#So it's still trauma in a way. Just not the way the song describes. ...But STILL. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aquaticmercy · 11 days ago

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Symptom of Life

Sequel to My Own Soul's Warning Bucky x Spirit of Suffering!reader masterlist

Summary : Bucky introduces Sam to his secret wife, who is still getting used to being in a human body.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Blood, violence, death, trauma, mentions of ED, SA, insecurities, sleep disorders. Slight caffeine addiction (reader loves coffee but feel free to exchange it for any caffeinated drink). Maybe a bit angsty? I know the tags look bad but ultimately it’s fluffy. (Let me know if I've missed anything)

Word count : 9k oops

Note : This fic is a sequel to My Own Soul’s Warning. Reader was the Spirit of Suffering, a former immortal entity who shows herself to people in extreme physical and emotional suffering to help ease the pain. I also really really enjoy the idea of Bucky having a secret wife. Title is inspired by the Willow song of the same name. Enjoy!

Bucky couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you, his fingers skimming along your arms, your shoulders, drifting down to hold your hand, as if touching you was the only way to convince himself you were real.

When he noticed the crimson footprints smudged into his carpet, he froze, his eyes darting down to your bare, bloodied feet.

“Oh my god, what happened to you?” He stared at the raw cuts, the bruised flesh, the delicate lines of red seeping out, soaking into the fabric. The reality of you being human—really, fully human—sank in.

For the first time, you weren’t ethereal and distant. For the first time, your human form wasn’t bound to borrowed time. You were fragile, stuck in this world like he was, prone to physical injury like he was.

Your eyes flicked to his, and with a naive curiosity, you asked, “Are feet… supposed to feel sharp?”

Was that the word people used to describe this uneasy physical feeling?

“Oh, sweetheart, no.” His mouth fell open, a breathless laugh escaping him. He couldn't help himself— even like this you were… adorable. “Let me take care of you. Come here.” He guided you to the couch, his touch gentle, brows furrowed. Moving through the drawers in his kitchen, he found his first aid kit, and crouched in front of you.

You watched, fascinated, as he opened the kit, pulling out antiseptic and gauze with practised hands, his fingers shivering as they brushed over your skin. He took your foot in his lap, so carefully as if he feared you might break.

You winced at the sting of the antiseptic, staring down as he dabbed gently. Each time he caught a flinch or a sharp inhale, he murmured, “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll be gentle.”

After a moment of silence, he asked, “Where did you walk from?”

You tilted your head, trying to remember the journey. You remembered reading a sign!

“I showed up in the woods near Westview… I think.”

His hands froze on your foot, his chin snapping up. “Westview? You’re telling me that you walked from a Jersey suburb all the way to Brooklyn… barefoot? In nothing but—” His eyes drifted down to the thin fabric you were wearing, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “—a… what, a sheet?”

“Yes? Is that not normal?” Your lips quirked, the corners of your mouth twitching with a laugh. “People did give me strange looks.”

He stared at you, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face. All this time, you’d been wandering the earth as the Spirit of Suffering, witnessing every dark corner of human existence—yet you didn’t understand human norms?

But then he realised— that you were exactly that: an entity bound to suffering, burdened with witnessing the worst parts of humanity. You’d been drawn to agony, grief, and loss. You have probably never seen a human just… be.

Before Bucky, you’d never known what it meant to feel the gentler things: kindness, joy, the sweetness of an ordinary moment.

The beauty in simply being alive.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled off his Henley, handing it to you. “Here. Wear this. Just… don’t move.”

You took the clothes from him, the warmth of the fabric seeping into your skin as you pulled them on. Every movement felt new and strange.

The Henley was soft, and you savoured the scent that clung to it—something clean and faintly cedar-y, just like the woods you had appeared in.

It felt like a shield against the strange chill of your mortal skin.

Bucky settled beside you, draping a blanket over both of you. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Tell me everything.”

In the warm quiet of Bucky’s apartment that now felt vast, you let the truth spill from your lips.

You told him of Rio Vidal, of calling Death herself, of the eternity you had given away in the blink of an eye— that you will now die as he would— that your infinite existence in search of a pain has come to an end— that you were made from the same flesh and blood that he was.

As you spoke, you watched the way his eyes reflected the glow of the warm lamplight.

Perhaps it would always be this way with you— he would always have questions he couldn’t ask, that had answers he couldn’t possibly understand.

But did that really matter? The soul that had wondered all the living realms, the soul that had been the Spirit of Suffering— the mercy in all his nightmares, was now human.

You, his one true love that he was certain he couldn’t truly grasp, had shown up at his doorstep, truly alive for the first time. Not a phantom. Not a ghost. Not anymore.

Wasn’t this what he had been asking of you?

A new struggle dawned on his face— hope, disbelief, and finally a guilt that consumed his heart, sinking deeper and deeper until he could no longer tell where he started and it began.

He stayed silent, but his hand lifted, hesitating before his metal arm reached for your cheeks. His touch was gentle, careful, like he was trying to memorise the warmth of your skin, as if he had gotten too used to you leaving in the morning. “You did this…,” he said, voice rough. He didn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t finish it.

You did this for me.

You nodded, feeling the press of tears you hadn’t realised were waiting for release. “For you,” you whispered. “But I chose this myself.”

His face twisted. Your declaration hurt, yet he held on tighter. His human fingers sliding up to your wrists, pressing into the pulse. His eyes closed, his breath uneven. “I don’t deserve this,” he murmured, voice breaking.

You reached for his jaw, guiding him to look at you. “If anyone does,” you said, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. “It’s you.”

A gentle wave of calm radiated from you, easing his worries, allowing just enough peace to slip past his defences.

You spoke with a finality that left no room for doubt— a certainty that felt ancient, a knowledge too vast to be contained within the human mind it now occupied. You had seen humanity's darkest sorrows, touched the edges of its deepest pain. Coming from you, he knew your words were absolute.

He chuckled, a low, sweet sound that sounded like music to your ears. His fingers left your pulse and covered your hand on his face.

“You’re really here,” he whispered with a childlike wonder, nuzzling into your palm.

When you had a borrowed human form, every second felt strained, as if each breath drained you. But now, with a mortal mind to match your human body, everything felt effortless, natural. For the first time, you could feel the roughness of Bucky's stubble against your skin without the weight of eternity anchoring you.

“I am,” you said, your voice trembling, getting used to the fragile elasticity of a human vocal cord. You could feel the steady, comforting warmth of his body, his heartbeat a drumbeat against your hand on his chest.

The textures around you seemed sharper, more alive than ever before. The clarity was blinding—the rough edge of the cuts on his skin against your fingertips, the dampness of tears on his cheek. Each breath, each subtle movement of his chest under your hand, felt like a true miracle— and you’ve witnessed many miracles.

He pulled you into him then, wrapping his arms around you, utterly anchored in this mortal world. His face pressed against your hair, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the gentle brush of his lips against your forehead. In that moment, everything felt amplified—the softness of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heart against your own, the way his fingers traced slow patterns on your back, almost as if he were afraid you’d slip away again.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, still in disbelief.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied. You felt his hand slide up to cradle the back of your head, his touch gentle, protective.

—

That night, he taught you how to sleep. For eons, you'd drifted through darkness, untouched by the need for rest. You’ve watched over tormented souls throughout the night—those who woke in terror, those steeped in frustration of sleepless nights. Bucky had even been one of them.

You knew the kind of exhaustion that left people broken— but the gentle surrender of sleep, that brought refreshment and peace—that had always been beyond your reach.

So when he suggested you try it, the idea felt foreign, even decadent. That night, lying next to him, your heart thundered as the strange sensation of needing sleep washed over you, especially after the long walk that brought you to him.

As you yawned, Bucky stifled a laugh, kissing your forehead. “The adrenaline is running out,” he said.

Tiredness was as foreign as it was unsettling. He wrapped his arms around you. He whispered to you, his voice a grounding hum. The rise and fall of his chest was a tether, an anchor in this unfamiliar stillness, until, gradually, you sank into the quiet oblivion.

When you awoke, Bucky’s morning voice rang softly as he took in the wonder and surprise on your face.

“You get used to it,” he chuckled, his hand brushing through your rumpled hair. “Believe me, not every morning feels that amazing.”

But you couldn’t imagine ever feeling anything but awe at this—waking up warm and whole again, cocooned in his arms.

—

That morning, Bucky handed you a bowl of cereal, and you stared at it like a riddle you’d never known needed solving.

When you were immortal, you had only ever seen food through the lives of those who struggled with it, those who either deprived themselves or sought comfort in excess, using eating to ease their pain. So when Bucky suggested you should try eating yourself, you approached it with hesitation.

But he was patient, his eyes warm as he showed you how to hold the spoon, how to bring it to your mouth for that first tentative bite. The sweetness, the cold milk—it all flooded your senses at once, and then came the emptiness after chewing and swallowing. You laughed, amazed at how something so small could be so enchanting.

—

Then, it came for you to clean yourself.

You’d witnessed scenes like this countless times before— bathtubs filled with still, unmoving water. Often, the people you watched over leaned in ceramic bathrooms in silence, crying in solitude. Showers where people stood for hours, letting the water drown their pain. You’d seen water become a place of grief, of release, of places where bodies were found by a grieving family.

But this was different.

You gingerly stepped in the bath, watching Bucky’s face to make sure you were doing it right, but he was only smiling. He cupped some water and tossed it at you with a splash, chuckling as you jumped, surprised. The warmth felt good, and so did the way he looked at you: relaxed and teasing, no weight or judgement in his gaze.

“You’ve gotta get your hair wet too,” he said, lifting a bubble-filled hand and laughing as he blew them playfully in your direction. The bubbles floated like tiny stars before popping against your skin, and you found yourself reaching for them, a small laugh escaping your lips. You didn’t know you could laugh like this, a sound so unburdened by the infinite years you endured alone.

Soon, you started enjoying the unfamiliar joy of being simply clean.

—

One morning, he handed you a toothbrush, squeezing a minty gel onto it.

He guided your hand gently, helping you get the feel of it. The rush of cool mint, the slight sting of the paste—it was all strangely invigorating. It was a ritual he assured you would become second nature.

Mortals are so fragile! What do you mean if they don’t do this every day, a vital part of their body will fall off? You thought to yourself, before remembering that you are now one of them, too.

Each morning after that, you stood side by side in the bathroom, brushing together, and he’d watch you in the mirror, amused as you perfected the routine.

—

And now: clothes. At first, you wore whatever Bucky gave you—a worn sweater, one of his old shirts. But he soon insisted on taking you out to find your own, bringing you to a clothing store where he watched as you picked through the racks, feeling the fabrics, the textures that you haven't before.

When you were immortal, you witnessed the way mirrors could deepen the wounds of mortal insecurities. Now, you found yourself grappling with those same emotions —one that you had never possessed before.

When you put on a tight shirt in the changing room, you weren’t prepared for the way your own reflection made you hesitate. You looked at your body and wondered why it didn’t curve the same as the mannequins outside, or why your form wasn’t the same as the figures plastered on billboards.

“Do I look wrong?” you asked Bucky, frowning at your reflection. He didn’t hesitate, stepping closer to you. “Of course not,” he said. “You’re beautiful, doll.”

As you learned to process human insecurity, you also learned to laugh as you twirled in front of the mirror in clothes that were truly yours.

Still, even with your part of the closet now stocked up, he would catch you lounging in his day-old shirts from time to time.

—

Days passed with more tiny, mundane marvels. He gave you a phone to keep him updated on your whereabouts. And with that he also gave you a pair of blue light glasses, holding them carefully as he helped you slide them on.

“These’ll help,” he explained, brushing a finger over the bridge of your nose. Your eyes, so used to eternity, ached with the sharp glow of phone screens and computers.

Bucky didn’t really need them— super soldier serum and all. But you? Now, you were so devastatingly human that you crinkled your nose and rubbed your eyes when you were reading some old Latin text (which was a practically dead language) on his tablet for too long.

“Screens are terrible for your eyes,” he said. And he was right, until these glasses softened the glare. You found yourself squinting less at the blue-tinged world they showed you.

You kept them in a case wherever you went.

—

Bucky taught you how to use the subway, standing close behind you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you learned to read the maps, to listen for the names of stops. Once, you were too preoccupied with talking to each other that you ended up far from home, but he just laughed. When he noticed you were getting tired before you could even make your way home, he bought you both a cup of coffee. He then showed you how to retrace your steps, until you found your way back together.

Well, the coffee was a mistake. The smell alone was fascinating—rich, bitter, and warm. You took a sip, and the taste flooded your senses.

it tasted so… deep.

You felt the faint bite of bitterness softened by milk and sugar, an intensity of flavour you'd never known.

The jolt of caffeine made you feel vibrantly alive, so much so that when you almost got home, you insisted on going to a nearby cafe and ordering another one yourself, unable to resist. And another one. And another one. And… another one.

When night fell, though, you laid awake, heart racing. Bucky chuckled as you fidgeted beside him, amused as you tried to get comfortable in his arms. "You might want to go easy on the coffee next time, doll," he said, stroking your hair as you tossed and turned, learning the dangers of caffeine a little too late.

—

Then, there was the music.

One evening, Bucky sat beside you, scrolling through his records as you closed your eyes and let the sound spill into your eardrums. He played everything he could think of—classical, jazz, heavy rock, music from both his era and this one. You found yourself drawn to the soulful, mournful melodies, the songs heavy with longing. When you shared this with him, he chuckled softly, saying “old habits die hard,” and you had to laugh.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that when you were drifting through the centuries, you listened as artists— Beethoven, Louis Armstrong, Janis Joplin, Lorna Wu— pouring their own pain into their music. You had stood beside them once, a witness to their pain.

—

Even laundry became an adventure. He watched as you stood in front of the washing machine, staring at it like it was some complicated puzzle. “Trust me,” he grinned, showing you how to measure the detergent. He watched as you concentrated, biting your lip as you turned the dial and pressed the start button. The hum of the machine, the warmth of freshly dried clothes—all of it enchanted you, and Bucky could hardly believe he had the chance to witness this, to be here for each discovery.

—

You were learning, too, about the cold.

One evening, the two of you wandered out under a sky swirling with frost and snowflakes. As the chill settled into your skin, you shivered—a sharp, biting sensation that was alien. You couldn’t suppress a gasp, startled by the vulnerability of this mortal form. Bucky noticed instantly, and without a word, he slipped off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders.

Then he drew you close. His arms wrapped around you, his own warmth seeping into your body. The sensation was strange—this human closeness, this press of one being against another.

It was foreign, yet it was soothing.

He felt a barrier against the cold, and for the first time, you understood what it meant to feel safe.

—

Bucky even helped you pick a name. You’d never had one before, not really. Names were for mortals, for fleeting things. But now that you were one, you needed it.

You spent hours together, turning names over like stones, tasting each one, letting the syllables sit on your tongue until something fit. The moment it did, you saw the change in Bucky’s face. Like you’d both found something you didn’t know you were looking for. It was the sound of it, your name, clicking into place, bridging a gap you didn’t realise was there until it closed.

Then he asked what last name you wanted.

"I figured it would just be Barnes," you said, shrugging as if it was no big deal.

But it was, to Bucky. Last names were such a specific social sentiment to him, and here you were, assuming it as if it was second nature.

"Do you want it to be?" he asked, sheepishly shy. He wanted you to understand that he was offering you something precious, something more than just a name.

You said "yes," and you meant it.

You had a last name now—his name. The thought twisted in your chest, both strange and achingly right.

He made it real, pulling strings the way he could. He handed you the papers, a freshly printed birth certificate, and an ID.

“It’s official,” he said, tucking them into your hand with a smile that was so warm it almost burned— a smile that felt like the heavens crafted it just for you.

—

Not long after, Bucky asked if you’d marry him.

You were both in his apartment, on the balcony after dinner when he knelt down on one knee. He held out a sapphire and diamond ring, the stone the colour of a sky just before the storm breaks— just a couple of shades shy of his eyes.

He asked if you wanted to do it tomorrow. No waiting, no grand spectacle—just the two of you, the wedding bands already prepared, sitting on his side of the night stand.

But he didn’t want to rush you. “Please say no if you want to,” he reassured, worried he might scare you off.

You’d been human only a few months, still getting used to your skin, to the sound of a heartbeat in your ears.

But you’d known him for nearly a century. You’ve met him in brief, flickering moments back when you were still a spirit, drifting across the world, pulled by the invisible threads of suffering. It had been years since you started manifesting a physical form he could touch, nearly two years since he first showed you what a wonder it was to be kissed by him.

So he just had to ask.

He’d waited so long already. Time felt thin to him since it came to his attention that he almost died— and he didn’t want to waste another second. He wasn’t sure how a former Spirit of Suffering would react to a marriage proposal, so when you said yes, his relief was tangible in every fibre of the universe around him.

—

The courthouse was quiet. There was no grand vision of romance here, and yet, as you stood beside Bucky, you felt love swell like never before, heart beating out of your ribcage.

You had watched marriages unfold for millennia, seen the concept evolve from a practical contract to a declaration of love. You had been sceptical, even baffled. Why did mortals need to bind their love with laws and vows? It seemed so restrictive, so doomed to cause pain.

And you had seen so much pain come from marriage.

You’d answered the call of those trapped in loveless unions, those whose hearts were shattered by betrayal, those left hollow by the death of a beloved. You had soothed countless souls in the aftermath of love gone wrong.

But here, in this sunlit room, you understood why they did it. Why they risked so much for a chance to promise something unbreakable, even though they knew how fragile it really was.

You, who had only ever observed human beings from the edges of their lives, were now standing at the centre of your own. Hand in hand with Bucky, you made a promise not because you had to, but because you wanted to, with a conviction that felt as new and startling as your human heartbeat.

He looked at you with a kindness he rarely let anyone else see. For the first time, the idea of marriage didn’t feel like a cage— it felt like freedom.

You repeated the officiant’s words, meaning every single thing that came out of your mouth. Bucky’s eyes never left yours, as though he was anchoring himself to you, just as you had once anchored yourself to the sorrows of the world.

“Do you take James Buchanan Barnes…” The words were ordinary, mundane. Yet when you whispered “I do,” it felt heavenly.

It wasn’t a promise for eternity—it was a promise for a single, fleeting lifetime. And that, you realised, made it all the more precious.

When he slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands were steady. It was a marker, not of ownership but of choice. It was his way of saying that he chose you, above all else, and that you chose him, despite everything you had seen and known.

The officiant gave a quiet, “You may kiss,” but you hardly heard it before Bucky’s lips met yours. His lips were soft, filled with a devotion that overwhelmed you. So you clung to him for comfort, as if this brief moment could stretch into the forever you once knew.

He called you “my wife” from then on, with a kind of reverence you weren’t used to. And you, in turn, you grew quite fond of calling him “my husband.”

—

Over the next few months, Bucky watched as you gradually found your place among humans, learning to live in the world you’d once only observed.

Tasks that had seemed simple from a distance became little puzzles, requiring patience and a quiet acceptance of limits— that you couldn’t just will something to go away anymore. Bucky would often catch sight of you across the room, fumbling slightly with things you were learning for the first time— jars, doors, and locks. Learning how to cook. Learning how to use a blender. Learning how to adjust the temperature when the heater was on.

Still, that kindness you’d carried as a spirit had followed you here, perhaps even amplified by vulnerability. He noticed it in the way you approached others, how you listened when someone spoke of their troubles.

Bucky marvelled at it, at you, amazed that this once-immortal spirit was now seeking to make sense of a body that tired and a world that didn’t stop moving.

One day, you decided to give your time to those who might need you most—signing up to volunteer at an animal shelter, a soup kitchen, a rehab centre, and a retirement home all at once. But soon enough, you came face to face with the very real limits of humanity. You no longer had infinite time or energy, and it pained you to accept that you couldn’t be everywhere at once.

You had to let go of some of your commitments, a necessary choice that broke your heart.

Sometimes, people would glance at you with a flicker of recognition, sensing that they’d seen you before. And you remembered every single one of them. But you would simply smile, saying nothing as they’d pass by.

From time to time, Bucky wondered if some hint of your old self remained in this new body. After all, you had crossed ages and realms. Something like that doesn’t just… disappear, right?

He’d notice it in the smallest ways, subtle moments that defy simple explanation. After a hard mission, when tension knotted every muscle in his shoulders, you'd step into the room, and everything seemed to shift. The pain would gently subside. His breathing would calm ever so slightly.

Or there were times he’d experience some small hurt—a papercut flipping through a book, or an ache on his side where Sam had kicked him hard during sparring. You’d look at him with concern, and the sting would fade.

Or maybe it’s the fact that ever since you’ve been sleeping next to him, his nightmares seemed quieter—sometimes even absent altogether. It was something he had almost forgotten was possible, that kind of sleep, deep and dreamless, the kind that let him wake up feeling like he’d left some of the pain behind.

He never directly asked if this was deliberate, if you could still pull on the threads of suffering. But he suspected you could, suspected that some remnant of your gift remained, woven so deeply into you that even a human body couldn’t strip it away completely.

Maybe you didn’t even notice it yourself; after all, you had spent lifetimes seeking suffering to mend. Easing pain had once been your nature, your very essence. And now, even bound by flesh, there was a grace about you, a sense that some hidden part of you still looked out for hurt souls.

—

You were still learning what it meant to feel human emotions fully, to experience anger, frustration, to process the sharp stab of indignation that came with disrespect.

So when some guy on the street cat called you, yelling something crude and graphic— an unfamiliar feeling surged in your chest. It wasn’t just anger—it was outrage, a visceral feeling that burned in a way you’d never experienced before— one that even hurt your guts.

Because you knew where this could go, you’ve witnessed it— you remembered every person you’d consoled, the countless humans you’d held in their pain after they had been touched against their will, violated, used. You recalled the sorrow, the anguish, the sense that they’ve lost themselves in the process, lost a piece of their soul to their abuser. You’ve seen it all— little girls hiding in the closet, little boys having to pretend because they thought they were less because of it, people who flinched at the sheer mention of their abuser. More often than not— it started like this.

With a “harmless” comment.

So now, faced with this man’s ugly words, you realised you could feel the anger on their behalf—and it was overwhelming.

As you fixed your gaze on the cat caller, his smirk faded. His expression twisted, almost as if something was clawing at him from the inside. He clutched at his chest, his face paling as tears began to stream down his face. He didn’t know why he was crying, didn’t understand the flood of pain, of fear, of regret that washed over him, consuming him in a way he’d never known. He was overwhelmed, bent by a will he couldn’t see but could feel pressing down on him like a ton of bricks.

And then, from somewhere behind you, you heard Bucky’s voice, low and steady. “I know he’s a dickhead, but… he’s not worth it.” His words were soft but urgent, a knife breaking through your haze of anger.

You turned to look at him, confused, and only then did you realise what you’d done. The cat caller was still crying, crumpling under a pain you hadn’t consciously intended to inflict.

You hadn’t known that you could cause suffering. Your whole existence had been spent easing it, helping others bear their burdens, guiding them toward healing.

But now, feeling human anger, you’d somehow unleashed pain on someone else.

Bucky was watching you, his gaze both gentle and concerned, trying to gauge what you were feeling.

He’d suspected that some of your powers might remain, but neither of you had known for sure, not until now.

This… this was different.

You took a deep breath, and suddenly, the man stopped crying, shaken and confused. The surge of anger receded, leaving you to grapple with a side of yourself you didn’t realise existed.

After telling the cat caller to “get the fuck away from my wife” Bucky stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to touch your arm.

You were kind, too kind for your own good. Even though he had deserved it, you still had to face the guilt of hurting a soul for the first time in eternity.

“You didn’t know,” he said quietly.

This new side of you— perhaps the manifestation of your powers in the presence of vulnerable mortal emotions— was unsettling. You’d been a source of mercy, of solace— and yet, you realised, that compassion had come with an understanding of pain so deep it could— when fuelled by human anger— turn against others.

—

The day Bucky asked Sam if he wanted to meet you was as ordinary as any other. The two were sitting in a small diner, plates of food between them, the hum of a radio in the background. Sam had just finished telling a story about why his wingpack needed servicing again when Bucky dropped the bombshell.

“So,” Bucky said, poking at the remnants of his fries. “You want to meet my wife?”

Sam froze, his fork halfway to his mouth, expression drained. “Your what?” he asked, as if Bucky had just admitted to robbing a bank or killing a puppy.

“My wife,” Bucky repeated, casually taking another bite of his burger.

Sam lowered his fork slowly, eyes narrowing. “You have a wife?”

“Yes,” Bucky nodded. He took the ring looped around a chain by his neck from under his shirt to show him, “Do you think I’m that unlovable?”

“When did this happen?”

“A couple of months ago.”

“And I’m only just hearing about it?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

Sam stared at him, his jaw slightly slack from the nuke of an information he just dropped. “Complicated?” he repeated incredulously. “Bucky, you’re not allowed to drop a bomb like ‘I have a wife’ and follow it up with ‘it’s complicated.’ What does that even mean? I didn’t even know you were dating. I didn’t even know you liked people!”

Bucky snorted, crossing his arm. “I like people.”

“Since when?”

“Since I married one.”

“Okay, I need answers.” Sam sat back in the booth, arms over his chest. “Where did you meet her? How long has this been going on? And—oh, here’s a big one—why wasn’t I invited to the wedding?”

“It wasn’t a big wedding.” Bucky sipped his soda calmly, clearly enjoying baffling Sam more than he let on. “Just us in the courthouse.”

“That’s not the point! I’m your friend.” Sam threw his hands up. “When you meet someone, you tell your friends, you invite them to the wedding. You don’t just—what—elope and then ambush me over lunch like it’s a mission briefing!”

Bucky’s smile grew wider, almost sheepish now. “You done?” he asked, and Sam glared at him.

“No, I’m not done. I have so many questions.” Sam squinted at him suspiciously. “Who is she? Is she in witness protection? A spy? What?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, she’s just… still getting used to being human.”

There was a long pause as Sam stared at him, his expression a perfect mix of disbelief and confusion. Then, with slow deliberation, he leaned forward. “Okay,” he said carefully. “So which one is she? Alien, android, or wizard?”

Bucky groaned, leaning back in his seat. “Not this again.”

“Yes, this again!” Sam said, pointing a finger at him. “You don’t think that sounds exactly like one of the big three? Alien. Android. Wizard. Take your pick.”

“She’s none of them,” Bucky insisted, though his tone wavered slightly. He frowned, thinking about the things he’d seen you do—how you could still soothe pain without realising it, how your anger had once manifested as a wave of pure suffering. That did seem a bit magical. A small doubt crept into his mind. “At least… I don’t think she is.”

“Don’t think?” Sam repeated, eyebrows shooting up. “You don’t even know?”

“Shhh,” Bucky said, noticing how Sam was getting louder and louder. People have started turning their heads, “you’re making a scene.”

“I’m allowed to make a— wait what are you writing down?”

Bucky pulled a small notebook out of his jacket pocket. He flipped to a blank page and scribbled something down. Sam leaned over the table, trying to see what he’d written.

‘Ask if wizard,’ he had written in today’s to-do list, along with ‘buy flowers’ and ‘pick up garlic.’

Sam read the list, looking back at Bucky with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Seriously?”

Bucky shrugged, tucking the notebook away. “Gotta be thorough.”

“I don’t even know where to start.” Sam rubbed his temples. “You’ve been happier lately—I’ll give you that—but now I’m wondering if it’s because you’re in love or if your wizard wife is casting some kind of love spell on you.”

“She’s not,” Bucky said flatly. “And she’s probably not a wizard.”

“This is insane.” Sam rubbed his temple, feeling a bad headache incoming, shaking his head. “You still haven’t told me why I wasn’t invited to this magical mystery courthouse wedding.”

Bucky’s expression softened slightly, the teasing edge in his voice giving way to something more serious. “Because it’s complicated. She’s… different. She’s been through a lot. I didn’t want to overwhelm her.”

Sam blinked, taken aback by the sudden sincerity in Bucky’s voice. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “But you could’ve at least told me, man. You know I would’ve been cool about it. I’d wanna help! Picked out a suit. Give you a pep talk when you’re nervous.”

Bucky laughed. “So you would’ve been my best man?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said. “Come on! I love weddings! I would’ve danced with all the wizard aunties.”

“There were no aunties.”

“Whatever.”

They both laughed, the tension easing slightly. Sam leaned back in his chair, still shaking his head. “So when do I get to meet Mrs. Barnes?”

“Soon,” Bucky said, his grin widening. “You’re gonna like her.”

“I’d better,” Sam muttered, reaching for his drink. “Because if she does turn out to be a wizard and didn’t tell you, I’m gonna kick her magical ass.”

Bucky laughed— a genuine, deep laugh that Sam hadn’t heard in a long time. It was good to see him like this, happy and relaxed. And despite all the weirdness, Sam couldn’t help but feel curious about the woman who had managed to do the impossible—make Bucky Barnes smile so effortlessly.

—

Bucky leaned back into the couch, his arm draped lazily along the backrest as he watched you squint at your laptop. You were completely engrossed in an old Sumerian text, occasionally pausing to scroll or mutter something in an ancient language under your breath.

“Are you a wizard?” he asked suddenly, his tone teasing but curious.

You glanced up, tilting your head like you were considering it.

“No,” you finally replied, closing the laptop halfway. “If anything, I’m closer to being a witch.”

Bucky shifted closer, resting his chin in his hand as he studied you. “What’s the difference?”

“Witches are born with magic,” you explained, tucking your feet underneath you. “It’s part of who they are. Wizards—or to use the more accurate term, sorcerers—have to learn sorcery.”

Bucky pulled out his little notebook from his pocket, flipping it open. You leaned over, watching as he crossed out the last word in ‘ask if wizard’ and wrote ‘witch’ instead. He then carefully added a little tick next to it.

You laughed, resting your head against his shoulder. “Are you taking notes on me?”

“Of course,” he said, tone completely serious. “Gotta keep track of all the weird, magic wife stuff.”

You swatted his arm, but the fondness in your touch was unmistakable.

Bucky grinned, leaning back to nudge you gently with his shoulder. “How was the text? Did you crack the code?”

“Oh, it wasn’t hard,” you said with a dismissive wave— you had gotten used to all the languages ever spoken. After all, you’ve had to comfort people in their native tongue. “Humans are so funny, losing languages they invented.” You shook your head, chuckling softly.

Bucky’s laugh rumbled in his chest, “Yeah, well, we’re good at forgetting stuff.”

You gave him a knowing look but said nothing, only tucking your legs more comfortably against his.

“How was lunch with Sam?” you asked, your voice soft as you reached for his metal hand.

“Great,” Bucky said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand absentmindedly. “Still on for meeting him tomorrow?”

You hesitated for a beat, your eyes flicking to your joined hands. “Mmhmm,” you said finally, though your voice was quieter. “I’ve met him before, you know.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “You have?”

You nodded, shifting to face him more fully. “Back when I was immortal. I’ve met most of your friends, actually,” you paused, giving him a wry smile, “most of your superhero friends. No offence, but you’re a tragic bunch.”

“Yeah, sounds about right.” Bucky laughed, his hand squeezing yours. “Do you think he’ll recognize you?”

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, a shy nervousness glinting in your eyes.

—

It was a bright, crisp morning when you and Bucky met up with Sam at a small café on a bustling street corner. The moment felt odd, like a page from someone else's story, but when you stepped into it, it became yours.

Bucky introduced you to Sam, his voice firm as he said the human name you had chosen. It still felt new, like the boots Bucky bought for you that were just beginning to wear in.

But the way Bucky said it, with certainty, made it feel like it had always been yours.

The three of you chose a table outside, the sunlight catching the glint of Bucky’s vibranium arm as he pulled out a chair for you. A simple gesture, but one that made Sam immediately raise an eyebrow.

“I thought he stopped being a gentleman after the 40s,” Sam quipped as he sat down with a teasing smile. “What happened to you, man?”

Before Bucky could answer, you slid into the chair with a small, knowing smile. “He married me,” you said, the lightness in your tone making Sam chuckle.

“Damn right I did.” Bucky settled into his own chair, leaning back with a smirk that made his steel-blue eyes crinkle. Sam laughed, sipping his coffee.

“The infamous Mrs. Barnes. Took him long enough to introduce us. Thought he was hiding you on purpose.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Bucky muttered under his breath, but there was no heat in his words—just a gruff affection.

Sam ignored him, leaning forward with interest. “So, how long’s it been?”

“Three months tomorrow,” you said easily, holding up your left hand where your gold ring caught the sunlight. Bucky’s matching band gleamed on his human hand, today at least. He was always swapping it between his fingers, sometimes wearing it on a chain around his neck— still unsure if he wanted to wear it traditionally on his metal arm or on his human one because it felt closer.

“How’s the old man holding up?” Sam’s grin widened, blissfully unaware of just how long you’ve roamed this earth. “Any second thoughts yet?”

You tilted your head, only pretending to consider it. “He’s got his quirks…” you began, earning a dramatic groan from Bucky, “…but I think I’ll keep him.”

“Quirks?” Bucky asked, narrowing his eyes with mock offence, “what quirks?”

“How much time do I have to list them all off, my love?” You smiled. Bucky's heart warmed with pride— of how quickly and naturally you mastered human sarcasm, as if it was second nature.

“I like her already,” Sam said, laughing as he pat Bucky on the shoulder.

Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes, but the twitch of his lips gave him away. “Glad my suffering is so entertaining for you.”

Sam’s gaze shifted back to you, sharper now, though still friendly. For a moment, something flickered in his expression, something you couldn’t quite name—like he was trying to figure you out, to match you against a bigger puzzle piece.

—

It wasn’t until later, after you stood up to grab a second cup of coffee, that Sam’s laughter faltered mid-sentence.

Bucky had teased, “Careful on how many cups you have today, doll, or you’ll be up all night,” and you’d waved him off with a grin as you headed inside. The moment felt lighthearted, ordinary—until it wasn’t.

Sam’s words slowed, and his easy grin faded as his stare turned distant. He frowned, like he was reaching for a memory that refused to fully surface. The breeze played with the edges of the tablecloth, tousling the air around him with an uncanny calmness. When you came back into view, walking toward the table, the sunlight catching in your hair and clothes, something clicked.

He knew you.

The realisation gripped him with a bone-deep certainty. His fingers tightened around the coffee cup as fragments of a memory—fragile, but vivid — manifested his mind.

He’d been waiting for some revelation, like maybe you were from a different planet— but this recognition… it can’t be… right?

“Sam?” you asked softly, sitting back down. “Are you okay?”

He blinked, shaking his head to clear it, but the weight in his expression didn’t lift. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly, too quickly. “Just thought of something stupid.”

Bucky glanced at him, his superhuman hearing clearly picking up how he was shifting in his seat. But before he could say anything, you reached out and laid a hand on Sam’s arm. Your touch was light, grounding.

“It’s not stupid,” you said gently. “Go ahead.”

Sam hesitated, his lips working as he tried to find the words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost reluctant. “I feel like I know you. From somewhere.” He frowned, searching your face. “But that’s crazy.”

You exchanged a glance with Bucky, a knowing look: he remembers.

Sam’s sharp eyes caught the look, and his suspicions resurfaced.

“Or is it?” he pressed.

Taking a slow breath, you folded your hands in your lap. “I think you do know me,” you admitted, your voice steady but quiet. “But not like this.”

Sam tilted his head, his confusion evident. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

His gaze searched yours, and then it hit him like a punch to the chest. His breath caught. “Wait,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking. “Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission…” He paused, swallowing hard as his throat worked against the restraints memory. “When Riley died. I remember—” His words faltered.

The table seemed to still, the sounds of the bustling street fading into the background like a muffled echo. You could feel the weight of his grief in the space between his words.

It was the day Riley fell from the sky.

The memory rushed back. Riley spiralling down, his parachute shredded, Sam diving after him with everything he had—but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t reach him in time. He couldn’t stop the impact.

Riley took his last breath.

Right in front of his eyes.

Sam could still feel the crushing helplessness, the raw, unbearable desperation of watching it happen, all while being powerless to change it. In the haze of grief and adrenaline, he remembered something else—someone else. A presence, just at the edges of his vision.

You.

You were there, a ripple of calm in the chaos. He hadn’t understood it at the time, thought he might have imagined you.

But now, sitting in a cafe, he met your eyes again. Now, the same calm rippled over him. It was quiet, steady, and unshakable—just like it had been back then, when he needed it most.

His eyes narrowed. “You were there?”

Your chest tightened, the pain of that moment still echoing in your now human heart. You nodded, your voice almost trembling. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

Sam exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair as if the confession had knocked the wind out of him. He ran a hand down his face, his expression torn between disbelief and a reluctant kind of understanding. “I thought I imagined you,” he muttered, his voice low, frayed at the edges. “Thought I was losing it.”

“Most people think I’m not real,” you said gently, leaning forward slightly, as though closing the space between you could soften the blow. “But…I’ve always been there. I was the Spirit of Suffering. My purpose was to comfort those in pain.”

Sam’s gaze lifted to yours, trying to reconcile your existence with the impossible truth you had just revealed.

A decade ago, he would’ve called bullshit on this. But since then, he learned that weirder things have been true.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he turned to Bucky, his eyebrows raised, “So when you said she was ‘getting used to being human,’ this is what you meant?”

“Yeah,” he said simply.

Sam let out a long breath, dragging a hand across his collarbones. Then, after a beat, he gestured between the two of you. “Okay, so Spirit of suffering. Got it. But how in the hell did you end up with this guy?” He jabbed a thumb at Bucky, his tone hovering somewhere between bewildered and amused, trying to move on from the pain.

You couldn’t help but smile, the fondness in your expression unmistakable. The question deserved an honest answer.

You leaned back in your chair, drawing a deep breath. “I wandered the world for eons in search of sorrow to ease,” you began, “But when I found Bucky…he was different.”

Sam’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he said nothing, letting you continue.

You hesitated, the memories threatening to overwhelm you, but you pressed on. “I saw everything they did to him— Most people would’ve crumbled under a fraction of it. I’ve seen people turn bitter, angry, and evil. He should have broken. By every measure, he should have. But he didn’t.”

Sam blinked, his expression a mix of shock and…—understanding, maybe. “So you’re telling me James Buchanan Barnes caught the attention of an ancient entity?”

“Basically,” you said with a grin.

“No big deal,” Sam shook his head slowly, disbelief colouring his tone. “Just another Tuesday night for Bucky.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“And then what?” He continued, “You just…introduced yourself one day?”

Your smile turned wistful as you shook your head. “About three years ago, I started borrowing time in a physical form. It took a lot of energy, but I’d meet him at night. We’d talk, sometimes for hours. That’s how we fell in love.”

“Wait,” Sam’s sharp eyes darted to Bucky, narrowing. “Is that why you always bailed on movie nights? You were sneaking off to hang out with your spirit girlfriend?”

Bucky’s smirk deepened as he leaned back, his arms crossing over his chest. “Wouldn’t you?”

Sam opened his mouth to retort but paused, considering it. After a moment, he nodded grudgingly. “Fair enough. Continue.”

You chuckled softly, but the humour faded as the memory of Bucky’s near-death surfaced.

Your hand found his under the table, your fingers curling around his. “A few months ago, Bucky was dying. I—I couldn’t let him go. So I did the only thing I could. I sacrificed my immortality to save his life. It meant giving up everything I was, but it also meant I could finally be with him. As an equal. As a human.”

Sam blinked, visibly processing this. “You gave up eternity?”

“For him?” You smiled softly, glancing at Bucky. “In a heartbeat.”

Sam leaned back, his hands thrown up in mock surrender. “Damn. I’m impressed.”

“And then,” Bucky said, his voice softer now, as he squeezed your hand, “we got married.”

Sam stared at the two of you, his expression shifting from amusement to something more earnest. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “I’ve seen some weird stuff— but this?” He shook his head. “This takes the cake. This is even weirder than the talking raccoon.”

You chuckled softly, the warmth in your chest spreading.

Slowly Sam’s expression shifted, the easy humour in his eyes replaced by something deeper. His voice dropped, steady but careful.

Whatever was on his mind, he had to say it now, before the moment passed.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his tone filled with sincerity that left no room for doubt. “For what you did… when Riley…” He hesitated, the name lingering like a fragile thread. “I didn’t understand it then, and I’m not sure I ever will. But thank you anyway.”

Your throat tightened, but you managed a soft, reassuring smile. “You’re stronger than you realise,” you said. “I just gave you a little push.”

Sam sat back in his chair. For so long, he'd carried the weight of that day, replaying it in his mind, searching for what he could’ve done differently. But now, hearing your words, he felt something change. It wasn’t erasure—Riley’s loss would always be a deep scar to him—but it was like you’d given him permission to stop digging, stop obsessing.

You’d seen so much, and yet you were there, barely seen but steady, offering a calm he’d mistaken for his own strength.

Maybe it was.

Maybe the solace you gave him back then had become part of him.

For the first time, the memory didn’t feel so jagged. It was still painful, but now it held a bittersweet comfort. Riley’s name didn’t stick in his throat as much as it used to.

Sam let out a long breath.

“You were there,” he said again, quieter this time. “Maybe that’s why I’m still here too.”

—

You ended up talking more, understanding why Bucky liked Sam so much.

You told him how you’d recently started delving into human literature— works you’d never had the chance to indulge in before. Of course, indulging was a foreign concept to you, a novelty that you were still figuring out.

You also told him about your newfound love for coffee, though your excitement was dampened when you mentioned heading back for a third cup and being met with Bucky’s firm, no-nonsense suggestion: “Decaf this time.”

You sighed dramatically, “It just doesn’t taste the same.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

Bucky’s arms crossed with the hint of affection. “The first time she tried coffee, she had like six cups in a day. She jittered for hours and didn’t sleep at all. It was like watching an electric squirrel.”

Sam laughed.

When you returned with your begrudgingly decaf coffee, Sam greeted you with a wide grin, shaking his head. “Can’t believe you’re married to a spirit wizard.”

“She’s not a wizard,” Bucky corrected, his voice tinged with mock irritation. “We hashed this out last night. She’s more like a witch.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam’s grin widened, clearly enjoying himself. “Better update your notebook, then.”

You laughed, unable to resist teasing. “Oh, he has. First thing he did. He’s obsessed. Have you seen the pie charts in that thing?”

Sam’s booming laugh filled the air. “Oh, yeah. The graphs for the mission? Priceless.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “He also has pros and cons lists for everything. Everything.”

Sam turned to Bucky with mock solemnity. “You made a pros and cons list for taking a witch wife, too?”

“Actually, no.” Bucky didn’t miss a beat, his voice steady and sure. “Marrying her is the one decision I didn’t need a list for.”

Before you could react, Bucky leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss on your lips, quick but meaningful.

“Ugh,” Sam groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Love. Disgusting.”

The three of you shared another round of laughter, and for a moment the looming shadow of your collective pasts had been forgotten.

Bucky had been your first and only love, but now, with Sam, you were forming your first friendship. As you watched Sam tease Bucky, a warmth bloomed in your chest.

Was this what family felt like? What friendship meant?

As an immortal, you had only ever seen the broken pieces: the pain of abusive parents, the weight of generational trauma, children gone too soon, friends betrayed, lives shattered. You’d seen grief consume people—just as it had consumed Sam when he lost Riley. But now, as a mortal, you were beginning to piece together the other side of it.

For the first time, you understood why people sought connection, why they clung to each other through joy and heartbreak. This was it— the beauty of pain, a symptom of life.

-End.

Additional stories with Spirit!reader are coming! lmk if you wanna be tagged in those!

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redrikki · 11 months ago

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A friend of mine once described a person as "someone who has never cleaned a toilet and it shows." Since all the main POVs in A Song of Ice and Fire are nobles, they pretty much all live and die as people who've never cleaned a toilet (and it shows). The following are the exceptions:

Davos Seaworth has cleaned many a toilet on his rise from Fleabottom urchin to smuggler captain to landed knight and would gladly do so again if Lord Stannis required it. He does not see anything remarkable about it, although it does occasionally give him pause that his boys have not and never will clean a toilet. He's not sure whether this is a good or bad thing.

Tyrion Lannister likes to think that he's cleaned a toilet. After all, he's a dwarf and, as a young man, his father made him the Master of Drains and Toilets at the Rock. In his quest to earn his father's respect as the best Master of Drains and Toilets ever, he closely observed the cleaning of the toilets in order to better understand the process. He considers himself something of an expert. He has never actually cleaned a toilet.

Jon Snow is made to clean toilets during his training period in the Night's Watch. As the son of Ned Stark, he thinks he's too good for that shit and this attitude wins him no friends among his peers. After the little lecture from the blacksmith, he makes a monumental effort to pull his head from his ass, but still throws a hissy fit over being made Lord Commander's personal steward instead of a ranger like he's supposed to be. As Lord Commander himself, he never cleans a toilet, but is obsessed with their supply of toilet paper.

Samwell Tarly is also made to clean toilets as part of Night's Watch initiation. It is another in a line of gross, difficult, humiliating things he is forced to do which he insists he's too craven to manage, but does anyway.

Arya Stark is made to clean toilets as a slave in Harrenhall. She hates everyone involved, including herself for being a toilet-cleaning mouse and not a wolf. She hates it marginally less after her murder-by-proxy spree, but vows never to do it again after her escape. She ends up cleaning toilets in the House of Black and White, but tells herself it's her choice, she can stop any time, some people join death cults to cope.

Theon Greyjoy is forced to clean toilets as part of the trauma and humiliation conga that is his time as Reek. It is way less worse than being flayed, he tells himself as Ramsay makes him do it with his tongue. He somehow manages to avoid dying of fecal-based diseases, just like he's somehow avoided dying of any of the many, many things that aught to have killed him by this point.

Davos Seaworth is literally the only one who is remotely normal about cleaning toilets.

#a song of ice and fire #davos seaworth #jon snow #sam tarly #arya stark #theon greyjoy

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txmxkis · 3 months ago

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i'm only really me when i'm here with you

pairing. boothill x gn!reader

genre. hurt/comfort

wc. 1.5k+

summary. you're determined to help boothill heal from his trauma by... doing his hair?

warnings. i took liberties with this, who knows what specific parts he actually has left or whether he can blush or not (in my heart he can lol), mention of boothill picking u up but i mean. he’s literally so strong he could handle anything, i made him soooo sad and it’s possibly wildly out of character, selfship coded as usual rip

a/n. continuing the tradition of using lyrics from songs on selfship playlists for fic titles lol. based on my tags on this post

they say that trauma is stored in the body, and while boothill didn't necessarily have a complete body anymore, this was still something that you thought about frequently when it came to his physical form.

regardless of just how much of his original self remained, there was still enough of him left that you were sure it had to be true in some capacity. after all, he retained his head and his heart—at least you were fairly certain—two of the most vital components of human anatomy.

it was so hard to read him. the real him. he tried so hard to always act confident and cool. actually, he didn't even really have to try or act. it seemed as if it came to him naturally and endlessly. there was a perpetual air of optimism surrounding him that was difficult to dim even on his most wearisome days.

even after experiencing whatever horrors he had to face from mission to mission, when he came home, the door to whatever room you were currently in would fling open—sometimes scaring you half to death—and he would greet you so happily that it felt as if there were no terrible things in the universe whatsoever.

you cherished his mannerisms, especially because you could be a pessimistic sort of person. rather frequently, in fact. you loved having him near you, able to draw laughter from you, however unwillingly it might be on your part at times. he was oddly skilled at making you feel assured and comfortable, in a way that nothing and no one had ever done before. you couldn’t seem to remember how you ever lived without his encouragement, and you didn’t think you could ever feel truly whole without it again.

there really was no accounting for his relentlessly positive attitude. given what he'd seen and endured, you thought it was damn near impossible to be as carefree as he seemed to be. at any rate, he did manage it. however, there were times, moments he rarely ever allowed you to witness, in which his façade would falter slightly and betray just how heavily the past weighed on him.

occasionally, you would catch him staring at his reflection, a downcast expression painting his beautiful features. every time you spoke of your family, you could detect glimpses of sadness in his eyes, albeit hidden behind a smile. once you even caught him crying as silently as he could—you assumed so as not to alert you—his shoulders sagging under an unforeseen weight, a look on his face that you could only describe as heartbroken. your own heart broke with his in that moment.

you always tried to be particularly attentive following those moments, but it was so difficult to get him to open up to you. he just wanted you to be happy. to not bother worrying about him. you had your own problems, after all, and there was no need for him to add to your burden. no need for him to ask for your pity.

he knew you cared for him deeply enough that it would cause you pain, and even if it was only a fragment of the grief that he lived with every day, he was sure that he would feel terribly and incessantly guilty about it. if he could remove every single aspect of your life that caused you suffering, he would do it in a heartbeat, and he could say that because it was one of the few original parts he had left. how could he add to that suffering by forcing you to imagine all the horrors from his own life?

it took so much time and effort on your part to convince him to open the door to himself, if even just a tiny crack. he was still extremely careful with his words and the details that he disclosed to you—he didn't want to overwhelm you, and he certainly didn't want to hurt you. in reality, these conversations, painful as they were for you to hear, actually helped you to feel as though you could comfort him more effectively.

yes, it hurt immensely to know even a small fraction of how much anguish he had experienced. yes, you despised the people who had done this to him and wanted to fight them yourself, in fact. yes, your chest felt tight with ache and sadness on his behalf. still, you could help him more by knowing than by not knowing.

eventually, you were able to make it this far, brushing through his hair as gently as your hands could manage. he had confessed to you in one of his more vulnerable moments that the white shock of hair on his head often served as a stark reminder of worse times, of the trauma and stress inflicted on his body. the admission gave you an idea, one that made boothill feel more than just a little bit exposed. he wasn’t accustomed to being looked after like this, with so much affection and love.

you began to make a routine out of it. every day you would do something with his hair—whether it was braiding it and tying it up intricately to make him feel pretty or simply combing through the strands and allowing them to cascade around his shoulders and down his back.

sometimes you would sit him in front of a mirror while you worked so that he could see exactly what you were doing in the moment. he didn’t quite understand how it all came together, but he found it fascinating to see how you twisted and weaved. at times, you were so focused on the hair in your hands that your brows would furrow, tongue poking out slightly between your lips. in the reflection, you genuinely looked like you were enjoying yourself.

even more noticeable to him was the expression you wore when you looked at him through the mirror. your gaze was so full of tenderness that his chest ached. he could swear that his heart actually skipped a beat. whenever that happened, you could see a flaring blush creep up his cheeks and into his ears, and you couldn’t help but laugh just a little bit at how endearing it was.

other times, you would settle on the couch, with him seated on the floor between your legs, adorning his hair with the cutest accessories, the two of you laughing and joking the whole time. you would delicately twist the locks back, securing them with pretty, multicolored clips that shone in the light.

when you were done, you would lead him slowly to a mirror, hands over his eyes, nearly stumbling over his legs as you walked behind him. you would pull your hands quickly from his face, revealing your handiwork, beaming with pride and grinning at how adorable he looked. he loved every minute of it—and every bit of you, he would think to himself as he turned to pick you up and spin you around, laughing in that deep voice of his. then he’d set you down gently, thanking you for your hard work with kisses sprinkled across your face.

days that were particularly trying for him would simply be spent in comfortable silence. when he didn’t feel like talking from the pain of it all, he would wordlessly lay his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his long locks. feeling your touch—the slight pull on his scalp, the tickle of shifting hair—it all made him feel so relaxed that he could melt right into your skin until you absorbed him fully into you. often, the combination of this and the gentle, steady beat of your heart would lull him to sleep, and seeing his expression ease and soften in these moments was all the reward you ever needed.

in the beginning, it was unclear whether this dedicated time spent caring for his hair was helping or not. over time, however, you noticed a glimmer in his eyes—something that told you he would be alright, despite everything.

pain still remained; it always would, but instead of constantly gazing at his reflection with grief, every once in a while you would catch a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. it was as if he was remembering how you hummed while placing those clips, or how he had teasingly whipped you with his hair on a more playful occasion, or any number of positive memories that you had put so much effort into lovingly crafting with him.

you were determined to do your best, slowly but surely, to lighten his burden—or at least help carry it. there was no reason for him to feel alone when he had you by his side. and if creating these happy memories was what you had to do in order to help him, well, you would gladly continue forever.

reblogs & interactions are appreciated! thank you for reading! <3 — txmxkis

#boothill x reader #boothill angst #boothill fluff #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail angst #honkai star rail fluff #hsr angst #hsr fluff #honkai star rail imagines #hsr imagines #x reader #reader insert #i just love him okay #i am running away now JWNEJDJWKDKSK #₊˚⊹⋆˚☂︎ rini writes.ᐟ ₊˚⊹⋆˚

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kimberly-spirits13 · 1 year ago

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SFW Fluff Alphabet w/ Jason Todd

A= How affectionate are they

he's like a teddy bear and wants to cuddle all the time

he always wants a kiss or a hug and wants you to know how much he loves you

Jason's affection knows no bounds- he makes sure that you feel great and are doing perfect and that everything in life is alright

Cold? He's got a hoodie and a blanket. Sad? He's a leather shoulder to cry on. Happy? He's happy too

he likes to be touching at any moment

On patrol you're rubbing shoulders and he's as close to you as possible without straight up hugging you, he's got a hang on your back, hand on your thigh, he's got both hands holding your hands, you two link pinkies, his hand is in your hair, his hand is on your cheek, any form of touch

B= Bond- What do you bond over

Jay really, really likes reading so if you're into reading, he wants to talk about it a lot

if you're not a reader, well surprise, you are now

hearing him talk so highly of his books makes you want to read, just so you can talk to him more about them

He likes to work on his bike and clean his weapons so if you're down to help him, he'd be so excited

if you also have a tragic backstory, get ready to trauma dump with each other

he's got a deep respect for those who have lived through terrible tragedies and are still functioning members of society (even if it's partial functioning)

C= Cuddles- How do they cuddle

Cuddle monster

like it's cheesy but it's how you describe him

he also loves sleeping on top of you with his head buried in your neck or using your chest as a pillow and he's got his arms wrapped tightly around you

he likes to be the big spoon since he finds it uncomfortable for someone his sized to be cuddled lol

he's a giant so just let him tuck you into his chest and snooze away

he likes to cuddle in minimal clothing sometimes, not in a sexy way but in a he really likes having you close to him at all times

plus, he's a space heater so it's not like you're going to get cold

D= Domestic- What are they like domestically

he loves being domestic

you two have a nice medium sized apartment with a guest room or two and your bedroom and an office maybe with a big kitchen and living room and a washer and dryer room

He makes bank on that criminal mastermind gig

Plus, if you're working, it helps being dual income

He really likes cleaning around the house and you think it's a stress reliever for him

there are temporary dance breaks during cleaning and he likes to dip you down and kiss you to whatever song is playing- he secretly finds it adorable when you dance on his feet and he will not complain, but don't tell a soul deary

he really really really likes to cook too

Your place always smells like a master piece and Jason really likes going to William Sonoma

it's the fanciest place that he will willingly go to

E= Ego- How much do they think about themselves in a relationship

He's got boundaries like a normal human being, but the dude is really selfless

Jason just wants everything to be alright and he is able to make compromises where they need to be made

the one thing that he really, really cares about is making sure that his weapons, bike, helmet, and things are all in check

I wouldn't recommend going around and messing with anything unless you have to

Like he's not going to be mad at you, but Jason just prefers that that stuff gets left alone unless specifically told otherwise

F= Fights- How are they during and after fights

fights are few and in between but when they happen, they happen

it's not really ever over anything small because you can quickly just talk it out with Jason

if it's over something like a mission or safety or doing something reckless, it's a big fight

he doesn't yell, he hates yelling at you, but his eyes go dark and he's so angry

he's probably clenching his jaw and just has to take a minute to cool off at some points

"I'm not ignoring you, I just can't talk about this while I'm this angry about it."

and he'll go on a brisk walk to cool off

he comes back and sits down and talks about it less angry

Alfred once told him, "it's not you against Y/N, it's you and Y/N against the problem. Don't be upset with each other that you have differing views or wants, that's how humans work, we're all different. Anger only gets grown men into bat costumes Master Jason."

G= Growth- How does your relationship change them

Jason actually becomes more secure in himself

it's like you've taught him that he deserves to be loved, so it's easier for him to accept that he doesn't hate himself

he's more patient, more deliberate with the things that he does and says and because of this, he comes home from patrol less and less injured

H= Hugs-What are hugs like

big bear hugs

he likes to engulf you and make sure that you're not leaving for a little while

He likes all kinds of hugs because it means that he's close to you, but he prefers the ones that turn into cuddle sessions

he'll run his hands through your hair or scratch your back

sometimes when he's having a bad day, he just needs to burry his head in the crook of your neck and have you whisper that it's going to be alright

I= I love you- How fast did it take for them to say II love you

he doesn't say it too fast, but he also doesn't take forever to say it

It's maybe like a year or a bit less into dating and he has to leave for a mission

You were either not going to go because you're not a vigilante, or you needed to stay behind to make sure that some crime mob wasn't starting back up

He says "I love you" when he's about to leave

He doesn't want to leave you, but he knows he has to

He hugs you so tight when you say it back

it means the world to him that you care about him like that

it's a rib crushing soul and he thinks about it the entire mission

J= Jealousy- How jealous are they

I'd say he can be pretty jealous but also he's easily leveled off

if someone is taking your attention and he's not getting as much as usual, he inserts himself into conversations or situations like a Golden Retriever

he just kinds of sits there and stares at your or rubs circles on your hang until you give him attention

If it's someone flirting with you, he likes to make some sort of show out of it

If there's someone flirting with you at a gala (which happens a lot), he pulls you in for a dance and kissing you in the middle of the dance floor

You know what he's doing but you're not going to deny it are you

K= Kisses- How do they kiss/ where do they like to be kissed

He likes to be kissed everywhere

his shoulders, his abs, his collarbone, his neck, behind his ear, his cheek, the forehead, on the lips

you name it

he really prefers a real kiss though

that's his go to

L= Love language- What’s their love language

quality time and physical touch

he just wants you

Jason would melt into you at any moment if it meant he got to be close to you

He wants to spend time with you, even if you're not doing the same thing, and he wants his body touching yours somehow

M= Mornings- What are mornings with them like-

he's the kind of guy that sets an early alarm if he has to get up so that he can cuddle

mornings are basically always slow and warm and cozy

he likes to cuddle in the morning and have himself wrapped around you

sometimes before bed, he turns the AC colder so that when you wake up, you have to be close together to keep warm

if he wakes up before you, he'll either go back to sleep, or he plays with your hair until you wake up

N= Nicknames- What are their nicknames for you

doll

babe

love

darling

hottie

hot stuff

angel

love

O= On Patrol- What’s it like being on patrol with them

He likes to keep a close eye on you

You have to learn that it's not because he doesn't trust you, it's because he's always worried about the people he loves getting hurt or dying

he wants to make sure that at any moment something goes South, he's there to protect you

he flirts a lot on patrol

He also likes cracking jokes while he's busting skulls

it's one of the more morbid things he does

he likes to team up on patrol and always wants to know what you're doing and how you're doing

the two of you will often be seen near the bank building eating fast food perched on the ledge

he'll totally take you to his favorite gargoyle don't worry

P= PDA- What’s their stand on PDA

loves PDA, loves touching you

he's not gross about it like he's never making out with you in front of a crowd but he's always got an arm around you or a hand on your thigh

There are plenty of pap pictures of him with his arm wrapped around your shoulder while talking to you or glaring at something/ someone

if you're also famous for something, the paparazzi are always there but ten fold the intensity if you weren't famous

articles are always being written about Gotham's favorite couple

America's favorite couple if you're big enough

Q= Quirks- What are their quirks

he really likes to keep things really, really clean

usually your house is spotless because he's cleaning up after himself and you do the same

sometimes partners just get comfy and leave their crap everywhere

not Jason, he's clean as can be, not because he's uncomfortable around you, but because it's comforting for him to be in a non chaotic space

you know that he's stressed when he starts leaving things everywhere

R= Remember- Do they remember the details or the big picture

Jason remembers everything down to the final detail

there's like an always open compartment in his brain that filters and sorts the information about you and your relationship

he knows what you like and dislike, who you're beefing with at all times, what flavor candies are your favorite, what food you don't like, if there's a spice you don't like, he knows how you prefer your clothes and what color metal for jewelry you prefer, he knows how you like the recoil on your guns if you have any, he remembers the washing detergent that you use and the dryer sheet scent and brand

man knows everything

it's like that one kid that just knows random, niche information that no one expects them to know

he knows it allll

S= Security- How do you two feel around each other

he feels so safe and free around you

he just knows that if there is a problem, you'd be able to handle it

If there was a moment when he was taken out, he knows you'd protect him somehow

he gets all soft around you and he feels comfortable letting his guard down

You can trust that he's always there for you and that no matter what, he's going to be there for you

Jason is loving and attentive and wants to take care of you in any way possible

T= Taste- what do they prefer in a partner

he needs someone that can keep up with him

he's an intellectual, even if doesn't seem like it

he's an analytical person and needs someone that can have conversations with him and be on his level

Like you really don't have to be a straight A student because not all smart people are straight A students

I mean come on, Albert Einstein was reported to be a bad student and he's a genius

he also wants someone that puts some care into themselves

if you're running around without a care in the world, stepping into oncoming traffic because you don't care, it's going to stress him tf out

U= Understanding- How understanding of you are they

Jason is extremely understanding of life

I mean it's screwed him over a few times so he knows that it can get difficult

Jason also needs someone that is understanding of him

they understand why he maybe doesn't want to watch IT, or he sleeps a lot when he can, or he doesn't like loud noises and ticking sounds

Jason being understanding though doesn't mean that he's easy to use

Oh he understands alright

he understands that he hates the people that try and use him for gain

V= Value- What do they value most in a relationship

Jason values someone that will be just as enthusiastic about something as he is

He loves someone that wants to be around him and talk to him

he need someone that he can vent to without judgement

he needs someone that respects his personal boundaries (as any normal human is like)

he needs someone that can understand that even if sometimes he messes up, he's really, really trying to turn out better than he was told he would become

W= Work- Do they balance their work schedule well around your relationship

he's pretty good at balancing work around your relationship

it helps if you're a vigilante too

sometimes things comes up and he has to skip a date or comes home extra late and he really, really hates it and feels so bad about it

he's sure to call and text you all the time to make sure that you never get stood up somewhere or that you know what he's doing and what his intentions are

He never wants you to feel like you're being left behind or put on the back burner

X= Xtra- Extra headcannons

He's got good taste when it comes to interior design

he got an apartment where he did to make sure that it would always have sunlight during the day

I'd say he's a handy person too

I mean he worked with Bruce his entire life and does mechanics, he can't be that bad at fixing a bad pipe or general maintenance

Y= Yearning- How much do they miss you when you’re apart

Jason hates LOATHS being without you

if you're out of town for a mission or something, he doesn't sleep well and he struggles to chill out

he's always on edge wondering if there's something wrong that needs fixing

whenever you're reunited, he's all over you

the "never leaving you again" mentality

he's not obsessive but he really, really misses you when you're gone

like his other half or one of his lungs is missing

Z) Zeal- How dedicated or enthusiastic about the relationship are they

when he's serious about something, he's all in it

he loves being around you and making leaps in your relationship

he values your company and everything that you have to offer and he just thinks that you're the greatest thing to exist since indoor plumbing

there's no cheating, no longing looks at someone else, there's nothing that indicates anything going on between him and someone else

He's just there for you and that's it

he is yours and yours only and that's how he prefers it to be

#dc x reader #dc comics #dc characters #batfam x reader #batboys x reader #batfam #jason todd x reader fluff #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #red hood x you #red hood fluff #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood

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violetasteracademic · 3 months ago

Note

What do you think about the passive language used in azriel’s bonus chapter? Azriel says he found himself entering the foyer right before elain comes and then he finds himself in the library at 7.

Oooooh my darling anon. You have me giddy and kicking my feet with excitement to talk about this! Once again, a simple anon ask has spiraled into a deep crack theory post. This is a long one!

I love this bonus chapter so much. The prose are some of her loveliest work and the treasure trove of details is simply masterful. And I'm so excited about where I think the story is headed.

I definitely understand what you mean regarding passive language: there's a sense of everything happening without intention. In fact- he is explicitly acting against his "every intention." but the devil is in the details. As you said, the bell chime for the seven pm service. The exact same bell chime from when Nesta attended a service and was lulled into non-con scrying session with ancient songs. Ones Clotho just happened upon below level seven of the library one day in a random stack of books. Azriel giving away Elain's necklace to G/wyn or any other priestess who would like it after meaning to return it to the store. There's so much to get into but for the sake of keeping this post a reasonable length (which I still failed at anyway), I am going to hone in on what is, in my opinion, the most important line in the entire G/wyn section of the bonus chapter:

For whatever reason.

One of the most difficult parts about writing is that it is so easy to get hung up on a catch phrase or a certain way of describing things. Whether it is through our subconscious minds, or more intentional developmental edits, there are phrases that invoke something very specific and it is hard not to re-use them. I struggle with this. SJM has definitely come under fire for this as well.

For whatever reason has been used 13 times in the entirety of ACOTAR including the bonus chapter (it takes .5 seconds to type it into the search bar on Kindle and it displays the number count up top, this is not as unhinged as it sounds 🫣) and two of those times were regarding G/wyn, three were regarding the Priestesses, and every single time it was used to express that there is hidden information at play- be in magic, motivations, or machinations- something out of character, or something we do not yet understand. It essentially means that there is a reason, but it is not being revealed.

All of Azriel's passive actions and the little parallels between Azriel's experience with G/wyn and Nesta's experiences in the book (hearing G/wyn's song calling to her, her power rumbling in response to G/wyn, the glow, so on and so forth) are also connected through this line:

Azriel:

Nesta:

If we trust that for whatever reason does in fact indicate that there is a reason, there is an oft overlooked detail that also connects Nesta and Azriel's experience on page: G/wyn's breath.

In Nesta's for whatever reason moment, G/wyn is guiding her through the Valkyrie breathing technique. Nesta continues to focus on G/wyn's breath, which leads her to feeling this rush of thinking about how amazing G/wyn is, how she is good at everything, and somehow nothing about it irks the easily irked Nesta. G/wyn's breath settles her and leaves her content to be there:

Contented. Calm. Distant. Stilled. Resting. These are all of the sensations listening to G/wyn's breath creates. Now let's look at Azriel:

Azriel's shadows hear the silent music in G/wyn's breath. Suddenly, Azriel and his shadows are calm. Content. Stilled. Resting.

Even more interesting? Both of these moments occur after deeply painful moments with Elain. For Nesta, this takes place after Elain calls her out for focusing on what Elain's trauma did to her. Azriel is obviously wrecked from being ordered away from Elain. Then they both find themselves with G/wyn, there is a pointed experience of them interacting with her breath, and they are suddenly distantly removed from the situation that was ailing them mentally. Settled, calmed and feeling abnormally giddy over thoughts of G/wyn and how amazing she is and how happy they are to make her happy- for whatever reason.

Now, if you are still with me, we are REALLY going to get into some crack theory.

I do not believe that it is a coincidence that in a book where Nesta and Cassian were the two POV's, only Nesta and Azriel experienced G/wyn's lulling effects. We are dipping into major HoFaS spoilers here, so stop now if you don't want to move ahead!

In HoFaS, we learned the Cauldron has been corrupted by the Asteri. They pooled their power into it so that it would work their will. I think there is likely a push and pull for power within the Cauldron itself between the dark corruption of the Asteri and the original power of fate and creation by the Mother. Both entities exist within the Cauldron, if you will. We also learn that Truth-Teller was made in the Cauldron as a weapon against the Asteri. But we also learn that Azriel himself was a weapon crafted by the Asteri:

I believe this is in reference to Shadowsingers, but either way, there is a suggestion that whoever- what ever- Azriel is, it was crafted by the Asteri.

I also believe that whatever Nesta stole from the Cauldron was not the power that the Mother had gifted to Elain when it recognized her, perhaps the Archeron bloodline (let's not forget the Bone Carver's words about salvation laying dormant in a human bloodline), but the dark corruption of the Asteri.

No longer just a tool of creation, but a deadly tool of destruction. Nesta's power of death. And Silene's parents turned the horrors it produced to their advantage. I assume this is in reference to Truth-Teller, the knife that can unmake things which was created the Starborn bloodline to defeat the Asteri:

A tool not of creation, but of destruction. Unmaking.

I absolutely love Azriel and Nesta's friendship, but I also think there is something deeper going on here. I think Nesta and Azriel both experience the weight of the darkness of the Asteri's powers. Yes, they both have trauma. But they also are deeply unsettled people who fight incredibly hard against the darkness that weighs on them.

I believe both Nesta and Azriel carry the literal corruption of the Asteri, and it is something only they, and not the rest of their family, has to fight. They are doing it. And they also lean on each other in a very deep and beautiful way.

UGH. I love them, Your Honor.

I also believe that Nesta gave back her corrupted powers at the end of ACOSF (hopefully). And the mother interrupted her giving back all of her power, leaving only what the Mother intended remaining. Nesta seems much calmer and more settled in HoFaS, and while we can attribute it to her emotional growth, I think again it is extremely important that Nesta and Azriel, the only two characters to have been affected by G/wyn's luring, were also the main characters in the crossover where the corruption of the Cauldron is revealed.

Okay- but what does this have to do with G/wyn? I know, I know, G/wyn's lightsinger theory is the most accepted theory. And it might be true. But I also don't think it is everything. There is more going on here, and something that specifically leaves Nesta and Azriel susceptible. Nesta was also welcomed to the library to work with the priestesses in ACOSF for whatever reason.

I have made a few posts now about the Priestesses as the likely next mini villains in the upcoming ACOTAR book in alliance with Vallahan. You can read those here and here if you are interested. But I believe the invoking stones of the priestesses might come into play. In this case, what is occurring isn't specific to G/wyn, and I don't believe that she is the only one that could have this affect on Azriel and Nesta. Or maybe it's both, her lightsinger abilities allow her to lure while the invoking stones allow her to lull. Either way, there is a wider picture of the Priestesses and the secret powers they hold involved.

G/wyn believes that the stones are filled with the power of the Mother, and can only be used to protect and not harm. However, Ianthe also used her invoking stone (that was my interpretation, anyways) to lull guards to sleep. Feyre also questions if the invoking stones contain power far deadlier. Lucien confirms that the power the priestesses hold can be utterly lethal if they choose it.

If the invoking stones are also Cauldron Made, then they too carry both life and death. Creation and destruction. Protection and harm. I truly believe that G/wyn is completely ignorant to her own power, what the stones are capable of, and what the intentions of some of the corrupt Priestesses are. To destroy the rule of the High Lord's and regain their power:

The feminist in me is like yes queens, get off your knees and take your power back. But in this context, I think we can safely assume this is not a good thing, as we know many of the High Priestesses are also corrupted and do not have good intentions.

I think there is a lot of evidence that the like calls to like occurring very specifically between Azriel, Nesta, and G/wyn, might have less to do with the (very fair and again possibly correct) theory that G/wyn is a light singer and much more to do with the warped power of the Asteri. I think it is most likely Gwyn is not a villain, nor has any impure intention in her heart. But she does believe in her religion, in the Priestesses, and that they solely enact the power of the Mother for good. That leaves her in a position to be easily manipulated by the "promise" of greater good. The sole fact that she doesn't even think the invoking stone or power of the priestesses is capable of harming when we know otherwise says a lot about her indoctrination.

I also don't even know if G/wyn will specifically play a role in what I assume will be the future luring and lulling of Azriel, or if she was just a deeper representation of the power the priestesses hold. Either is definitely possible.

So yes, Azriel was acting out of character, a bit dazed and passive and almost in a trance. Just as he and Nesta had both experienced around G/wyn before.

For whatever reason.

#elriel #pro elriel #elain and azriel #elriel theories

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builtbybrokenbells · 7 months ago

Text

Rotten Apple | JTK

Karmic relationships indicate feeling or expressing a passionate response very early on in a relationship. Oftentimes, instant chemistry is mutually felt. Sometimes, the drain of that connection or addiction to a partner is described as exhausting rather than feeling calmly settled in a grounded partnership. (Elizabeth Keohan, LCSW-C, LICSW, LCSW)

Listen while reading: (the entire fic is based off this song so I highly suggest at least reading the lyrics before reading 😁)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 16k

Warnings: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS BEFORE READING AS THIS STORY COULD BE POTENTIALLY HARMFUL/UPSETTING TO SOME READERS//SMUT 18+, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), sir kink, choking, touch of orgasm denial, dom/sub, possessiveness, jealousy, degradation, name calling, praise, rough sex, toxic themes/relationships, heavy implications/explanations of cheating/infidelity, actual cheating/infidelity, chronic cheaters, gaslighting/manipulative phrases, fighting, arguing, crying, insulting, mentions of bad relationships/relationship trauma, mistresses/home wrecking, self hatred/self sabotage, remorse/regret, depression, anxiety, (lots) angst, (some) fluff, drinking, swearing, sorry if i miss any!

and im back 😙 please tread carefully with this one if any of the aforementioned warnings are personal to you. this definitely isn’t some people’s cup of tea! aside from that, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🤍 (so sorry, very lightly edited. just wanted to get this posted so i can keep going with more stuff 😁) (also another side note, I do not condone cheating at all. was just an idea that sparked some creativity is all)

Innocence is over

Hey ah na na, over

Ignorance is spoken

Hey ah na na, spoken

Confidence is broken

Hey ah na na broken

Sustenance is stolen

Hey ah na na, stolen

Arrogance is potent

Hey ah na na, potent, yeah

“Y/N!” Your name screamed over the busy chatter of the crowd around you, catching your attention and turning your head.

House parties had always been so overrated, and since high school, it seemed the scene hadn’t changed a bit. Even in your late twenties, the spill of alcohol on the floor made your soles sticky and the haze in the air choked you as you breathed. The home you were in was familiar, but certainly not comfortable, and the memories that lived inside the walls were haunting as they flashed before your eyes. The crowd of people around you only made it harder to escape the stalemate remembering had put you in. Still, you pushed a smile on to your face, holding the hand in yours a little tighter as you marched forward toward the greeting.

So many questions flooded your mind as you closed in on the perpetrator of your punishment. You knew they would all be here; they invited you, after all. The text message exuding formalities and lacking substance was the whole reason you stepped foot in the door in the first place, and you knew without a doubt that they would be waiting to greet you soon as you showed.

Well, three of them, anyway.

You swallowed your pride, leading your company through the swarm of bodies. The weaving was tiresome, and you had only just begun navigating your way through an exhausting journey. It was too early to be tired, too soon to be so cynical, yet it was all you could do. Something about the story was too repetitive for you to believe the night would end any differently than you imagined when you received the invitation.

The questions continued to beat against your skull, twisting around the guitar riffs and raspy voices flowing through the speakers in the living room. It made for a violent pair, and your eyes began aching from the pressure behind them. Your body was telling you it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t listen. You had faith that the night would be different, that you would be different, stronger than you were before.

You could turn around, submit to your already guilty conscience and run out the door. You could pretend you never heard your name at all, and more importantly, pretend you never read the message in the first place. You responded too fast to a person who should have been long deleted from your contact list, but if you played the game well enough, you could climb out of the hole you already dug yourself in. You could come out on top of this, you could conquer the world that previously held you back from succeeding. All it took was turning around, leaving, walking away from him.

For some reason, your feet continued forward, neglecting every warning your psyche could give. They carried you far enough that you landed before the person you knew you should walk away from.

No, not the person.

Just the closest one to him.

“Hey, Josh.” His name felt like poison on your tongue, already seeping through the gaps of your teeth and searing holes into the flesh. You could feel the pain deep into your jaw, running down the back of your throat and circling around your neck. The sensation was lethal, but it was addicting. Something about the brothers made you a sucker for the pain. You hated the names now, but you hated yourself more for never having the willpower not to speak them.

“I’m glad you came! I didn’t really think you would message me back.” He confessed, leaping forward and extending his arms outward.

He wanted a hug, innocent and warm, a sure way to greet you with all of the love he still had for you.

To you, it was none of those things. Instead, it served as a reminder of your catastrophic failures and the life you once lived. A life that was painful, ugly and cruel, but still seemed shiny, like a dream you craved to see in your deepest sleep. The person that used to hug Josh Kiszka was not someone you wanted to be, but it was someone you could not escape, someone who only showed herself when she was around him. You could not be around Josh without being near him, too, and for that reason alone you had pinned Josh with his brothers crimes, too.

Still, your arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him closer and torturing yourself with the scent of his cologne. As his arms closed in around you, the anguish of the familiar touch nearly sent you to your knees.

It wasn’t the same, but it was the closest thing to what you truly wanted.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I figured I’d stop by and say hi at least.” You replied, your head still swimming with uncertainty over the interaction. “I should probably be on my way soon, anyway. I can’t stay long.”

“Oh come on, stay a while! Don’t leave yet, you just got here!”

What game was he playing?

He knew the consequences of your presence in their lives, and he was lighting a match that would fuel an unstoppable fire.

“Maybe just for a little while.” You gave a soft smile, hiding your longing for the connection you had so long ago. His words were kind, more generous than they should be, but the weight of your past mistakes were heavy between you.

Maybe that was why you didn’t have the heart to turn him down. Subconsciously, you were stuck in some repetitive cycle of trying to right wrongs you were not fully responsible for.

“Who is this, anyway?” Josh turned to the man standing next to you, eyeing him carefully as he took in the sight before him. His gaze traveled from his face down to his arm, piecing it together once he saw your fingers still interlocked with his.

“This is Cole…” you said, slowly while Josh’s eyes moved back to meet your own. “My boyfriend.” You didn’t need to say the word. The implication was already painfully obvious, and all you did was rub salt in your open wounds.

Why did you bring him with you?

Why did you come at all?

“I see,” Josh grinned, but it was just as fake as your own cheeriness. You were both thinking the same thing, without a doubt for the future when the night came to an end. “It’s nice to meet you, Cole. I’m Josh.” He extended his hand for your new boyfriend to shake, the formality only slightly off putting as Josh’s eyes remained locked with yours.

‘Not tonight, Josh. Not this time.’ You tried to plead with him, silently telling him that tonight would be different than all the ones that came before. ‘It’s different now. You have to believe me.’

He did not, and you could not blame him. You did not even believe yourself.

By the end of the night, your relationship with the boy beside you would be no more. Jake Kiszka would see to that, and your undying desire for him would solidify it. It was a matter of time before you crossed his path, and not long after that would the incessant cycle resume exactly where it left off.

“Nice to meet you man.” Your boyfriend's voice was cheerful, and unlike yours, genuine. If only he knew the hurt he would endure, he would have left long before he ever experienced love at your hands.

No matter how hard you tried, it always ended the same way. No matter who it was, they were never able to compare to the boy who forever stole your heart.

“So how do you two know each other?” Cole asked, looking down at you now. You bit the tip of your tongue, standing stoic for a moment as you tried to come up with a quick lie. Without being too obvious, you tried to silently warn Josh to keep his mouth shut. You should have known better.

You have always known better.

“She’s never told you about Jake?” Josh laughed, finding the notion incredulous. He was too drunk to lie, but it wasn’t like he could ever do it sober. Your cheeks flushed and your eyes pointed towards the floor, feeling your heart jump to your throat and your head begin to ache. The poison of Jake’s name melted your tongue entirely, leaving you wordless and unable to defend yourself.

“Jake?” Your boyfriend asked, wearily speaking the name aloud as if it were a curse he was desperate to avoid. “Your uh… your ex?” He wanted clarification, or assurance that he was wrong, but it was something you could not give to him because he was right.

“Y-yeah.” You choked out, feeling your throat begin to close and air become scarce. “This is his brother.”

Innocence is over

Cole formed a tight-lipped smile, but did not let go of your hand. In an instant, he understood that attending the house party was not a mindless effort at a drunken date. He was not meeting your old friends, and he was not out to have a good time. Instead, the intent ran much deeper, and he was being used in a pissing contest for bragging rights to the ex he had always felt inferior to.

You wanted to assure him it wasn’t like that, but it was, and speaking would get you no further ahead of the game.

Why would Josh tell him? Why would he say it like that, as if Jake was the reason why you were there?

You closed your eyes, silencing your brain for a moment as you digested the truth.

Jake was the reason why you were there, and he was trying to spare Cole the heartbreak.

“He was barely an ex, Cole. You know that.” You spoke, bargaining with the distaste already forming in his heart.

Out of all of the dishonesty you had already dealt, that was the truth. An ex was not what you would classify Jake as, because you barely dated him. In fact, you hadn’t really dated him at all. You spent weeks secluded behind the walls of the very house you stood in now, nights wrapped up in him, tainting his sheets with the smell of your shampoo, but you were never his girlfriend.

You wanted to believe that if you had stayed just a little while longer, gave him a little bit more, maybe you would have been, but holding on to that belief was painful more than it ever served a comfort.

“Right,” he whispered, his hand still in yours. It felt wrong, just like it had the first time he ever held it. Cole never should have been in the middle of this, because he never should have been yours at all. You had no idea why you ever said yes to the title of girlfriend, because you never wanted it, and you had no idea why you invited him here tonight, especially knowing how it would end.

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see Jake, I came to see you.” You said, pointing the finger at Josh to get yourself out of the spotlight. “You asked me, remember? What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t come to celebrate your new album?” You forced another smile, begging them both to believe that’s why you really showed up. Cole seemed to relax slightly at the sound of your words, but his chest still ached at the idea of being in Jake Kiszka’s house.

Was Josh encouraging you to fall back into old habits? Was Josh playing martyr for a cause that would only hurt everyone in the crossfire?

You could not believe he wanted to see you, because if he missed you so much, he would have shown up at your door. You would have went for coffee or shared dinner like you did so many times before, but instead he invited you to a party hosted by the one man you needed to stay away from.

“The worst.” He joked, playing along with your poor excuses. An awkward silence hung heavy between the the three of you. Nobody knew what to say, because no words could ever turn the conversation to a positive tone.

“Did you want a drink, baby?” Cole asked, looking over his shoulder to the liquor bottles on the kitchen table. You followed his gaze, eager for him to leave you alone so you could pry into Josh’s head.

“Yes, please.” You nodded, giving him a smile.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He said, clearly looking for a way out of the tense situation.

“I’ll be right here.” You promised. He seemed reluctant to leave you, but after a shared glance and silent reassurance, he retreated to the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Josh again, desperate for an answer.

“Why did you invite me, Josh?” You asked, your tone turning grievous in an instant. The sweetness you held seconds before disappeared without a trace.

“He wanted me to.” Josh admitted, giving a shrug of his shoulder. “I didn’t know you’d bring a date.” He continued, his words more accusatory than you liked.

“Is it a crime?”

“When you know the consequences, yeah.” He answered, truthful with his response. “Listen, I’m happy to see you, Y/N. Whatever the fuck happens between you and Jake is none of my business. You’re my friend, and I’m glad you came, but I do think that you should be mindful of him before anything happens.”

“I’m not here to see Jake, Josh. I came because you invited me, because we’re friends. Remember, before all of this shit happened?”

“How could I forget?” He chuckled, thinking back fondly on the memories. Josh had been your friend first, the whole reason you knew Jake at all, but after all of the pain, your friendship with him seemed to get lost in the mess. “As much as I’d like to believe that you’re here to see me, we both know it’s not true.” He paused, thinking carefully before he spoke again. “And as much as I don’t want your new guy to get hurt, it would be nice to see you and Jake catch up, especially after it ended the way it did.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to him, Josh.” You crossed your arms over your chest, accentuating the cleavage in your already skimpy dress. You had picked it with Jake in mind, even if you would never admit it.

“You have lots to say, mama. We all know that.”

With that, a body presented itself beside you again and a drink was being offered to you. You sent Josh a pointed stare, letting the action finish the conversation for good. Josh nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze before walking away.

Cole noticed, and you couldn’t blame him for his questioning gaze, but it did irritate you beyond belief. He was treading in waters too dangerous to survive.

Instead of asking, he opted to keep quiet in fear of the answer he would receive.

Ignorance is spoken

“It’s really nice of you to support Josh like that, even after Jake fucked you over.” Cole said, sending a small smile your way. You took a moment to admire him, his beauty, and his bare-faced stupidity.

“We’ve been friends for a long time. It’s the least I could do.” You shrugged, brushing off his sweet sentiments.

Cole knew you were not there to support Josh, but he was forcing himself to believe it. It was easier for him to digest, thinking that your intentions were friendly and honest. When he focused on the alternative for too long, he thought he would be sick.

Before you could respond, you were pulled into a whirlwind of emotion as your eyes fixated on something within the crowd. In the distance, you saw a flash of familiar brown hair. The sight made your stomach turn and your palms turn clammy.

He wanted you to come.

Josh’s words repeated in your head, making it hard to think of anything else. Jake wanted you there. He asked for you. He knew you would never answer if he asked you himself, because you had never been keen on giving him what he wanted.

That was yours and Jake's biggest problem; you wanted too much from each other, and neither of you had ever been very generous. He wanted more than you could give, and you wanted what he could not provide.

Despite knowing that about yourselves, there was this incessant temptation in both of your minds, forcing you to believe that you were the best the other could ever get, even if it never worked out, and even if all it ever caused was pain.

The familiar head was not pointed in your direction, but you were certain it would be soon. The two of you had an awful attachment to one another, the bond extending into the realm of spirituality and likely even far beyond it. If you walked in a room, he knew, no matter how far away or how invested he was in something else. If you left, your absence hung heavy in the air and haunted him, even if he did not witness you leave. He was completely in tune with you, knowing your next move without you saying a word.

Even if you tried to ignore it, you knew you felt it just the same when it came to his presence and absence.

He was a habit you couldn’t kick, a guilty pleasure and an addiction far more lethal than one to substance. You would search for him in every room, cry out for him and him alone in the darkest nights, and long for his company after he disappeared from sight. His voice was like venom, seeping under your skin and tainting the blood supply the minute it reached your ears. His eyes, easy to get lost in and your definite demise.

He was not good for you, and he never would be, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting him. He was the most karmic relationship you’d ever engaged in, punishing you for wrongs you’d committed long before you met him. At the same time, he was making you engage in far more at his hand than you ever believed possible. You didn’t want to want him, but it was impossible to deny. The thought of not needing him was obsolete, because you never knew a moment of peace after he walked into your life.

You could not be with him, and you knew even in the future it would never be in your cards, either. For some reason, even while knowing he was actively ruining your life, you jumped at the chance to love him one more time. You destroyed every opportunity given to you in favor of his twisted agenda, and you did it without regret or second thought. New relationships blossomed after he walked away from you, and failed when he decided to walk your way again. You needed to stay away, to put a boundary in place, but you loved his sin too much to refute it.

You had slowly come to terms with the fact Jake Kiszka would be your kryptonite until you took your dying breath. He was inescapable, and even if you would never truly be his, he would always have a part of you.

No, he would always have all of you, but he would never be yours to keep.

And just like the world ensured it a million times before, the head turned, and the familiar brown eyes seemed to be staring into your soul once more.

You couldn’t run, because he would always find you. You couldn’t run to him, because the boy by your side would know the truth behind the situation you had been trying so hard to keep a handle on. You were stuck, glued to the floor and locked in position until he decided to walk your way.

He was in control, and always had been. Since the moment you met him, you were happy to leave your fate in his hands, blindly trusting a man who only ever did what he could to fuck you over.

You couldn’t see all of his face, but you knew how beautiful he looked despite the crowd standing in his way. You could picture it crystal clear, the pout of his lips and the heavy-lidded eyes filled with lust. You knew the wrinkled furrow of his brow better than anything else in the world, and the softness of his skin and how good it felt under your touch.

As he stared, only his eyes visible to you, you knew he was envisioning all the same things.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Cole asked, his voice concerned. His hand on your back was excruciating, the overwhelming feeling of wrongness growing by the second.

You wanted to tell him, to send him away before he met the same fate as everyone who came before him, yet you couldn’t bear the thought of confessing all of your secrets to him. Some small part of you even believed you could avoid it this time, even whilst you felt the gravitational pull all the way across the room and through the crowd. You wanted to be the good guy and spare him, and you wanted to be the best person and end the cycle, but you knew neither would happen.

There were two reasons why you could not do those things; one being that Jake Kiszka made you into the worst version of yourself, and two, he was walking towards you now with no intent to slow.

“I-I’m okay,” you tried to assure him, but your voice was shaky and your words were weak. It did not take a genius to understand why, and as his eyes moved to look in the same direction of yours, his stomach was sick with fear. He did not know Jake by looks, but he knew you, and he knew that your pompous reaction would not be caused by anything other than him.

“Y/N, let’s go.” Cole said, trying to get you out of the situation before it began, but you were already in his sight, and there was no shying away. The hunter settled on prey, and you could only hope that Jake had enough kindness left in his heart to spare you from the suffering he so often inflicted upon you.

“I-I can’t.” You shook your head, noticing his grip move to your arm. He was trying to force you away, almost as if he knew his fate before it began to unfold.

“The fuck you can’t.” He scoffed, nudging you in the opposite direction of the man approaching you. “Let’s go.” He said again, harsher than the last.

You should listen.

You should leave.

It was too late, anyway. Your choosing of Jake over anyone else was a disaster, but it was something no outward intervention could have possibly changed. It was your own personal law, and when it came to a competition between Jake and anyone else, the contender always lost.

He was in front of you again. Months of static silence and breaking hearts, months of longing and yearning for something you could not have, finally came to a bitter end. It had been so long since you were face to face with Jake that you almost managed to forget how intoxicating his aura was. Almost, being the key word, because deep down you knew you would never forget a thing about him.

“Long time no see, sweetheart.” His voice was like liquid gold, washing down over you and curing any ailment that plagued you. The pout of his lip had only become more irresistible, and his chocolate coloured irises locked you in for eternity. Even if you wanted to leave, you knew it to be impossible.

“Could have kept it that way.” You replied, your lips turning down into a slight frown. Your eyes, though, told a much different story that he was quite privy to. You were good at keeping the feelings between the two of you a secret to anyone looking in, but inside, you were dying for him to touch you. Just once, just for a second so you could ascend to heaven again. It was a feeling only he could give, and you had been deprived of it for a long time, constantly in search of the high since his absence began.

“Right,” he chuckled, remembering your snarky tone all too well. “That’s why you came to my house? To bitch at me for saying hi?” His words were evil, and so was his tone, but you nearly went weak in the knees hearing the domineering voice once again. His eyes held emotion different from the venom of his words, and you could feel how thrilled he was to see you again.

“It wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t bitching at you for something, Jacob.” You reminded, keeping your expression stony so he could not use anything to his advantage.

“Of course, angel. It’s what I love most about you.” He smirked, nodding in agreement. You noticed his eyes flicker to the man beside you, the one holding your arm so tightly in hopes he could pull you away. Jake bit back a bigger smile, knowing there was nothing strong enough in the world to pull you away from him.

His black dress shirt was held together by the bottom three buttons. A fitted suit jacket was settled neatly atop it, but it was not screaming anything overly fancy. The cheap necklaces around his neck dumbed down the expensive clothing, but you cursed how remarkably well it worked together. His dress pants hugged his hips, and the tanned skin of his chest held your attention. It was not the clothes that sent you mad, but the fact you had before studied the beautiful intricacies that lie beneath.

“Are you going to introduce me to your little friend?” He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly, raising his eyebrow in inquiry.

Little was a term he used only to assert his dominance. Cole stood heads taller, and his shoulders were much wider, but in the moment, Jake appeared much bigger than the man beside you. His ego was so large that it left no space in the room for anyone else, and his confidence made Cole pale in comparison to him.

“Boyfriend.” Cole corrected, his jaw clenched and his grip on you growing tighter by the minute. At that, Jake laughed out loud, unable to hold his feelings on the matter. Cole swallowed back the bitter taste it left in his mouth, but opted not to respond.

“Okay.” Jake nodded, looking back to you for clarification. “Your boyfriend.” He reworded his question, putting emphasis on the term and making it painfully apparent he had no interest in talking to Cole at all.

“This is Cole.” Was all you said, your nostrils flaring slightly at Jake’s egotistical expression. As much as you craved for him to touch you, you weren’t blind to his abhorrent tendency towards cockiness.

“You move on quick, sweetheart.” He noted, glancing back at the other man for a moment. You scowled at his willingness to shame you for dating another when he was the one who drove you to it in the first place. Before you could comment on his misplaced belief, a blonde haired woman appeared beside him, making the situation all the more tense. You forced a smile on your lips, watching closely as she clumsily grabbed his arm, claiming her territory without a trace of humility.

“Seems like you do, too.” You shot back, biting down on the tip of your tongue hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste filled your senses, but the pain did nothing to deter the rise of anger in your chest.

She did not say a word, but she did not have to. She was the same to Jake as Cole was to you: a placeholder.

As much as you were a victim to Jake, he was just the same to you.

You moved on, found another to replace the hole he left in you when he walked away. He found her, hoping she would feel as good in his arms as you did, but she could never give him the same thing. She could try until the end of time, but both of you knew she could never come close.

“Was nice seeing you, Y/N. Don’t be a stranger.” His words were equal to a dismissal of the conversation, but his eyes spoke something completely different. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. He approached you with intent to start anew, and he would see through to it no matter who got caught in the crossfire.

He slung a lazy arm around her waist, giving you a subtle wink before pulling her off in the same direction they came.

You thought you were going to be sick, your entire body aching with the knowledge he was touching someone other than you. You wondered if you loving someone else plagued him with the same illness, or if he viewed it as a game. You constantly feared that he did not feel for you what you felt for him, but you’d always been too afraid to ask.

“What a fucking douchebag.” Cole muttered, only loosening his grip on you after Jake was out of sight. As he let go, you raised your opposite hand to the same spot, rubbing the sore skin where his fingers rested moments before.

“He’s not that bad, Cole.” The defense slipped out without a second thought, and his misplaced confidence was shattered entirely. You looked up at his face, wide eyed and regretful of your words, but the damage was done and a fight was unavoidable.

Confidence is broken

“Not that bad?” He echoed, practically scoffing the words out.

“Yeah, Cole. Not that bad.” You repeated, rolling your eyes. “He’s full of himself, yeah, but when you get to know him, he’s actually got a pretty good heart.”

“Good enough heart to fuck someone else in your bed?” He questioned, remembering the tearful stories you had told after too much wine. Your expression dropped, your heart plummeting to your stomach as you were forced into a memory you were committed to forgetting. “Did you actually come here to see him?”

“Yeah, he’s an alright person, but a shitty fucking boyfriend.” You nodded, swallowing back the lump forming in your throat. “Which is why I’m dating you, and not him.” You clarified, averting your gaze to the ground. “No, I didn’t come here to fucking see him, Cole.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered, realizing his harsh words were not needed.

At the same time, they were. You were playing the victim to avoid being the bad guy. You hated being the bad guy, and when it came to Jake, you couldn’t seem to escape the title.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” You forced the words through your teeth, feeling the whirlwind of memories wash over you like acid rain. Your skin burned as they continued to flow, and you knew that you would die before you could ever outrun them.

“Babe, come on.” He pleaded, reaching out for your shoulder to hold you in place. You shook him off as soon as his fingers connected with your body, stepping away without a second thought.

Without any regret, you left him amidst the swarm of people in the house of your ex whom you knew you’d end up in bed with by the end of the night.

Even though the thought normally settled your upset stomach, not even the promise of sex with Jake could cure the sickness that washed over you. Remembering was the biggest curse of your entire relationship, and unfortunately for you, most of your relationship was remembering. You went without him more often than you were with him, and even the sweetest of memories were tainted with sins and sourness.

You navigated your way to the bathroom blind, your sight ridden with pictures of Jake shirtless in your bed, and worst of all, shirtless in bed with someone else.

If not for you knowing the house so well, you would have gotten lost in the endless sea of flashbacks.

From the very beginning, yours and Jake’s relationship was bound to fail. It began from lies and deceit, and it would carry on the same way until the next bitter end.

“And this is my twin brother, Jake, and his girlfriend, Suzanne.”

“You can call me Suz,” she flashed you a breathtaking smile, extending her arm towards you.

You barely registered her hand in your face, nor her friendly introduction, because you were too busy gawking at the blinding beauty of the long haired man beside her. You cleared your throat, swallowing hard and blinking twice to bring yourself back to reality. Even as you reached to shake her hand, you were unable to focus on her. As disrespectful as it was, even if it was her boyfriend, he was someone who was meant to be admired.

Plus, his wandering eyes and lustful gaze made it all the more easy to completely discredit the woman offering you her kindness.

Of course, it started that night. It started the minute his eyes locked with your own, like an unavoidable omen of the horror you would soon endure. The connection was instantaneous, and the desire followed not far behind. Although you didn’t sleep with Jake the first night you met him, you were no better than a mistress without ever taking your clothes off.

It started with lustful glances, then came the flirting in secrecy. Within days, he was going out of his way to catch you in the hallway or alone in a room to profess his affection for you. Weeks after that, the touching began, slowly but surely. It started with a lingering hand on your back, or hugs that never should have been initiated at all. Then, his hands drifted closer to your hips, and even worse, your ass. The hugs lasted far too long, and his lips treaded dangerously close to your skin.

You hated thinking about what you did to that poor woman, the tearful eyes as she berated the two of you as one. She was kind, she was beautiful, and she deserved better, but Jake Kiszka had always been too much to resist. Now, he was a habit you could not kick.

Over the years, the women became countless, and then men from your relationships, too. Everyone else saw that you could never keep a relationship, but it ran far deeper than that. You did exceptionally well at hiding your affections, and even better at hiding your betrayals. Jake and you never felt the desire to commit to one another, so instead you ruined other people while you committed to your relationship in every way other than officially. You did not intend to hurt so many people, and you never planned to betray others on behalf of each other, but it always seemed to happen no matter how hard you tried to stay away.

And then one day, the two of you had enough. You had lost too much humanity on your endless quest to be with each other, sacrificing too many people in the process. You decided to try, to be with each other in an honest and sincere way, just to make the world a little bit better for each other. You wanted to love each other openly, without anything or anyone standing in the way.

But, you didn’t want to be in a relationship.

Exclusivity was agreed upon, but labels were tossed in the garbage. The two of you convinced yourselves you were happy with the arrangement, and for a while, you truly were. At first, you kept it very quiet. You went on dates and stayed the night at each others houses, but only rarely. Most of the time, it was quick hookups whenever you had the opportunity to do so.

Then, things changed, and in his opinion, for the worst.

Both of you fell in love, completely and utterly, without question or care. Your apartment was forgotten after weeks of you staying in his bed. You shared meals together, sat outside on the porch and watched sunsets and sunrises, and said I love you in every action, but never aloud. Jake was indefinitely intertwined in your life in every way possible, and you were happy with it, until he said the dreaded ‘L’ word aloud.

It slipped out, carefully and quietly while you laid in his lap on the couch, watching reruns of your favourite shows. At first, you thought you misheard him, but the silence that hung in the air told you the truth about his words.

You loved him too, and you cursed yourself for not being able to say it back. You thought that it was too much too soon, despite living with love surrounding you constantly. It scared you, and you reacted with fear, even with your heart screaming at you to stop.

You didn’t say it back, because you neglected labels and thought it was not possible to be in love because of that. And, true, genuine love scared the absolute shit out of you.

It scared him too, but he seemed to harness more courage in that moment than you had in your entire life. Instead of applauding him for it, you effectively slapped him in the face.

For a few days, things carried on like normal, but you could notice the tension in the air. Every day, you could tell he waited to hear it, that he needed you to say it back, but it never came. After a while, he began to pull away, showing the old Jake that made you fall in lust with him in the first place. There were no more shared meals, and definitely no more sunset gazing. The television was off more often than it was on, and the blankets on the couch remained neatly folded on the back. The bed felt empty, even when both of you lied in it, because the distance between you two grew larger by the day.

But the sex?

It was better than it had ever been.

You wanted to tell him that you loved him too, but you were so paralyzed with fear that the word got stuck in your throat every time you tried to speak. Instead, you let him distance himself, knowing you’d already pushed him too far away. You continued to fall more in love with him, and he forced himself to fall out of love.

Then, you came home to him in bed, but he was not waiting for you. Instead of anticipating your arrival, so you could live as roommates rather than lovers, you found him wrapped up in another woman who gave him more than you could in the moment.

It was tearful, angry, and loud. Things were thrown, shattered on the floor, and your throat was raw from belittling the man you had only ever wanted to love.

You had finally gotten the karma you had rightfully deserved, and you finally understood the horrible pain you had inflicted on so many others.

The story finally ended the same way it started, but the two of you never recovered.

You moved out, but you were never able to rid yourself of Jake Kiszka. Intermittently, drunken and sad, you’d show up at each others doorstep and give in to your needs once more. He hated himself for hurting you, and you hated yourself for letting it get to that point. Blame was abundant, and regret plentiful, but one thing never changed; the fact that you two never fully fell out of love.

Too fearful of hurting each other the same way again, you fell back into old habits. You and Jake could never commit to each other, but could never stop loving one another enough to put an end to your toxic ways and commit to someone else. The second time around, it was much more difficult, and a lot messier. Your secret-keeping abilities had greatly decreased, and worst of all, everybody knew how you felt about each other.

When he left for his last tour, ready to release a new album and move forward in his career, you took it upon yourself to try and end the curse indefinitely. You blocked his number, removed him from your life in the most brutal ways possible, and you never spoke to him again. You vowed to start over, to be better, to love someone properly without the memory of Jake Kiszka tainting it before it could begin, and you did well.

For a while, at least. Until Josh sent you the damned message that landed you at his house that night.

With a boyfriend who you’d been with for long enough to take a bigger step, you crawled back to Jake like a dog who’d been lost without him. All it took was a single glance, and you knew Cole would meet the same fate of so many others, and you would meet the same fate that would inevitably ruin your life.

Your hands gripped the countertop of the bathroom tightly, holding yourself upright as the grief did all it could to break your bones. Your chest was heavy, your heart aching and your mind overrun with thoughts of a man you could never fully comprehend. He hurt you, and you hurt him, but never enough to put a stop to it for good. There was something deeper, something so incomprehensibly strong tying your souls together, even if you wanted to sever the bond. You could run to the ends of the earth, away from him and all of the mistrust and deceit the two of you had created, but you knew you would run so far that you would end up behind him, whispering in his ear as you pleaded to start anew.

You looked up at the mirror, trying to understand the woman staring back at you. She was a stranger, a shell of the woman who existed before meeting Jake. She was barren, cold, and tired. She wanted to love, but could not love anyone other than him, no matter how hard she tried. The bathroom door was cracked open ever so slightly, the glow of the hallway light illuminating your tired features, only worsening the sorrow you had for your former self.

As if on cue, the door creaked open by the push of a hand. The yellow glow of the lightbulbs were blocked by a body, casting a shadow over the already dim room. You did not need to look to know who it was; you could feel his presence without ever seeing his face, and it was just as beautiful as you remembered.

No matter how much you hated yourself for the relentless cruelty you inflicted and endured, it could never amount to the love you held for him in your heart.

“What are you doing up here, all by yourself?” The words were sickly sweet, settling in your spine and relieving you of all the tension that gathered over the course of the night. Without even looking at his face, you felt yourself stepping towards him, gravitating to the one thing that continually held you to the earth.

Jake closed the bathroom door behind him, locking the two of you inside together, looking at your sad expression with the utmost regret in his heart.

If only he could do it right, to take back all of the wrongs that got you to where you were, he would do it in a heartbeat, for you.

But you had always been better off as a dirty little secret, and he made a much better whore than he did a lover.

“Waiting for you to come and find me.” You quipped back, covering the sadness in your eyes with a soft smile. He stepped towards you, meeting you in the middle. He reached forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he gazed down over your face.

“You look like a fucking whore.” He rasped, his voice quiet but not hateful. His eyes raked over your body, taking in your low cut dress revealing more of you than he’d seen in a long time. His hand dropped from your face entirely, instead reaching forward and anchoring itself on your hip.

You leaned closer, your painted lips barely hovering over his own. The warmth of his breath on your skin was enough to make you forget about your sadness, and any remorse for your actions fled the minute he touched you.

“You don’t like it?” You asked, pushing your bottom lip into a pout. It grazed his own, sending a rush of emotion straight through the both of you. In an instant, you were one again, two bodies combined into a single entity after being forced apart.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head ever so slightly at your dramatics. “You know better than that.” His other hand rose, settling on the back of your neck. The pressure of his hand on the base of your skull caused your head to tilt upwards towards his just a little more, just enough for him to see your eyes. “I love it.”

“Did you miss me, baby?” You asked, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting him alone. His cologne was suffocating, but it was so delicious that it helped you forget about the dying itself.

“Do I have to answer that?” He smirked, his body nearly completely pressed into your own. The space between you was non-existent, blatantly showcasing your lack of growth during your time apart.

Sustenance is stolen

“No, because I know you did.” Before the words even left your tongue, his lips were on yours in a heated reunion.

The sensation was euphoric, something you’d been searching for without ever realizing it. The whine that rattled your chest sent a shiver down his spine, only encouraging his bad behavior further. He drank in the sound like a man dying of thirst, desperate for a drop of anything you could give him. You were the only woman in the world who could do such things to him, and despite pledging to stay away, the two of you would always end up in each other's arms. Whether it be morally right, or morally wrong, his arms were where you were always meant to be.

In an instant, you were no longer the woman who came to the party with a boyfriend who treated her well. That title was ripped from you, stolen from his grasp in exchange for a single moment alone with the man who forever plagued your mind. Just like every man before, he stole you from him like a thief in the night, never satisfied unless he could make you his own again. He knew the love you gave was addicting, and anyone who received it was dependent upon it. He did not commit such thievery for any reason unjust, but because he remembered the effect of your affections so well. Without you, he thought he would die, and because of that, he was willing to sacrifice any other man’s life so he could survive off your love alone.

The taste of alcohol lingered on his tongue, making the moment all the more enticing. His touch was burning, but only ever pleasantly. Right and wrong did not exist; only he did, and you submitted to the knowledge that you lived solely to be his. You were not cut out to be a wife for a man who had his life together, and you were not meant to mother a child or start a family with a man who earned his keep honestly and loved sincerely. You were a mortal being who’s soul had been blackened with lust for an entity with more power than you could comprehend. You were born to play Jake’s twisted game, and over time, you had grown happy to be a part of it.

You were a whore, but only he knew how to pry that out of you. His words were laced with poison, his tongue made of opiate, his touch of ecstasy, and every action completed with intention to kill. You would not commit the crimes for another, because there was nobody else worth the effort.

“Taste just as sweet as I remember, Angel.” He withdrew a long breath, parting from you for just long enough to utter the praise.

“So good you couldn’t stay away.” You whispered, wishing he would kiss you again. It had been so long since you experienced such pleasure that you thought you might die without it.

“I can never stay away from you, sweetness.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and in his defense, it was.

He backed you up against the countertop, locking you in place with his hips. As he leaned his top half towards you, you leaned backwards to allow him easier access. His lips landed on the side of your neck, his kiss gentle and nowhere near what you remembered of him.

For a second, you let yourself believe there was some kind of sentiment behind his action, like he still cared and wanted to appreciate having you again.

Then, you pushed the thought from your head. The worst thing you could do to yourself was imagine that Jake cared about you, even if it was true.

His mouth traveled downward, drifting over the column of your neck and brushing over your collarbone. His tongue trailed over the soft skin, reminding himself of all he missed out on while he was gone. He was a man gone mad, driven to insanity just from the taste of you on his tongue. As tempted as he was to leave a mark behind, to claim territory that had always rightfully been his, he knew he couldn’t. He did not want to make the fallout any worse than it needed to be.

Instead of showing his true feelings, he spoke it into existence as an insult, inadvertently begging for you to validate his feelings on the matter.

“What would your little boyfriend think of you now?” He muttered, his face buried in your chest as his mouth ghosted over every available inch of skin. The hum of his voice against your body made you weak in the knees, but his words plagued you with guilt. You were not the person to get off on infidelity; in fact, before you met Jake, you despised it. You were not sleeping with him for any twisted desires or hidden kinks, but because you loved him too desperately to walk away. You would take him any way you could have him, even if it was despicable.

“The same as your girlfriend would think about you.” You reminded him, assuring he knew you were not the only one at fault. Your tone was breathy, your heart thudding against your ribs as his hands scoured your thighs. His fingertips settling just below the hem of the skirt, begging to go further but waiting for your permission.

“As if I’d ask her to be my girlfriend.” He scoffed, revolted just at the thought of it. His hands trailed higher, in search of the seam of your underwear. He seemed to freeze in place, his fingers inspecting your hips underneath the cool fabric of your dress. Slowly, his head raised from your chest, looking up at your face with a wondrous twinkle in his eye. He could not find what he was looking for, because they did not exist. His hands felt only the softness of your skin, without barrier as he smirked up at your rosy cheeks. “For me, sweetheart?”

“It’s always for you, Jake.” You averted your eyes, an unfamiliar feeling burning in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure why you were so sheepish of the fact; both of you knew it all too well.

“You’re too good to me, angel.” He commended your efforts to please him only because they worked so well. He bunched the skirt of your dress in his hands, pushing it up past your hips to reveal your lack of underwear. The sight of you exposed in front of him was nearly too much for him to bear, but he persevered through the abundance of lust he felt for you in hopes of drawing the reunion out a little longer.

His fingers slipped between your legs, pushing them apart so he could continue his tyranny without interruption. You watched him closely, inspecting every move as if you needed it to survive. In some sick way, you did. You felt as though if you were deprived of his touch for too long, you would succumb to death and waste away to nothingness. His touch hovered above your heat, but he was unwilling to give you what you wanted so easily.

How foolish of you to believe that Jake would be kind, even after such a long absence.

“Please touch me, Jake. Waited so fucking long.” You whined, looking down at his hand between your thighs, taunting you with the power you knew he possessed.

“Oh no, sweetheart.” He shook his head, chucking at your neediness. “You don’t get to call the shots.” He said, his eyes flickering up to meet your own. “You left, remember? You blocked my number and went off and found someone else to take my place. You don’t get to complain about it after you finally decided to come back.”

Arrogance is potent

Oh, so he was mad. Good thing for him, you could play that game, too.

“Quit it with the fucking pity party, Jacob. We both know you’re not innocent, either.” From sweet to sour in a second, your entire demeanor changed in response to his ridiculous claims.

“You should see yourself.” He smirked, moving his hand a little closer to your aching cunt, but not close enough to touch you, yet. “Just as desperate as you were the last time I saw you, still so eager to be fucked while your boyfriend waits for you downstairs.” He spit the word as if it were a bitter taste on his tongue, easily telling you that the old game of cat and mouse had changed. He was going to fuck you, but he was angry that you had tried to move on despite him doing the exact same thing.

“Oh, you poor thing.” You seethed, feeling the rise of anger begin to take over your body, too.

Clearly, leaving silently had deprived you of the release you so desperately needed. There were too many loose ends, too much emotion hanging heavy on the both of you. You had waited nearly a year to get it all out, a year of suffering before you could even begin to release some of the pain you locked up so securely in your heart.

“Don’t tell me your feelings are hurt, Jacob.” You raised an eyebrow, condemning him for feeling any kind of sorrow over your new relationship.

“Over you? As if.” He sneered, the momentary sweetness from earlier fleeing him completely. Touching you again was euphoric, telling of all he still felt of you, and he didn’t mind letting you know he missed you. Unfortunately, it brought up a whole other whirlwind of emotions that were far less appealing.

“Still doing whatever you can to convince yourself you don’t care about me, hmm?” You snipped, taking the opportunity to slide your dress over your head, leaving you completely exposed before him. “We both know why you’re upset, Jake, and it’s not because you don’t care.”

His hands shot to your hips, lifting you on the counter and setting you down on the cool surface. Now that you were locked in, his own body ensuring you could not run, his hand was between your legs again and finally connected with your cunt.

“What is it then, if you think you fucking know everything?” His fingers sliding through your folds, gathering the wetness on his fingertips and circling around your clit made it hard to respond. The feeling was so grand, even if the action was small. It was something you’d been waiting for since he got on the plane that flew him away from you, severing the twisted ties that held you two together.

The most harrowing revelation came when you understood that it was even better than you remembered it to be.

“You’re j-jealous, Jacob. Just fucking say it.” You spat between waves of pleasure, looking down at his face with a distasteful look in your eye. He was silent for a moment, opting to watch his hand working at your cunt instead of responding to your accusations. Eventually, after an unusually long bout of silence from him, his eyes flickered back to your face.

Without him saying a word, you knew you hit the nail straight on the head.

“You think it was nice to see that you found someone to take my place after I was gone?” He whispered, his tone dangerously low. “That he’s been taking up space in your bed where I used to sleep?” He growled, the curl of his lip resembling him as more of a wild animal than a man who had been hurting on your behalf. He raised his other hand to your neck, the back of his fingers gently caressing the side of it as he let his words sink in. “Do you think I liked the way he was touching you, like he was protecting his territory? Like you haven’t always been mine?” The possessive claim caused you to clench around nothing, desperate for anything more than he was giving you.

His fingers closed around your neck, the grip loose but foreshadowing of all that was to come. His face was close to yours, so close that the tip of his nose brushed against your burning cheeks and his lips were ghosting over your own.

“Answer me.” He whispered, letting his middle finger slide down to your entrance, feeling his way through the arousal he was responsible for.

“No, sir.” You shook your head, almost finding yourself sympathetic for the pain he was masking with his cruel words.

“So why did you bring him here, sweetheart? To rub it in my face? To piss me off?” He asked, slipping his finger inside you and letting his thumb drift over your clit. He began a steady pace, clearly getting himself worked up as he made a point to berate you for your decisions. “Did you want me to get jealous so I would start a fight with him and show everyone how much I fucking care about you?”

“N-no, sir.” You whimpered, feeling the flutter of an orgasm begin to blossom in the pit of your stomach. The curl of his fingers was addicting, and with every pump of his hand he was hitting the sweet spot inside you only he knew how to find.

“Don’t lie to me, baby.” He said, his fingers tightening around your neck a little further. He wasn’t ready to take it all the way, because he wanted to hear the truth before anything else. “You’re a little attention whore, and you wanted me to tell everyone out there that you’re mine. That’s all you ever fucking wanted, right? To be mine, and for everyone to know it?” The conversation was taking a dark turn, but you were too needy to complain about it. You thought if you kept talking, telling him what he wanted to hear, he would give you what you needed.

You were too stupid to realize you were only digging yourself a deeper hole, and the one you were already in was much too steep to climb out of.

“Yes, Jake. I did. That’s all I wanted.” You nodded, hoping he could feel your sincerity. You were not lying, because it was all you ever wanted. To be his and his alone was what you craved, with no one standing between you and no more secrets.

“So instead of telling me that, what did you do?” He snarled, moving his fingers a little faster. The change in pace caused your whole body to quiver. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and your mind was consumed with him entirely. He wanted you to confess, to tell him you understood the mistakes you made and atone for your sins. He needed it more than he ever needed anything else in his entire life.

“I-I left,” you choked out, feeling his fingers tighten on your pulse-point. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears, so powerful it was pulsing behind your eyes. “I was scared. I was too scared to say it, Jake.” You wheezed out, feeling your head begin to swirl from the pleasure and the lack of blood flow.

“Yeah, you fucking left. You were too scared to say it, so you left me to feel like an idiot for saying it first.” You were no longer speaking of the significant others you had left downstairs, nor your absence in the months prior. He was talking about that same dreaded instance that replayed in your mind every single day.

He was talking about it.

Aloud, he spoke the words, for the first time since the war began.

“M’so sorry, Jake.” You pleaded, feeling so strung out that the apology seemed misplaced. Recounting your mistakes did not seem fitting with his fingers inside of you and an orgasm threatening you. “I felt it too. I should have said it.”

“But you didn’t. You never fucking did, because you only ever cared about yourself.” Your eyes shot open, suddenly being pulled from the euphoria taking over your entire body. Your nostrils flared, your pupils blazing with a fire that only he knew how to ignite. He knew he struck a nerve, but it was exactly what he was intending to do.

“You fucked someone else in our bed.” You seethed, your words weak from his palm pressing against your trachea. Even in your rage, your hips moved down on his hand in search for more.

Just like always, sex was the most important thing to both of you.

“Instead of talking to me, you fucked someone else and tried to play the victim!” Your words were stronger now, fighting against his power with ease.

You were the only person in the world who ever had enough courage to challenge him.

“I guess we finally got what was coming to us, then.” He muttered, scowling at the thought of the pain you two caused each other, scowling at pain you’d caused so many others. “You still haven’t learned your lesson, because you’re back here begging for more, doing the same thing to him.”

“You don’t get to chastise me when you’re doing the same thing.” You spat, enraged at his self-righteous response.

“I never said I was any fucking better, sweetheart.” He reminded you, a small, sick smile toying at the corners of his lips. As angry as you were, and as much as your chest ached, you still knew you couldn’t walk away from him. You were destined to want Jake in the most despicable and destructive ways until the very end. The only comfort was that you knew he was destined for the same fate.

Without removing his hand from your throat, he moved forward and captured you in a kiss, sealing the evil you spewed within you forever. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, your need for him animalistic and unnatural even after his cruel treatment. The only reason it did not bother you was because you knew you deserved it.

As he kissed you, his hand continued working at your cunt, pushing you to the brink of an orgasm with great ease. You let out a moan into his mouth, giving him a taste of the pleasure he was granting you. He drew in a sharp breath, the sound settling deep somewhere in his soul and making home there for eternity.

He parted from you, but not because he wanted to. He would kiss you until his lips turned blue and his lungs collapsed, happy to die at your hands. He broke away because of need, and one that much much stronger than his urge to kiss you. His grip loosened around your neck and his hand dropped to your hip. He withdrew his fingers from you, causing you to let out a hiss of displeasure at the sudden loss of the orgasm he was so close to giving you.

Before you could get a complaint out, he dropped to his knees before you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. He guided one leg over his shoulder, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh as an apology for his sudden change in pace. At the knowledge of his next move, you were all but upset with his decision.

“Oh, fuck.” You groaned, your head falling backwards as his tongue connected with your clit. Your hand reached for his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue ran through your folds.

The sweetness of your arousal was something he’d missed so dearly, something he could never find from another. It was more addicting than any substance and it was the very reason he could get himself out of bed in the morning. Being with you in such an intimate manner was the only reason his heart continued to beat, and the only thing he continued living for. His tongue circled your clit, continuing his torment in a whole new way.

With just a single swirl of his tongue, you felt like screaming his name, just to tell the whole world how good he could make you feel. It was almost comical, how you searched far and wide for someone who could make you feel a shred of what he could, and nobody could even come close to him. Your whole body had been begging for him since you stepped foot into the familiar home, and now that you had him, it still wasn’t enough. You needed everything all at once, things he could not give to you and things you could never ask for. You needed Jake far beyond any other person, and far beyond what was possible from him.

You needed him to be more than a dirty secret, a betrayal of trust in a bathroom at a house party. You needed him to be yours, but you knew he would never be.

Your desperation was immeasurable, and your entire body was aching for the orgasm he previously denied you of. It was a terrible feeling to have, knowing that your life was completely in his hands. Whatever he decided to do with it, you would go along happily so long as it pleased him. It was a terrible thing to know you would never truly belong to yourself, even if Jake was long gone from the world.

He was living for your shallow breathing, surviving off of your choked moans. Pleasing you was his favorite thing to do, even if he hated you in the moment. There was something so gratifying about his name on your tongue, and something so beautiful about how easy it was to make you feel good. He tried his best to ignore the incessant thoughts in his head about another man touching you the same way, about someone else believing that you were theirs.

Both of you knew you were Jake’s, and he was undeniably yours. The facade you put on and the games you played with others were just that; the only thing either one of you knew to be real was the way you felt for each other. It was painful, harmful and frustrating for the two of you to constantly avoid the way your hearts felt for each other, but it was all you knew. It made more sense for the two of you to deny and lie about your feelings than it ever did to fess up.

He pulled away from you, catching his breath as he looked up at your face from between your legs. “Come on, angel. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.” He hummed, moving his thumb over your clit so he did not lose the momentum.

“You want to hear it, baby?” You breathed, looking down at him through your lashes. “Did you miss it?”

“Dreamt of it every goddamn night.” He said as a matter of fact. You let out a whine at the sound of his words, pushed even closer to the edge at the knowledge he thought of you just as much as you thought of him.

You were in no position to deny him anything, because he was giving you the entire world. As he leaned forward, his mouth connecting with your core once again, you let a long slur of curses fall from your lips. The moan that followed could only be classified as pornographic, carrying through the door and echoing into the hallway for everyone to hear.

He was doing exactly as you wanted; he was making it so the entire house could hear how much you meant to him, even if it was not in the way you so badly wanted from him. Still, it was enough to keep you on his hook, and that was the very thing he wanted to ensure.

“God, feels so fucking good, Jake.” You gasped, feeling your abdomen tense with a particularly strong wave of pleasure. He hummed against you, speaking encouragement for the show you were putting on for him.

You knew if he continued on like such, it would not be long until you descended into an orgasm. He was waiting, just as desperate as you were to feel you let the pleasure take hold. He brought his fingers to your entrance, slipping his middle and index finger inside of you to add to the sensation. You inhaled a sharp breath, feeling the curl of his fingers hit the same spot he found so easily just moments before.

“Fuck,” you hissed, feeling yourself clench around his fingers as the knot in your belly threatened to snap. At the familiar sound, he took it upon himself to suction his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, adding more pressure to the already otherworldly feeling. Your grip tightened in his hair and your entire body was rigid as it prepared to be pushed over the edge. “Oh god,” you cried, your throat raw from the primal sound that tore through you.

Had his mouth not been so intently focused on you, you knew how sweetly he would have talked you through it. No matter how vicious or volatile he spoke to you, he never missed out on the opportunity to coddle you as you came. It was his favorite thing in the entire world, an excuse to show you the softness his heart had for you when he usually felt like he needed to keep it hidden. He continued pumping his fingers and moving his tongue, guiding you through the high with expert precision. As he noticed you relax against him, he tapered off his movements before pulling away completely.

He rose to his feet, already tossing his belt on the floor before he was even upright. Your mind was still swirling with the lingering euphoria, your skin electrified and your heart pounding in your chest. You watched him, wordless as he unbuttoned his pants after he threw his shirt to the ground alongside his belt. He freed himself from his boxers, the sight of him nearly too much for you to handle. You missed him so dearly and needed him so badly.

He stepped forward, landing between your legs as he gazed down at you. His lust-blown pupils turned his eyes near black, and he was aching for relief just like you had been minutes before. “I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Say what?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He gave you a soft smile, void of any malice for a moment. He wanted to admire you beneath him, so desperate to have him. He wanted to enjoy the beauty of your heart being his despite being promised to someone else.

“You were just as jealous as I was, angel.” He said, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. You put all your trust in him, knowing that if he faltered, you might fall to the floor.

“So what?” You huffed, your cheeks turning red at his accusations. He smiled down at you, moving his hips forward ever so slightly. The tip of his cock rested against your entrance, already wet with your arousal.

“Do you really think I’d give her half of what I give you? That she means nearly as much to me as you do?” He questioned, his grip loosening slightly now that he had you in the position he wanted.

“No, baby.” You shook your head, wondering if tonight would be the night that things would change. “I know that.”

“You know she has nothing on you, beautiful.” His hand trailed up your side, the light touch tickling your skin as his fingers drifted over your stomach. “Nobody does.”

With that, his sweet sentiments had come to an end. He slammed his hips forward, the size of him coming as a surprise and filling you completely. A gasp left your lips as your tried to recover from the shock and adjust to him again, realizing that in the time spent away from him, nobody felt as fulfilling as he did.

To him, no one could compare, either.

“That’s it, gorgeous.” He muttered, clearly strung out from the pleasure too. In just a moment, he was back where he was all of those months ago, in love with you and desperate to hear you say it back. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

His praise was exhilarating, and his love was blissful. As he began a slow pace with his hips, the grief was almost overwhelming the pleasure. You wondered why it couldn’t feel this good with him all of the time, and you dreaded him walking away after the night came to an end.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours for a moment, likely mourning the same fate that the two of you so often fell into. Loving you was all he wanted to do, but he was so afraid of falling again that he convinced himself he wasn’t already long past in love.

His tongue danced over yours, the taste of his sin too much to bear as your chest began to ache. You wanted to remain strong, to carry on with the one thing that the two of you were good at, but it felt so different than it did all the times that came before. The emotion you had neglected to acknowledge was finally pushing to the surface, angry about being ignored.

It wasn’t the right time, but you feared the right time may never come. You had to stop being afraid, to find the courage he once had and utilize it.

You could feel it too, even in his cruel words and his harsh insults. The love was there, lingering in every touch and screamed in every kiss. You could not allow yourself to remain in the same incessant cycle of pain, but you could not will yourself away from him. There was only one way to change your ways, but it was the hardest thing you had ever done. Loving someone so completely, no matter the circumstance, was terrifying. Saying it aloud only made it all the more real.

He pulled away, breaking the kiss and in turn, breaking you from your internal brooding. He looked down over your face, his hips still rocking against yours. The pleasure in the pit of your stomach had nothing on the yearning of your heart, and he could see it in your eyes. He had to look away, to hide his heart from you so you could not break it again. He feared the longer he stared, the closer he was to confessing the same thing all over again.

In a moment of desperation, he withdrew from you entirely, letting his hands settle back on your hips. Before you could complain, he pulled you from the countertop entirely, landing you on your feet in front of him. He had to change the pace, to harness that same carnal desire and rank it more important than how he felt for you emotionally.

Without a word, he spun you around, forcing your top half down towards the counter. The cold surface was a shock to your system, especially after growing comfortable with the warmth of his body against you. He pulled your hips back towards him, positioning himself at your entrance again.

“I think I’m being far too nice to you, sweetheart.” He muttered, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of his hair. “If I remember correctly, you only like to be fucked like a whore.”

This time, when the insult slipped past his lips, it did not feel good nor did it prompt any wave of arousal. It hurt, and it hurt achingly bad.

Still, knowing you were not strong enough to utter the proclamation of love, you went along with it despite the ache in your chest.

“Yes, sir.” You hummed. Despite the sadness of the change of position, you were still excited at the idea of fucking him. If you could not love him, you knew it was the next best thing.

Slowly, he pushed inside of you, knotting your hair around his fist as he pulled your head off the counter. He leaned down, his lips hovering just over your ear as he continued at the agonizingly slow pace.

“Just like this, sweetheart?” He asked, making sure that when his hips connected with yours he added a little extra force. “Does that feel good?”

“Feels so good, baby.” You whined, the intimacy of the moment sending a shiver down your spine. His breath was hot on your neck, his voice barely above a whisper but loud and clear to you. As you answered, he let his teeth sink into your earlobe, the light pressure prompting a flutter in your stomach. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him in further and locking him there indefinitely.

Despite the pace being slow, the power behind his hips was what mattered, and with every re-entry, he added just a little more force than the last. As his cock brushed against cervix, your knees went weak and your stomach twisted into a knot. You had no idea how he could make you feel so good, but you knew you never wanted him to stop.

“He can’t fuck you like this, sweetheart.” He whispered, his lips still hovering above your ear. “He can’t make you feel this good.” He continued, his hand on your hip tightening with every word. He was mindful, careful not to leave any bruises despite his desire to. “Can he, angel?”

“F-fuck no, Jake.” You shook your head, feeling him press a kiss to the sweet spot just below your ear.

“Right, baby.” He hummed his approval, his words muffled due to his lips on your skin. “Nobody can make you feel as good as I do because you’re mine. Do you fucking understand me?”

“God, yes.” You nodded against his hold, desperate to agree with him on that fact. No matter what, you were undeniably his.

“Did you think of me when he was fucking you, angel?” He asked, his tone growing stronger by the second. He was pissing himself off the longer he thought about it, but he was willing to make that sacrifice in order to chastise you for your decisions. “Did you wonder when I would come home, when I’d come back to take care of you?

“I did, baby.” You whimpered, feeling the effects of his presence finally begin to take hold. You were strung out on pleasure, at your end already despite him being far from done with you. You were tired, but your body would not accept the fact. You thought if he stopped, you might die from the withdrawal from him. “I thought about it every fucking day.” You confessed. “I needed you, because nobody else knows how to do it right.”

“Exactly, sweetheart.” He hummed an agreement, happy to hear it from you. “You knew I’d never leave you behind. You knew I couldn’t fucking stay away.” Even if he wanted to, he never could. The confession was heavy, despite the fact already being known to you both. “God, what do you do to me?” He growled, the slam of his hips rocking your thighs forward into the countertop. Another groan tore through your chest, vibrating your entire body as he continued to fuck into you.

“Jake,” you warned, feeling your legs begin to wobble and your mind start to haze.

“I know, baby.” He crooned, placing another sloppy kiss to the exposed portion of your neck. “Being such a good girl for me. Just hold on a little longer.” At that, you let out another whine, loud and impatient, clearly unhappy about his plea to wait. In response, he roughly pulled your head to the side by your hair, craning it upwards a little further so he could press his lips to yours.

The kiss was enough to satiate your undying need for him, but the taste of his lips made the sensation in your stomach grow tenfold. The only difference was, now you could not warn him about the climax creeping up on you.

Luckily for you, he did not need to be warned about anything. He knew you better than anyone or anything, and he could feel how close you were just from your body alone.

“Oh, angel, you make it so fucking hard to say no to you.” He let out a long sigh, breaking the kiss as he let his hips rest against the curve of your ass. He had to slow down or he feared he might let go, too.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You gave him a weak smile, your eyes heavy as you looked back over your shoulder at him.

“With you? Always good, even if it should be bad.” He chuckled, placing a kiss to your shoulder blade before he straightened up again.

His hand remained in your hair as he took a deep breath, calming himself down before beginning again. The feeling of him moving inside you again after the short break was intense, amplified by a million. Although he believed stopping might allow the two of you more time, as soon as his hips reached the same speed as before, you were both just as close to the end. He couldn’t deny you the orgasm again, and he could not hold himself back. After so long without you, he needed it more than he needed food to survive.

“Can you cum for me, baby?” He asked, pushing your head down into the counter. Your cheek was squished against the surface, and his hips were moving with such strength that it made your head spin. There was no question that you could reach the climax, because you had been doing nothing but trying to hold back.

Instead of responding, your eyes closed and the burning in your stomach reached a whole new level. You had never gone so long without him, and now you had no tolerance for the pleasure that came with his company. A choked moan filled the air, letting him know that you were doing exactly what he asked of you.

His hand on your hip tightened as he pushed you further down on the counter. “That’s my girl.” He muttered, looking down at your face as you descended into pleasure. Your legs trembled and your lungs burned, but you were on top of the world. You felt better than you ever had, and likely better than you ever would. It had nothing to do with the sex, nor the stimulation of him inside you, but rather just the thought of being his.

You managed to sing his name through the mess of moans and curses, the sound heavenly to his ears. He waited so long to hear you say it like that again, and it sent him over the edge just the same as you. As you reached the high together, the world felt right again, like coming home after an inexplicably long and tiresome day. He spilled his release inside of you, feeling you relax against him as he slowed his thrusts. He leaned down, pulling your head to the side with much more caution than last time, and kissed you with all the love he could muster in his whole body.

You stayed like that for an abnormal amount of time, neither of you keen on the idea of parting from one another. Eventually, he broke the kiss, looking down over your face with adoration in his eyes. He did his best to snap himself out of it, knowing he shouldn’t be feeling such things about you, but unable to stop. He straightened up again, making sure to admire the entire scene of you below him, too fucked out to form a single thought. Then, his eyes traveled to the mirror, catching a glimpse of your position from a whole new perspective. He swallowed hard, his jaw tensed as he let out a shaky breath.

“How am I supposed to let him take you home tonight after seeing you like this, sweetness?” He asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror. When he realized your head was pushed too close to the countertop for you to see too, he used his grip on your hair to pull you upwards.

Staring back at you was a mess of the woman you walked into the bathroom as. Your cheeks were streaked with mascara, your skin red and blotchy and your hair a mess. Beside your reflection, you could see him watching you, studying you. His eyes were fixated on your face, taking in every detail you were noticing. To him, you were not a mess; you were the most beautiful thing to ever grace the earth. The mess just made it all the better, especially knowing he was the one who caused it.

‘I don’t want to go home with him, Jake. I want to stay here with you.’ You thought it, but did not dare say it aloud. The flash of sadness in your eye was apparent to him, for he had the same one in his.

What I see is unreal

I've written my own part

Eat of the apple, so young

I'm crawling back to start

If you did not speak now, you never would. Could you remain the same forever, or did you need to change to survive? You did not know what to do, or how to feel. If you said it, would it even mean anything, or would it be a waste of breath? He did not want to hear the words a year later; he needed it way back when the two of you were curled up together on the couch, when he used every last ounce of courage to say it first. He didn’t need to hear it now. He didn’t need you fucking up his life again. He didn’t need you.

But if he did not need you, why did he abandon his date in search of you, in search of what you used to be?

There was no more anger between you. Your eyes locked together in the mirror, housing a silent battle of uncertainty as you watched each other's every move. If you spoke the truth, the world would change indefinitely, but you did not know if it would be for better or for worse.

Oh, what did it fucking matter anymore?

You had to say it, to know that you exhausted every option to keep the man your heart sang hymns about. You could deal with the consequences later, because right now, you both needed to hear it.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” He asked, knowing there was some kind of war being waged in your head. He was afraid, not of what you wanted to tell him, but because he thought you wanted to end the constant debacle between you.

You could deal with the aftermath later, but you were done being sad. He waited so long, just the same as you, and you had to say it.

I repent tomorrow

Hey ah na na tomorrow

I suspend my sorrow

“I don’t want to go home with him, Jake.” Your voice was strong despite your worry the words would not make it past your lips.

“Then don’t.” He could not help the spark of hope that ignited in his chest. He rested inside of you, terrified to move as he awaited what you would say next.

“You mean it?” Say it, or forever hold your peace, coward.

“You know there’s always a place for you in my bed.” He was unsure if he was taking your confession in the way you meant it, but by god he hoped that was what you meant. Your eyes caught his again, holding him captive with your stare. There was not enough courage in the world for you to say it, but you could not hide it any longer.

“I love you too, Jake.” You said, your tone strong and your intent true. Nearly a year later, you finally said it.

The world was still. The commotion outside of the doorway stopped, and your relentless thoughts wasted away to nothing. For a moment, you even believed your heart ceased to beat.

“I love you, Jake. I should have said it a long time ago, but I’m saying it now, and it has to count for something.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” he said, statue-like as he stood behind you. For a moment, you thought you might die from the pure grief that encased your heart. You waited too long. It was too late. “I’m sorry I hurt you, and I should have said that a long time ago.”

Neither of you moved, and neither of you knew what to do next.

You got what you thought he could never give, and he heard what he feared you might never say.

Was it over? Was that it? Did you end the curse that had plagued you since the very beginning? Had you repented enough for the rottenness of your actions?

Could you really have him with no secrets and no more lies? Could you love him without restraint, without any pain?

“Let me love you, Y/N. Let me do it right this time.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your eyes never leaving his face. “Please, Jake. The world hasn’t felt right since that night, until now. I want to try again, and I don’t want to be a terrible person anymore.”

Carefully, he withdrew from you, trying to limit the mess as he helped you up off the counter. He turned you to face him, bringing his hand to your cheek to swipe away a tear that escaped your eye.

“I have been waiting a lifetime to hear you say that, sweetheart. I would be a fucking idiot if I gave it up twice.” You lifted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry I was so stupid.” You said, reaching out and wrapping your arms around him.

The hug was simple, but to the two of you, it was everything.

“I was stupid, Y/N.” he said, burying his head in your hair. He took a deep breath, finally feeling the tension in his body fade away into nothing. The smell of your shampoo, and more specifically, the way his pillows used to smell when he was sleeping next to you, was his favorite thing in the whole world, and he’d been deprived of it for far too long. “I don’t want to be stupid anymore. I just want you.”

“I was always yours, Jake.” You whispered, closing your eyes as you rested your cheek on his bare chest. “From the minute I met you, until my very last day on earth.” He did not need to reply for you to know he was yours, too.

Finally, after writing your own wretched tale, you had grown enough to rewrite it and atone for all of the mistakes you made before.

Finally, you could love him without having to worry about anything else, without pain, and without suffering.

Finally, he was yours, and only yours, like it always should have been from the very beginning.

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kingofspadescos · 1 year ago

Text

Astarion x Reader - All You Wanna Do

Warnings - ANGST WITH GOOD ENDING

TW - Trauma, Sexual trauma mention

ALMOST MADE MYSELF CRY FROM THIS-

So in Six we all know Katherine Howard's (the pink one) song right? '

'All You Wanna Do'

And it goes through her lovers but how they only used her for her body?

Tell me that isn't Astarion.

Imagine after escaping Cazador (or at some point) he tries to get back out into the dating pool. He just wanted something, anything to make the numb feeling go away. And he thought he found it, but every day he'd wake up to an empty bed and every time he could feel more and more of himself break. Its an endless vicous cycle that he tries desperstly to break but fails inevitably.

He gives up, slinking back to the shadows and watching from afar.

But then one day when he slips out at night to visit a midnight market he accidently bumps into someone.

And it just so happens to be you.

He tilts his head when you smile up at him

"Sorry, sir, apprantly the skill of walking has alluded me" you said.

He's dumbfounded, a snarky remark at the tip of his tongue but unable to make it past his lips. How could it? You were truly breathtaking, the moonlight reflecting off your skin in a way he could only describe as ethereal.

And the way you looked at him, oh gods your eyes had him reeling. There was no hunger in them, no want, no lust, just embarrassment and genuine kindness, something he was not used to being the target of.

He could handle pure mindless need, but this? Such a sweet innocent little thing like you? Oh, no, he couldn't handle that. Not when you looked at him like he actually mattered in the world.

He barely managed out a stangled 'its fine' before dashing back to his dwelling...where he proceeded to lock himself away for days.

What else was he supposed to do? His heart was beating to another rhythm, a time that only meant heartbreak, anger, and self loathing. He couldn't handle it, not again.

But then, after a few days, a knock sounded at his door, and with caution he had opened it to find you there, holding his blade.

"Hi! You dropped this at the market a few days ago" you said "I asked around about you so I could find you, which was tremendously easy, apprantly there is only one known vampire around here."

And there that smile was again and those same eyes that had him crumbling.

"Thank you" he had coughed out, gently grabbing the blade. He wanted you out, far away from him as possible, just so he could function normally. But then your fingers accidently brushed his and he was almost done for.

Panic, excitement, fear, and hope came down on him in waves as he looked into your eyes again. He barely manged to stop himself from taking a step back as if the adoration and happiness that were captured in your eyes had physically pushed him.

"Well I should probably get going" you said turning to walk, and a new panic rose in his chest, the fear of never seeing you again.

"Wait!" He said too quickly for his own liking "come in for some tea, won't you? It's the least I could do to repay you."

From there you two go closer and closer, spending as much time together as possible. Each second he spent with you he felt his heart reach out towards you as if to embrace you and never let go.

But the fear was still there, the fear that he would get to close and you would leave him, just like everyone else.

However, the day came when you confessed. A new dagger in one hand and a rose in the other you looked up at him with those eyes. The same eyes he had yet to act normal about and told him you liked him and wanted him to be yours and you to be his.

The cold hand of panic that crippled his heart made an appearance, twisting the fear into his body and causing his knees to buckle. God's, he felt so stupid, felt so vulnerable and useless, but then a warmth surrounded him.

Your embrace.

You held him, arms tightly woven around his body keeping him secure to you.

"You can say no, you can tell me no" you had whispered, and he almost jumped at the out "but if you're willing to let me hold your heart ill shall cherish it til' the sun no longer shines and even then I shall create my own."

You had him in tears, hands clutching at you in desperation and head burying into your neck.

The rest of the night was spent with assurance and love, you guiding him through a simple kiss that led to nothing more.

And in the morning when he awoke, he cried again when he saw you curled into his side, hand clutching his with the intent of never letting go.

#Bg3 #baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion my beloved #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #Six #six the musical #im crying #fanfiction #vampire

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syndxlla · 1 year ago

Text

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high rewards and self-indulgent Zelink fanfic. Canon-compliant, takes place between BOTW and TOTK

chapter three: She is beautiful, I am a mess

Read chapter two here

My masterlist

Song: Lights are On by Tom Rosenthal

Summary: Link processes his destiny while Zelda slowly recovers. Link meets with an old friend, and realizes how much he wants to Zelda in his life.

Warnings: PTSD, implied self-harm, illness, trauma

Word Count: 3.3k words

Authors note: The last line of this? Scrumptious. I ate that up. Also I’m going to start doing different pieces of art/gifs at the start of each chapter mostly so I can see the differences in the notifications! Thanks for all the support! Everyone has been so kind this is easily the most supportive fan base I’ve ever written for.

Link doesn’t leave her side the entire night, yet again. He sits on a stool pushed against the bed, and watches as she breathes in the sleep. He refuses to sleep, which means he’s gone about four days now with very little actual rest. This normally wouldn’t be a problem, but fighting Ganon on the second day of that no sleep schedule has really taken a toll on his physical health.

In his quiet contemplation as Zelda rested, the weight of what just happened set in. His heart rate rose as he remembered the sight of the Calamity, its spider-like body dripping with malice and disgust as it sneered at him. The stench is still pungent in his memory, his bad ear still beats with the blood that filled his body as he faced his destiny for a second time. He’s supposed to be courageous, unafraid and rarely daunted by his fate, but in reality he’s terrified.

Link doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the feeling in his bones as witnessed by the beast. How he felt paralyzed, how the night before he prayed to the Goddess that he wouldn’t wake up. Make someone else do it, please.

He could never admit this to anyone, and even struggles to admit it to himself. If he’s supposed to be the closest thing to the God of Bravery, why does he feel like such a pathetic coward most of the time? Maybe it was his reckless abandon that caused his status, or the fact that he’s so desensitized to the horrors of his knighthood. But those things do not equate to courage.

What even was courage, he asks himself.

He looks at Zelda. “She is beautiful”, he thinks “I am a mess”.

Link places a nervous thumb to her jaw with trepidation. He gently holds her face, soft enough that it wouldn’t wake her. Her skin is so soft, her eyelashes so gentle, her breathing even. Does she have any idea how beautiful she is when she sleeps?

When day finally breaks, Link realizes how cold it’s gotten in the house, and he takes the brave step of leaving the sleeping princess to build a fire in the hearth. He does so quickly, using a fire arrow. He pulls on a warm shirt, and quickly returns upstairs to Zelda.

She was awake, looking up at him.

“You should keep sleeping.” He whispers.

She groans, “Why did you leave?” She was aware enough to tell?

“I built a fire.” Link explains, "It's cold.”

“Oh.” Zelda whispers, “I am cold.”

Link crosses to his dresser and pulls out a woven blanket from the bottom drawer, draping it over her and the blanket she already had. She whispers thank you. ”Did you dream?” Link asks.

Zelda nods.

“It was me and my mom, we were eating and laughing together.” She describes and Link smiles. He places his hand against her forehead, and feels that she’s burning up. Of course she has a fever, that would cause her body to have the chills, that on top of a cold house wasn’t a good fit.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, vocalizing from a whisper for the first time.

Zelda thinks about it for a moment, she’s so snuggled up in the blankets all he can see is her face. “I’m not sick.” She states. Link is skeptical, but he nods.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Are you going to leave me again?” She asks.

“I might. I think I’ll go into town and get some things from the market, and I should probably send a message to Impa that we’re alive.” Link explains. Zelda frowns.

“I’m scared to be alone again.”

Link frowns, “You’ll be okay. But you need to sleep, your body is trying to recover from-“ He stops himself, he doesn't need to explain any further.

“You need sleep, too.” Zelda replies. She was right.

“I’ll be fine.” He shrugs it off. “But you need to promise me that you’ll be okay if I leave for a few hours, alright?”

Zelda groans, “You’ll come back, right?”

“Of course.”

It’s a few more hours before he leaves, he waits until Zelda falls back asleep, and it’s mid-morning when he finally does. He makes his way into Hateno Village, which is as lively as ever. He first stops in at the general store, buying a few essential items, and telling the store keeper about where he was last.

“You’re telling me you got rid of that thing at Hyrule Castle?” He asks, skeptical. Link just nods and shrugs as he examines a swift carrot. Like it was no big deal. The man laughs behind the counter, “And you lived to tell the tale? I don’t believe it.” He scoffs.

Link sets his items on the table between them, digging out a handful of rupees. “Well, I lived to tell the tale of Naydra last year, you all witnessed that, didn’t you?”

“I suppose… but that thing at the castle is a legend, I never even saw it. Just got told ghost stories of it as a boy.” His voice was gruff.

Link smiles, “whatever you want to believe, you don’t have to believe me.” Link sets to rupees down.

“That’s more than the cost.” The man states.

“Keep it.” Link pushes it towards him before putting his items in his pouch. “Use it to fix your roof, I saw it was leaking.”

The man smiles, “you’re always so good to us, Link. This village owes you.”

“You don’t owe me anything, except maybe your trust. The story will spread and rumors will, too.” Link turns to leave, but stops just outside of the door, speaking over his shoulder. “It wasn’t a ghost either, it was a spider-like thing that hatched out of a cocoon with giant axes and swords.” Link opens his arms up to show the size, “Probably at least the size of three oxen!” The shopkeeper's face goes pale, “But that wasn’t even the hard part!” Link starts to smile mischievously, “Then we took the battle onto Hyrule Field, and he turned into a massive pig. As big as a house, or bigger.”

The owner was dumbfounded, unable to reply at first, but then he shook his head, “You have quite the imagination, Link!” He chuckles and waves him off. Link just grins as he exits the shop.

He makes his way up the mountain to Purah and Symin’s, making a stop at the farm to pet the cows and help the owner with a broken fence post in trade for some milk. It was about noon now, and he wasn’t expecting to take as long to get to the Tech Lab, but the fence was absolutely destroyed. The farmer didn’t know what caused it, but it certainly wasn’t a cow…

The light on the Hateno valley is warm and inviting. It will be the harvest soon. Link had missed his days here. Early on after he woke up, he spent weeks at a time in this little village. Mostly because he was still too poor to afford sleeping anywhere other than his home. It was a safe home base for him when he was freeing the divine beasts. It wasn’t until he had laid his friends' spirits to rest that he became the wild child of the forest he was now. The last year or so he stopped spending more than a few days anywhere, it was the anxiety of the upcoming battle he kept avoiding that caused him to become such a nomad. He learned that it was always free to sleep in trees.

He gets to the lab, and before he can even open the door, Purah is swinging the door open. “Linky! You’re alive!” She cheers, looking up at him.

”I am,” Link replies with a smile, “and Zelda is, too.”

Purah smiles wide, her eyes becoming fiery, “Incredible. Is she okay!” She opens the door for Link, he enters the messy-as-usual lab, setting his sack of goodies down on the table.

“I don’t know…” Link shakes his head, “She’s very tired all the time, and she passed out quite unexpectedly last night.” He sighs. “I’m actually rather worried about her.” He admits. “It took me a long time to wake her up after she passed out, too. Longer than it should have.” Purah walks over to the table before climbing on top of it to Link’s eye-level.

“But she’s alive! And I’m assuming her body has been preserved, no?”

“It has, she doesn’t look a day over seventeen. But her spirit and her mind has changed, she’s tired.”

“Aren’t we all…” Purah shakes her head, “But no one as much as her.” She shrugs, “I would love to run some tests on you two, it might help me figure out my age issue.”

“More tests? I thought you said you were done with me?” Link groans.

“Nope, now that Zelda is here I want to take a sample of her DNA, too, and see if I can reverse-engineer it to cross with my DNA and get me back to my preferred physical age. I’m sick of this.” She gestures to her child-like state.

“When she’s feeling better I’ll ask her. I’m sure she’ll say yes, considering her love of science and all.”

“Alright Linky, what are you here for, I know you didn’t come to just talk, you always need something from me.” She teases.

“Alright Purah… don’t be mad.” He says as he reaches into his pouch to pull out a smashed and destroyed sheikah slate: the same one that got him through his quest.

Purah’s face goes white. “You did not just do that to an ancient piece of indestructible tech.” She reaches for it, taking the device in her hand and cringing.

“Well it wasn’t that indestructible, now was it?” Link asks with an awkward laugh.

“How?” Purah asks, traumatized.

“It happened while I fought Ganon, it kind of… exploded, and then he trampled it as a giant hog in Hyrule field.”

“That is…” She chooses her words carefully, “Epic, Linky.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No! But you’re gonna be when you can warp to sheikah hotspots. You’ll just have to go on foot like the rest of us. Speaking of, did you see what happened to the shrine in the ocean?”

“What?” He obviously didn’t.

“It sunk back into the ground, completely gone! Symin watched it happen! I’m curious about that happening to the other sheikah tech…” She gets lost in thought, and Link realizes that they all might disappear just as fast as they were found. “No one is gonna be more heartbroken about this than the Princess.” Purah finishes her thoughts.

“I’m hiding it from her. She can’t take a heart break in this state.” Link groans, sitting down in one of the chairs by the table. “Purah… I need you to send a message to Impa. I would go myself in person and be back by dinner but I can’t because the slate is gone. I know you sheikah have weird ways of communicating through distance, especially you sisters.” Link sighs.

“Oh she’ll beat you if you don’t go in person. You know how she is.”

“Yes. Which is why I am absolutely sick over this. But I can’t leave Zelda, she’s not okay, and I don’t know how long it’s going to be until she is.” He explains. “Impa can be mad at me all she wants, but she deserves to know that we are both alive and safe, and Ganon is not.”

Purah squints, “Fine. But you owe me.”

“As if saving the world wasn’t enough.” Link scoffs playfully.

“Hey! Don’t get cocky, no one likes a cocky hero. Besides, it’s not like you did it on your first try.” Purah jumps down from the table and Link’s entire body seizes. She freezes in her tracks when she realizes she said that out loud. She slowly turns around to see Link tense and unhappy. “Linky… I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“

He says nothing at first, “Is that what you guys say about me?”

“Link, we've always pushed each other's buttons like that.”

“It’s fine.” He sighs, it wasn’t fine. He signs, “I’m leaving. I don’t need anyone else’s shit.” He always signed when his emotions were at risk of betraying his words. He didn’t want to upset someone with his words. Purah isn’t very good at signs, but she gets the gist.

It was rare to see Link genuinely mad, especially at someone he cared about and knows is good. But that was out of line.

“Link…”

“Will you just tell Impa that we’re okay. Both of us. The calamity is gone and we’ll come visit as soon as we get our strength back.” He grabs his belongings and heads out.

“Wait-“ Purah tries to stop him but he leaves too fast. He takes a deep breath when he gets outside, looking out towards the sea. He walks towards the edge of the cliff, staring out at the horizon, letting the salty sea air blow on his skin. He looks where the shrine that lived in the water once was, and nothing was there but the original mound of island sand it sat on.

Back at home, Zelda is still in bed, and Link frowns when he sees her. He sits on his stool next to her, placing his hand against her forehead again. Her fever hasn’t broken.

“I’m home.” He whispers, and she stirs awake, her green eyes looking up at him. She smiles.

“I had the most wonderful dream.” She sighs. “We were at the beach, you and I, and Impa and Urbosa… and my mother.” Link worries that she dreams about those who have passed, he brushes some of her golden hair out of her face. “We looked at the water and listened to the seagulls. My mother was so beautiful and healthy, not like how she was when I remembered her.”

Zelda was very young when her mother died, and she was quite ill for the years leading up to her passing. Link remembered that, he remembered many of the things Zelda opened up to him about in their final days before The Calamity. “Do you want some water?” Link asks, she nods. He stands up, making his way to the well outside and scooping a bucket of it before coming back in. He finds her sitting up in bed.

“Did you get up all by yourself?” He asks with a smile. She nods, her face still pale and expression lost. She was much worse today. Link scoops some water out with a cup, and hands it to her. She shakily holds it in both hands, bringing the wooden mug up to her lips and sipping lightly. Link sits beside her this time, but he feels petrified.

In the last two days they've already crossed so many boundaries. He feels as though he has to be the stoic Knight from before, never looking at her for too long, not speaking unless spoken to, and especially not touching without explicit permission. That was a whole lifetime ago, however, and he’s barely the same person he was when those were the rules.

But even so, he can’t help but follow those roles that he keeps breaking. He shouldn’t see her in such a state: shirt too loose, eyes droopy, sighs so gentle and alluring it could tame a lynel.

He knows no one is watching them, no one is there to judge them, but he cannot bring himself to hold her hand as she shakes, even though he desperately wants to. Placing his hand on her head to check for temperature and burns in her hair from her face was already a serious breach of protocol, and yet when he did it, he felt so comfortable, so safe. He felt more like himself.

Maybe what’s holding him back is the knowledge that she didn’t lose her memories. To her, he is supposed to be that obedient servant.

He knows they got very close towards the end. Based on the memories he’s recollected, he knows they broke those rules far more than they should have. But it was always by Zelda’s instigation. She wanted him to place his hand on the small of her back as they walked, she asked him to lace up her goddess dress, she initiated the gentle touches and hugs of despair.

Now, he’s terrified of taking advantage of her in her sickly state, but he wants so badly to lie with her. To finally get some rest of his own, in his own bed, holding the girl he worked so tirelessly to rescue.

He wishes he could rest as a reward.

He reminds himself that her presence, safety and life is reward enough.

And goddess, is that a wonderful reward. Her weight sinking down the bed, her intoxicating smell, their shoulders just barely brushing. She was incredible, completing a feat that no one had ever come close to accomplishing, and here she was, in his home, in his bed, wearing his clothes.

Link's stomach flips, and he immediately forces himself to relax. Realizing how immature his though process was. This was a princess, not a girl in the Gerduo Brothel. He was confused.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks him, pulling him out of his rampant thoughts. He snaps back to reality.

“What?” He turns to see her looking up at him with her shiny eyes. “Oh…” He desperately wants to tell her, tell her that he’s thinking of her and only her. For three years he spent sleepless nights staring at the heavens and thinking about her. How he hungrily searched for every memory just to hear her voice, and how he took her diary out of the castle to read every page, even the ones that were scribbled with doodles and blacked-out poetry. He wanted to tell her that he fell for her the moment she told him to open-his-eyes, and when he finally remembered what she looked like, she was even prettier than what he imagined.

“…Horses.” He says, dumbfounded and foolish. She smiles.

“I’ve always admired how you loved them. You were the best rider in all of the guard, I fully believe it’s because of how gentle you were with them. They trusted you, which made them listen to you.”

The way she spoke was so thoughtful, so intelligent. Link catches himself accidentally looking at her lips, but yanks his eyes away.

“W-What were you thinking about?” He asks.

She looks off, swallowing thickly. Zelda then lifts her hand, holding it palm up, staring at it. Nothing happens.

“My gift isn’t working anymore.” She states. “I tried while you were getting the water, and look, nothing.” Zelda explains. Link looks at her hand, not knowing what he’s supposed to see.

Her hand is so soft, her fingers long and slender, her nails clean and rounded to perfection.

Her wrists are littered with old scars.

Link wants to take her hand. She sets it down in her lap, “I suppose that’s alright. I don’t need them anymore.”

“What was it like?” Link asks. “In that castle.” Zelda shudders. “You don’t have to say.” Link states.

Zelda carefully constructs her words, “Cold. All the time I was cold. I wasn’t conscious usually, but I wasn’t… unconscious either. I know it makes no sense. I was in a sort of trance. Time seemed to move at a rapid pace while also simultaneously standing still.” She looks at him, rotating her body to face him, he mirrors her.

“Did he ever… say anything?” Link asked.

Zelda nodded, “In the beginning he would whisper constantly, but it was an ancient language I didn’t understand. The longer time went on, the more tired he got, but the wiser I became. He spoke less, and I was able to pick up on certain words and phrases. He didn’t expect me to last as long as I did, that’s for certain.”

Link listens intently, “How did you do it, last so long?” He asks.

Zelda’s big, green eyes meet his. She takes his hand with hers.

“Because I knew one day you would wake up.”

—

Read Chapter four here

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