died, a much bigger motivation to fight Madara, Obito, and later, Sasuke. The stakes would have become way higher then, if that were the case, since, this isn't anyone's child, it's Jiraiya's and Tsunade's child. Two people, who have played major roles in Naruto's life, being his foster parents, if you will. And he would have fought way harder to defend the past, the present and the future, while facing Sasuke. I mean, sure, it's doubtful if Sasuke would have ever had the guts to truly go through with this, since he couldn't even bring himself to kill either Naruto or Sakura, no matter how hard he tried, so, if he couldn't do that, then everything would be out of the question. But you get the point.

And for NaruHina and SasuSaku fans: Yup. Both Naruto and Sakura would have probably had to take care of Tsunade's baby, since they were the closest to her, and it could have been an ideal training method for either of them, to grasp all about the stressful nature of raising a child, while still working as shinobi and in their respective fields of work. It would have mentally prepared either of them, for when Hinata and Sasuke finally decide to tie the knot with them, and build their own families. And to add another layer of pure sweetness: Kakashi and Anko would have gotten announced as the child's godparents, should something happen to Tsunade. Nuff' said.

I am sorry, despite Kakashi and Anko not looking like it, I think, both of them would be AWESOME godparents, or hell, even uncle and aunt. Both saw the worst of what life had to offer. Raising a child would be... child's play, by contrast. Just imagine Anko adorably doting on the baby in her crazy, unhinged, but very endearing way.

There you go, another headcanon of mine, spilled. What do you guys think? Lemme know. Peace.

[mistbow]

Sorey and Mikleo at the core of Zestiria

長谷　人間と天族の共存を象徴するのがあの2人の絆なので、どういう決着にするかはいろんなアイデアが出ましたね。

HASE: Since the bond between the two symbolizes the coexistence of humans and seraphim, there were many ideas on how to put a conclusion to their story.

Those two.

I know I have talked a lot about Sorey and Mikleo, but at the same time, I feel like I haven’t talked enough about them yet. It is certainly one of the relationships that is often talked about in the fandom, but for how much they’ve been brought up, there is surprisingly not much effort to actually analyze what makes them work in the context of Zestiria.

I would like to begin this with bringing up the core themes or ideas underlying Zestiria as a story: the specific genre name, “Passion will light up the world” (“情熱が世界を照らす”), and “Legends will someday become ‘Hope’” (“伝承はいつしか「希望」になる”). I want to keep these in mind when talking about Zestiria as a whole.

The idea of “passion” being the heart of Zestiria actually came up when the creators wanted to incorporate the “passion” of Sakamoto Ryouma, a Japanese historical figure, a low-ranking samurai in the late Edo period, as revealed by the director, Hase Yuuta, and producer, Baba Hideo. They were enamored by the fact that he was a low-ranking samurai, yet through his deeds, managed to indirectly change Japan. It was his passion and love for Japan that exactly made him think that Japan could not remain the way it was. Then, intertwining in various ways with people in various positions, the world moved on. He didn’t try to move the world, but the results of his actions moved and changed the world.

Elements from Sakamoto Ryouma’s life and personal figure can then be found in various aspects of Zestiria. We do things because we want to do it, not because we have to do it, yet both of those things are important, so how can we realize both of them without sacrificing one or the other? Sakamoto Ryouma also left his small hometown, out to the vast world. The part where he originally did not want to change Japan, but ended up changing Japan while he was pursuing his own dream. The part where Sakamoto Ryouma was thought to be able to see things “differently” from others who had lived in the same era, as well, like how Sorey is able to see the seraphim.

長谷　坂本龍馬の要素を全部スレイに持たせることはできないので、実は一部をミクリオが持っていたりします。あまりにも感情的な行動をするとユーザーさんとの気持ちがかけ離れてしまうおそれがあるので、スレイは意外と冷静で落ち着きがあります。むしろ、ク���ルに見えるミクリオのほうが感情的ですね。

HASE: It is not possible for Sorey to have all the elements of Sakamoto Ryouma, so actually, Mikleo has some of them. Sorey is surprisingly calm and composed, as too much emotional behavior could lead to a disconnect with the player’s feelings. If anything, Mikleo, who seems cool, is the more emotional one.

Which might seem familiar, since the head writer also said the same thing, and I see this quote being thrown around a lot anyway:

山本　[...]そういう意味ではおとなしい主人公に見えるかもしれませんが、熱い思いはちゃんと持っていて、叫んだりノリや勢いだけで解決しようとはしないキャラクターにしたんです。代わりに、ミクリオをストレートに感情表現するキャラクターにして、2人で1人の主人公のような言動をとるように工夫しました。

YAMAMOTO: [...] In that sense, [Sorey] may seem like a calm protagonist, but he has passionate feelings, yet does not try to solve problems by shouting or just going with his spirit or momentum. Instead, we made Mikleo a character who expresses his emotions in a straightforward manner, so that the two of them act and speak as if they are one protagonist.

So they were concerned about Sorey being too unrelatable if he is fully modeled after Sakamoto Ryouma, who seems like someone bigger than life when you look at him throughout the history, as such, they divide the elements inspired by the figure into two characters, Sorey and Mikleo. This is because despite the fantastical framework they worked with on Zestiria, they also wanted to convey that the legends also lived in us all. That the characters that lived through those legends, were also just like us. That point is important.

――どのキャラクターも強い個性をもっていますね。 山本　シナリオチームには「物事でドラマを描くのではなく、キャラクターの心情を繋げていくドラマを作ろう」という大きなテーマがありました。勢いだけで動くのではなく、互いを思いやる部分やそのときの心情によってキャラクターからどういう言葉が出てくるのか、というのをリアルかつていねいに描こうと。なので、その言動から、スレイたちが何を考えているのかを読み取っていただけるとありがたいです。

――Every character has a strong personality. YAMAMOTO: The scenario team had a major theme, “Rather than a drama based on certain things, let’s create a drama that connects the emotions of the characters.” We do not want the characters to only act because of the momentum, but to realistically and carefully depict what kind of words the characters would say depending on their emotions and how they care for one another at the time.

――ストーリーを作るにあたって、特に苦労した部分がありましたら教えてください。 山本　やはりその心情ドラマが非常に難しくて、何度も修正しました。RPGとしては目的を提示したり、これはこういうことですよ、と書くほうが楽なんですね。事件でストーリーを繋げていくという。ただ、今回はそれよりもキャラクターの性格との整合性を重視して何度も書き直しました。セリフの収録でも、役者さんにキャラクターの細かい心情を大切にして録ってもらったので、後半になると役者さんのほうから「このセリフってこのキャラクターだと言い方が違うんじゃないですか？」という意見も出てきました。「じゃあ先に行こうぜ」と言うのか、それとも「ここにいてもしかたないよね」という語りかけにするのか、といったちょっとしたニュアンスの違いなのですが、そういうセリフひとつでもキャラクターらしさを重視していました。

――Please tell us if there were any particular challenges in creating the story. YAMAMOTO: That emotional drama was very difficult, after all, that I had to revise it many times. As an RPG, it is easier to present a goal, and write based on “this is what it is all about.” Something like connecting the story beats with certain incidents. This time, however, I rewrote it many times, focusing more on consistency with the characters’ personalities. In the recording of the dialogue, we asked the voice actors to record their lines with the importance of the detailed feelings of their characters, and in the latter half of the production, the voice actors instead would suggest, “This line would be said differently by this character, wouldn’t it?” It may be a small difference in nuance, such as whether to say, “Let’s go ahead then!” or “I don’t think we should stay here,” and even in such a single line, we focused on the character’s personality.

I know it seems like I’m not getting anywhere with this, but bear with me. So we have both Sorey and Mikleo sharing parts of Sakamoto Ryouma, but what I personally find interesting is that Sorey takes the parts of Ryouma that are more “legendary” about him (e.g. he brought upon a huge change without meaning to, he was believed to have seen something invisible that couldn’t be seen by his contemporaries) and Mikleo takes the parts of him that are more mundane (e.g. that he was full of emotions, very expressive). On the outset, Sorey as a human is regular-looking, and Mikleo, as a seraphim, has ephemeral, otherworldly qualities to his appearance... but even in the game, Sorey is the one depicted as being a child of miracles, the only human amongst the seraphim, someone who keeps going against all odds, the one Shepherd with a special end to his journey, and Mikleo is “merely” a young seraph who doesn’t even know a lot of things about his kin.

(Just like how we see things through Sorey’s eyes, and how he learns from the various humans he met and parted with along the way; when it comes to how seraphim work, we usually learn about it because Mikleo, the youngest seraph he is, is curious enough to ask about it from his seniors. You can see it in the skits in-game.)

伝承はいつしか「希望」になる

Legends will someday become “Hope”

I’ve talked about in detail how Zestiria is hugely inspired by Shinto, and, subsequently, places a great importance on legends and history just like Shinto as a religion. The catchphrase of the game nicely illustrates this. However, one thing I’d also like to point out is that it’s easy not to think too deeply into “legend” as an English word, we tend to take words for granted after all. I don’t know if what I’m saying is making any sense, but Zestiria is a work that chooses its words very carefully and you’re supposed to read between the lines.

In the Japanese word for “legends”, “伝承”, lie implications that might not be immediately obvious to people who can’t read Japanese: that legends are transmitted, imparted, handed down (伝える), and that legends are received, taken in, accepted (承ける). There is a give-and-take relationship here, it’s not a one-way road.

The epilogue in the novel, focusing on Mikleo like in the game, emphasized more on this:

永遠に流れる時の中で、人の一生はまるで一瞬の光だ。けれど、語り継がれ、受け継がれた意志は長い時を超える。伝え続けたいと思い続ける限り。

遺跡もまた、語り続ける意志だと青年は考えていた。時を超え、未来へ伝えたい思いを形に残し、いつか受け止めてくれる人を待つ。

いつまでも、いつまでも。

その意志を余すことなく受け止めたい青年は、ひとりでここを再訪したのだ。

In the time that flows eternally, a human’s life is like an instant flash. However, the will that gets handed down and inherited transcends the long time. As long as we want to pass it on.

The young man believed that ruins are also a will that can continue to get passed on. Transcending time, leaving behind a shape of thoughts that they want to convey to the future, waiting for the right person to accept them someday.

Always and forever.

The young man, wanting to take in [to accept] all of this will thoroughly, revisited this place alone by himself.

Humans and seraphim are fundamentally different beings: time flows differently for both, humans accept external changes, seraphim stay the way they are due to their nature as incarnations of the purest hearts. To Mikleo, whose passage of time is comparatively stationary, seeing Sorey, a human, who keeps changing (growing; maturing) just makes their fundamental differences even more obvious, so of course it gives him complicated feelings on the whole matter.

Just before, they were the same height, then Sorey grew even taller than he was, as highlighted in the manga. However, the Sorey that has lived up until now, still lives on inside Mikleo anyway. After all, they’d been together all their lives up until then.

…陪神になってスレイと同じ使命を感じてなんとなくあの時僕を拒んだ理由がわかった

導師の使命も世界も知らないただイズチにいた頃のままの僕らをスレイは残しておきたかった

…As I became a Sub Lord and feel the same calling as Sorey, somehow I understood why he refused me to become one at the time.

Sorey wanted that that part of us, that didn’t know of the Shepherd’s calling nor of the world, just staying the way we were in Elysia, to still remain.

But Sorey’s core―the reason for why he is who he is―it’s Mikleo, the one who has come to share his dream and time, who has it. To Mikleo, a seraph who will continue to be for a very long time as an untainted and unchanging heart, Sorey entrusts his dream. So that after this journey ends, he can walk with himself again.

Sorey, the childhood friend who holds the dream of seeing a world where humans and seraphim could coexist, won’t go anywhere, as long as Mikleo is there, even if Sorey changes. Even Sorey, the one who carries on the Shepherd’s burden, isn’t going anywhere, because that will is carried on to the next generations, by Rose and the succeeding Shepherds.

Speaking of Rose, I think her role in the story as Sorey’s foil will highlight Sorey and Mikleo’s relationship even more (this is not saying that Sorey and Rose’s relationship is any less important, just that it’s a different form of relationship). Even from the character design perspective, Sorey’s gold/orange (the image color that is used for him in both the World Guidance and the manga) and Mikleo’s teal are complementary colors, their eye colors (green and purple) are also complementary colors, and they share the color blue as well, whereas Sorey’s blue and white contrasts Rose’s red and black. I believe this is deliberate, as deliberate as Rose and Lailah sharing the color red yet contrasting black and white, because from the information that has been revealed, Fujishima and Inomata as the veterans of the series were asked first to design two humans and two seraphim respectively, based on their styles, and that their characters would be the main focus of the work.

(Which I also believe is the basis for why it is Sorey [Fujishima] and Mikleo [Inomata], Lailah [Inomata] and Rose [Fujishima] in the night before final battle scene, a scene that has held importance in the entire Tales of series.)

Also, I want you to pay close attention to the key visual for Zestiria above. I will also bring this up again:

右手は身・体の、左手は霊・心の在処

The right-hand side is where the physical body is, while the left-hand side is where the spiritual heart is.

To his left, Mikleo, the Sub Lord, and to his right, Rose, the Squire. Lailah, the Prime Lord, on the far back, evoking that distant feel of the mystical, of the legendary, in the same center as him, the Shepherd. Sorey and Rose actually have a lot in common that are easy to miss... they both grew up with seraphim, sort of, and it cultivated in their pure hearts and high resonance. They’re both humans. But it is with Mikleo, the one who’s decidedly different kin from him, that he has complementary relationship with.

Maybe Zestiria wants us to focus more on their similarities, than their differences, when it comes to Sorey and Mikleo. However, humans don’t grow if they only hear what they want to hear; they have to be challenged, and besides, if you’re going to step into the world out there, there are many kinds of people, people with different views and approaches from you. This is what is needed for Sorey to meaningfully grow. So despite the similarities, Rose is the one human who Sorey knows, outside from himself, that lives with a seraph yet rejects them vehemently at first. That each of them has their own role, to give life and to take life.

This is getting more and more about Rose instead, but I promise I have a point to make here. Besides, it was also Mikleo that managed to convince her to join, for Sorey’s sake.

MIKLEO: We seraphim are indeed Sorey’s friends. MIKLEO: And yet we cannot say for sure if Sorey sees and hears the same things we do. ROSE: Because he's... the only human out of all of you? MIKLEO: Yes. Sorey has no human compatriots who can truly understand the burden he bears as the Shepherd. ROSE: You want... me... to join him. MIKLEO: It's ultimately your call.

Pay attention on the camera positioning, on how Mikleo is on the left on the screen talking to Rose on the right of the screen. It’s not enough for Sorey as a character who has been surrounded by seraphim his whole life, to just be surrounded by a party of seraphim, yet it was Mikleo who first realized this instead of Sorey himself. Also, it wasn’t just in the way he didn’t force her to join Sorey, but the way he was also so gentle in his word choice, even telling her that it was okay for her to be scared of him.

This is why I like how the English trailer dubbed Mikleo as Sorey’s “voice of reason.” Sorey isn’t exactly unreasonable himself, but I think this fits nicely with the designation that in the end, Mikleo chooses to act as the “spiritual heart” to Sorey’s “physical body.” I deliberately use the word “choose” here, because, just as it was Sorey’s choice to be the Shepherd, it was also Mikleo’s choice to fight alongside him.

天族とは誰かの想い、誰かの祈りから生まれた露な＜人の心＞そのもの。

執行者の名を持つ天族は、その心の最も純粋な形として生まれた化身。

Seraphim are born from someone’s thoughts, someone’s prayers; they are the very bare “hearts of humans” themselves.

Seraphim bearing the name “Enforcer” are incarnations born as the purest form of those hearts.

It was implied that Mikleo, the seraph, was born from the thoughts of Michael that were paradoxically both his hope and his despair. And I’m sorry for repeating myself here, but these pages of the manga really spelled it out (I have an entire post on Sorey, Mikleo, and Growth here and here):

SOREY: …I never… want to forget this pain… SOREY: It’s exactly because I felt pain that I was able to continue this journey. SOREY: We’re grieving, suffering because of the reality across this world… and that’s why we are able to rise up for hope. ROSE: ! SOREY: Many feelings even beyond that I had never known before were shining through! That being case, we— MIKLEO: (Humans accept [receive] something, and with that, they change their way of being.)

SOREY: We’re not afraid to go down this road!! MIKLEO: (With time, you grow taller. With your calling, you don the mantle. If you, with all that, are willing to accept the pain that tries to dye you…) MIKLEO: (Then I, the seraph that resides within you, as the thought that you are who you are, will draw the bow together with you.)

(Another neat detail is how on the first page above, the paneling positions Mikleo on the left and Rose on the right.)

So Mikleo was born as Michael’s hope and despair, but decides he will act as the thought that Sorey is who Sorey is. The left to his right. The spiritual to his physical. The seraph to his human.

Choice indicates agency here. I will always remind people that Zenrus has never raised both Sorey and Mikleo to be the Shepherd and his Sub Lord, even though Muse did suggest that idea to him when he took them in. No, they came to accept these roles themselves. The one thing they learned from Zenrus was the dream of coexistence between humans and seraphim, basically the core idea of Zestiria itself.

And their bond is conceived to symbolize the possibilities of that coexistence.

(Speaking of Muse, I want to bring up that there are only two story-related weapons in the game (as in, weapons used/obtained through story and not by loot): the first is Lailah’s Sacred Blade, used by Sorey when fighting the hellions during the Sacred Blade Festival, and the second one is Muse’s Staff, used by Mikleo. I feel these weapons nicely represent Sorey’s connection to the seraphim and Mikleo’s connection to humans outside of each other.)

If such seraph and human—heart and body could exist together, if the physical body could not lose sight of its own heart, could listen carefully to its voice, and could feel its presence, then humans should be able to live the way they want to live, without being tainted. Sorey, who has lived with the seraphim, is that proof.

I won’t let you carry this by yourself.

They share their passion together, they share their inherited will together; for that, they share the burden needed to get there. Personally, despite what I might seem like, I’m actually detached when it comes to liking characters... I don’t really care about the characters individually themselves, and this might make me seem like I don’t care about them personally, but it’s more like that to me, characters cannot be divorced from the narrative and context they’re supposed to work under. Sorey and Mikleo are obviously intended to be the symbols representing what humans and seraphim (the right and the left, the physical and the spiritual, the body and the heart) can do for one another, and legends are full of those symbols. Their unspoken, unseen bond, often described as something like tacit understanding/heart-to-heart communion (以心伝心) also contributes to that feel of seeing something transcendental you often find in legends and folktales, because even words are not necessary anymore, it’s shown in every step they take for themselves and for each other.

Yet at the same time they’re also depicted just as boys. They can get to be happy over the smallest things, they get into heated arguments, they tease each other, they get worried about each other, they don’t want to lose to each other... they are so normal, despite what I’ve said about them before. They’re both symbols and realized characters that I can relate to on a more personal level, and there is multiple facets to both their characters and relationship. I think that’s the best way to show what living in harmony with the world, with the history, with everything that has been there all along without us immediately realizing it, means. They really are there to embody the themes and messages of Zestiria together.

MIKLEO: Both iris gems and ruins are just fragments of the past. What’s important is what you get out of them. MIKLEO: “Because history is the architect of our hearts.” SOREY: Whoa, Mikleo! That was a sweet quote! MIKLEO: You think so? I’m planning to put it in the book I write one day. EDNA: Well, aren’t you full of surprises. MIKLEO: I mean, don’t you think it'd be a waste not to pass on our tale to future generations?

Yes, the details and nitty-gritty are important, but above everything, it’s the bigger picture. What you get out of them. And what I get from them is that hope is not created but inherited. Their journey, their tale not only carries on the hope from the previous generations, but to the next generations as well.

This tale begins with them and ends with them. It is their tale after all.

[espectres]

@dnangelic sent: 

' you know, shou-kun, i've kind of been wondering this for a while, but... '  an awkward smile. it feels like it's been a while since daisuke's had one of those for an expression, his cheeks nevertheless still tinged with their usual lively flush. ' ... just what exactly do you say to your mom? about --- me. and, uh, dark. i mean, actually, do you even bring up dark at all ... ? ' it's not as if he or even dark himself would have blamed the other if not.

[ UNPROMPTED ] ...  ▬▬▬   accepting !

" My Kaa-chan ? " Shou echoes, head falling to the side as wonders the question. These are things he's never thought to really matter, he realizes as his gaze falls far away, the passing conversations and shared stories in the profound time he gets to spend with his mother. It hasn't always been like this, it's only recently that he got the chance to have her so present in his days and see her so alive before his eyes, her own sapphire shade for irises matching his as they wrinkle in the corners out of unspoken bliss. As they shine unapologetically.

But a smile doesn't do much to his eyes right now, and he's thinking about it. He can't deny his immense happiness, to be able to stay by her side and truly be her son now that all is said and painstakingly done. Good luck kisses to his forhead, star-shaped cucumbers in his bento, a blanket that wasn't there when he took naps on the couch- it's all so new, and as much as it warms him inside and out, it's all so strange. 

" I don't tell her a lot of things, " He admits nonchalantly, a chilling fog that lacks emotion covering over his seas of unspoken guilt. Because as much as he tried to, both himself and his mother, there seems to be a dauntless rift that they won't conquer any time soon. His hand reaches out, finding comfort in the hold of the thief's hand, something steady, something he can bask in without dread ... and the sense of walking on thin ice. " I don't really know how to, most of the time. "  

There are moments when he'd tell, how she handled him; his worries, his feelings, his scerects- like tiptoeing around an elephant, like walking on thin ice. The way she kept to herself, as thought if she really tried to fulfill her role and truely know him; complicated present & violent past, he'd end up pushing her away. And really, it makes him afraid, but he doesn't know what to hate more, the fact that he really wants her to get over herself, or that if she really tried and faced the problems, he might very well bite at her like a cornered dog. 

" Oh- " He remembers an instance, one that that relaxes the troubled knit of his eyebrows and the tightness of his chest. A moment where he'd been so lost in his daydreaming, and his music, and the lines on his papers and the eyes he can't get out of his mind, the smile of which a single memory would pull his own lips onto something so enamored and tender; and he'd ended with Daisuke's portrait on the white canvas, and Kaa-chan's question & remark ; " Who's that ? He looks so sweet. " Which sent him into crushing embarrassment back then, with how playful and fond she sounded, hiding many unspoken things in the sweetness of her tone, things that didn't really need to be said; Is this the boy you travel to see ? I can't wait to see him, too. Is this the one always on your mind ? The look on your face is adorable. Is this the one you like so much ? I hope he's a good person. 

" But she's really good at reading people, my Kaa-chan, " Was it really people, or just the small important things ? He can't really tell, and it irritates and entertains him all together. " I guess she didn't need my help to figure out ... this. " His eyes fall into happy shapes of crescents as they find intertwined hands, and he brings them closer, taking Daisuke's hand into both of his own, tentatively grasping the fingers. Cupid pink blush tings his cheeks, his ears, a heat familiar and pleasant, a laugh breathy and bashful. 

" I tell her a lot about my visits, don't you think you & Dark are easy to differentiate in conversations like that ? I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm visiting two people in Azumano. " Not a single entity, something too otherworldly to share with someone so ordinarily human. And then there is the whole criminal aspect, which he certainly keeps to himself. There is a whole lot about himself that he doesn't share, how can he trust himself with other people's secrets ? " But I tell her that you're like me, and how you're still a good person, regardless. " Even if a little different, a little alien. " I thought I needed to say that, I thought that maybe it'd make her feel a little assured. I'm not really sure, now that I think about it ... " He takes leisure in toying with the hand in his hold, fingers brushing, bouncing and turning, playful and purposeful. But he's never quite meeting the eyes which he's sure are looking at him intently, taking in the details of such vulnerable moments, something he would never allow anyone else to do. 

In his long term memories, his mother hasn't been quite fond of the difference, of the ghost of power walking in her house, resident in the body of a boy with little feet and big eyes. She wanted it out, back then, but it has already settled in, and changed the trajectory of her life, and she could only look at the boy with helpless tears in her eyes. Well, no matter, that was long ago, and she's different now, they're both different. And maybe at some point, maybe when he's sage enough, brave enough to face her true judgement and her opinions... 

" But she can see that I'm happy, right now, " With you, right here besides you. " She always says that she'd love to meet you. " He looks up, finally, gaze overwhelmed by a million emotions, but it's an old sense of fondness that stands out, calm and untroubled by anything else. " Maybe one day, " If you'd let me... " I could tell her more about you, and she'd get to really know you, I think that'd be really nice. " And she'd get to love you, all of you, like I do. And he lifts the Niwa's hand, bringing it to his smiling lips to place a reverent, chaste kiss. 

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Just coming here if its alright to scream about the Colm/wesper 3+1 fic!!!! The care and gentleness with which you've handled all their perspectives, the vindication of wylan finally letting his anger show and getting the hug he wanted, and that ending with just a quiet moment between the three of them!!!! I loved it I loved it I loved it and just AJWBSHEHWBAKA

Thank you so much for sharing it with us 💓

🥹🥹🥹

First of all, it’s ALWAYS okay to come here to scream, and second of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH. I’m so glad you enjoyed ❤️ this message has made my day.

Part of why I love writing the Colm & Wesper’s (and the rest of the crows, but I digress) dynamic is because they all have trauma expressed and deflected from in different ways, but it boils down to this— they bottle things up/bury things/don’t communicate. Colm is a widower who’s isolated himself in his grief to the point that he nearly ruined his relationship with his only child; Jesper is a young man who’s buried his grief/true self so deep that he’d rather never experience genuine connection than have and then LOSE it; and Wylan is so used living in survival mode that he assumes either malicious intent or a misunderstanding every time he experiences kindness. All of these men are trying to make amends and heal, but to do that, they have to start expressing their love openly, and ACCEPTING it as well. It’s so difficult for anyone to do, but for poor Wylan? Accepting love from a paternal figure??? It’s the thing that leaves him feeling the most lost, and simultaneously one of the things he needs most. I really wanted to focus on the ways Wylan’s been impacted by the emotional/physical abuse, and how his and Colm’s healing processes both intertwine and clash.

And THANK you for mentioning Wylan’s anger!! Especially with a character healing from emotional abuse like that, I just thought it was so important to highlight his anger, and how he uses it as a defense mechanism, but refuses to use it for catharsis. He spends so much time holding things in his head and forcing the feelings down because he’s so used to living in survival mode, but it still comes out through the cracks. It’s easy to look at those big 👁️👄👁️ eyes and dilute him, but Wylan’s anger is a huge part of who he is, and a huge part of what he needs to let out so he can heal.

Sorry lol this reply got a little out of hand. It’s just something that really makes my eyes roll out of my head when I see people being snarky about “sweet uwu baby” Wylan versus “we could wake them up” Wylan. He’s a human being! They are both there— he’s a complex, multifaceted, flawed character.

And he is also my little baby boy. Of course.

Thanks so much for taking the time to tell me that you liked my story 🥹 it means a lot to me. Sorry about the ramble 😂

[magicshopaholic]

I love all your OCs so much! They're all so distinct and unique and their characters and personalities are half the fun of your stories. I was wondering, what would each of them consider an ideal date? I can't wait for your next fic ❤️

Ahhh thank you :') they are my finest creation and I love them too, so this means a lot! Ideal dates - hmm. Okay, here goes -

Kaya - Anything that's conducive to conversation. Trendy cafes, intimate outdoor restaurants, secluded trails. Lots of walking. Day dates are good, but evenings, dusk and nights are her preferred time. Sneaky intertwining of fingers, stolen kisses on the way home, ending the night with some flirty action indoors (level of intimacy depends on the person and relationship)

Nari - Home dates, be it movies, cooking together, gardening - you name it. As long as she gets to see the inside of a house after dozens of hours in the hospital, can feel a couch underneath her, and has the comfort of hot food, she's good. She'd like nice dinner dates once in a while, but knowing she can have fun without having to make an effort is the jackpot.

Miso - Likes and frequents pubs, particularly those with live music. Doesn't need a ton of conversation, but would like her date to enjoy the music as much she does. She would've been an assistant music coordinator of club for a few months while she was abroad for college, and would enjoy the environment as well as watching unknown artists perform. Not a stickler for rules in physical intimacy; if it feels right and both parties are into it, she's good to go along.

Chaeyoung - Day-long dates. She would love for the entire day to be one long date, even if parts of it aren't planned. Isn't very high maintenance on location or food, but would want to come home absolutely and happily exhausted. Would absolutely want to be kissed on her doorstep and would be borderline mortified if she didn't get a call or a text the next day.

Sooah - Despite the party exterior, would love the simplicity and intimacy of coffee dates. Loves to dress up for dates, loves to play coy and flirt throughout. Would secretly want to be traditionally courted; picked up from home, have the door held open for her, be lent a jacket on the way back, dropped home and kissed on the cheek.

Dilara - Surprise dates. Dates with activity. Lunch and dinner dates are cool, but anything that involves doing something else - like a cooking class, an art class, a museum date, shopping - would be the most fun. Doesn't mind group dates much as long as she gets her quota of alone time with her date, too. Has no qualms about getting physical on the first dates but would try and hold off on the R-rated stuff for a while, just to see how long it takes for her date bring it up.

Lia - Anything with spontaneity. Even if the date itself is planned, going off track somewhere and figuring it out together would be fun for her. It could be as simple as navigating Google Maps together to get to a restaurant and getting lost. Requires good food for the date to be a success. Doesn't usually go straight for sex on the first date, but doesn't mind if the situation calls for it.

Thanks for the question, anon!

Read more about the OCs here

[howyoutalktostrangers]

So,

It didn’t take long for Lady Celista Spencer to get herself situated. 

Shortly after her aeroplane’s grand arrival at the lumberjack games, she moved to a struggling vineyard on the shore of Shuswap Lake and took up residence in one of the small cabins intended for the estate’s workers. It appealed to her, keeping all her worldly possessions restricted to what could fit inside that little wooden box, cultivating a sort of romantic austerity. She wasn’t British nobility anymore, had never wanted to be, and she yearned for the simplicity of simply being Canadian. She hadn’t flown across the ocean to collect material things, or to introduce new obstacles to her freedom. She didn’t want anything weighing her down or holding her back from her ambitions. All she wanted was to fly in peace, both literally and figuratively. 

Celista threw herself into vineyard work with a feverish abandon, becoming an expert on the vintages they produced while learning how to contribute at every step of the wine-making process. She was the taste-tester, the grape-stomper, the cork-presser and bottle-checker. Some days she would sit on horeseback, gazing down the grassy slope to the shimmering radiance of the lake, and think about the marriage proposal she had turned down. Joe’s face tormented her dreams like a demented clown mask, and repeatedly her mind brought her back to the moment when she’d rejected him, almost instinctually, like shooing away a bug. The timing of it all had seemed too perfect, like God was showing his hand too early, but she didn’t want to be manipulated into marriage by the machinations of fate. She didn’t need a man at all, really, and certainly not a brute like him. Yet when she thought of Joe, there was a warm flush throughout her body unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She had a sense that his story was intertwined with hers, that their meeting hadn’t been by chance. 

Late one night, as she trudged back to her cabin exhausted following hours of bottling wine the colour of blood, she came across a low-burning campfire manned by a skinny derelict. His thick black beard was messily dreadlocked, his flannel shirt appeared to be rotting, and his eyes were sunken so deep behind his cheekbones that they appeared like gaping holes in the firelight. He jumped back alarmed, scrambling to gather his meagre belongings.

“I beg your pardon,” Celista said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Please, don’t get up.”

He squinted suspiciously at her, awash in dancing shadows and clutching a small hatchet. She saw now that he was clearly starving, with his belt cinched tight around his concave stomach. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you, m’lady. Trust don’t get you far around these parts.”

Celista had a half-full bottle of wine dangling from her fingers, so now she held it up to the light as an offering. “I’m just one of the employees here. Why don’t you have a sip, sir? There’s no need for suspicion. This is where I live.”

“You live here?” he asked accusingly. “Where?”

She pointed with one dainty wine-stained finger. “My cabin is just on the other side of those trees. There are others too, dozens of us. And my aeroplane too, it’s parked back there.”

“Now you’re pulling my leg.”

“You can see it, if you want. I flew it across the Atlantic.”

“A woman flying a plane? What do you think I am? Just because I’m a tramp doesn’t mean I don’t have a brain. I ain’t falling for your lies.”

Celista giggled, uncorked the bottle of wine and took a sip. She sunk down into a sitting position across from the hatchet-wielder, kicking her legs out in the moist grass, then held out the bottle again. This time he licked his lips and shook his head like he was warding off unwanted thoughts. Like he was being plagued by invisible demons. He muttered to himself, tucking the little axe into his twisted rope belt, then collapsed back into a heap. She waited patiently until he finally reached out and took the bottle from her grasp. 

“I didn’t realize this was anybody’s land,” he said finally. “It’s been months since I saw another person. If I’m being honest, I didn’t think I’d ever see a human being again — let alone a plane-flying woman offering free wine. A pretty one too,” he said, more to himself than to her. His voice was a low rasp.

“Well, welcome back to civilization,” she said. “My name is Celista.”

The man threw back his head and took four desperate slugs, the wine dribbling out the side of his mouth and glistening in his beard. He burped loudly with relief, dragging his fist across his face, then handed her back the bottle. “Before, they called me Ellis. Ellis Sweetwater.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ellis Sweetwater. If you don’t mind me asking, what chased you back into these woods? You sick of human beings?”

“You could say that. I had my fill of violence, m’ lady. See, I grew up in Salmon Creek and I love the Shuswap as much as the next guy, but all these new settlers? They bring all their big city ways, their foreign religions, their cigars and their guns and their pinstripe suits. I was there when the Americans came in 1927, when half the city burned to the ground, when they shot up the River Eel Saloon and blew up that distillery in the woods. I figured I was better on my own, with my dog Goldie, but she died this winter and now it’s just me,” he said. “Who knows how much longer I’ll last?”

Celista was fascinated. “Why did they burn down the city?”

“Why does anyone do anything? It was the American government versus Shuswap Joe. And guess who won?”

“Shuswap Joe?” she asked. “I know him. I met him. What did he have to do with this?”

“Joe inherited the largest bootlegging operation in the area when he was just a kid. I worked for him, back then, transporting barrels down them waterways and all over B.C. I was a dirty smuggler like the rest of them, filling my pockets with cash I didn’t know how to spend. For a time there, I was a rich man. Had me a girlfriend named Evie, a can-can girl she was, and a comfy place to lay my bedroll. All a man needs. I’d go to bed drunk, confident that my life would go on like that forever,” he said.

Celista handed him back the bottle without saying anything.

“I’m sure you can guess what happened next. Joe refused to reveal the location of our secret distillery to the authorities, so everyone suffered. They kicked down our doors, held us at gunpoint, burned down our properties. Bloody Americans. You wouldn’t believe the things human beings will do to each other, if they think they’re being righteous. There are certain cruelties in a man’s spirit that are only unleashed when they think they’re fighting evil, when really all they’re fighting is men like me. All of us just trying to make a buck,” he said.

“So what did they do?”

Ellis took a long sad slurp from the bottle, moisture appearing at the edges of his eyes. His thick brow furrowed in pain. “Evie, she had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. They dragged her out into the street and ripped off her clothes, while I watched, tied to a tree by my neck with Goldie’s leash. I thought I would strangle myself, trying to get to her. The universe was exploding in my eyeballs. They laughed and laughed, that’s what I remember most. They laughed as I tried to save her, as she crawled desperately through the dirt, then they shot her in the back right in front of me. Three times,” he said.

“They never even asked me where the distillery was. They didn’t even care.”

Celista was dumbstruck by the story, and embarrassed to be in the presence of such private pain. Mountain wind whistled through the surrounding trees and caressed the flames between them. She felt silly and young and unblemished by tragedy. 

“These were policemen that did this?”

“FBI agents.”

“I thought they were supposed to be the good guys.”

He sighed. “That’s the trouble. There’s the way the world should be, and then there’s the way the world really is. After Evie died, I didn’t want to live in this reality anymore.”

“Don’t you have anyone else to live for? Any family?”

At that moment, Celista’s sister wafted from the nearby trees like a vapour. Her hair swung around her head like Medusa’s snakes, oily and black like the night. She was wearing a shapeless white sleep dress, and floated a few inches above the forest floor. Celista hadn’t seen her sister for months, had even hoped that she’d successfully banished this wraith from her mind forever. Her gut clenched as her sister loomed over the suicidal hobo, her smile like a vicious red wound sliced across her ghastly pale face. Ellis was oblivious to her presence, and began narrating the tale of his godforsaken childhood. He seemed to be getting drunk, because his sentences had taken on a clumsy, spitting quality as he stared off melancholy into the night. 

“Some company you keep these days,” her sister said. “You’ve climbed about as far down the social ladder as you can go.”

Celista answered in her mind. “You insufferable snob. Go away.”

Her sister laughed, coming up behind Ellis as he monologued. “Who am I to judge? Maybe he’ll make a wonderful husband.”

“I’m just talking to him. I’m not going to marry him.”

“Does he know that?”

“He’s just a broken soul, in need of some kindness.”

“I wonder, then, why he came to your home wielding a hatchet? Does that seem like a man with kindness on his mind?” her sister asked, gesturing the weapon laying in the firelight. “Maybe he’ll be kind right until he buries that blade in your skull.”

“You always think the worst of people.”

By this point Ellis was babbling excitedly, delivering his monologue to the heavens. His head was resting on his threadbare knapsack and he seemed to be enjoying conjuring his memories. Celista couldn’t focus on his words, however, as her sister stalked around the clearing with flames flickering in her otherworldly eyes. Her black hair blended with the night, making her face appear like a pale moon in the darkness. 

“You have no idea what you look like to a man like this. You may be intelligent, dear Celista, but you know nothing of men. If you could glimpse into his mind, you would be horrified by the things he imagines doing to you. The pleasure he would get from your pain. You’re like a meal to him, like a delicacy laid out on a picnic blanket. It takes an effort to stop himself from ravaging you, from tearing your clothes off just like they did to his little girlfriend — that is, if you even believe this tall tale he’s telling you. If you want my guess, it wasn’t the police that killed her. It was this man, right here. Why else would he spend years in fearful solitude?”

Celista frowned. She studied the man lounging before her. “I don’t think this man is a killer. I don’t believe it.”

“I suppose if you want to ignore my advice, that’s your business.”

“You didn’t give me any advice.”

“Okay, then — here it is: pick up that hatchet and end this sorry tramp’s life before he can snuff you out like a candle. Consider it a kindness.”

With this final word, Celista’s sister evaporated into the mist before she could formulate a response. While she was still blinking away the apparition, Ellis’ clenched fist appeared before her with the near-empty bottle sloshing. She accepted it from him silently, and brought it to her lips. Her nocturnal companion was licking his lips with pleasure, revelling in having someone to listen to his tales. She studied his matted hair, the skeletal shape of his body beneath his flannel, gazing down until she reached his floppy mud-speckled boots. His breath stunk like death. Finally, her eyes fell upon the monstrous bulge straining against his threadbare trousers. It seemed disproportionate to his body, this mysterious appendage threatening to burst free. Celista wasn’t only a virgin — she’d never seen a man naked, even her father. She felt a deadly curiosity, like discovering a stranger was concealing a knife and preparing to rob her. Could it be true, what her sister said, that this man could wish her harm? She finished off the bottle of wine, feeling the pleasant warmth draining down her throat.

“Well, that’s that. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome,” Ellis said, beginning to gather up his belongings. He stood. “Much obliged for the wine, m’ lady. You’re too generous.”

“You’re leaving?” she asked, strangely torn.

“I am. These past few weeks I’ve been living in a nearby tree hollow, and if I wait much longer I won’t be able to find my way home in the dark. It’s been pleasant, though, having someone to talk to. I thank you for your time,” he said, with a little bow.

“I wonder if you’ll return, if you’ll come back to tell me more stories,” she said. “I want to know more about the Shuswap, about everything that happened before I arrived. Perhaps you’ll return tomorrow?”

Ellis laughed, pushing his arms through the straps of his knapsack. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but it seems to me that you want to know more about Shuswap Joe.”

She blushed, surprised that he’d read her desires so easily. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Well, you don’t need to rely on secondhand stories, m’dear. If you’re so curious about him, maybe you could ask him directly. If you want, I’ll take you to where he lives. Out by the Adams River, with the lumberjacks running the Skmana Lake log flume. It would take us two days to get there, and it’d be a hard hike, but we could do it…if you want. Would you like that?”

Celista felt like she was making a decision that would have a deep impact upon her future. She felt her sister watching, waiting to hear what she would say. Was she suicidal, agreeing to follow some skinny stranger into the wilderness?

“Meet me here tomorrow evening,” she said. “And we’ll set out.” The Literary Goon

[sagau-my-beloved]

Hi ! I just wanted to say I really enjoy your writing it’s great . And since requests are open ( and sumeru is coming up ) I was wondering if you could write some sagau sumeru content ? I’d love to see it ! Have a great day / night : D

Sumeru sagau headcanons:

Hello! Thank you so much! I'm super excited for Sumeru honestly

Since I don't currently have a whole lot of information on all the stuff surrounding that, I can really only do basic headcanons, but I would be happy to flesh this stuff out a bit once the content is actually released and we get more solid information surrounding the region and characters and such

But for nowwww

Warnings: Spoilers for the Sumeru trailer, general sagau stuff, vague mentions of death, general obsessive like behavior

• In Sumeru the disappearance/death of their God was particularly painful because of how much it resembled your disappearance

• A being that embodied wisdom, kindness and love, falling tragically to something they could only ever speculate, was almost the exact same as what legend told of your past

• Those stories ended up intertwining themselves with one another, to the point that some of the people in Sumeru considered you and there Archon God one in the same

• Not in a literal physical sense, but some of the more outlandish conspiracies are that their old Archon God was a reincarnation of you in a way

• If you return to Teyvat before the rebirth of the new Dendro Archon, then the people of Sumeru rely on you more heavily than any other nation

• In that instance, they would be a godless nation, and since they already consider you to be so closely related to their former God, it's almost as if this dissension was something of a rebirth for their land and the wisdom it held

• If you arrive after the rebirth when the nation is a bit more stable, which is the most likely situation to happen, you've got a bit more wiggle room

• The people aren't so heavily reliant on you to be their guiding figure then

• But, either way, when you do get to Sumeru, it's going to be very difficult for you to leave

• The people living there often use the serenity and beauty of nature to keep you, why would you rather be anywhere else?

• Their Archon is the youngest, the least experienced, and this can be worrisome for some of them

• They know that having you around would both help with general morale, and the guiding of their realm to what it once was through your hands

• Their land could only truly flourish under your reign of course

• It only makes sense that you, in your all knowing and all seeing wisdom, reside in the nation of wisdom when they need you the most

• All the regions fight to be your permanent residence really, it's considered the greatest honor for them

• And you certainly have a place to stay in each, the work you do requires travel, and why wouldn't you want to indulge in the beauty of your lands?

• But Sumeru is widely known to have pushed the hardest, been the most persistent, sacrifice the most in order to provide you with a place that you would truly want to reside

• A place that you could consider home

• When it comes to forms of worship, each nation is kind of known for offering things that relate to their element

• So in this case, you better be prepared for a whole lot of flowers

• You're going to be absolutely covered in them, almost everything you touch is also going to be covered in them

• And everywhere you step and everywhere you look and—

• You get the point

• They're a domain that is lush in beautiful greenery, of course they're going to use that to their advantage

• Also every single statue of you that is in their domain has a flower crown

• In some of the smaller towns it's turned into a local ritual, who gets to make the daily flower crown that goes on their personal statue of you

• They, like every nation, believe themselves to be your one true successor nation, the one you favor most, the one that is most in your image

• It boils down to the concept of life and death, growing and dying, that's what their domain is founded on when you dig deep enough into it

• And of course, what is more godlike than that?

[shroomi1e]

it's always been you (zhongli x gn!reader) (reincarnation au)

summary: it doesn't matter to him which 'you' you are, as long as it's still you.

cw: mentions of death

a/n: IM SORRY I HAVENT POSTED IN A WHILE! ive just been very lazy busy these days :)

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

As a former archon, Zhongli isn’t unfamiliar with death. Being at least thousands of years old, the mortal life span is nothing but short to him. And after becoming the advisor for the funeral parlor, he only realizes even further just how fragile human lives are. Because of this, he’s learned to not hold on too tightly, but instead enjoy things as they are and let them move on as they are.

But this time it hurt more. A lot more than it should’ve.

Did he hold on too tightly? He wonders to himself as he holds his umbrella over his head, watching the rain pat against your wooden coffin. He moves his umbrella forward to shield you from the rain one last time, not minding that his suit is getting soaked. His heart clenches as he watches your coffin lower into your grave, signifying the last goodbye. You’re gone for good.

“Look at that one, Zhongli! It’s shaped like a mora!”

Zhongli pretends to pay attention, but he’s really only looking at your bright smile as you watch the Lantern Rite fireworks. You giggle as you lean your head against his shoulder, letting his warmth embrace you. Zhongli gently grabs one of your hands and intertwines your fingers with his, grasping tightly before reaching into his pocket to pull out a delicate jade ring. He loosens his fingers from yours to slide the ring onto your finger.

“I...hope you don’t mind,” he says, carefully watching your reaction. Your eyes are wide with surprise, darting between the ring and his face. The brilliant fireworks continue to go off in the sky, but the only thing Zhongli sees and hears is you. His golden amber eyes gaze into yours, his thumb rubbing your hand soothingly.

“Not even the most flowery poems or the greatest storytellers could put my love for you into words. Love is indeed the biggest contract of all, and I’m willing to commit my everything towards it. Are you willing to do the same?”

“Zhongli, you know better than anyone about our differences. I...I can’t be there for you forever. Are you sure you want to stay with me?”

He merely smiles and takes your hand in his once again. “You don’t owe me anything. Even if you won’t always be there for me, I can at least always be there for you. And that’s enough for me.”

Would you have had a wedding by now? Or perhaps the two of you would’ve settled into a house already? Zhongli tries his best to shake those thoughts away, only finding them hurtful due to his loss. He supposed he should’ve expected this, but... couldn’t you have left at least a bit later?

Years pass. The Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is now in its 78th generation, and the city of Liyue has changed quite a bit. Though Zhongli remains unchanged, his calm and neutral persona is shattered when he sees your figure walk through the door.

He recalls both his knowledge from his archon days as well as the things that Hutao has taught him, but he can’t help but remain still in shock as he watches you, living and breathing, greeting him as if you've never met him before. Out of all the people to be cursed in the loop of reincarnation...why did it have to be you?

“Ah, you must be the renown Zhongli!” you greet. Your voice is still the same, clear as it was before. Zhongli can’t help but be flustered after hearing you call his name once more, his heart beating erratically at the sight of you.

“Y-Yes, that would be me. I assume you are the new owner of the funeral parlor. A pleasure to be working with you.”

And so from there on, he begins to fall in love with you all over again, and so do you. Zhongli takes you to the same places he took you before, telling the same stories in hopes you’ll like them just as much as you used to. Your soft giggles, surprised gasps, and playful jokes... his heart can’t help but ache at the memories of the past you, the first you that he fell in love with.

He patiently listens to your rambles and stories as if it’s the first time he’s heard them, letting out quiet chuckles at your jokes. He asks your favorites despite knowing the answers, buys you the gifts that he wasn’t able to buy you the first time, and even begins to carry his wallet with him a bit more.

But as all humans do... you leave, once again. It’s the same as before, rain pouring down as Zhongli gazes upon your wooden coffin, an umbrella in hand. He can’t tell if this hurts more or less. On one hand, he knows he’ll see you again, but one part of him is afraid he’ll eventually forget you, his memories eroded and gone in a snap of a finger.

And yet this continues for centuries.

Zhongli awaits nothing more than to see your smile again, to see you walking around Liyue harbor once more. And without even trying, the two of you seem to fall in love again and again, almost as if it was fate. You always find your way back to him, whether it be as a stall owner, treasure hoarder, or member of the Liyue Qixing. You always manage to stumble into his embrace and fall into his love.

And Zhongli doesn’t care how many times he’ll have to introduce himself, how many times he’ll retell his stories, how many times he’ll take you to see the fireworks, or how many times he has to bid you farewell. It doesn’t matter which ‘you’ you are, as long as it’s you.

In this ever-changing world, where nothing can last forever... you are his one and only constant. The one thing that will never erode from his memories, and the one person he will always love and care for, no matter how many times you part ways with him.

It’s always been you.

[will-on-the-internet]

Bacon and Broccoli Pasta | Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer comes home after a long case, and all you want to do is make him food. Maybe, just maybe, the two of you will fall in love over a bowl of pasta and old stories of food making people happy. Gender Neutral reader!

Warnings: This fic has a big focus on food, especially bacon, pasta, broccoli, and cheese! Mentions of Diana's schizophrenia, generic FBI case details, roommate x roommate fic that turns into lover x lover fic!

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: This is the first piece in my Food of Love series, where each fic is based on a different dish and the idea of love intertwined with food!

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Spencer was never a good cook. As much as he tried, he could never get the food to taste right, something always burned, and normally he’d have a kitchen at the end that looked like it had been hit by a bomb. So he gave up, and lived on take-out, microwave meals, and sometimes food that Rossi or Garcia dropped around, knowing that the genius required a good feed.

Except, suddenly you were there, in his life, and he had more food in his fridge than he knew what to do with.

You’d moved in six months ago, taking the empty bedroom that Spencer had no use for. The both of you liked the arrangement, you paid half the bills, neither one of you went to bed early, and for once, Spencer wasn’t lonely as soon as he stepped into his apartment. It was an adjustment for the young man though.

He’d never lived with someone else outside of his family when he was a child. Sure, he shared rooms with other people on the team occasionally when there weren’t enough rooms at a hotel, but this was living with someone. He learned how you liked your coffee, and you learned his complicated way of organising his hundreds of books. He realised that you hated sleeping with the window closed, and you figured out that he couldn’t sleep in complete darkness. And most importantly, you noticed that Spencer could not cook. And you could.

It was late on a Thursday night, nearing midnight when Spencer finally arrived home, weary and sore from a complicated case that had the team away for a whole week. His clothes were a mess, hair greasy and there was a large graze on his chin, but he could care less as soon as he got into the apartment.

And you were awake, too wired to sleep from all the coffee you’d downed, secretly worried about your roommate and praying he’d get back safely. He was already half-asleep on the couch, collapsed into the cushions without even taking off his shoes. And when you heard his bag drop to the floor, it had you jumping out of bed, happy to finally have him home.

“Spencer? You alright?” You can just see him over the edge of the couch, and after he mutters out some words that you don’t quite catch and then lets out a loud groan, you know he’s still awake enough to talk.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now.” He looked at you through curls that hadn’t been cared for in ages, and for a moment, you could tell he was trying not to fall asleep right there.

“You know me, I’m not sleeping until it’s past midnight. Plus, there was no chance after all the coffee I had today at the cafe.” He moves his legs so you can sit next to him on the couch, and you can’t believe how warm he is. “How was the case? Did you find the guy you were looking for?”

“It was fine, nothing unusual honestly. You know how those men are, huge ego and an inability to…perform.” You shudder, knowing exactly what he meant but also knowing you didn’t want to hear about a man “performing” at nearly midnight. So you had an idea, and before Spencer knew it, you were grabbing his hand gently and pulling him up from the couch.

“Okay, okay. Too much information. C’mon, you look like you could use a decent meal, and I need some way to burn all this caffeine.” You didn’t hesitate to wander into the kitchen, knowing Spencer was following behind you as he rubbed his tired eyes. “You have any idea about what you want to eat, or do you want me to choose?”

“Do you…do you have the stuff to make that pasta? The one with bacon and broccoli?” You saw his eyes light up as you nodded your head and pulled some rashes of bacon and a head of broccoli from the fridge, and that look of joy sent your heart in a tailspin.

“Out of all the dishes you want at midnight, you chose my grandpa’s pasta? I mean, I’m not complaining, it’s easy and quick and I can cook it all in one pan, but why?” You busied yourself with cutting up the bacon and broccoli, collecting the pasta from the pantry and making sure you had eggs, seasonings and cheese. Spencer watched as you worked, not taking his eyes off you as you chopped methodically in a way he’d never been able to master.

“Do you remember the night we had the case where three minors were abducted? And I came home around sunrise?” You knew exactly which case Spencer was talking about, remembering him coming home and collapsing in tears at the door. Hell, you’d only known him for two weeks or so, but you didn’t even hesitate to call in sick that day and be with him after such an awful case. You made him dinner that night, the first time you cooked for the both of you, and even though the two of you sat in silence while you ate, you knew that Spencer was feeling a little better.

He’d stopped you before you headed to bed, told you that he’d clean up the kitchen and that you should sleep because you had an early shift, and then, he hugged you. Grabbed you tight and never wanted to let go. He nearly second-guessed himself, thought you’d push him away because he’d been some kind of nuisance all day, but you just hugged him back, ruffled his hair in a sweet way that made him feel all warm and fuzzy, and told him to sleep well. He fell in love with you that night, and if you look back on it, you were pretty sure you were falling for him as well.

“You uh, made this pasta. And, I dunno, I’m too tired to think of some statistic about home or feeling comforted by food in times of distress…but you knew exactly what I needed. You didn’t even know me that well, and you just sat me down, made me a mug of hot chocolate, and started making pasta…”

You could tell that Spencer wanted to say more, but he stopped himself before he did. You didn’t want to push him either, knowing that he’d say what he wanted to say when he was ready.

“My mum used to cook a lot before the schizophrenia got worse. She loved spending her whole day in the kitchen when she needed a break from her books.” Spencer spoke while you cooked, raising his voice slightly over the spitting noise of hot oil with garlic, bacon and onion in a pan. “She’d sit me down in my chair and give me all these things to read or let me play with a pack of cards by myself while she cooked. I remember one day she came home so happy, because the local butcher had given her a pack of lamb shanks for free because he didn’t want them to go to waste, and she spent half the day making her special orange lamb shanks with crusty bread and sweet potato mash. She always made it when something special happened, like when I won a local chess tournament at age six, or on her thirtieth birthday. It was her special dish.” He stopped then, sensing that you were watching him. But he expected a look of annoyance or boredom like he was ruining the silence that you liked to cook in. Instead, you were smiling, a soft smile he loved oh so much, and so he kept talking.

“I was twelve when I got into my first university, and mum was having a good week for once. The doctor had put her on some new meds, dad had sent more money than usual, and the university told me that I’d get a full ride. She was so excited, she made this huge meal that was way too big for just the two of us. She made mac and cheese and salads and everything that she thought I might want, and she was so happy that I enjoyed it…but I think I enjoyed her being around more than I enjoyed the food. I think I like the idea that food can bring people together.”

“My dad was the one who taught me how to cook. He used to make all the meals in our family while mum worked and I went to school. He told me, that cooking and making food that fuels your body and makes it happy, is not just an act of love and service towards yourself, but also to the others around you.” You’re serving the pasta by then, getting out mismatched bowls from the cupboard and grating up some cheese to put on top, and you talk as you work. Spencer takes it upon himself to get glasses of water and forks for the both of you, quietly setting the table as you spoke.

“I asked why he always cooked, and never just got take out or used one of the microwave pizzas that we kept in the fridge, and he said, that he always wants to cook, not only because he enjoys making things and experimenting with food, but also because he constantly wanted to show me and my mum that he loved us, even if he wasn’t overly affectionate. Sure, sometimes his meals didn’t always work out, and we did end up getting takeaway, but mum and I knew he was doing everything he could to show us he loved us.”

“Is…is that why you cook so much? To show others you love them?” Spencer asks the question abruptly as if it spills from his mouth and he’s too late to stop it. The two of you are sitting at the table by now, a bowl of pasta in front of each of you, but neither of you wanted to start eating yet.

“I…I don’t really know. To be honest, I haven’t cooked this much in years, probably since I lived at home. I never had anyone to eat with where I used to live, so it just seemed like more of a chore than something I took pleasure out of. But I like making things for the people I love, and I like doing it more regularly.” You went quiet and gestured for him to eat, and even though the both of you knew that you were dancing around three little words that meant so much, neither of you were ready to say them.

When Spencer had his first bite of the pasta, he couldn’t help but groan in delight. He would have been embarrassed except for the fact that you grinned back at him, joy radiating off you. The pasta was thick and creamy, with enough richness to make goosebumps rise on your skin in enjoyment. The bacon had just enough of that smokey flavour that it blended well with the sharp parmesan cheese you’d used, and the broccoli was perfect. Nothing was too sharp or salty or bitter or greasy. The pasta was just cooked enough, but it wasn’t too soft either where it felt like it would fall apart in your mouth. You knew Spencer hated that.

“I don’t understand, I can barely make toast without burning it…and you can make a whole damn feast! Not fair.” You laughed at the man across from you, knowing he was being ridiculous. But he didn’t care because he couldn’t stop eating the food that made his heart feel warm and his body feel safe.

It was later when he told you that he’d clean up, that you should make yourself that cup of tea you wanted and take yourself to bed, but you didn’t want to leave the kitchen just yet. He assured you that he wouldn’t use the wrong scrubber on your precious fry pan, but you didn’t care about any of that. At one point, he was trying to bargain with you, because he could tell you were feeling exhausted by that point, and he just wanted to do something nice for you after you cooked him a very late/very early dinner, and when that’s when you saw your chance.

“Fine, Spencer, I’ll go to bed. Can you just grab me a glass of water?” He nodded, walking back to the sink to fill up your glass from the tap, before coming back to you with it in his hand. “Thank you, now I just need to do one more thing before I go to bed.” He thought you were going to ask for something else, but then you were coming closer and closer until your hand was on his cheek and he was leaning into your touch.

“Do…do I have something on my cheek–” That’s when you kissed him, softly and shyly at first. Spencer nearly started celebrating right then and there, before he realised he actually needed to kiss you back first. And he kissed you back with so much love and enthusiasm that he pulled a little gasp from you, shocked but pleasantly surprised when he took hold of your waist to hold you firmly against him. It wasn’t a perfect kiss by society’s standards, but it was perfect for the two of you, even if his breath was smokey and cheesy from the bacon, and your’s smelt like garlic from the pasta. Neither of you minded, and he didn’t mind when you pulled him from the kitchen, telling him that the dishes could wait in exchange for more kisses, in your bed, tucked under your covers.

Your dad always said that food could bring people together. But you never knew that it could have you and Spencer falling in love.

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[ptergwen]

favorite crime

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood / death, lots n lots of angst

summary: you convince peter to go on the run after he’s framed for murdering mysterio, but he doesn’t want to drag you into his mess

a/n: this was completely based off the song by olivia lfmbsjfhs it’s so beautiful and i’ve wanted to write something for it for a while now so yee i hope y’all like ! pls lmk what you think <3

-

“we have to get you out of here, peter! come on!” you shout back to your boyfriend and tug his hand that’s laced with yours.

peter doesn’t budge. even when your grip on him tightens, when you pull him forward with all your might, he remains stoic.

there’s something he needs to do, and he’s been contemplating it since the day he met you.

it’s time to let you go.

“please, peter. i’m begging. i know you’re tired of running, but if we don’t leave now… they’ll find you,” you desperately choke out. peter squeezes his eyes shut, dreading what’s to come. “i can’t do this to you anymore, y/n. i… i’m sorry.”

emergency sirens and flashing lights approach the old apartment building serving as yours and peter’s latest hideout. the whole world is on the lookout for him, so you two stowed yourselves away in brooklyn for a bit.

you were hopeful the rumors would pass eventually — about how peter shot the beloved mysterio and left him to die in cold blood. they’re merely talk, of course. you’d personally seen the events of that day unfold on the tower bridge. hell, your class was right at the center of them.

quentin beck was pure evil, so rotten he defamed both peter and spider-man with a charge as cruel as murder. he’s wreaking havoc on him from beyond the grave, over a complete misunderstanding that peter had nothing to do with.

beck’s true source of anger is stark industries. yet, once again, peter ended up the collateral damage.

he was deemed a wanted murderer. posters revealing his name and face were plastered up around the city, a reward even being offered to whoever who turns him in.

you’d proposed the idea of skipping town until things settled. the way you saw it, it was peter’s only option other than prison for twenty-five to life. peter was panicking and couldn’t think straight, so he went along with your getaway plan.

a few weeks later, he’s regretting it.

you’ve been the one person he could trust through this madness. you’re right there to console him, to protect him just like he does you. through sickness and health, life and clearly death, you stick by peter’s side. you left everything behind without a second thought, for him.

peter loves you more than you’ll ever fully be able to comprehend, which is why he can’t ask you to do that. this is his battle to fight, not yours or anyone else’s. his.

you suddenly freeze in your tracks, turning around to look at peter. “what are you talking about? you’re fine, pete.”

his eyes roam everywhere except to yours as they water. blinking back tears, he fixes his gaze on your intertwined hands. you notice a stray tear fall down his cheek and use one of your thumbs to wipe it away, then press a reassuring kiss to his lips. peter lets himself reciprocate momentarily before jerking back.

“please just… stop being so nice to me. you’re making this way harder than i wanted to to be,” he rasps and squeezes your hand tighter. you’re still lost, absolutely clueless about what he’s referring to.

“look, pete. i wanna hear you out, baby. but… i think it should wait until we get to jersey.” you keep your voice as calm as possible, though you’re terrified for both of you. since the feds know your location, they’ll have the place surrounded any minute.

hopping cities isn’t cutting it anymore, so you’ll have to change states this time. new jersey is next on your list.

using his strength to his advantage to hold you in place, peter seizes both your shoulders. his bloodshot eyes lock with yours. a stern expression coats his features, one you’ve seen from him yet never been on the receiving end of.

“we’re not going to jersey, y/n/n,” he declares, the sirens starting to grow louder. you feel a pit forming in your stomach. “we have to!” you immediately protest. “it’s not gonna be easy finding our way, but it’s the last-“

peter cuts you off, voice softer now. “no, no. that’s not what i meant.” he waits a beat and inhales a deep breath, aiming to settle his nerves. it doesn’t.

“i’m going to jersey. you’re staying.”

tears cloud your vision the second those words leave his mouth. you shake your head furiously back and forth, willing him to take them back.

part of you was always afraid peter would get second thoughts. not only about running away with you, about ever being with you. you’re both so young. your entire lives are ahead of you, and peter won’t allow you to risk your own because this isn’t worth a single bit of it.

he’d warned you how dangerous it was to be associated with spider-man. it’s why he held off on telling you about his alias for the longest he could. you naturally began asking questions whenever peter bailed on dates and showed up to school covered in bruises. he hated lying to you, using his stark internship as an excuse, so he finally came out and said it.

peter sometimes wonders if you’d be better off not knowing at all. it’s too late now, though.

“wait, what? why- why can’t i go with you?” you plead, peter’s fingers coming up to cup your cheek. his fingertips lightly caress your skin. “i’m a criminal, y/n. you’d be my accessory.”

it takes everything in him not to break down and sob along with you.

you lean into his palm, already missing his touch. “i don’t care... i don’t give a fuck. i just wanna be with you, peter.” peter literally has to bite his tongue to fight the urge to cry. hands grabbing either side of his head, your fingers twist in his hair roughly. “i’ll do anything, pete. i really will, i swear. name it.”

peter threads his own fingers through yours again, bringing your hands to his chest.

“i’m so sorry, angel. i never should’ve gotten you involved,” he murmurs out and pecks your forehead. “you have nothing to prove to me, okay? you’ve done more than enough. i’m gonna return the favor.”

you let out a strangled whine, your knees buckling as you come to terms with the gravity of your situation.

this is it. this is the end of yours and peter’s story.

“hey, none of that. it’s okay,” peter coos, neither of you convinced. the tastes of salt and metal flood both your senses. he helps you back up and hugs your waist, peppering your cheeks in more kisses. you’re bawling now, arms wound around his neck, clutching at his tattered jacket.

free tears escape peter’s eyes at last. “i love you. i love you so goddamn much, y/n. never forget it,” he nearly whispers. you sniffle and push your forehead against his. “i’m not saying it back ‘cuz that feels like a goodbye, and i- i can’t say goodbye to you yet.”

“it’s not a goodbye,” peter reassures you, rubbing circles on your lower back. “it’s, uh, it’s a see you later. i’m gonna figure something out and be back to you before you know it. can’t get rid of me that easy.”

that earns a faint giggle from you, peter managing a grin. you two attempt to ignore everything happening beyond these walls, only focusing on the other.

“then, um…” you clear your throat. “i love you.” his smile dwindling slightly, peter nods and meets your gaze. “i love you too, baby. you should probably get going soon.”

affirming his advice, a booming voice that sounds from a microphone commands peter to come out with his hands up.

your worry spikes, instinctively drawing peter in closer. he forces himself to put on a brave face for you.

“i’m scared, pete. where… where am i supposed to go?” you rush to ask him. “home, y/n/n. go home,” peter decides, pressing a final kiss to the top of your head. “just don’t get caught, and you’ll be fine.” carding your fingers in his undone curls, you sigh. “easier said than done, but i’ll try not to.”

you’d never pictured that the sweet boy with a heart too big and brain even bigger, who sings you to sleep even though his voice sucks and spends his last dollar buying you flowers, would be accused of first degree murder. it isn’t true or fucking fair.

what’s worse, he has to bare this storm alone now.

you lift your heavy backpack off the cold ground, slinging it onto your shoulders. peter stares out the window and down at the assembly of swarm troops crowded together.

“are you gonna be okay?” you catch his attention. he snaps back into reality, pulling your hood up so it covers your head. you’re wearing a sweatshirt of his, after having gone through all your own clothes. “i hope so. are you?” peter repeats your question. “i hope so,” you echo.

tying your hoodie strings tight, peter offers a smile. “say hi to may for me. ned and mj, too.” it’s going to be tough to face his family and friends after this. “i will. i’ll let them know you’re alright.” you kiss his cheek, placing a hand on his chest. peter lets your touch distract him from the mess he’s about to be hit with.

“thank you, y/n. i’ll see you soon, baby. you have my word,” he promises, stepping back so you two can go your separate ways.

you watch him with fresh tears threatening to spill.

“i’m gonna hold you to it. be safe, spidey.”

[hookingminor]

“In awe, the first time you realised it” with Mat Barzal please🥺

31. In awe, the first time you realised it

I swear all my favorite things I've written are for barz, this is also so self-indulgent for me bc my love language is playlists

-

You and Mat had been dating for just under a year now, still in the honeymoon phase of your relationship even after a few fights, and he swore you were the only person he would never get tired of. The weekends you spent at his apartment, the Saturday morning markets you always dragged him to, the nights he curled on your couch watching TV while you worked away at the kitchen table, there was no such thing as too much time with you.

The feeling nagged at the back of Mat’s mind, subtle and quiet, a distant voice telling him he was in love with you even if his brain hadn’t completely registered it yet. Your relationship was comfortable. You moved around each other with an ease Mat had never known, as if you’d spent years together and now lived in routines that revolved around the other. He hadn’t even processed how used to being around you he’d gotten until your first summer apart had hit.

He thought about you all the time, wondering whether or not you’d like the outfit he chose when he went out with friends, whether you’d enjoy his mom’s cooking, whether you were thinking about him all the way back in New York when he was in Coquitlam.

By the time fall came back around, he was ready to ask you to move in even if neither of you had said those words yet. Mat just missed you all the time. It didn’t matter how much time you spent apart, he was counting the hours until he saw you again.

It was only when the two of you packed your bags and climbed into his car, ready for a weekend road trip upstate that the overwhelming feeling of how much he loved you hit him. You chose to drive, knowing Mat’s proclivities for driving a little too fast would’ve made you insane during the four hour ride to the secluded cabin he rented. In turn, he got to choose the music, though you made him compromise that he’d split the time between both of your spotifys.

Yours and Mat’s music taste didn’t always mesh well, and while he knew your account and followed it, he never delved into the playlists you curated. At the two hour mark, he unlocked your phone and scrolled through your account, clicking through a few playlists as he tried to find one that he wouldn’t completely hate.

He came across one titled happiness, the playlist photo piquing his curiosity. It was a little further down the list, about halfway through your nearly twenty playlists, and he recognized the picture as his own head. There were no discernible features, only his hair as his head rested on your chest and your fingers curled in the strands, but Mat knew it was him.

One by one, he read over each song in the playlist. The theme seemed all over the place, ranging from slow songs to upbeat pop to hip-hop, and his curiosity got the best of him.

“Babe, what’s this playlist?” He asked, stretching your phone so you could check the screen. You only took a brief glance, noticing the title immediately and shifting your focus back to the road.

“Oh, it’s just a bunch of songs that remind me of you,” you answered with an apathetic shrug. You added the first song a week after you met Mat after your first date when you knew that you wouldn’t be letting him go any time soon.

Mat furrowed his brows, not quite sure what Christmas Eve by Kelly Clarkson or Ain’t No Mountain High Enough by Marvin Gaye had to do with him, but he pressed shuffle anyways.

The first song that came on was Flightless Bird, American Mouth, and Mat vaguely remembered hearing this before.

“Why’s this one on it?” He asked.

“Remember when I made you watch Twilight even though you complained the entire time? You said you thought this song sounded nice, so I added it,” you explained.

“And Bloom?” Mat questioned, finding another song title he didn’t know.

“It was a song that played in the cafe during our first date.”

“Shoop?”

“That one night we stayed up until three baking brownies because we were drunk and hungry, we sang it, like, four times dancing in the kitchen,” you said.

It turned out every song on the playlist had some underlying meaning as to why you added it. There was the song you first slow danced to at a teammate’s wedding, the song you chose to karaoke to once at a bar, the song Mat always played first thing upon turning on his car for a couple weeks whenever he drove anywhere, songs he found himself singing under his breath while not realizing you were listening, his favorite Taylor Swift songs even though he would publicly claim he didn’t listen to her, songs he went crazy for every time they played in clubs. Every song had a story.

Mat didn’t ask you for the explanation for each one, not wanting to annoy you with his many questions, but he connected the dots soon enough after you told him Green Light by Lorde was on there because of how many times you and Mat had watched through New Girl, but more specifically, the scene where Nick and Jess finally get together.

A few sparked memories in his own head, the Khalid songs you made him listen to the one time you convinced him to get high with you, the Kendrick songs he swore were the best rap songs ever made, even a few Bieber songs you found more tolerable than others since you weren’t a fan of him but Mat was.

The playlist was nearing fifty songs, all recounting moments in your relationship over the past year, and Mat’s chest tightened in a way he’d never felt before.

He was in love with you.

You didn’t even bat an eye explaining the meaning of each song, every story fresh in your mind and you told him each one without hesitation. Had it not been for your eyes on the road, you probably would’ve noticed the tears welling in his eyes, though he quickly brushed them away.

His heart was so full of love for you, how you paid attention to every detail, and there was no doubt in his mind he was in love.

“You good?” You glanced over quickly, curious as to why he was quiet all of a sudden.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He cleared his throat.

“I love you.”

That caught your attention immediately, and you looked back at him, your own eyebrows slightly drawn together in confusion as the outburst.

“Yeah?” You asked. The words had been on the tip of your tongue for so long you could probably trace it back to the first time you met him, but you kept it to yourself. Mat was always cautious with his words, never wanting to say anything he didn’t fully believe, and you didn’t want to scare him off saying it too early.

“Yeah,” he replied confidently. Grabbing the hand resting on the gearshift, he intertwined your fingers and brought it to his lips. “I love you." Gently, Mat kissed your knuckles.

Your own heart felt like bursting at the soft look on his face. “I love you too.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that,” he chuckled, wide grins spreading across both of your faces.

You brought his knuckles to your own lips, placing a soft kiss on them before letting your joined hands rest across the middle console. The remainder of the drive was silent, neither of you starting a conversation as you let your playlist take you the rest of the way.

[cherienymphe]

Regrets of Yesterday (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: arranged marriage, infidelity? (does it still count if all parties are consenting?), mafia!Steve, side of Bucky x reader, jealous!Steve, eventual NON-CON, Steve’s an ass

DNI IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers​}

➥ This will be a short 3 part series  ➥ part 2

summary: your arranged marriage to the infamous Steve Rogers isn’t what you initially thought it would be, but things have worked out better than you could have imagined. However, your arrangement with your husband becomes complicated when feelings, and circumstances, that neither of you anticipated come into play.

~

Your marriage to the infamous Steve Rogers wasn’t even what you would call a cold one. Truth be told, it wasn’t a marriage at all. Everything was arranged the moment you had caught his parents’ eyes, and before you knew it, you were engaged to a man you had never met. Of course, you knew who Steve Rogers was.

Everyone did.

To the average person, he was your run of the mill business man who’d been blessed with generational wealth. To those who really knew, he was a stern leader to the most well-known crime organization in the city, the same one he’d inherited from his father. He was equally brilliant as he was handsome, and that you could confirm for yourself on your wedding day.

It was a wedding with a decent turnout. Both of your parents were there to witness the event of course. As well as his men, but you hadn’t expected other crime bosses to be in attendance, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you nervous. Your hair looked the best it ever had, your makeup highlighted your best features, and your dress clung to you in a way that caused everyone’s gazes to linger. All in all, it was a beautiful wedding.

If only your husband to be had been present.

Steve was there physically, of course, but the rest of him was so far away that you found yourself feeling alone at the altar. Your hands were intertwined with his as you said your vows, but you couldn’t really feel them. Your eyes met his, but it felt like he wasn’t even looking at you. His lips brushed against yours so lightly, you had to wonder if you imagined the kiss.

Your parents were positively beaming as the priest pronounced you man and wife, but as you contemplated the weight of Steve’s hand in yours, you wondered just how true that was.

The reception was everything you wanted, and when you were told that you had free reign over all of the wedding details, you had been excited. You thought that Steve was going to be one of those husbands who just wanted to make his wife happy no matter what. It was a rude awakening to realize that it was solely because he didn’t care. About the wedding...

About you.

It was during your first dance as a married couple that you fully realized just what this marriage would be.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Steve had started, making you frown.

His blue eyes gazed into yours, neat blond hair pushed away from his face. His handsome face was unreadable, not a hint of emotion peeking through, and his voice was even as he continued.

“I don’t know if they told you why you’re here…”

“They did.”

The main reason for this marriage was so that Steve could produce an heir to continue his family’s legacy. That had been made clear from the beginning, but it didn’t help you any with trying to figure out where this conversation was going.

“…and you understand that’s the only reason you’re here, correct?”

You blinked, a bit shocked as you registered his words. You knew that it played a big part in this marriage, but you hadn’t known that it was the sole reason for this marriage…nor your place here.

“I see,” you whispered, a bit disappointed.

You both turned to pose as a camera flashed, and your conversation continued as he moved you about the dancefloor, a soft breeze ruffling the skirt of your dress.

“I’m not as cruel as they say,” he murmured. “I won’t expect you to just sit in a loveless marriage.”

Your frown deepened as he continued.

“You are free to find affection elsewhere. As am I,” he said, making your eyes widen. “I’m used to a certain lifestyle, and that won’t stop just because we got married, and it would be unfair to not allow you to do the same.”

Your lips parted, and you blinked because this was not how you expected your wedding day to go at all. Here you were, dancing in a courtyard full of people as they watched the two of you celebrate your marriage. Meanwhile, your husband was telling you that he had no intentions of remaining faithful while you were free to do the same because your marriage was for one purpose and one purpose only.

“You…you want me to…”

You trailed off, your words dying in your throat as he looked away from you. Your eyes focused on his side profile, jaw moving every time he talked.

“My father gave me a year to find a wife and start working on producing an heir. He isn’t the most pleasant person to be around when he doesn’t get what he wants. This will satisfy him for the time being while we continue our lives as they were,” he explained.

You pressed your lips together, shoulders dropping as you accepted this.

“…when the time comes, we’ll do what needs to be done to have a child. Until then…”

You supposed that you couldn’t be upset with Steve. This was an arranged marriage after all. Everyone knew how most arranged marriages went, and you were the one who’d imagined this to be something it wasn’t. Besides, it wasn’t his fault that your parents didn’t clue you in on the whole story. You suspected that was for a reason though because had you known, you never would have agreed.

At least he was being transparent with you.

His eyes met yours again, and you nodded at him just as the music slowed to a halt. For the first time since you met, Steve smiled at you, and you did the same, albeit reluctantly. He took your hand and gently handed you off to your father, the older man pulling you into a dance as the music started up.

When you were done dancing with him, you enjoyed a dance with Steve’s father, the older Rogers pulling several laughs from you as he recounted stories of years past. Your dances with the other crime bosses were much more nerve-wracking, the eldest Odinson holding you a tad too tight for your liking. You were relieved when the song ended, and another took his place.

Your next dance partner, while never having the pleasure of meeting him until today, was also not unknown to you. James Barnes was just as well known as your new husband, equally as handsome, and much easier to talk to it seemed.

“You look lovely, Mrs. Rogers,” he told you, and you blinked.

You were taken aback. Sure, your father and even Steve’s father had complimented you on your dress, but Steve hadn’t said a word about how you looked. In fact, he’d hardly spared you a glance. While you accepted your marriage for what it would be, you didn’t realize that meant it would be a cold one.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”

He smiled at you, a genuine expression as his lips pulled back from his teeth.

“Steve and I are close, and you’ll be seeing a lot of me so please. Call me Bucky,” he told you.

You returned his smile with a nod.

“Okay…Bucky.”

You danced with Bucky for 3 more songs, learning that he and Steve had grown up together and were practically like brothers. You enjoyed dancing with him. He didn’t hold you as tight as Thor Odinson did, but his touch also wasn’t that of a ghost’s like your husband’s. He was attentive during the conversation, looking at you instead of through you and talking with you instead of at you.

When it came time for you and Steve to cut the cake, you were a tad disappointed to part from him. Even more so when the time came for the two of you to be driven off in the limo. You stared out of the window the entire time while Steve took a business call. You occasionally eyed him, wondering if he’d ever hang up to at least have a conversation with you, but it was in vain.

With a sigh, you looked away, and forced yourself to accept that this marriage wasn’t really a marriage at all, and that it would never be. You didn’t know this man, and you weren’t being put under any obligations to love him. Truthfully, you never even had to interact with him at all. You could just bask in his millions while living a life completely separate from him. You realized that plenty of women would kill to be in your place, and it was then and there in the limo, on the way to a honeymoon where your husband wouldn’t even sleep in the same room as you, you’d decided that you would make the best of this.

“Do you…have to…leave so soon?”

His thick accent reached your ears as you bent to pick up your dress, smooth voice interrupted by his labored breathing. You slid the satin material over your skin as you pulled it back on, and you felt the bed move beneath you. You smiled when his lips brushed against your bare shoulder, a hum climbing out of his throat as they traveled to your neck.

“Pietro,” you chided.

He pretended like he hadn’t heard you, lips finding yours in a soft kiss when you turned your head. You grinned into his mouth, hand resting on his shoulder.

“I have to go,” you whispered, and he groaned.

He fell back onto the plush bed with a sigh, blue eyes finding yours. He didn’t look happy, but then again, he never did when you had to leave.

“I’ve already stayed much longer than I planned to,” you told him, standing to adjust your dress.

Before you had the chance to reach back and do it yourself, Pietro sat up to zip the material for you. His fingers brushed over your skin as he did so, lingering, and you took in a shaky breath. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and exhaled.

“Let me guess… Steve?”

You let out a snort, shaking your head while you held in a chuckle.

“When is it ever Steve?”

You and your husband had been together for almost a year, and you’d probably seen the man maybe 10 times. Steve had his life, and you had yours. Not once had the two ever mixed, not even for something as mundane as dinner. You heard Pietro scoff, and you stepped away from him to put on your shoes.

“James,” he decided, so much disdain dripping from his voice you’d think that James had fucked his mother or something. “Of course, it’s James.”

You glanced at him from over your shoulder.

“Do I detect some jealousy?”

“Of course, you do!”

You turned to face Pietro as he stood, naked as the day he was born.

“He always gets you. You like him better,” he said with a pout, and you tilted your head.

You did feel a bit guilty because what he said was true, but it couldn’t be helped. You and Pietro had only just started seeing each other two months ago. Bucky had made his intentions clear with you barely a month into your marriage.

You had been taken aback at his boldness, especially since you’d only been married to his best friend for 30 days, but then you remembered that Steve had probably resumed the activities of his former life as soon as you had returned from your honeymoon.

He was never home, always out late, and on the rare occasion you did cross paths, he hardly spared you a glance. It had been a bit lonely at first, most of your free time filled with shopping or reading or cooking. That all changed when Steve required your presence at some stuffy event. The limo ride had been silent, and you’d taken it upon yourself to part from him as soon as you entered the building.

Bucky had found you in one of the many empty hallways, admiring some painting while you sipped on a glass of champagne. He had complimented you just like he’d done on your wedding day, and you shyly thanked him, not used to the attention. Having been familiar with the building, he gave you a tour, keeping you company and making you laugh the whole night.

As you made your way to one of the upper floors, you had stumbled, courtesy of the alcohol in your system. Bucky caught you with a laugh, telling you that maybe you needed to slow down before plucking the glass out of your hand. You couldn’t remember when nor how he’d gotten so close, but his lips were suddenly on yours.

…and you were kissing him back.

You had eventually stumbled away, feeling wrong despite the fact that Steve said it was okay. Despite the fact that your husband had been doing this very thing all along. You left Bucky there in a hurry, easily finding Steve. He had been looking for you too, ready to go. The ride home was just as silent, but for once, your sham of marriage wasn’t on your mind. It was the feel of Bucky’s lips on yours.

You busied yourself for days, shopping and going out to eat to keep your mind off of one James Barnes. It came to a screeching halt when a limo that wasn’t yours was waiting outside for you when you exited one of your favorite stores. You knew it was Bucky before the window even rolled down, and you had every intention of telling him no when he offered you a ride home.

Your mind said no, and you had even convinced your heart to say no, but when you opened your mouth, that wasn’t what escaped. Confused with yourself, you reluctantly slid into the dark vehicle as he opened the door for you. He had offered you something to drink, and you had shaken your head, avoiding his eyes.

After a while, he moved to join you on your side, gently taking your hand. You didn’t stop him. His free one rested under your chin, tilting your head up so that your eyes were on him. You remembered thinking that he looked more handsome than usual that day, blue eyes brighter and dark hair styled perfectly. His eyes had searched yours as he leaned in to kiss you.

You didn’t stop him.

Your legs shook when you slowly made your way to your front door, a dazed smile on your lips. You had leaned your back against the door, ignorant to the housekeeper as they called your name. As you had made your way up the stairs, Bucky’s scent still clinging to your skin, for once, you were happy to be all alone in this big house.

You had touched yourself that night, no longer a faceless being behind your eyes, but instead James Buchanan Barnes. You woke up that next morning feeling better than you had in weeks, your mood only lifting when a knock sounded on the front door. Bucky was there with a bouquet of flowers, dressed impeccably with his limo waiting behind him. You told him to give you 30 minutes, and 30 minutes later, in a dress that you had bought yourself weeks ago to cheer you up, he was leading you towards the car.

The rest was history.

You pulled yourself from your reverie, frowning a bit at Pietro.

“Well, he’s here. You go back home in, what…2 days?” you wondered with a shrug. “I only see you for a week before you’re flying back home for another month.”

Pietro ran his eyes over you, lips down turned.

“You could come with me,” he whispered.

This conversation was not unfamiliar to you, and you rolled your eyes.

“Even if I wanted to Pietro, that would never happen,” you said, holding up your left hand. “I’m married.”

“Barely,” he mumbled.

You laughed at that, putting your earrings back in.

“True marriage or not, I don’t think Steve would take too kindly to me running off with one of my lovers. His pride wouldn’t survive it.”

“Screw his pride, the man is an idiot,” he spat, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer. “We both know it’s James you worry about. There’s no doubt in my mind he’d have me killed for stealing you away.”

You pecked his lips, pulling away before reaching for your coat and your purse.

“You’re probably right. All the more reason I can’t just run off with you,” you told him.

He heaved a heavy sigh as you made your way to the door.

“I’ll call you later?” you said, glancing at him.

Pietro rolled his eyes, but a fond smile found its way onto his lips anyway.

“Of course.”

As you made your way out of the suite and into the elevator, you found yourself thinking about your fling with Pietro. He was beautiful and cultured, and he made your head spin. However, he was flighty. You knew that Pietro had a roster of women lined at his feet, and you were simply his favorite. Pietro was not the kind of man you just run off with. Sure, your marriage to Steve wasn’t a marriage at all, but it provided security, and you’d be silly to give that up for a womanizer who would lose interest in less than 4 months.

Besides, what Pietro said did have a grain of truth to it. There was no doubt in your mind that Bucky would kill the man for stealing you away. If Pietro, like all the others, was a fling, then Bucky… Well, Bucky was probably the love of your life. It was strange to finally admit that to yourself, but you did love him. Sometimes it felt like you were married to him instead of Steve, and sometimes, when it was just the two of you, you wished that were true.

You sighed into Bucky’s mouth as he pressed his hips into yours, warmth filling you as you came around him for the second time that night. Your fingers were tangled into his hair, a shudder passing through you while his fingers pressed into your hips.

“Stay the night,” he whispered against your lips.

You chuckled, throwing your head back as he brushed his own against your jaw.

“That would make it the third night in a row. I shouldn’t,” you replied. “God forbid Steve remembers my existence and actually needs me for something now of all times. It would be just my luck.”

He rolled off of you with a sigh, exasperation coloring his tone.

“Just tell him you’re busy,” he slyly said, tracing his finger down your side.

You slapped his hand away, and he laughed.

“That’s not part of the deal,” you reminded him.

He scoffed, and you sat up. You and Steve never brought up your separate lives in conversation. While that was hardly a possibility before, seeing as he never talked to you, in a week, you and he will have been married a year and 4 months, and you were seeing more of him than you were used to. Bucky had mentioned something about some shipments he was letting Tony handle, and you guessed that gave Steve more free time. You were surprised he didn’t want to fill that time with one of his many mistresses.

“Right. What is it again? Don’t ask…”

“…don’t tell,” you finished. “…and never in the house.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, resting his hand behind his head as he gazed at you, dark hair mussed.

“Are you happy?” Bucky suddenly asked you, and you paused, turning to fully face him. “I mean with him. Are you happy with him?”

You frowned, mulling over that question.

“Well,” you breathed. “There’s not really an answer for that. I’m not with him.”

Bucky sat up too, now, and you continued.

“He and I, aside from our names on a piece of paper, aren’t together. I am…a womb waiting to be used to produce an heir to satisfy his family,” you said. “So, I’m not happy or unhappy with him because I am not with him. Truthfully, I’m with you...and I’m very happy with you.”

“Then be with me.”

Bucky’s face was clouded in desperation, and you blinked at him, frowning.

“What are you saying…?”

Bucky huffed, running his hand through his hair before taking your hand.

“I’m saying ditch the other guy,” he threw at you, and you barked a disbelieving laugh.

“The other guy! You mean Steve? Your best friend? That Steve?”

Bucky heaved a sigh as he got out of bed, and you watched as he pulled his pants on.

“Look, I love Steve, but he’s an idiot. I don’t care what kind of lifestyle I was used to. If I were marrying you, I’d turn my back on it all no questions asked just to have you every night,” he said, and your face softened. “If all he needs is a baby maker, he can easily find another wife.”

“Bucky,” you sighed.

“Leave him,” he pleaded. “…and be with me.”

“You know, the last time I saw Pietro, he was demanding the exact same thing from me.”

Bucky’s lip curled at the mention of the other man that you hadn’t seen in months, and you laughed.

“How is Pietro these days, anyway?”

You fixed him with a look.

“You know that I haven’t even talked to Pietro in months. After my last refusal to run off with him, he quickly lost interest.”

Bucky smiled, face brightening as he shrugged.

“I know. I just like to hear you say it.”

You tossed a pillow at him as he laughed, moving to get dressed. He pulled you into his side as soon as you were both clothed, fingers dancing along your waist.

“I like having you all to myself,” he murmured, lips meeting your cheek.

He helped you into your coat before walking you downstairs. It was colder these days, and he tightened his hold on you as he walked you to his car. The drive to your house was quiet, but not uncomfortable, Bucky’s hand in yours as you looked out of the window. It was late at night, but the city was even livelier than it was during the day. When his driver slowly pulled into your driveway, Bucky pressed his lips to yours, reluctant to pull away.

You felt the same, and you didn’t want to admit it to yourself that his proposal was tempting. His hand tightly held yours as you stepped out of the limo, making sure you didn’t fall. Just before you turned to leave, he brought the back of your hand to his lips, blue eyes drinking you in.

“Think about it,” he murmured, and you threw him a sad smile, promising him that you would.

Your heart was heavy as you pressed your key into the door, pressing your back to it as soon as you shut it. You stood in the foyer, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh. All those months ago, when Pietro had asked you to leave your husband, it had been easy to turn him down. Bucky? Not so much. Feeling like you wanted to cry for the first time in forever, you slowly made your way into the living room.

“You’re out late.”

A startled shriek left your lips, hip bumping into the table beside you just as light flooded the room in time to watch the vase of flowers shatter against the floor. Fear forgotten, you pressed your hand to your heart, sucking your teeth at the vase Bucky had gotten you last year. He bought you fresh flowers every week to fill it with.

“Oh no,” you sighed, kneeling to grab them.

You heard Steve move behind you, footsteps growing louder as he neared. You glanced at him as you stood, shaking the water and glass off of the flowers.

“Jesus, Steve. You almost gave me a heart attack,” you complained.

“Sorry,” he evenly replied. “Was this new?”

He was referring to the vase, and you tripped over your words.

“Uh…no. N-not exactly,” you said, making your way to the kitchen.

You sat the flowers on the counter, grabbing the broom and dustpan before making your way back into the living room. You frowned at the mere presence of Steve, wondering what he was even doing home. Perhaps that was a bit unfair of you, but you had grown so used to not having him around. You preferred it. You could feel his eyes on you as you swept up the glass, even still when you returned to wipe up the water.

“We have a housekeeper for that,” he said, making you frown again.

“I’m aware,” you replied, standing. “…but what sense would it make for me to leave this here all night just so Peter can clean it up in the morning when I’m perfectly capable of doing it right now?”

Steve nodded, and you made to move towards the kitchen again when he spoke.

“You were out late.”

You paused to look at him, realizing that was what he’d said when you first came in, scaring the crap out of you. With a frown, you looked at your watch.

“It’s only 1:17,” you told him.

You were normally out much later, but Steve always came home in the early hours of the morning, if he came home at all, so of course he wouldn’t know that. He simply nodded at your response, hands on his hips. He was still dressed like he’d only recently gotten home himself, and you again wondered why he was even home, but you decided that you didn’t particularly care.

He was still standing there when you exited the kitchen, flowers left in the sink. You wouldn’t worry too much about them. It was almost time for Bucky to buy you a new bouquet anyway. You barely spared Steve a glance as you made your way to the stairs, briefly pausing when he wished you a goodnight. You threw him a small frown before wishing him the same, Bucky returning to your thoughts the minute you entered your bedroom.

You were startled again when you entered the kitchen the next morning, finding Steve already there sipping on a cup of coffee. Once again, his presence confused you, but you kept it to yourself. You don’t think you had ever woken up to find Steve still in the house, and certainly not in the kitchen. You didn’t greet him as you made your way to the fridge, grabbing some lemon to put in your water.

Silence filled the room as you went about cutting a few slices, preparing your drink. It seemed a little tense, but you were determined to ignore it. You were meeting Bucky in an hour and it would take half that just to figure out what to wear. You were pulled from your thoughts by Steve’s voice.

“You never did say where you were last night.”

You glanced up at him, a slight frown on your face before you released a light chuckle. You heard him set his mug down, and when you looked up again, his eyes were on you. He was casually dressed today, a first for him. He still had on the usual black slacks, but he’d traded the button down for a simple white tee.

“Something funny?”

His voice was low, a tone he used on his subordinates you were sure, but you merely nodded your head.

“Yes. You.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to frown, eyes narrowed just a bit.

“How so?”

“You’ve never been curious about my whereabouts before,” you told him.

“Well, that was before I knew you weren’t coming home,” he said.

You sighed, setting the knife down as realization hit you.

“We were supposed to attend a gala last night, and I came home the other day to tell you, but you weren’t here. You never even came through the door, and that was concerning,” he explained. “If you hadn’t walked through the door last night, I was going to send a search party.”

“I have a phone.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, pulling said phone out of his pocket before placing it on the counter.

“A phone that you left here.”

You grimaced, sheepishly taking it. You could get so caught up with Bucky sometimes that you were positive you’d lose your head if it weren’t attached to you. Your eyes met Steve’s, apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better about keeping it with me,” you promised.

He heaved a sigh, taking another sip, eyes never leaving yours. You rolled your eyes, realizing what he wanted, before dropping your knife into the sink.

“I was with a friend,” you told him. “…but as you can see, I’m safe and sound. There’s no reason to worry.”

You slipped out of the kitchen before he could respond, determined to hurry up and get dressed. This wasn’t the first time that you’d forgotten your phone at home, it was just the first time you’d done so, and Steve happened to need you.

He wasn’t in the kitchen when you came back down, dressed and ready to go, but you could hear him upstairs. Practically itching to get out of this house and away from his cold stare, you hurriedly made your way outside. In the car, you took your time to check your phone, grimacing at the 3 missed calls from Steve. However, a smile found its way onto your face at the message from Bucky. He’d sent it last night after he dropped you off, telling you to think about it.

It was the first thing he brought up as soon as you met him at the restaurant too.

“Steve won’t even miss you. Hell, he doesn’t miss you, but I do. I miss you all the time,” he said.

“Funny, you miss me all the time when I feel like I’m with you all the time,” you commented, picking at your appetizer.

Bucky tilted his head, pretending to think.

“I’d say you’re with me about 90% of the time-.”

“90%, you don’t say,” you mocked.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “90%, and that other 10%, I’m practically dying.”

You rolled your eyes.

“How do you manage…”

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he continued, taking your hand. “Leave him. There are a million women who could easily take your place, women who want to be in your place. He gets one of them, you get me, and we’re all happy.”

You smirked at him, attention falling to your food again.

“Why Mr. Barnes, I do believe you’re trying to wreck my marriage,” you teased.

“Hardly. I’m simply trying to start a new one.”

Your eyes snapped to his, that teasing smile falling from your lips as you registered his words. Your heart skipped a beat, and your lips parted as he eyed you, his tongue darting out to wet his own.

“…what?”

“Doll…what did you think when I said be with me?”

You shook your head, shrugging.

“I…I don’t know, but I didn’t think you meant marriage. You want to marry me?”

He took your hand in both of his, pressing his lips to the skin, a brown strand kissing his forehead.

“Of course, I do. More than anything. Wouldn’t you like that?”

You thought about it, chewing on your lip.

“…waking up to each other every morning, falling asleep to each other every night. I’d bring you breakfast in bed and we’d…work on our little family…”

Your gaze met his again, and you found that you loved the sound of that.

“Are you…proposing to me…?”

The idea was absurd, especially considering you already had a ring on your finger. Bucky chuckled, shaking his head.

“Not really. I just wanted you to know my full intentions, that I’m not just fooling around here.”

You stewed over what he said while he continued.

“I’m not going to pressure you anymore, but you know how serious I am now, and I want you to think about it,” he softly told you.

You slowly nodded, still in shock.

“I will,” you quietly replied.

His grin widened, and he sat back in his seat.

“After we leave here, we can go pick out a nice bouquet, yeah?”

You suddenly blinked as you remembered last night, a smile on your face.

“Yes, please, and…a vase too?” you guiltily asked.

He frowned, tilting his head before nodding.

“Of course. What happened to your vase?”

You huffed a sigh.

“I broke it. I bumped into the table, courtesy of Steve,” you complained, shaking your head.

“Steve? What do you mean?” he demanded, voice dropping.

“It was nothing. He was waiting for me when I got home last night, in the dark like a creep, and he practically gave me a heart attack,” you explained.

Bucky didn’t respond for a while, simply humming. He picked at his food, lips pursed as he eyed you.

“Why was he waiting for you?”

“Apparently there was some gala last night? He’d been planning to tell me I had to be in attendance with him but someone…,” you threw him a pointed look “…prevented me from going home the other night. Add in that I had left my phone at home, I guess Steve convinced himself that I had been kidnapped or something.”

Bucky simply hummed in response, and you both finished your lunch. Your days spent with Bucky always went by fast, and you were always sad to wish him goodbye. His proposal was taking up more and more residence in your mind, especially as you watched him drive off. You stood at your door, staring after his car with your coat wrapped around you, wondering what it would be like to go home to him every night.

With a sigh, you turned and made your way inside. You were greeted by the sight of Steve, voice low as he pressed his phone to his ear. You sent him a small polite smile before making your way to the kitchen to fill up your new vase, fresh flowers in your left hand. You were just cutting them when he joined you, and you turned to curiously look at him.

“I need you to accompany me to an event tomorrow,” he told you to which you nodded, wondering if Bucky was going to be there.

“Okay.”

You didn’t hear him leave as you turned back around, dropping the flowers into the water, satisfied. Your suspicions turned out to be correct when you turned around only to find him still standing there.

“I could’ve replaced the vase if I’d known it was that important,” he said with a small frown.

You shook your head, moving past him.

“It’s fine,” you honestly told him.

His eyes were still on you as you sat it down, adjusting it to a position that you liked. You tightened your coat around you as you passed him, ascending the stairs with a small ‘goodnight’ thrown over your shoulder.

You woke up the next morning feeling positively ill. Every inhale had your stomach churning, and you cursed yourself, trying to remember everything you ate the day before. You had planned to at least see Bucky for a little bit before this shindig tonight, but the summersaults going on in your stomach had you canceling on him. The silver lining was that he apparently was going to be in attendance tonight, and that made you feel better.

Again, Steve was home all day, but you didn’t see him until it was time to go. You had remained in bed all day, drifting in and out of sleep, fighting off every wave of nausea that came at you. You though that you did a good job of hiding your discomfort, but Steve had asked you if you were alright the minute you came downstairs. You told him that you were fine, a whopper of a lie, but your attendance was mandatory so what else could you do?

Like all of your car rides together, this one was silent, but you could feel Steve’s eyes on you every now and then. You couldn’t be bothered to question him on it, too preoccupied with keeping your food down. Your nausea only got worse the minute the two of you stepped into the building. The smell of food was heavy in the air, and there was no doubt that you were starting to look as sick as you felt.

Your eyes fell on a group of familiar faces, one more familiar than the rest. You threw them all strained smiles as you approached, head feeling a bit light. You couldn’t even be bothered to care that Steve’s hand was on the small of your back, more important things to worry about other than his unusual behavior.

You had just reached your friends and acquaintances when a server came by with a tray of food. The smell that hit your nose had your stomach clenching, and you barely had enough time to swipe a napkin before your food was coming up.

“Oh my God, Y/N,” Nat cried, hurrying towards you with a bowl.

There was some slight commotion as her husband, Bruce, and Sam hurried to flag down some help for the mess. Nat’s hand was on your shoulder, helping you towards a seat, and you could feel Steve’s hand still on your lower back.

“Y/N?”

He sounded worried, and you only figured out why when your legs crumbled. You hadn’t realized that your lashes had begun to flutter as your steps started to slow.

“Woah,” he said, catching you as you fought to straighten your vision.

He sat you down, and you could feel several people fanning you. Steve was wiping your hands clean when Bucky finally neared, brows furrowed in concern, looking as handsome as ever. Too bad you couldn’t truly appreciate it.

“I’m okay,” you told him before he could even start. “Just ate the wrong thing, I think.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced, and he sat down beside you, pressing his hand to your forehead.

“You don’t feel warm,” he murmured, and you shook your head at him.

“It was just some bad food,” you whispered, trying to ease his worries.

Again, he didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway. He stood with a sigh.

“I’m going to go get your coat,” he said, and you thanked him.

You could feel Steve’s eyes on you, but when you looked at him, you couldn’t make out his expression. His hand was still on your lower back, and you finally breathed better when he pulled away, standing.

“I’ll be back. I’m going to the valet, make sure the car is ready so we can go.”

Your face fell, feeling like you ruined his night.

“I’m sorry, Steve-.”

“What for? You’re clearly sick. I wish you had said something.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded upset that you didn’t tell him, but it was more likely he was upset that you had in fact ruined his night. With a soft squeeze to your shoulder, he was gone.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” T’Challa asked you, and you nodded.

His wife, Nakia, came hurrying over with a glass of water, and you gratefully took it. You were even more grateful that you could keep it down, and you sent her a small smile as you handed the empty glass back to her.

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said, shaking her head. “You must be feeling awful. I’m grateful that I don’t get sick often because the only time I have ever vomited is when…well, when I was pregnant.”

She chuckled, and you froze.

“…and I love my children dearly, but I do not want to go through that again.”

You joined her, a nervous laugh escaping you just as Bucky returned with your coat. You jumped, having been surprised to feel the fur draped over you, but you allowed him to help you up. He rubbed your arms through the fabric, voice low.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Nakia’s words had your mind racing, and your lips parted because honestly? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to scare Bucky over nothing, but you also wanted to voice your sudden fears that you had never even considered before. All too soon, the two of you were meeting Steve at the door, and Steve’s grip was firm as he took you from Bucky’s hold, eyes hard.

“I got it from here, Buck. Thanks.”

His voice was clipped, and you frowned at him, but Bucky simply nodded, bidding you both goodnight before reluctantly making his way back inside. You wanted to tell Steve that he didn’t have to be rude to Bucky just because you ruined his evening, but another wave of nausea hit you.

Your head leaned against the window as soon as Steve deposited you into the car. The fresh air was ebbing your nausea a bit, the low rumble of the car helping. You hadn’t taken the limo, and you were starting to regret that because you really wanted to lie down, but fatigue still found a way to slowly creep up on you.

If only Steve had allowed it to do so.

“I really wish you had told me you weren’t feeling well. We would have stayed home,” he said.

You sighed.

“I was hoping it would go away. Our attendance was mandatory, Steve,” you whispered.

“Not at the expense of your health,” he sneered.

You rolled your eyes, realizing the root of his annoyance.

“I promise you, I’ll be in good enough health to give you your heir. It was just some bad food…”

Steve heaved a sigh, and you felt his eyes on you.

“This isn’t about a baby. This is about you. Watching you drop to the floor like that was…scary,” he admitted.

“I’m fine,” you said, feeling like a broken record.

“Well, you don’t look fine. You look sickly. Are you taking care of yourself like you should?”

You scoffed, wondering where this was coming from. The man who barely talked to you in almost 2 years was suddenly acting like your father, and you didn’t like it.

“Of course, I am.”

He exhaled.

“I just know that the house can be…lonely. It can get to you if you’re not careful.”

You rested your head on your hand, breathing through your mouth.

“I’m far from lonely, Steve, so really. There’s no need to worry…”

You could feel his eyes on you again, a soft ‘oh’ reaching your ears.

“I’m glad to hear it. Maybe you should go and see a doctor,” he proposed, quickly changing the subject.

You swallowed another sigh, not wanting to talk about this another minute.

“I told you, it was just some bad food.”

That was what you told yourself, but Nakia’s words almost made you want to hurl again. It only recently occurred to you that you hadn’t gotten your period in a while, but you didn’t think too much of it because you had never been regular. Still, you and Bucky weren’t always safe, but that was what birth control was for. What were the odds of your birth control failing you during one of the few times you didn’t use a condom?

However, the next day, as you stood in the bathroom, looking down at the positive pregnancy test in horror, you realized that the odds were great.

 ~

tags:  @mcudarklibrary​ @sherrybaby14​ @harryspet​ @xoxabs88xox​ @darkficreposter​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @honeychicanawrites​ @honeychicana​ @nickyl316h​ @captainchrisstan​ @sebabestianstan101​ @readermia​ @villanellevi​​ @lokislastlove​​ @notyourtypicalrose​​ @coconutqueen21​​ @hurricanerin​​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​​ @quaksonhehe​​ @nerdygirl8203​​ @patzammit​​ @mandiiblanche​​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​​

[diamond-coral]

The Heist (part 3/finale)

Steve x Reader

Chapter summary: Captain’s plan worked. Now you’re in for a lot of trouble after trying to break into his apartment. He’ll have you. Just like he wanted.

Warnings: 18+, explicit sex, dark, rape/non-con, forced orgasm, praise and degradation kink, kidnapping, mentions of strip club, mentioned anal, swearing, mild violence, slight Stockholm

“You wanna be treated like a whore?” he seethed. “Fine. I’ll treat you like a whore.”

Steve wrenched you from the wall and let you fly back toward his bed, your feet tripping over themselves as well as the chain attached to the cuff secured around your ankle before you finally tumbled onto the mattress. Your breathing was heavy as you glared back at his cerulean eyes which were narrowed, daring you to try anything.

And you did. Because fuck if you weren’t going down without a fight.

You darted out to the right, arm reaching out to take grip of the lamp on his nightstand. You grabbed hold of it and pivoted your body around as your arm flung out toward his head. Steve simply intercepted the hit with a firm grasp, and you gritted your teeth as the two of you began an aggressive tug of war for the lamp.

“Stop. This. Now,” Steve scolded as if you were a child before giving a sharp tug, the lamp slipping out of your hand.

“No thanks.” You grinned, catching him off guard, before you grabbed both his shoulders as support and kneed him in the groin. Hard.

Steve let out a pained groan. He dropped the lamp, and you caught it by the handle before using all your strength to swing the base against his head like a baseball bat. He stumbled backwards while his hand reached up near his temple. He pulled it back and inspected the blood. You remained frozen, having hoped that the blow would have at least knocked him out. His broad figure compromised your escape route to the door of his bedroom, so running was not an option.

“We need to fix this fuckin’ attitude of yours,” he grumbled, and while you were lost in your predicament of all escape routes being impossible, he snatched the lamp, this time breaking it in half like a toothpick before tossing both ends over his shoulder to the opposite side of the room. “I wanted a kind and docile housewife. Not some ungrateful bitch.” 

He practically pounced on you, and you fought, pushing against his brick wall of body, before relenting with the knowledge he was far too strong for you.

“Well you’ve got the wrong person, buddy-pal,” you quipped, but your voice trembled in your compromised position..

“No. I don’t. Because I’ve already seen her, you, at the club. And I don’t know why the hell you gotta give me some attitude when I’m trying to save you from the shitshow of a life you’re livin’. Maybe you’re just scared. Scared of letting someone take care of you when you’ve been fighting for yourself for so long, so you put on the unappreciative bitchy exterior.” 

Was this man serious? How delusional did he have to be to think all of that after one encounter?

“Well guess what,” he whispered, face so close to you that his breath fanned over you. “I’ll fucking rip it apart. I’ll break you down. Shatter this pathetic wall you have up until I get back the girl at the club. Might take a couple good fuckings, but I’ll finally get it out of you.” His thumb stroked your cheek, brushing away the tears that had shed at his admissions. “Aww, baby, don’t cry,” he cooed. “This is for the best.”

You let out a small whimper, another round of tears flowing, at the sound of his belt unbuckling and fly coming undone. 

You began pounding against his chest and begged him not to.

You wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Easily holding you down, Steve let out a stuttered moan as he entered you slowly. You begging turned into sounds of agony as he stretched you out and filled you like no other had before. 

“I wanted our first time time to be special. Slow and loving,” he confessed as he stilled inside of you. He slowly pulled out before slamming his hips back in and muffling your shriek with a large hand. “Gotta say, this is still pretty special though. Might just love those big watery doe eyes lookin’ at me a little more than that cute smile of yours. You just look so pretty, all wrecked and crying for me, doll.” He moved his hand slightly aside to lick a strip of your tear stained cheek, letting out a hum of approval.

You thrashed under him, hands lashing out until one of his own came to wrangle both wrists above your head, so you resorted to bucking your hips in hopes of throwing him off. It was hopeless. 

But you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The hand covering your mouth moved down to hold you hip down in a bruising grip. He just rutted into you harder and faster in response to your outburst.

You couldn’t bring yourself to make a noise. The searing of your walls was slowly melting into pleasure. You feared accidentally letting a moan slip and alerting Steve to your pleasure.

But Steve could tell how you enjoyed it. Although tears flowed freely from your eyes, your pussy squelched, the sound blending in with the clapping of skin each time he drove into you.

“Told you. I’d fuck you. Like a whore,” He managed to get out between thrusts. “And you fuckin’ love it too.” He let out a dark chuckle. “God you’re such a slut.”

You whined as he pulled out when he flipped you over, but he made up for it by beginning to drill into you harder than before. With every brutal thrust, his cock glided against your g-spot before the tip punched against your cervix, and your eyes rolled back into your head.

Steve roped your hair around his palm and yanked your head back. Your back arched painfully to accommodate.

“Tell me you’re a slut. Tell me your my slut. Only mine. Only for me. Not that stupid fuckin’ club. Mine.”

“N-no. No,” you stuttered, barely being able to form words. You wouldn’t let him have his victory. You wouldn’t give it to him and bend to him.

Because you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

He once again yanked your hair, this time using the momentum to bring your body flush against him. His other arm came to wrap around your waist, and he secured your back to him, never once letting up on fucking you. The new angle made your body light on fire, and a moan escaped past your lips.

“Say it. Say you’re my slut and I’ll let you cum.”

You wouldn’t. You still had some dignity left. You’d be strong. You’d-

“Oh fuck, I’m your slut. Please let me cum. Please, please, I need it so bad. I’m your fucking slut! Only yours Steve!” you cry out. Humility and pleasure both burned your body.

“Atta girl,” he grunted, quickening his pace. “Cum now. Cum all over my cock.”

You did just that. Your cunt clenched around his cock while you gushed around him. Pleasure constricted around your entire body like fire. 

“Good little whore. All mine,” Steve chanted, but you barely heard him. All you could think about was Steve and his cock. You shattered. Your mind, your body, your will, all shattered to a million pieces.

________________________________________________________________

You sigh, smoothing down the flowy pink skirt that stopped right about your knees. That was all six months ago but it felt like years. Steve made good on his word. Here you were, the good little docile housewife, waiting for him to return home from a mission that had taken him three days, a home cooked meal sitting on the table. Waiting to be devoured by the ravenous man who would return. Just like you.

You didn’t even attempt to escape this time. The first time you had managed to shatter the living room window with a lamp (ironic, huh?) while Steve was in the bathroom. You had made it down the fire escape before he intercepted you in the alley and dragged you quietly back to the apartment with a gun concealed between your bodies. When you got inside, Steve brutally took your virgin asshole. The second time, you tried the same thing, but Steve caught you before you even stepped foot out the window. After replacing the glass with a new bulletproof material from S.H.I.E.L.D., he starved you for five days, only allowing you water. He still made you cook for him though. It was a cruel joke to him, watching you make him a meal while your stomach was about to eat itself. He’d fuck you hard after, and your body felt like it’d break in half.

The third time was three months after that. You’d managed to gain his trust enough to let him take you for a walk in the park, and after a knee to the groin, you took off and hid yourself in a crowd of people. It wouldn’t be a good image for Captain America to be hunting down an innocent girl on the streets of New York. You managed to be away from him for almost 24 hours, but you couldn’t go to the police. After telling them you were a stripper that broke into Captain America’s apartment, you highly doubt they’d believe the rest of your story.

You were in the grocery store with some stolen cash when Bucky Barnes finally caught you. He muttered a couple words about how pretty Bella was and how he’d hate to put a bullet through her pretty head, and you followed him like a dog back to Steve’s building. Steve, as a thank you to Bucky and a punishment for you, let Bucky fuck you for hours till you passed out with his metal hand around your neck.

You smile to yourself, hoping Steve would be happy that you remained compliant and would be there to greet him as he returned home.

The sound of a lock turning snaps you out of your thought, and your head turns to the door as Steve enters.

“Sweetheart!” you say as you throw yourself on him, hands intertwined behind his neck.

“Hi honey,” he greets, smiling down at you, taking in the sight before he leans down to give you a peck on your painted red lips. You almost frown at your eagerness to return it. Almost. But your interest is directed toward Steve as he reaches into a paper shopping bag. “Got you a little something. Know how much you love to paint.” 

He pulls out a set of brushes, showing them to you, before handing you the entire bag. You look inside and gasp. So many colors and canvases. This was your life before he had trapped you, and here he was, giving you a piece of it back.

“Steve, I don’t even know how to thank you,” you begin. “I-”

Steve cuts you off with a deep kiss.

“Anything for my girl. Besides I figured you could use some practice.”

“For what?” you ask.

“Well, I bought us a house!” he announces, grinning. “That implant of yours will be wearing off in a couple months, and I’d love for you to paint a mural in the nursery. For our baby.”

[writing-in-lesbian]

Haunting my Dream(s)

Synopsis: You met Natasha when she was living in Ohio. She was your best friend (maybe more) and you were hers. Everything was perfect until one day she disappeared from your life, breaking both of your hearts in the process. That night was when the dreams started. 24 years later and you can't get her out of your life. Maybe it's time you actually pay attention to your dreams. Pairing: Natasha Romanoff / Female reader. Tags: angst Disclaimer: I don’t own Black Widow or anything Marvel related. Word Count: 4.3K

I have always liked rainy days. For as long as I can remember, these types of days have held an attraction for me, it’s as if the cold and the gray clouds called me and asked me to listen to their stories. Most of the time they came to me consciously and lucidly in the daytime world.

To say those cold gray days did not put me in a nostalgic and longing feeling would be a lie. Longing for her, for the past, for the thousands of questions that remained unanswered, the hidden truths buried in the depths of my mind and my being.

Sometimes those days were torturous, reminding me of what I lost, a person that my mind tried to lock in that place where painful memories end. That comfort that usually came with the witnesses of the rain, like the smell of the grass and the wet earth, from time to time becoming my own prison, trapping me in a labyrinth of memories suppressed and assumptions.

Despite that, the rain called me like a jealous lover to the dreamlands, where I would know undoubtedly, from time to time, she would be there, patiently waiting for me.

I had never allowed myself to speak consciously about her until today, 24 years after the dreams began.

For years I did not question the meaning of it, I sought consolation thinking that it was just a feeling of longing for my "Best Friend", that feeling you have when you think you lost something good without explanation.

Or maybe it had an explanation. I don’t know.

The first time I dreamed it, it caught me off guard. Over the years, that dream became recurring and at some point, a refuge.

The set up and places always changed. A hotel, a restaurant, a shopping center, a beach, the cabin in the mountains, our old school, a clubroom, a field, her backyard ... and so I could go on with the list.

Physically she does not look like the person I remembered. It was someone else face, her skin was different and her eyes weren't the shade of green I remembered, but it was her. I know it was her, her essence is unique.

Sometimes she is taller than me. Other times (most of them) she is slightly shorter than I am. We are normally the same height.

It always happens the same way:

I find myself talking with a group of people, friends who correspond to the moment in my life in which I find myself. Friends and acquaintances, teachers and family, love interests that only appeared once and faded from my attention after she arrived. In hindsight I think that must have been my second biggest sign.

I am always in the middle of a conversation on any topic that, in the same way, resembles the point in my life where I found myself, such as high school, the next exam, the final presentation, the thesis, my recruitment, the mission. A good time, good company, but the weather is always cloudy, sometimes with a few small drops, most of the time with torrential rain.

Suddenly, my eyes and attention are diverted to someone who is approaching the group of people I am with.

"Natasha"

Her name resounds between the drops hitting the glass and the thunder that echoes in the distance. It’s like a whisper that should be imperceptible but in my mind it’s the only clear thing that I heard. Strong enough to silence the sounds of people around me and escapes my lips like a forbidden breath.

"Natasha"

I had not dared to pronounce it since our separation, a little over 12 months ago... But you should not take it for sure. There are things that my mind had blocked and was trying to avoid, so I may be wrong with the time.

She walks to us and greet us like it's a common thing. She greets everyone with a kiss on the cheek and a short hug.

She never greets me first.

When she stands in front of me, time stops for a few seconds and suddenly my arms are on her back in a hug that makes me feel that time has not passed, as if we had stopped seeing each other for a few minutes and nothing more.

Her hands draw me to her and squeeze me tightly, I feel mine bringing her closer as well , trying to communicate things that I don't know how to express. Trying to make her feel what my 12-year-old self never knew how to express.

But it’s not necessary, in the dream only hours have passed and not a few months (or years).

I distance myself from her and look at her face that reflects my smile. That face unknown to me but that my heart knows is her. I would recognize her in any dream.

Her hand seeks my hand (or is it mine that seeks hers first?) And intertwines our fingers in endless thoughts. My logic knows things that my self does not and, on this earth, I am not allowed to know yet.

With her by my side, the conversation continues as if there hasn't been any kind of interruption. The people around me do not act strangely, even those who cannot theoretically know her do not treat her differently. That we are holding hands does not cause a blink-of an eye from no one.

At one point (or is it hours later? I don't know, the time here behaves differently) I turn to look at her. I know there are a thousand things I want to say, my mind tries to sort the train of thoughts that I would like to follow but it is impossible.

"Can we talk?"

"We need to talk"

A laugh leaves my lips hearing us say it at the same time. I don't know if we were always in perfect sync or it’s something of this context.

"Alone" I hear myself say, referring to the fact that, although we have been talking for hours (o  minutes) with the group of people we are, this talk is important and should only be between us two.

She doesn't say anything.

She never does.

She just takes my hand, says goodbye to the others making signs that we have to go. No one ever questions her, not me. They just accept it and we say goodbye as if we were going to see each other tomorrow.

We turn around and walk a couple of steps before I let go of her hand by shoving my hands into my pockets. She just laughs and keeps hers in her coat. The cold is less intense when we walk.

Every now and then my hips thrust into hers as she smiles at me. Hearing her laugh provokes things in me.

"Can we order something?"

"Of course"

I never know the destination, I think that it adapts to the scenario that my mind decided to put on this occasion. Sometimes it’s inside a classroom, other times it’s a bench surrounded by bushes, most of the times is a table in a restaurant, the furthest from everything. But there are always many people and doors to pass before we get there.

When we arrive, we sat down. I feel her gaze on me. The one that she gave me several times, that look that doesn’t express anything but I know that it held many questions, the one that observes me as if trying to guess my next movement or thoughts, as if she wanted to decipher each and every one of my deepest thoughts.

Or so I usually think.

"Let's talk"

"Do you know what we need to talk about?"

"Yes" my voice is confident, without hesitation I try to say it. "About us"

"What about us?"

"You know" you've known all this time. Probably even before me.

"And you too"

Her eyes drift to my lips, her gaze posing for a few seconds before meeting my eyes again. Unconsciously (or maybe it's the most conscious thing I do on this earth) I lick my lips and her eyes follow my movements again.

"Okay, let's talk then"

"Y/N, see you in a minute" ... ... ...

An alarm sounds and ...

Sometimes the chirp of the birds is the first thing I hear, other days it’s the same rain that, as a jealous lover, tears me away from those lands and brings me back to reality. This reality where I know that she is not with me, that we have not spoken in months (or years) and leaves me with this feeling of wanting to know about her.

For 24 years I had the same dream.

For 24 years I never paid attention to that need or that desire to want to know about her, which intensified as time passed. Sometimes months passed before dreaming of her again. Generally it was once a year.

For a long time, I convinced myself that I was not ready to see her, I was not ready to conclude that talk that the land of dreams denied me, always expelling me the moment she pronounces my name and tells me she’ll see me in a minute.

And now...

Now I am here, trying to finish a dream that started and has stayed with me for approximately 8760 days. Right now I'm a phone call away from asking her so many things, but I know it can't be like that yet.

When I looked for her after the last dream, it was because I woke up with a need like I had never felt before. It was not enough get used to the idea that you could be okay, it was not enough the few times I met you in the real world and turned around. It was not enough that time that by chance I found your file in Maria's files and went in to read it just to know that you were okay, and lose it days later. I imagine Hill figured it out.

After this dream and everything that happened with Thanos and the world, I knew that I had to stop being a coward. I looked for you for several days, they say that if you don’t want to be found, you’ll never be found. I tried various sides and people, but I always ran into walls. At some point I thought you were one of the people we lost when the snap happened, but your name was never on those lists. Just when I thought that again it was not written in my destiny to meet you again (and thinking"OK universe, if I should not find her I will understand") ... I found you.

It took me a couple of days to form a message. For a few hours just looking at your file and the number calmed me down, but something inside me demanded more, asked for more. Someone asked me if I was ready to write to you and I always replied that I didn't know. But my soul screamed to write to you, to initiate a contact and, although it took me 3 hours to write those few lines, at the end of the day I did.

"Hey Natasha, I'm Y/N, maybe this message surprises you a bit, but I don't know if it's something crazy or not (it could be), the point is that I've been dreaming about you (for several years now to be honest, always the same dream, never changes). And to be honest I had always left it alone, however, I dreamed of you last week and I woke up with this very strong urge to look for you, stronger after the decimation. Somewhat difficult if I'm honest, you really know how to hide very well Tasha, but finally something pointed me in the right direction and here I am. Anyway. I do not know if you will read this message or even if I will have an answer, I just wanted to know if you were okay, I sincerely hope you are. Y/N "

I convinced myself that was enough. I convinced my mind not to expect anything, that the message was what I needed to calm my soul, that it didn't matter if you didn't see it or even didn't respond to it. Deep, deep inside, I knew I wanted an answer from you. Which one? I don't know, just that I wanted or needed you to answer.

Although the dream was consistent for 24 years, the last two times that I dreamed it, after I wrote to you, dreamland presented me with two more versions, two new “options”. In the first I saw you, (now your physique corresponded with your essence) but I couldn't reach you. I couldn't get close to you. In the second we talk a little, we exchange 4 or 5 sentences, but never alone.

That was right before you answered me in real life:

"Today. 5 pm. Americana cafeteria"

And now ... am I really ready?

I think the answer to that is no.

You are never ready, at least not consciously. I just know that my heart and mind are finally in the same place. Thanos really did a huge number on various people. Including you.

The place she chose is brighter than I thought, for once the storm clouds don't feel as gray or heavy. This time, that halo of light is enough to illuminate our surroundings. We are at a table, there are some cups of coffee in front of us, you watch the rain fall while your hand plays with the handle of the cup, the other is resting on your cheek.

"Y/N I ... I don't know where to start"

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything right now, just ... just let me speak first, please "

"Okay"

You access without problem. I don't know if it was always like this or not, but this time you know I need it. Maybe you also need the time.

“I know exactly what you were or what you are to me. Maybe it took me 24 years to understand it, I think it was more like accepting it. I always wondered why, you know? "

You just look at me, silently asking me what I mean with your eyes. I know deep down you know it. You extend your hand that plays with the cup and took mine. For a moment I take it and play with your fingers. I want to let go but you stop me, like an anchor tying me to this reality.

And maybe that's what he needed.

“I always wondered why it had hurt so much to part with you, why I cried in the afternoons after our fight, why I couldn't just be with you. Was it a bad or forbidden thing to love you the way I did? What was it that the universe or God wanted to avoid that had to separate us? "

"Y/N"

"I know, I know, probably, well no, surely it was a lesson we had to learn though"

Her fingers intertwine with mine, one of her fingers caressing my hand, as she always did, instantly calming me down.

“I know who I am and now so many things make sense, God, it's painful to see how they didn't before. Now I understand why my relationships did not work as I thought they should, now I understand why it hurt me so much and why so many years ago I could not face you "

"Surely for the same reasons why it hurt me so much too"

I look into her eyes. Those green irises that haunted me for so many years. Even today they do.

“Telling you that you were very important in my life it’s not all you meant to me. You were my first love you know and, well what can I say so many years later? Now I understand all my feelings towards you, now I understand the intensity and innocence that we had during our relationship. It's true when I tell you that all the years that I spent without you only made me realize how much impact you had on my life. They say that the first love is never forgotten and you know what? It's true. It's so fucking true "

“I know, I couldn't forget you either. I think at some point, you became like this ghost or this shadow that did not went away from me. I guess that's why I couldn't look for you after leaving ... "

Her voice cuts out. There's no need to talk about why she unexpectedly left Ohio that day. When I entered S.H.I.E.L.D and after hearing Barton tell your name to Fury, I decided to hack the system and find out about you. Those skills were what led me to join the agency, so I thought it would be something easy. In the end I did it, but it took me a while to do it until that day I found your file in Hill's archives.

“To be honest, I was able to accept that recently. That you had been my first love. So many years I lied to myself trying to justify that I only saw you as a friend, what a fool I was "

"Silly no detka, you just weren't ... we weren't ready"

"Could be"

“I can definitely tell you that I know I felt things for you too, I can't cover the sun with a finger, but for obvious reasons I couldn't look for you and then I couldn't dare to look for you, not after everything I had done and with so much red in my ledger. I always thought of you thou, I wondered what become of your life. I guess I don't think I was ready either and with various things happening in my life ... Now, I also understand several things. I forgive you for not looking for me that night, I understood that it was something that was not in our hands"

I lightly squeeze her hand and look at her. Slowly I turn my gaze to her eyes and there it is, again, trying to decipher what is going through my head, as if trying to prepare or anticipate something. Unconsciously I moisten my lips with my tongue.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything"

"What was I, for you?"

“A watershed in my life. A pending chapter "

I don't know if it's what I expected or not. I don't even know what I wanted to hear, but her words carry a lot of weight for me. I look at our hands again, I see slowly how her other hand covers them, as if she wanted to protect them.

PENDING.

The word overwhelms me more than I ever thought. It puts me in this state of nervousness, ecstasy, uncertainty, happiness. Of everything and nothing at the same time.

Pending. Without resolving.

Pending. Unfinished.

Pending.

PENDING.

PENDING.

“I know you are gay. And there were so many things between us that it would be absurd of me to try to put you inside a label or a box. You were many things to me. I've learned that you don't need a label to feel comfortable with yourself"

She stared into my eyes as I shot her a glance, lightly squeezing her hands.

I'm here.

I'm with you.

You are with me.

You are here.

"Did you ever wonder what would have happened?"

"If you had stayed?"

She can only nod her head while looking away.

"Several times. More than I would like to admit. You?"

"Every time I thought of you"

Her hands release mine and take the forgotten cup of coffee with a slow sip. I look at my warm and dark coffee, the waves caused by the movement come and go.

"I want you to be free"

Her gaze turns doubtful, intriguing even. She leaves the cup on the table.

“You said that at one point I became a ghost or shadow. I don't want to continue being that. I want you to be free. You are too important to me and I want you to be happy. Really"

"You say it like this is the last time I will see you"

There it is. The easy way out, the conclusion of many things. If I say goodbye and get up of this chair, I will end this chapter. I can get on with my life.

But...

"It is not"

"Then?"

Her gaze seeks mine, that gaze equal to that of 24 years ago where I promised my life and she promise she would never lave. That look full of so many insecurities and fears. That look that deep down we know that we would break our promises and break both our hearts.

But this time I have the power of decision in my hands. This time I am in control.

“It’s obvious that we have a strong connection. And I think the way we ended things, that unfinished chapter, where we were and at the age we were, influenced us to unconsciously drag things along and follow us through life. So I want to free you and get rid of those ghosts"

"Y/N, what are you trying to say?"

“I want us to leave the luggage that we dragged behind. I don't want you to be my one that got away”

"Please be clear"

Clear. That word resounds like thunder fallen within the enclosure and is transformed into five simple words.

what do you want?

I want... I want... I want...

I WANT.

I WANT TO BE WITH YOU.

"I want to be with you. I want to see where this connection can take us and I definitely want to know you with the intention of being your girlfriend. I want to try this. Give us a chance to be a couple. Really"

"Detka" her words stay there. I take both of her hands between mine and lift them resting my elbows on the table.

"I know. I know there are a thousand things to fix, okay? I know. But precisely for that reason, with all the more reason we should do it. It’s clear to me that we both started with a light luggage that over the years became a mega suitcase. At least that's how it was with me ”.

"Same with me"

I smile slightly.

“I know we are not the same people we were at twelve, we have to get to know each other again. For my part I have forgiven what I had to forgive of you and myself. It took me 24 years to understand and accept it and I don't want 24 more years to go by. I'm tired of running and forcing things that I didn't understand why they didn't work. I will never be ready, whatever way I think it to be. I know that there is a great risk in all this, I know the world is in chaos and the mission to find the gems has not been easy”

Her gaze does not seem surprised at this confession.

"And still you want ... but why?"

"Because it's you. As simple as that"

Probably simple wasn't the word she expected.

There are so many complications and logical reasons to run to the other side. Definitely none of this fit with my plan to find her again, but what would life be like if all our plans went according to what we idealized?

It's so fucking ironic.

But so simple to understand.

And so, so simple.

Suddenly everything made sense.

“Sorry if it took me so many years to find you, but here I am in front of you. Closing all the past and setting us free from it. Here I am, ready to give myself to you completely. To meet us and take the opportunity. I think neither you nor I need a conventional love and let's be honest, we probably don't make sense, but don’t you wanna stop asking what if? I know that I prefer to find out"

She doesn’t say anything. For a few moments my anxiety begins to take over me. I try to count the seconds and focus on my breathing. Her hand in mine is sufficient anchor to the present.

"I am"

"You are?"

"Yes detka" There is her laugh again. The one that caused butterflies in my stomach so many years ago and today causes them elsewhere.

"Like you said, if I'm here and you're here, why don't we try?"

Four words that make it all seem simple, but probably not, but what the fuck does it matter now? The universe screamed at me many times that I should look fir her, it tried to teach me the lesson very early but my stubborn self was probably opposed to accepting the truth.

Natasha Romanoff was my first love, the first person I ever innocently loved, the first person who made me question myself. She was the first to break my heart (and the first heart I broke)

And now, after so many years, I have found her again.

I feel a slight squeeze in my hands and Natasha stands up. Before I can question anything, her lips steal mine in a kiss that has been waiting for almost 8,760 days. It's everything I could imagine. Her lips move in perfect sync with mine and just when I think it can't be more perfect, her tongue asks for access and I happily oblige.

A vibration on the table interrupts us, Natasha keeps her forehead on mine, eyes closed, savoring the moment, with a peck on my lips, she moves away from me and looks at whatever interrupted our moment.

Natasha takes my hand and with a slight tug pulls me to my feet. In reality she is taller than me by about 5 cm. Her eyes search mine.

"Ready to save the world?"

I just nod my head.