#after the angst and mourning is mostly endured

[naffeclipse]

Omg so I just finished A Garden of Garlic and I was curious of what would happen if Sun did turn Y/N after feeding too much from her? 👀

Sun would never forgive himself. He never wanted this life for you, he loathes how cruel and terrible it is—and to curse you with it himself? Devastation. He doesn't believe you would forgive him, either. Yet, he would prepare a coffin for you and wait for you to rise at the next sunset.

The graveyard keeper would suffer the anguish of death, of losing her heartbeat and the ability to tend her garden in sunlight. She would be angry with Sun. She trusted him. He turned her trust into bloodlust.

But he pleads, on his knees, clinging to her ivory dress now stained in what was left of her blood. He swears he never wanted this. He will beg for forgiveness for a thousand years, but please, let him help her through this, then, she can send him away when she knows how to survive on her own.

She mourns, and he mourns with her, but when she first feeds and understands that bloodlust, how devouring it is, how monstrous it makes her, she understands. Her mortal life is gone.

Her new, undead life begins with Sun, side by side in their coffins, rising after each sunset.

[ddevlgi]

I need a seulgi x reader when she comforts the reader that's going trough a family issue pls

( bcs I just discovered that my parents are divorcing and I need comfort)

🎀 anon

♡ Member: Seulgi x Femreader

♡ Theme: Angst, fluff

♡ Warning: None

Word count: 2.6k

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

That look on your face—it's one Seulgi knows of too well. The underlining despair melded in the contours of your features, your absent-minded gaze, the unshed tears that gloss over your eyes as the late afternoon rays seep past the gauzy curtains and shine over them, making them glisten in a way that Seulgi believes accentuates your beauty effortlessly, making you look ethereal despite yourself. However, it also leaves a heavy ache in her heart, striking her with a pang of guilt and pity as it's only a sheer reminder of the amount of pain you're enduring internally.

It's been a rough week for you, to say the least—your main emotions mostly consisting of sorrow and apprehension. Recently, there has been an influx of conflicts stirring between your parents, some new, some old, and some that have stuck around since you were a small child, barely old enough to add numbers without using your fingers and shielded with a mask of innocence that, at the time, prevented you from fully comprehending the weight of their ongoing feud. But it didn't take long before you, eventually, were deprived of that same innocence, and each day you mourn and strive to cling onto any remnants of purity that may have survived throughout the years just so you can ground yourself to a semblance of sanity and serenity at times you need it most.

It was always a displeasure growing up having to witness every unfiltered argument that unfolded, all cruel and loud. Painfully loud that it was near impossible to block out any words echoing past the already paper-thin walls, every unforgettable word of hatred and resentment exchanged forever ingrained into the back of your mind. Still at quite a young age, your ears grew accustomed to the arguments, the muffled voices becoming almost indistinguishable from white noise any time you managed to zone out.

You had become desensitized quite a bit, though your sensitiveness still crept just beneath the surface, ready to unsheathe your true emotions any moment if you were provoked the right way. And you were beginning to accept the fact that there would never rest a day where you weren't woken up for breakfast to pancakes and deafening shouting with a side of torturous migraines caused by your sleep deprivation, but one day—a day you had never expected to occur in a million years—your parents suddenly decided to turn a new leaf and change all of that.

Deciding this a few years back, the two felt it would be best to try and settle their disagreements once and for all, hoping to someday reconcile that spark of love and trust that once rendered their bond and relationship. They also just wanted to make their everyday life easier, wishing to recoup a sense of normality and stability back into yours as well. It was all truly a miracle; you believed the angels above had finally listened to your desperate pleas and prayers.

Things were guided back on track, arguments rarely broke out, and it finally seemed like things would come out well in the end, but after one unforgiving slip-up, chaos unfurled and things had gone from 10 to 10000 within a matter of days, being 10x worse than what you were living through prior their attempt at reconnection. The damage inflicted has no means to be rekindled, and in recent months, their disputes have worsened to a point that what you once felt was unfathomable has become more than a possibility, more of a reality.

Seulgi knows all about your parents' issues, it was one of the first things you'd ever wrought up the courage to confide after the two of you had curated a bond where you two were comfortable enough to confess sensitive topics to each other such as this. She's witnessed all your breakdowns, seen the tamed and ugly aspects, and has always been there to comfort you on tough days well like this one. But on this day in particular, Seulgi can tell things happen to be hitting you a lot harder than usual.

With a tender gaze, Seulgi watches you from a distance, her eyes growing duller watching sadness consume you profoundly, your face contorting with anguish. She can tell you're trying to evade your emotions, withholding your tears desperately, not wanting to unleash them for whatever reason it may be.

Motionlessly, you sit on the rear end of the bed, your knees tucked into your chest and your chin rests there as you glance down at the carpeted floor. You're well aware that Seulgi's standing at the bedroom entrance, observing as you sulk, but you don't say anything and she doesn't expect you to say anything to her either, at least, not on your own accord.

"Y/N?" Seulgi calls out softly in hopes you'll grow responsive to the timbre of her voice, but your body remains still. You don't even flinch. All the thoughts racing through your mind right now make it nearly impossible to hear or focus on anything other than it; it's insanity!

Exuding a low sigh, Seulgi forces her weight up from the doorframe and limply ventures deeper inside the bedroom. She meets her end in front of you, slightly blocking out the sunlight as her body stands in the way of the curtains. Her expression is sympathetic looking down at you, and her chest tightens examining a better look at your sulky expression.

Stepping aside, Seulgi situates herself in the space next to you, miming your posture as she hurls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Her hand tentatively reaches out to your side, but she suddenly retreats, creeping it back to herself. Seulgi's unsure of whether or not to touch you right now, not knowing if any sudden contact would agitate or spoil your mood further. So she just sits there in the silence with you, mindlessly clawing her nails into her thighs as her thoughts run in conflict with each other, struggling to join in a unanimous agreement on the best way to approach you.

Seulgi herself is quite the awkward latter, she's not the most confident at handling people's emotions or consoling others since she never really knows what exactly to do. Because everyone reacts differently when moody, she's never 100% certain about what may be the appropriate response, so she's always extra cautious with her wording and actions, hoping that she doesn't adhere to the person's woes. And even though she's known you for almost three years now, dating you for half of that time, and has consoled you plenty of times before, she still hasn't reached a high level of confidence or sureness in herself.

But after fighting the internal battle against her own thoughts, Seulgi settles on what her heart's urging, what she's certain is the right thing to do, even if you end up rejecting it. She slightly shimmies her body closer beside you, the movement barely going unnoticed. Her body scoots again, this time, her shoulder now on par with yours as she rests her legs down, allowing them to hang over the edge of the bed.

Gingerly, Seulgi extends her arms, encircling them around your huddled frame, and holding you in a gentle embrace. Her face rests in the nuzzle of your neck, her breath light and warm against your skin, and she adjusts her grip, making sure you're secure in her hold. Her hand soothingly rubs up and down your back, feeling the way your body tenses beneath her, hoping to tranquilize your nerves.

Right upon feeling her touch, you're reluctant. Your muscles clench and your jaw tightens, almost like you're trying to resist her, as if she's an alien force, but the longer she holds you, her hold unyielding and comforting, you find yourself easing into her ministrations. First, your muscles relax, unclenching as your stress levels dissipate, then, your body adapts to the warm touch and learns to accept the embrace, falling more lax in her arms.

You slowly unravel your arms from your knees, extending your legs out and allowing them to freely hang over the edge of the bed. Your posture right now is quite awkward and uncomfortable, but you remain silent and at a still, continuing to look off with your faraway gaze, your eyes yet to connect with your lover's.

For a few minutes, you're both motionless and don't speak a word, sitting amid the room's silence, save for the soft buzzing of the fan. You take the time to sit in and ponder your emotions, but suddenly, a part of you cracks. It all becomes too overwhelming—you can't take it anymore.

Like a coil spring, your body jolts up and you jump into Seulgi's lap, squeezing your knees tightly around her waist and clinging your arms around her neck, leeching onto her as if she's guaranteed to disappear any moment. Heavy sobs escape your lips, your back heaving up and down erratically as your body shivers with emotion.

Seulgi's left stunned by the abrupt shift in, well, everything, but she quickly adjusts to your weight and unrelenting hold, hoisting you atop her lap in a position that's less awkward and causes less discomfort and grasping onto your lower back securely, making sure you won't slip off anywhere. Your muffled sobs ring throughout the bedroom as Seulgi comfortingly rubs her hand up and down your back, her hand lingering on the small of your back.

"Y/N.." Seulgi trails off, glancing down at you with hurt and slight panic in her eyes as she tries to configure the right words. "It-It's okay, Y/N. It's okay. Just let it all out."

You nod at her reassuring words amid your breakdown, though your tears remain uncontrolled, and you begin to hiccup, making you unable to voice out any coherent words if you attempt to speak any. Your sobs are unceasing, seemingly looking like they're not going to end anytime soon, which is no bother to Seulgi; she doesn't want you to rush your emotions, if anything, she's encouraging you to unleash all of your pent-up sadness. But.. you've never wept this hard before, your body's never shaken this intensely between sobs, you've never had to cling this desperately onto her just to seek out an ounce of comfort, and that worries her, deeply.

For what feels like an eternity, your sobs somewhat relent, though not coming to a complete halt. With a sniff, you withdraw your teary face from the crook of Seulgi's neck, suddenly getting stricken with embarrassment as you notice a large section of her gray shirt now dampened to a darker gray from your tears. Your gaze averts upwards, and for the first time today, both of your eyes meet.

Seulgi feels a tight strain in her chest as she takes sight of your bloodshot eyes, swollen tear bags, dampened lashes, dry lips, and mascara ruins smudged all around your eyes and stained in long streaks down your cheeks. Her heart is sore, causing her more distress, and if it clenches any more it'll surely implode.

All Seulgi wants to do is hold your face back down, cradle you into her as tightly as she can, and assure you again and again that everything will be okay; she just wants to strip away all of your pain completely. You stare at Seulgi through blurred vision and rub the back of your hands over your eyes, clearing away any tears. Your lips part just barely, and the sibilant words that slip past your throat leave Seulgi appalled.

"They're getting divorced."

Seulgi's eyes stretch wide, her throat going dry. "S-Seriously?" Seulgi mutters, her voice shrinking to a breath. With a despondent expression, you give a confirming nod, feeling a second breakdown already attempting to cut through as you whimper dejectedly.

Your girlfriend frowns and looks down in her lap; she's still unsure of what to say. Seulgi of course feels terrible about the news, pitying that the outcome had to be like this, but she doesn't want to end up saying the wrong thing or respond with something that may offend or worsen your mood. Should she sympathize with you? Or should she tell you all is going to be okay, even though the worst possible scenario, the one thing you had feared most, has become your reality? Seulgi's never gone through anything like this before so it's not like she can even empathize with you or find something to relate with.

Her lower lip is caught between her teeth, and she sighs, lifting her gaze and staring at you lightheartedly. "I'm so sorry this is happening, I really am. I wish I could just reverse time and change something that could somehow prevent any of this from happening or something."

Seulgi places her palm on your cheek, watching your lips tremble as she uses her thumb to swipe a stray tear. She sighs lowly before continuing. "I know I may never know how it feels to go through something like this, and I'll never fully know the true depths of your emotions and what underlies them, but I know that you'll be alright. It may be hard to adjust to, but just know I will always be with you on your toughest days and be here to listen to your hour-long vents. You're not alone. And remember that they both still love you and I love you too."

Seulgi leans in, placing a quick and chaste kiss against your lips, not caring if hers gets coated in a mix of your salty tears. Once she reels back, she takes a second to look at you before leaning in again, pressing a gentle kiss slightly off-centered on your forehead, her lips lingering longer than before.

You thought it was going to be impossible to feel any amount of happiness or emotions kin to it today, yet, you start to feel the tiniest pull of a smile tug the corners of your lips. For some reason, you fight against it, almost as if you're trying to stay in your somber mood, but eventually, you lose authority over your lips and flash Seulgi a bittersweet smile, your eyes gleaming with appreciation and love.

You thank the universe each day for bringing Seulgi into your life; you're not sure if there's anyone else in the world who's capable of sitting with you through hectic moments like this, take the time and patience to console you, even if you resist, and still manage to pull you out of such a mood, making you feel invigorated, and bringing a sense of solace and serenity upon you in a way that makes almost all of your worries wither away as if they never took place. You're so incredibly grateful for her.

"T-Thank you, b-baby," you stammer out, your breaths still uneven as your heart pummels against your ribcage. "I really appreciate you for this."

Seulgi's heart warms at your voice, a rewarding change from the heavy feelings she's been dealing with for the last twenty minutes. She reaches out to hold your face in her palms, and once you lean into her touch she doesn't say anything, she just takes the time to study your features, looking at you lovingly.

Your hand grazes up her arm, and you stop once your hand falls on top of hers, letting it rest there, "I love you so so much."

The two of you lean in, meeting your lips once more as you melt into the kiss, along with any remnants of your worries, anger, and sadness. You know the next couple of months are going to be rough, and you're not so sure if you're prepared to endure them yet, but as long as you have Seulgi by your side, you're sure everything is going to be okay just like she said—like she had promised.

Everything's going to be alright.

Hi 🎀 anon! I know this is like a month late, but I hope everything’s going alright rn, I know this must be tough having to go through☹️. How are you doing?

[altocat]

‘Ello!! Hope it’s been a lovely weekend!! 💕

I don’t know if I’ve ever asked you this before but shshhshshshhs Can we get some Zack & Seph bonding over Angeal angst/comfort plz?? :3ccc

Yesssssssss of course !

Sephiroth and Zack don't really talk much after the incident in Modeoheim. There's a lot of bitter feelings there. Zack blames Sephiroth for making him have to deal with that heartache. It should have been Sephiroth, not him. Sephiroth could have stopped it. It's not fair! Angeal would still be alive!

Sephiroth is aware of Zack's ill feelings, mostly mourning quietly alone, his nightmares getting worse than ever, barely eating or sleeping. Most of the time, he's mindlessly performing tasks thanks to the cocktail of drugs Hojo is pumping into him.

Despite this, thanks to the dwindling ranks in SOLDIER, both are assigned a mission together investigating some rogue rebel activity in the mountains. It's cold and rainy and miserable. And Sephiroth and Zack can't even bear to look at each other.

They tail the rebels all the way to the peaks, cornering them on the fragile remains of a bridge, now halfway frozen over from the chill.

Zack moodily thinks that now's the part where Sephiroth coldly murders everyone. That's what soldiers do, right? That's what HE had to do to Angeal. Just mindless killing. Callous slaying of anyone who doesn't fit. Ruining lives. Just like Angeal.

Zack isn't paying attention, too agitated to notice the enemy creeping up from behind. He has mere seconds to react before the gunshot rings out, followed by the frantic rush of air as Sephiroth shoves him out of the way to take the hit.

He watched in horror as Sephiroth falls nearly twenty feet, crashing hard into a jutting snowy cliff side below.

He's an absolute mess when the helicopter comes in to retrieve them, Sephiroth's battered body being taken away to Medical the second they land.

Zack's a shaking, helpless wreck, reliving Angeal's death over and over. Oh gods it's happening again. And it's all his fault. And now he's going to lose someone else too. And he was so cold to Seph beforehand. He blamed him for everything when really it was NO ONE'S fault. And now Sephiroth is going to die and he's going to have to bury another friend and and and...

Days pass. Zack endures sleepless nights letting his inner demons eat at him. He is a trembling mess by the time he's finally able to step out onto the main SOLDIER floor again, freezing at the sight of Sephiroth standing near the doorway, alive and well, his arm carefully wrapped up in a sling.

"You're... you're okay."

"Mm? Oh. Yes. It was a bad fall. But my healing capabilities proved to be amply useful for such an occasion. I received clearance this morning to return to my duties, though I've been instructed not to strain myself."

Zack miserably hangs his head, relief and guilt intermingling in his belly, his face hot, eyes red and watery.

"Listen, Sephiroth? I... about earlier..."

Sephiroth tilts his head, seemingly confused, watching as the young First dithers and balks.

"I...you saved me."

"Think nothing of it. It was instinct. A team leader's responsibility is to protect his men."

"I thought you'd died. I mean...gods, this is such a mess. I was so mad at you. I shouldn't have been. But I was. I blamed you for Angeal when I should've just talked it out. I just let it get to me. And... and... and you still..."

He forces himself not to cry, not even when Sephiroth's free hand gently, if not awkwardly, reaches over to pat his shoulder.

"...I was not keen on losing you as well."

And the tears are coming now, his efforts fruitless. He feels like a child, pawing at his eyes, shaky laugh as he shakes his head. "G-guess we have that feeling in common, huh?" He just wishes he understood it sooner.

He spends the rest of the afternoon at Sephiroth's side, holding his tablet up for him to make it easier for him to write. They don't speak much. But it feels different this time, awkward smiles exchanged, a kind of fragile reluctance when it's finally time to part ways for the evening.

But afterwards, Zack makes it mandatory to keep in contact at all times, sending Sephiroth text reminders so they can meet up to unwind together after a long hard day.

This goes on for a long while, an unspoken trust building, both parties emotionally relying on each other without ever saying a word. A pure bond; burgeoning, unexpected, but genuine. Real.

Until Nibelheim.

[consistentsquash]

5 Viserys/Daemon Fic Recs

Viserys/Daemon! This is definitely the OTP the fandom slept on. Which is tragic. Because they are the best tragic star-crossed brothers ever with Targcestuous vibes. It's a relationship full of what-ifs and if-onlys. The love is deep but the baggage is also really deep.

Time for Recs!

Fandom slept on the pairing overall. But we are lucky because one author at least saw the potential and delivered the best Greek tragedy series out there about these two brothers. Lots of reasons to love eldritcher. Classy dirtybadhotwrong Greek ship picks is definitely one of them.

What are we getting?

Exquisite prose which is almost poetry. Exquisite tragedy. Raw, intense and going to make you bawl. The writing has so much precision. It doesn't blow up. It doesn't blow over. It just builds like music. You are going to cry. It's totally worth crying about. Because this is a love story.

"As the vine to elm, the virgin sought her burning youth, and each the other strengthened and fed."

"They were matched in equal wedlock. One did not contend with the other. One did not strive against the other. They aged in tended touch, from ripe to hoar, for they were united under fourteen holy flames under a sole-starred, moonless night," Daemon recited. He knew these words. He knew this ritual. Viserys and he had recited the holy words to each other as children, in play and in earnest.

"They sang something worthy of memory on that fortunate hour. The evening came, and the vestal bride gave the thirds of her to her juvenal. A welcome, cruel fire joined them in marriage, sullying the one and making the other," Viserys finished. "This was their hymen-song. This they sung at their feasting troth. No fallow embrace theirs, even unto god's hoar, even unto ossuarium."

A dream. A memory. A hope of once. Daemon watched his earnest brother and saw the death that ate him.

 (Soon the light on Olympus, aka the love story)

 Soon the burning youth

Length - 4200 words. Rating - M

Best intentions and worst results is the tagline for Viserys. Young!Viserys takes his brother to the brothel and learns something about his own desires. Really beautiful and introspective pining second half where Viserys is thinking about this in the context of the Daemon/Rhaenyra brothel adventure. Pining + power dynamics... this is just brilliant.

His head came sweet-swept to your shoulder once more. There was none to witness it, but it did not matter right then. His heart ran askew-songed, as he yearned and mourned. Your hands roved over him, painting him in blood and rot. He did not flinch and endure as Alicent did. He pressed closer in blind yield.

 Soon the wedding hymn

Length - 2300 words. Rating - M

Viserys tries to do the right thing for the wrong reasons and gets really stubborn about it. Which means pining, angst and power dynamics. For everybody. Mostly for himself. Because he is all about the pining and the power dynamics.

They said you had no dragon at your bidding.

There stood a dragon at your bidding.

 Soon the beloved

Length - 5300 words. Rating - M

Viserys gets his chance after Laena's death. Being Viserys, he doesn't get it right. Because that's Viserys. More pining, more angst and more power dynamics. But this time it's on both sides. Because Daemon grew up in those ten years and actually understands his own priorities better. It's incredible to see Viserys meeting his match. In every way possible. Of course he totally overreacts and gets it wrong.

Rec note - This is my personal favorite from the series. Its got everything.

"Did you think that I wouldn't come to you in your hour of need?"

A taunt. A truth. A vow.

 Soon the feasting troth

Length - 3600 words. Rating - M

A lot of times people think the umbilical cord fated connection between Daemon and Rhaenyra started with Rhaenyra herself. It definitely didn't. Daemon is looking for something he didn't get from his original umbilical cord fated connection with Viserys. Of course it works better with Rhaenyra because he got to influence her early instead of Viserys who influenced him. That makes their connection the stuff of Greek tragedy. It also explains his loyalty and obsession a lot more. Pining, angst...and more pining. This series is all about the pining.

You did not know what she spoke to him, but you saw how he flinched and reared as a wounded, lonely beast that would not use its claws against its own. How dared he flaunt this weakness of his before so many? How dared he bare himself before your daughter when he would not bare himself to you? You protected him. She would one day be the death of him. How dared he—

 Soon the sole-starred sky

Length - 1600 words. Rating - M

Viserys on his deathbed. We as readers get to decide if he imagines his brother and their entire conversation or if it's a real conversation. The fic is written like a lucid dream with a lot of baiting and switching which kind of keeps you on the fence about deciding if it actually happened or if he was just high on his meds. More pining. More angst. Because that's their love language and it's totally perfect for them.

He crowned you, when you were first named King. He crowned you once more, when you last sat the throne. Perhaps you were a worthy King only for two days of your reign. Perhaps you were worthy only on the first and the last days. The throne, you realise, did not cut you today. How could it have, with brother's faith in brother trothed?

 If you want more, definitely check out the other POV fics in this series. It is just beautiful and reads like poetry. The prose is poetry.

[whumpybucky]

A promise

Pairing: sam x bucky (early FATWS-era)

Word count: 3,784

Summary: Bucky is adjusting to life as an ex-assassin. Sam made a promise to look out for Bucky and he wasn’t about to break it. Quelle surprise when Bucky doesn’t want to admit he’s sick and Sam just wants to take care of him. 

A/n: Here's 3.7k words of angst and hurt/comfort that absolutely no one asked for, with poor Bucky getting hit with the flu and Sam being the most soft and protective. 

Sam sighed as he put his phone face down on his desk. Yet another one of his texts to Bucky left on read. 

He knew the super soldier was still adjusting. Working through things. The state-mandated therapy alone must be uncomfortable at best, and much too close to the forced treatment he endured for decades at worst. Not to mention Steve. Christ, if Sam was still mourning the loss of his best friend he can only imagine what Bucky felt losing him twice. More like a thousand times over with what Hydra did to him. 

Sam shook his head, willing the images of Bucky being tortured out of his mind’s eye. He had seen some of the lost footage. A last minute mission he and Steve went on to an old abandoned Hydra base while Bucky was still in Wakanda.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had confiscated some old boxes containing mostly useless administrative documents from Hydra’s glory days. They did, however, find plans of a small building and Steve and Sam were supposed to fly in, level it, and fly out. That was the plan, until Steve had noticed a secret room no bigger than a broom closet on the lowest floor of the drawings. The Winter Soldier symbol, like a tiny star-shaped blood drop in the middle of the room’s outline, with no other description. I’ve just got a feeling, Steve had said. Sam followed without question. 

Well, Steve had been right. After killing a few scattered Hydra loyals left to guard the otherwise abandoned base, the two Avengers found the closet lined with reel-to-reel tape and a somehow functioning projector. They spent hours checking each roll, all which turned out documentation of Hydra’s failed experiments. And the one successful one. 

It’s the only time Sam ever witnessed Steve fully break. It took two minutes before he vomited. Another two before he dropped to his knees, sobbing into his hands, choked apologies sputtering out of his mouth to his closest friend who was thankfully continents away.

Sam just held the blonde super soldier until he was all dried up. Then, as if a switch was flicked, Steve simply got up and continued checking every last tape until they had separated them all into two piles: Winter Soldier and others. When they were done, Steve told Sam to wait outside. I need to do this, he had said. So Sam stood back and watched as the captain filled the empty duffle bags they had brought with the ‘other’ tapes. Then he dumped an entire bottle of lighter fluid on the Winter Soldier pile, and stood there with sweat beading on his forehead from the flames, coughing at the fumes, until he verified with his own eyes that every last tape had burned to a crisp.

No one needed to watch the torture his best guy had endured. And he couldn’t risk Bucky seeing even a minute of it—he already relived it nearly every night. So Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. be damned, as far as Steve was concerned the Winter Soldier program was over. Gone. Do not resuscitate. 

Sam would have followed Steve anywhere. It's why he never breathed a word about the tapes to anyone. It’s also why he agreed not just out loud, but in his heart, to watch over Bucky when Steve asked him to that day he handed him the shield. It’s the only thing he had been sure about in the aftermath of the blip, the war, Thanos, losing Natasha, Tony, Steve. Nothing made sense except that. 

Everything Bucky had endured. The freezing and thawing. Losing autonomy over his body. Watching from the inside as his hands inflicted unimaginable pain, unable to stop them. Memories of a young life stolen from him just as they would start to form again, at the tips of his fingers like dust in a sunbeam on a summer afternoon. 

Watching over Bucky gave Sam purpose. A reason to keep going. Being needed was a powerful motivator. And whether Bucky admitted it or not, deep down Sam knew he needed somebody. And he promised Steve he would be that somebody. 

It’s why he never went more than a week without texting the Brooklyn native from then on. Sometimes a photo. Sometimes a link to an article he thought Bucky might find interesting. Sometimes a Hope you’re ok. Here if you want to chat. The last text was letting Bucky know he was going to be in New York for the weekend and that they should grab a bite. 

He wouldn’t give up. A promise was a promise. And Sam kept his promises.

—————

“Are you still having nightmares?”

“No,” Bucky lied.

“So what do you call that dream you were just telling me about?”

“Dunno doc, you tell me.” Bucky’s added scoff turned into a cough that turned into a twenty second fit, ending with Dr. Raynor handing him a bottle of water,

Bucky accepted, nodding in gratitude once the fit had finally passed.

“You know, it’s okay to let yourself rest once in a while,” she reminded Bucky once she had sat herself back down into her wingback chair.

“I rested for nearly 70 years.”

Bucky caught the furrow of Dr. Raynor’s brow from the corner of his eye. 

“You and I both know that was anything but rest.” She moved forward in her seat, placing her notebook onto the small white side table beside her chair. “You’ve been through a lot, James. Mentally, physically. You need time to heal.”

“Is that what this is?” Bucky gestured between the two of them with a gloved hand as he rolled his eyes, looking anywhere but at his therapist.

“If you want it to be.”

Of course. Always putting the ball back in his court. 

Another cough wracked through Bucky’s lungs. The other half of the water bottle helped stop the fit before it began.

“You’re clearly unwell. Your homework this week is to rest. And reach out to Sam, let him know how you’re doing.”

Another eye roll. Another cough. “I’m fine, just a tickle.”

“You know, you don’t have to keep punishing yourself.” She paused before adding, “You’re not him anymore.”

Her frankness caught him off guard and he made real, true eye contact with Dr. Raynor for the first time during their entire session. 

“I… I'm not…” another cough escaped Bucky's lips and he quickly caught it with his fist. 

“Just think about at least replying to one of his texts, alright? He cares about you. Let him. I'm going to end our session for today. You need to go home and rest.”

Bucky sighed as he looked away. He was tired, that was all. 

“Fine by me. See ya next week.”

“Take care, James. Feel better.”

Bucky shook his head as he passed the forest wallpaper on his way out. He was fine. And even if he wasn’t, it’s nothing the serum couldn’t handle. A nap would fix him right up. Well, at least it would take care of the cough he’d woken up with. The rest of him was another story entirely.

He skipped his post therapy sushi lunch routine, opting to head straight home. After checking each window and room in his apartment, he downed a power bar and an Ensure before slumping into the couch. His eyes glanced at his phone on the coffee table. Sam’s last text had said he was in town for the weekend. Bucky wondered if he was already here. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to meet for a drink. 

His chest ached suddenly. He missed Sam. A lot.

Sam had been there for Bucky when he fell into a depression after Steve had come back to give Sam the shield. In return, Bucky had helped Sam realize he was good enough to be the next captain. It was one of the few times when Bucky felt connected again. When Sam was sent to D.C. Bucky tried to be happy for him. Said he would keep in touch. But he just couldn’t get into texting. And after a few calls went unanswered, Bucky convinced himself that Sam was better off without him. 

Now alone in his apartment, the thought that Sam might be in the same city buzzing around his pounding head, Bucky ached to see his friend that he had left on read these past months.

The realization was interrupted by a cough that scraped his throat and made him wince. Shifting onto his side, the super soldier curled into himself, head on the armrest of the sofa and legs tucked in. He couldn’t seem to get warm, but the blanket bunched at his makeshift floor bed was too far away. Besides, he was used to being cold. He could tough it out. He had felt worse. He was just tired. Too many sleepless nights. He would shut his eyes for five minutes. Five minutes and he would finally text Sam back. Fuck it, he’d call him. Just five minutes and the ache at his temples and the throbbing in his throat would be gone. 

In what felt like a blink of an eye, Bucky was being pulled awake by someone pounding on the walls. Or maybe it was the door? The noise had Bucky stuck between sleeping and waking as he scrambled to get his bearings. His eyes blinked, adjusting to his now dark apartment where everything in the room suddenly seemed too big for some reason.

He was in Brooklyn. It was 2023. He was James Buchanan Barnes and he was no longer the Winter Soldier. 

He repeated the mantra a few times until his heart slowed. A sigh left his lips as the noise that woke him seemed to slip back into his dreams. But his next inhale caught the back of his tender throat and a coughing fit burst through his lungs, setting them on fire. Fighting to catch his breath Bucky grabbed the mug of water he’d left on the coffee table earlier that morning. 

“Bucky! Open up man, I can hear you in there.”

So it wasn’t a dream. 

Bucky swallowed the water and nearly cried out at the pain. He put his metal fist on his chest, and took a few shallow breaths, willing his lungs to cooperate. Then he attempted to get up off the couch. And what an attempt it was. He felt like he was a newborn colt, shaky and weak, unable to maintain a straight line. He barely made it to the door, grabbing onto the beveled wooden casing for support before unlocking the deadbolt and chain. 

—————

Just as he was about to head back down the hall to the stairwell, Sam heard Bucky cough. So he knocked one more time, announcing his presence. Then he waited. The sound of footsteps on creaky hardwood floors started up, though something seemed off about their rhythm. Eventually the door swung open and the reason was obvious. 

“Jesus christ, James, you look like shit.”

“Nice to see you too, Sam.” His voice was hoarse and Sam noted the pained look that flashed across Bucky’s face as he cleared his throat. 

He eyed the super soldier up and down, trying to figure out his next move. “You got someone in there, or…”

“Unless they snuck in while I was passed out on the couch, it’s just me and the air.” Bucky followed the sarcastic retort by catching a jagged cough into the crook of his elbow. 

“I, uh, did you get my text?”

Bucky sighed, “Y-yeah man. I’m, uh, sorry I haven’t responded. I was gonna today, but then I fell asleep and…” Another cough rattled through his friend’s chest. 

“‘S all good, man. You sound sick. Can I come in and make you some tea or something? I could order you some soup, or—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m—” Bucky paused to clear his throat, “fine.”

“Right. I don’t know what you and Steve used to define as “fine” back in the day, but this sure ain’t it.”

“Seriously, Sam, I’ll catch some shut eye and be right as rain tomorrow.” Bucky managed to get all that out between sputtering coughs that he tried to cover with his fist. But that was as far as he would get in this interaction. All of a sudden he was doubled over, tears from the strain leaking onto his flushed cheeks as he battled his lungs. 

“Buck, c’mon, let’s get you inside,” Sam pleaded softly. 

He wanted so badly to rub his friend’s back, but restrained himself. He remembered how hard it was to be touched after coming back from his final tour. After losing Riley. Everything had been too much sometimes and the idea of someone touching him would send him into a panic. As if the slightest brush against his arm and the entire world would simply shatter. 

Maybe he was projecting. But he would rather err on the side of caution. The last thing he wanted was become one more thing Bucky had to tolerate. Especially in the state he had just found him in.

The coughing finally eased off and Bucky stood as upright as he could, still clutching the doorway. Sam was about to reiterate his last suggestion when a strange look flooded Bucky’s face. His brows furrowed, as if he was confused. Then the confusion turned to realization and a quiet “fuck” slipped past Bucky’s lips. Before Sam could reach out his arms to stop it, Bucky had collapsed in the entrance to his apartment like a rag doll. 

So much for not touching him.

—————

The first time Bucky woke up, his skin felt like it was on fire yet he was achingly cold deep into the marrow of his bones. He hadn’t felt that cold since—

“Hey, James. I need to take your temperature. Can you open up for me?”

Bucky had never been more grateful to hear Sam’s voice. He opened his mouth. He wasn’t a fan of medical equipment, but he’d been through enough evaluations with Dr. Cho, then in Wakanda. He had learned to tolerate it if the situation warranted it. 

Judging by the worsened pounding in his head, the burning in his throat, and the heaviness bearing down on his chest, this seemed like one of those times. 

The thermometer beeped and Sam brought it close, a whistle escaping his lips as he read the results. “Damn, James, you really got hit hard.”

Bucky suddenly registered that he was somehow in bed. And Sam was here. “W-what’s happening? Y-your here.”

“I am. I texted you that I was going to be in town and decided to pop by since I knew you’d never respond. As for what’s going on? You have a temperature of 103.1. Turns out super soldiers can get sick,” Sam added, though Bucky was still having a hard time processing it all with his fever-wracked brain.

“I’m going to help you sit up for just a minute, okay?”

Bucky nodded. He still couldn’t grasp what was happening, but he trusted Sam. 

“Take a sip of this. You need fluids”

It was sweet. Tasted like the apple juice Steve’s ma used to pour them on hot summer days, unfiltered with a tartness to it. 

“That’s good. Now I need you to take these pills. It’s just Tylenol. For your fever, and the aches.”

How did Sam know he was in pain? Did he tell him about how his shoulder felt like it was made of lead right now? How all his joints were throbbing? That even his hair follicles hurt?

“I can see that cyborg brain of yours working. I’ve had the flu before, Buck. I know how uncomfortable it is.”

“Oh.” The soft acknowledgement was all he could muster as his brain slowly connected the pieces together. He took the pills that Sam put in his flesh hand and was now guiding up to his mouth. Then he swallowed them with the juice Sam brought back to his lips. 

The flu. He hadn’t had the flu since before the war. Before…

A glorious cold sensation on his forehead broke him out of his thoughts as Sam guided him back down to his pillow. He allowed his eyes to flutter shut, then he drifted away.

—————

Pastel light filtered into Bucky’s room, waking Sam up from one of many naps he had taken throughout the night. It had taken six hours, another double dose of tylenol, and a lot of cold compresses before Bucky’s fever began to break. Sam had woken him every two hours to make sure his temperature was trending in the right direction. At least the serum seemed to speed things up. Last time Sam had the flu he had been out for two weeks. With any luck, Bucky would be back to his brooding self by tomorrow. 

Sam silently chuckled at the thought of his friend’s surly exterior. It was growing on him in a way he didn’t understand, but didn’t care to fight either. And now, with the soft morning glow coming through the curtains of Bucky’s three-story walk up apartment, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he tried. He had allowed himself to fall asleep next to Bucky. Maybe it was overstepping. But it’s not like the ex-assassin had a guest bedroom. Besides, he needed to be close in case his fever kept rising. 

He felt a warmth spread in his belly, and his cheeks followed suit as he watched his friend sleep. Bucky’s prosthesis was folded and pushing slightly against Sam’s chest. The gentle light signaling sunrise reflected off the sheen across his forehead. His lips were parted ever so slightly and his breathing was low and steady. Resting on his side, Bucky seemed so peaceful and Sam wondered if this is what he’d looked like before he got his papers. Youthful. Free.

A barely there cough stirred the super soldier and his eyes fluttered open, then shut again. 

“How did you get in,” Bucky mumbled, voice gravelly and low.

“You let me in. Right before you fainted.”

“Uunnngghhhh.”

Sam chuckled at his friend’s embarrassment.

“‘S not funny,” Bucky mumbled against his pillow. His eyes opened again. They were soft this time. Almost warm. 

“No, you’re right. You scared me there for a minute.”

Bucky grinned at that. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Had me checkin’ your temperature every two hours.”

“Didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure I did. You would’ve done the same.”

Bucky huffed at the statement, though quickly digressed into a coughing fit. 

Sam pushed himself up from the bed and turned to grab a glass of water off the nightstand. Bucky sat up and took the glass, sipping slowly until he could breathe easy again. He offered a quiet “thanks” as he passed the glass back to Sam. 

“I feel like I got hit by a bus,” Bucky moaned as he flopped back down into his pillow.

“That’s what the flu feels like,” Sam validated, laying back against the headboard, his chest bare. 

Bucky looked up at him, his ice blue eyes searching Sam—for what, he couldn’t tell. He watched as Bucky’s brow began to crease slightly. A heavy silence hung between them for several minutes and Sam didn’t push. He would give Bucky all the time he needed to sort out his thoughts. 

The super soldier’s eyes closed. Then he took a breath and in one motion, had positioned his head against Sam’s chest and his prosthesis draped over his stomach before either of them had a chance to get a word in. 

Sam thought his cheeks might break at how wide his smile grew. The shock of the vulnerability of it all was quickly replaced by a comfort he’d only imagined when he granted himself the indulgence late at night. On instinct, Sam started carding his fingers through Bucky’s short waves. 

“Mmmmmm.”

“Feels good?”

Sam felt Bucky’s head nodding. 

“Good.” Sam replied softly. He placed his free palm on Bucky’s forehead. Still warm. “Jeez. How’d you get so sick?”

“Dunno,” Bucky shrugged. After a long silence he spoke again. “Raynor says I’m punishing myself.”

“Are you?” Sam asked, making sure he sounded as neutral as possible. 

“Probably. Can’t seem to make up for it. No matter what I do.”

Sam didn’t hesitate. He wrapped both his arms around Bucky and simply held him. No words, just a solid, unshakable hold. 

“You have nothing—nothing—to make up for. It wasn’t you, James. It was never you. And I’ll tell you a million times over until you believe it.”

Sam heard a sniff and felt dampness on his chest. He tightened his grip, never easing up until he felt Bucky’s shoulders relax and his breathing settle.

It was quiet. So quiet he almost missed it. But Sam heard Bucky whisper, “I missed you.”

“Me too,” he replied matter of factly. Then added, “think I’m going to start coming up to New York more often.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah.”  A promise was a promise. Not that Sam needed promises to make him want to visit Bucky. To hear his cheeky sarcasm. To see his eyes blinking at him like sapphires in the morning light. 

Sam’s heartbeat picked up at Bucky’s silence. Had he taken this too far? He was just going off his cues. But maybe it was too much. Too soon. Too—

“That’d be nice. Not great at texting. Better in-person.”

Sam chuckled at his friend’s blunt self-awareness. 

“I noticed. And I get it.” He removed one arm from his hold to go back to playing with Bucky’s hair, but suddenly the super soldier was grabbing his wrist and lacing their fingers together. Then bringing them up to his lips, Bucky kissed the back of Sam’s hand. Chaste, but sweet. 

“Thank you, for coming. For staying,” he muttered into Sam’s knuckles before bringing their hands back down to Sam’s chest.

Sam sighed. Two words that carried so much weight. The weight of your best friend—best guy—leaving you for a life lost. Leaving you lost in a life you didn’t choose. 

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

No declarations. Just an open invitation, if he wanted it. Sam would always let Bucky choose. 

Bucky’s lips pressed into the back of his hand again. A silent response, but Sam heard it loud and clear. 

Within a minute Bucky’s breathing had slowed, and Sam felt the brunette become heavier on his chest. With his one free arm, Sam pulled the blanket up and around his friend’s shoulders. Then he pressed the ghost of a kiss into the top of his head before relaxing into his pillow and letting his eyes close. 

He could get used to this.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Sheer | Kai Parker

Warnings; SMUT, ANGST, and FLUFF, mentions of death, mourning, loss, mentions of murder, trauma, swearing, unprotected sex,

A/N; sorta made up a whole storyline for this imagine, may be a teeny bit different and may have gotten a little carried away, please enjoy loves

It would not uphold, the weather held a grudge against you as you trudged through the pouring rain, cursing you for thinking that you would be safe on your lonesome.

Instead of a monster, the world wished for you to drown in its falling rivers, making you shiver down to the bone. It was too cold, but you had to go there, it was a ritual.

Since the death of your boyfriend, Aaron, who was killed by Damon, someone you thought to be a friend, you felt broken.

You had tried everything to bring him back, but without the power of a witch, it was deemed impossible, and Bonnie refused to help you, claiming that it was necromancy, and far from her beliefs.

It angered you, how everybody would dismiss the lost lives that Damon took. He got a free pass, he didn’t even regret his own invalid actions.

He was a monster, and you hated him. If you couldn’t bring Aaron back, then you would instead kill his murderer. That would not only give you a sense of revenge, but also make the world a safer place. There would be one less vampire making people’s lives a misery.

“Hi there.” You stopped in your tracks, the voice sending shivers down your spine. Whilst it sounded like a man, in reality it could be anything.

The skin of a human was a disguise the majority of the time, a bloodsucker or a wolf coping inside the exterior, thirsting to break free from the walls of bones and flesh.

“Kai.” He was not exactly human, he was a witch, the one thing that you needed. You had met him through Elena, who was luckily also angered by Damon’s actions, Aaron had been her friend.

And just like that, he had died. But she hid her feelings well, pretending all was fine because she was in love with the gruelling monster that you wished to execute.

However, even though you wanted to bring back your lost beloved, the time that had passed made your mind being up the idea of moving on.

The first person that sprung into your imagination was Kai Parker, the new sociopath in town. He was new, unaware of the traumatising past experience that lingered in your heart, and not to mention, his specimen was one of beauty.

Those grey eyes, ever so curious could bore straight into your soul, and you’d gladly let him mangle it, you no longer had a use for it anyway.

“Why are you out here y/n/n?” He asked with a tilt of his head that had your heart beating profusely.

Everyone knew of his effect on you, but they told you to dismiss it. It was cruel, that they’d rather have you mourning the loss of your partner than to move on with another.

To you, it didn’t matter if he were supposed to be the enemy, you no longer wanted to fight their battles. All you desired was to be in love, with somebody that felt the same.

And whilst you doubted that Kai knew how to feel such a strong emotion, some attention wasn’t the worst thing in the world. As a matter of fact, it worked well as a distraction, it made you almost forget the grudge that you held against the eldest Salvatore.

Almost.

“It’s nothing.” You whisked the direction of the conversation away from your deceased boyfriend, not wanting to talk about him to anyone, let alone Malachai Parker.

Even thinking of Aaron caused a void to open in the middle of your chest, it was unbelievably painful. You thought some people, such as Bonnie would understand, rather than think the loss as a regular occurrence.

To put it simply, the entire ordeal was completely fucked up, and you felt much more guilty for biting your lip at the expression that Kai pulled; his eyebrows raised, and his fingers carefully running down the side of his own jaw.

Oh god, his fingers. There were so many things that you could imagine him doing with those, and from the way he waved them on a greeting, he knew that he teased the thought too.

“Basically...” he began, rolling his grey eyes with what he liked to call modesty, and you classified as boredom, “you’re stuck out in the rain, and if I’m not mistaken, you live halfway across town.”

“Stalker much?” You sneered, crossing your arms across your chest, which only made his gaze wander down, and hold their movements for a dragged out moment. “What are you looking at?” You exasperatedly sighed, only understanding when you followed his peering.

He was focused on your chest, that through your white shirt, appeared almost bare. The lace of your bra was giving him a clear frontal, and so you adjusted your arms, so that they covered more and whatever they had pushed up to peak his intrigue.

“Why am I not surprised?” Shaking your wet hair, which was pointless considering that it was still raining, you realised that you felt the creeping of the cold.

You had been oblivious to it, thinking that it was a side guest to your tears, almost a consequence. But you were no longer tearful, mostly angry at the killer that ruined your future and acted as though it were no big deal.

“I thought you were supposed to be at college.” Kai quirked his brow, proud of the fact that he knew that. However you shook your head, and watched as he removed his jacket, clasping it around your shoulders, shielding you somewhat from the weather.

It appeared as no big deal to him, but it was to you, sociopaths weren’t famous for being kind and charitable. They always had agendas, their agendas, well they were obviously sociopathic.

But from the glazing of the witch’s eyes, you only saw a lost man. He was misinterpreted by all that he knew, they treated him like an outsider, alienated him as though he were a monster, and validly that was why he was seen as one.

“No.” You whispered, confused as to why you were so complied to correct the man. “My boyfriend was killed, I don’t want to go back there, it’s clear why.”

You attempted to give him a small smile, but it came out as a pained grimace. Just the thought had your mood drained, even more so since there was no route to resurrect him.

“Oh yeah, I heard about that.” He didn’t shiver in the rain, instead he seemed comfortable simply standing there, conversing with you in the rainfall. “Damon did it, right?”

Licking your lips, you hesitantly nodded, ashamed of the fact that you had once called the vampire a friend. From the start, you were always wary of him, but eventually you managed to become close to him. And then he ruined your chance of happiness, literally sucking the life out of it.

“What a dick.” Kai was blunt with his annotation, but you couldn’t deny that he was right about them. “Sorry for your loss and all that blah blah. We should get somewhere warm though, you can tell me more.”

It was a strange feeling, you felt pulled to the male, it was as though he was one side of a magnet, and you were another. And so you accepted his invitation, and followed him, breathing in the scent of his black coat. It was much sweeter than you had expected.

🏹

His so called home was an apartment, that you no doubt expected he had convinced someone with his magic to give him rent free. Or he killed them, either or you guessed.

But the thought of death itself was one that you weren’t too keen on thinking about, not now. Instead, you’d rather enjoy the company of someone that didn’t shame you for hating and desiring to kill the one and only Damon Salvatore.

Most of your friends didn’t take you seriously, they just barked laughter, not believing, nor willing to think that you could ever commit such a sentence. But they didn’t share your pain, if they did, you were sure that they’d understand.

Matt got it, he resented the vampire and a lot of the other blood suckers too. And your certainly couldn’t blame him, he had lost his sister, and there was no reason behind her change. It had all just been a game, a gruesome one at that.

Kai lightly removed his jacket from your shoulders, hanging it on a hook to dry. He almost appeared embarrassed, having you in such a private space.

But you didn’t want him to endure such a mindset as that. Instead you smiled, brushing your damp hair out of your face, grasping his hands. They were cold, and that made you frown. No one ever cared what he had gone through, instead they just wanted to rid the world of him.

Even his family had dismissed him, all because he had been different, and treating him as such had definitely had a mind mingling affect on him. It repented an unstoppable rage inside of him, one that ended in dead children and imprisonment.

“Thankyou.” The small example of affection had Kai tilt his head awkwardly and pull his hands away from your own. He wasn’t used to people even being polite towards him, let alone openly sharing contact with him.

You should have been scared of him. Or at least somewhat repulsed, but you weren’t, and it was a first for him. Most around him taunted him with blame, or pointed out his obvious flaws.

And so he ducked his chin downwards into his chest, taking a couple of steps back, mumbling something about retrieving you a dry shirt.

As you waited for him, you peeled off the sheer layer, dropping the ball of wet material upon the ground. Your bra had soaked into your skin, but you left that on out of modesty.

When Kai returned, his mouth gaped open, eyes widening at the half undressed sight of you. But he tried to avert your gaze, blushing at your lack of attire.

“It’s okay.” You jested to him , reaching out for the clean shirt that he had brought for you. “You can look, it’s not like I’m naked.”

“Yet.” He smirked as he allowed his stare to freely roam. His voice had been small, but you had heard it as clear as day. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be thinking like that, you’re in mourning and I get that you wouldn’t want to, yknow.”

His hand gestured between the pair of you , prompting what he was talking about. But maybe he was wrong, after all, it had been a while since you had any physical intimacy, and you’d be a fool to deny that there was chemistry between you and a particular witch.

“Don’t be sorry.” You put the dry shirt aside, walking closer to the brunette. “I am in mourning, but I’m going to get my revenge, and a distraction sure wouldn’t hurt.”

“And here I thought that you were just a pretty face.” Kai’s hand drifted to the side of your face, pulling you closer so that your lips were almost brushing. His breath ghosted over your own intermingling the fumes of lust and intrigue. “But it seems that there is a darkness in that mind of yours, I’m impressed with your plans to say the least.”

“I haven’t even told you any of them yet.” Your hand drifted under the band of his jeans, plucking teasingly at the denim, licking your teeth as you made strong eye contact with him.

“Tell me after.” He ordered, grasping your hips, and clashing your bodies together. Your lips worked hungrily against each other, both pairs of your hands grabbing all that they could, you and him both desperate to hold onto anything.

Kai shoved you backward into a table, trapping you against it as his lips fell downwards, and began to suck at your neck.

But at that contact, you pushed Kai away, freezing for a moment. Damon’s teeth had been on Aaron’s neck, sinking in and draining all that be worth.

“See Elena thinks I’m a monster, and she’s right.” You were unable to move as Aaron stood against the vampire, you had been compelled, and you wanted nothing more than to scream out for Damon to stop, but there was no audio in your throat.

There was no scream as Damon bared his fangs , nor when he sunk them into your boyfriend’s neck, instead you were holding back your tears, as you had been commanded to.

He held him to his mouth for a moment before dropping his body lifeless upon the ground. And you couldn’t help but stare at the sight.

Enzo wore a content smirk, and it sickened you to your stomach. Damon turned, his thirsty eyes boring into your form, that wanted nothing more than to crumble into a million people.

“You may now speak.” His pupils found yours, engaging with your soul, that felt broken and completely shattered.

“Are you going to kill me too?” A part of you was hopeful that he would, but as he came closer, you recognised the mischief in his stance.

He had plans for you, none of which you suspected to like. “Do it, show Elena how much of a monster you really are!”

If he killed you, you’d have liked to think that Elena would be furious , but it was expected that eventually she would forgive him when he put his humanity back on.

“Or instead...” you feared his humoured expression, eyes flickering between his feet that were walking closer to you and your dead partner that lay lifelessly a couple of meters away. “I could show her how much of a monster you are.”

He bit into his wrist, bringing it towards your mouth, and as much as you felt the urge to squirm, you could do nothing more but stand there and abide his compulsion.

“Are you okay?” Kai asked, brushing his nose against your own, wanting to know if you wanted to continue. He knew that you were a victim of trauma, and he understood it’s affects.

In regards to his past, his coping method had been inflicting it in return. But you had done no foul against him, and so he would not torture you or force you into something that you had no intention of continuing.

“Yeah.” You breathed, blinking to push the memory away, temporarily at least. “Bedroom.” You ushered, squealing distractedly as he hoisted you into his arms, wrapping your legs perfectly around his waist.

He dropped you upon the mattress, hovering over you, removing his shirt after you began to tug on the dark and rain pelted material.

Leaning your elbows, you unclipped the back of your bra, discarding it somewhere far from your memory, and Kai sunk down, his lips latching onto your nipple, playing with the other in his rough hands.

“Your fucking gorgeous.” He hummed around your breast, his fingers drifting down your stomach to the band of your leggings.

His compliment made you smile, and as he ripped off your pants, he slipped a hand inside of your panties, rubbing your sensitive flesh. But you groaned, frowning at his tantalising actions.

“Just need you inside of me.” You told him, and he was more than happy to comply, so he worked on his belt, as you slipped off your own underwear, and removed the torn fabric from around your legs.

When you looked up, you noticed that he was completely bare, and already had himself in hand. There was precum balancing on his tip and at the sight you licked your lips.

“You ready?” He asked bringing his head down to your chin, placing a delicate kiss upon the bump, and teasing his other tip against your opening, swiping through your wetness and using it to lube himself up.

“God yes.” You sighed, your hands finding refuge upon the back of his shoulders, your nails sinking into his firm skin.

And so, with consent, he pushed in, groaning at the initial tightness. “And I thought that it was wet outside.” He laughed, causing you to snort, he was funnier than you had expected him to be.

It almost made you swoon, but no, you couldn’t be interested in Kai, could you? Everyone thought you had been, even Bonnie had stated that you often undressed him with your eyes in the worst of situations, but it had never been a big deal to you.

And then it hit you like a ton of bricks, with a snap of Kai’s hips. All along you had denied any interest of another man, all because of the one that you had lost. And everyone already knew that there were sparks between you and the witch, before either of you had caught on.

“Shit.” He huffed, reaching down and biting your lips, causing your eyes to flutter sensuously, and dark veins to appear underneath.

At the feeling, you tried to bury your face sidewards into the pillow so that he couldn’t see, but he held you still as he gave shallow thrusts inside of you.

“Don’t look away, I think you’re beautiful.” Him saying that alone had you almost in tears. Despite trying to bring Aaron back you feared what he would think of you when he returned, or well, if he could.

Would he think you a monster, that stood idly by when he was killed? Because if so, you’re heart would literally break, and you wouldn’t be able to bare living any longer.

Living, funny. You hardly described what you were doing as such anyways. But currently, you did truly feel alive again, perhaps that was just the affect of having a dick inside of you.

But as Kai reached down and fiddled with your clit, you knew that you were done for. Your head fell back, eyes closed and mouth open, showcasing your fangs, your orgasm hitting you like a train.

He continued his movements until he felt he was nearing his point, and then he finished too, having no worry in impregnating you as you were well, to put it lightly , dead.

Both of you panted as he pulled out and fell beside you. Your eyes stared at the ceiling, your concentration eventually broken when Kai spoke.

“Damon did it, didn’t he? He turned you.” Your face had returned to its previous disguise, you looked human once more. But it was no secret that you were now a savage, a monster like Damon.

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, trying not to cry at the thought. It was the last thing in the world that you ever wanted, but Damon knew that too. And so he had cursed you, for all of eternity.

“Then he deserves to die.” Kai stated, he was already against the Salvatores, but his hatred for them had just increased.

[certifiedskywalker]

Sometimes, Love Means Leaving - Klaus Hargreeves

Anonymous said: Hello.... may I please request a Klaus Hargreeves x Reader? Your writing is beautiful and I cant stop reading your Klaus posts! I was thinking maybe the reader and klaus have been together for a long time and when she passes away in an accident klaus stays clean enough to conjure her to try to keep her around and be able to physically touch her again? (like he did with ben) i hope this makes sense.... thank you :)

fabimgc said: Hii, could you do a one shot Klaus x reader, where the reader has powers but died in a mission saving Klaus and Klaus is trying to see her but cant? Like Angst with a fluff ending if you can thankss❤️

AN: this story takes place BEFORE Season One of The Umbrella Academy. I hope you like this!

He felt awful; worse than the day you left. Worse because, when Klaus closed his eyes, he could see your face. You were so close to him, painfully so, and yet he couldn’t quite reach you. The aching in his stomach pulled him back to reality every time. 

“C’mon, Klaus, there are better ways to do this.”

“Shh, jus’ shhh,” Klaus whimpered, opening his eyes just enough to glance at the phantom visage of his brother. In his mostly-sober state, Ben appeared more in focus. Light and shadow seemed to meld around him in a way that was more natural. For a moment, Klaus thought his long dead brother was really, truly, there. 

“You should have stayed in re-”

“O-oh shit! Peanut gallery,” Klaus groaned, “you need to shhh!” Weak and stumbling, Klaus moved to stand. He pressed his shoulder to the wall, the plaster cooling his searing, sweaty skin. The sharp contrast was shocking to him at first but when he rested his throbbing temple against the wall, he sighed in relief. “Oh, yes. That’s better.”

Klaus let his eyes close to savor the feeling. In the dark behind his eyelids, he was weightless. Then he heard it again. Only sirens at first, high-pitched and ringing in his ears. His heart began to pound as he was thrust back into the memory. Seconds pass and the sirens turned to faint beeping, then a dull, enduring tone. Finally, mournful tune. Violins, piano, he couldn’t tell. Klaus only knew the melody from your funeral. 

With a gasp, Klaus opened his eyes and crumpled to the floor of the hotel room he had rented for the evening. The carpet was rough against his skin but he could have cared less. Klaus was too busy trying to calm his breathing, still his heaving chest. 

“Klaus,” Ben whispered, kneeling down beside his brother. For a moment, he thought Ben was going to reach out and stroke his hair. It something you used to do when Klaus, in an attempt to avoid the ghosts, went too far on a bender. But, Ben seemed to back down, sit back on his knees and watch him with worry in his eyes. His pity stung.

“Please go,” Klaus wheezed, letting his eyes close.

“I’m only here to-”

“Ben. Go.” Klaus opened his eyes again, “you’re not who I want here.”

Hurt washed over Ben’s face but he stood up nonetheless. “I know you’re grieving, that you’re in pain, but that doesn’t mean you get to be a dick to the people who care about you.”

Before Klaus could snap a witty comeback or apologize, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say really, Ben was gone. Klaus was alone again, in pain again, and he could feel familiar tears well up in his eyes. All he wanted was you but you were gone and he was, seemingly, still too high to conjure you presence. His head ached with longing and withdrawal.

Frantic for comfort, Klaus thought of you and the last time he tried to get sober. It had all been in an attempt to get you to stop worrying about him. You had come home to Klaus passed out, slouched over the toilet bowl, barely moving. It had scared you so much. Klaus didn’t want to scare you so he tried to get clean. 

It was a long stretch of days. Nights were spent in bed or sprawled out on the bathroom floor with blankets strew around your bodies. You would stroke his hair, read to him, in the hopes of luring him to sleep. Klaus could still feel your fingers working the knots in his curls; every some often your fingertips would brush along his hairline.

In the mornings, you would make breakfast together. Klaus would insist on everything greasy and too-sweet pastries from the local bakery. Most times, you would compromise with eggs or toast or fruits. On the mornings after a good night, when Klaus felt most sober and you were happy, you would walk, hand-in-hand and make a day of going to the cafe. Those day-long dates felt so distant now, so muddled by drugs and the passage of time. 

“Y/N….” Even your name, falling from his lips, felt different. He screwed his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.  “I miss you. Please...”

Silence greeted his plea. Deafening, heartbreaking silence, and then...

“Miss me? I’m always here.”

Klaus’ eyes flew open at the sound of your voice. There you were, crouching down at his side, eyes meeting his the moment they opened. You smiled and Klaus scrambled to sit up. He let out an almost crazed laugh. He had finally done it.

“Y/N,” Klaus reached out, but stopped himself. He didn’t want his hands to go through you like they did with Ben. It would be another reminder that you weren’t truly here. “I-I…”

“You did it,” you gleamed, “you got sober.”

“Y-yeah,” Klaus was grinning now, “I did. It only took like four ye-”

“Hey, no. Be kind to yourself, this is a process. Especially when you’re doing it by yourself like you had, have been.” Klaus could see the warning in your eyes before you continued to speak. He raised his hands and shook his head.

“I don’t want to waste time with a lecture. I know I need help but right now I,” he met your eyes, “I just want to be with you.”

“Klaus,” your voice was low and your hand shifted to rest on the floor between the two of you. So close yet still so terribly far away. “If you die, we won’t get more time like this.”

He fell quiet at that. You were right, he knew that much, and it made his chest ache. After your death, all Klaus wanted was to see you again. He hadn’t thought about anything else, save for what he would say to you if he ever got sober enough to conjure. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He met your gaze and felt his heart lurch in his chest. There, he saw the soft smile he had missed spread along your perfect lips, lips he craved to kiss but couldn’t. 

“I love you too, Klaus. That’s why you need to take care of yourself. I want to keep loving you, even if I’m not really here.” You leaned closer to him, “you still have to live your life.”

“I can conjure you now, whenever, like Ben and I-Ben. Did you hear what I…”

“I did,” you admit. “You know he was just trying to help.” Klaus nodded and let his eyes fall to the floor where your hand was still. Small but there, flecks of blood stood out against your skin as evidence of your accident. He swallowed hard before looking back up at you.

“You’re not staying are you? Not like him?” You curled your lips together and shook your head. Klaus nodded again, bitterly this time, and let his tears fall freely.

“I can’t,” you whispered, “not if you’re going to move on. You deserve to move on, Klaus, to live. I can’t, not really, not anymore.”

“But you love me,” Klaus whimpered. There was no use in hiding his tears anymore.

“I do,” you replied, “so much, Klaus, and this hurts me. I don’t want to see you like this.”

“When you love someone you stay with them. Why aren’t you staying?” Klaus was desperate, his hands moved up to his hair where his fingers pulled on the dark strands. 

“I already left this...plane,” you gesture to the room around you both, “but I never left you, Klaus. Not for a second.” You scoot along the carpet before you’re sitting before him. You’re so tantalizing close that Klaus swore he could feel your body heat for a second, smell your shampoo. Though that could not be true. “I’ve always been, and always will be, right here.”

Suddenly, Klaus feels a warmth spread through his chest. When he looked down, he finds your hand there, right above his heart. Your fingertips glow in a way he had never seen a ghost’s fingers glow before. At first, it scares him. 

Then your free head reaches up, strokes his hair and brushes along his scalp. A calm, a peace he hadn’t felt in a long time washed over him.

It was the peace Klaus felt walking with you to the bakery down the street from where you lived in the city. The same one he felt listening to you talk about your family, about school, about work; he felt it in your voice. Peace came with kissing you, holding you after he was released from the hospital after that first close call. How happy he had been to hold you again.

How happy he was to be holding you again, now. Klaus lunged towards you, wiry arms wrapping over your shoulders and pulling you close. The embrace was tight and Klaus felt everything he had been holding in go; like how he would have to let you go.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Klaus,” you said, clutching the back of his shirt. Suddenly, your fingers slipped through the material and you began to pull away. The light in your hands was beginning to fade and, as you sat back, Klaus watched, terrified.

“I love you, please don’t…”

“I love you too, Klaus. You were my unfinished business,” you leaned towards him as the light worked its way through your form. “I’ll always be here.”

With one final movement, you pressed your lips to Klaus’ and he felt his whole body go numb. He felt as if he were floating, made of the same light that was whisking you away to the next plane. Klaus knew, in those precious seconds before he opened his eyes again, that he would see you once more. He would, but not yet.

When Klaus opened his eyes, you were gone. Last, fluttering speck of light had taken your place. Stinging tears flowed from his eyes but his shoulders didn’t feel as heavy. Withdrawals had run the course or perhaps the disappearance of his full-body ache was your doing. He would never know for certain. 

Slightly breathless, Klaus pressed his back against the wall. His head fell back and, with a dull thud, it hit the wall as well. His skin, his lips seemed to tingle from your ghostly touch. It was the first time that had happened before. Perhaps dear-old-dad had been right: there was more to his powers than he realized. But, in that moment, Klaus was too overwhelmed to think any further on the subject.  

“You alright?” Klaus looked up and locked eyes with his brother. Ben, all dressed in black, looked down at him worried. 

“I’m sorry, Ben,” Klaus murmured. Ben nodded and walked over. His slid down the wall to sit next to his sweat-drenched, chest heaving brother. 

“I’m sorry too.”

Klaus smiled then and, for the first time in a while, he felt like happiness was possible. His chest swelled at the feeling and, for a split second, Klaus swore he could feel your hand run through his hand one last time. 

[thgreatestblue]

you're alive (in my head)

➜ pairing: sanemi shinazugawa x gn!reader ➜ warnings: angst, mention of dead character, manga spoilers, fluff. ➜ words: 7.6k ➜ a/n: i had the idea for this fic while listening to marjorie by taylor swift. it’s such a beautiful and touching song, i definitely recommend it. this one turned out quite big but anyway, happy holidays! ➜ ao3

summary: The man looks at you again, between white lashes that were still wet from his tears. He was a broken man whose pieces you didn't know how to put it back together. A puzzle you found yourself staring at without any clue of what form it should shape. It doesn't mean you weren't going to try anyway.

I.  

The piano would always call your name at the old restaurant your parents owned. It was an old and ugly thing; battered through time, but it would make the same wonderful sounds your grandmother used to do when playing it. That’s how you learned how to play in the first place. And how the tradition of having a musician in the family kept going, much for your parents' disdain.

You worked at your parents’ restaurant as a waitress. It was a family legacy you didn't quite like; working at the old restaurant for the rest of your life was not what you had in mind while growing up. It wasnt that you didn't like cooking and talking with strangers — it was quite a pleasant interaction that you had refined throughout the years. 

However, you wanted bigger things for your life. That’s why playing piano and writing songs were something you would always look forward to when the restaurant wasn't full. At some point, people started to demand to see you play, asking when they would hear your songs again; and that was enough to put a little bit of confidence inside your very cowardly heart. 

Each time you played, slender fingers touching keys like they were made for it; it would always take you to another place, one that you didn't need to step down the stage and go back to real life. Your mother once told you and your grandmother were too alike, and even though she meant it as a bad thing, you held onto that as the best compliment you had ever received.

Tonight, you were too nervous and focused on playing a song that you had written for your long-passed grandmother; it had taken an entire month to come up with lyrics and a melody that felt just like her. After all, it was her birthday. There were so many things you wished you had said, you wished you had done. But instead of mourning, you decided to pour your feelings into a song — it’s been 5 years already, all the wounds that were open had already healed, but that didn't mean they didn't itch from time to time. 

As you sit down on the worn out bench, the floor of the improvised stage cracks under your feet. Your father had built for you after realizing that you weren't going to stop playing it, even if he put the piano outside in the rain. Your mother had convinced him, after all, you were still doing your job and the customers liked to hear live music, there was no hurt in letting you play. 

You can feel eyes on you already; there was always an expectation every time you appeared to play the piano, and you would always try to meet them. Always staying up till late, trying to come up with new lyrics, trying new sounds. Even though your life was pretty boring, you still managed to write about interesting elements; situations you could only imagine, like living a fancy life, or loving someone. 

While you arrange the papers that you had written the song on the piano’s rack — not that you needed, it was just to put your mind at ease, that you weren't going to screw this up — you take a long look at the crowd; most of them still eating and talking to each other. You knew their attention would only fall on you when you started playing. 

However, there was someone looking directly at you. You knew that face all too well by now; it was impossible to miss the hair as white as the driven snow, or the scars that crossed his face that would make many people shrink away, scared by the intimidating aura he carried with him. However, you knew it wasn't the case; his eyes — even though you didn't have the courage to stare for too long — were gentle.

The man would come to the restaurant every now and then. Your cousin who worked at the bar, would always try to talk to him, but the man would always be short and sharp; preferring paying attention to his food, and mostly to alcohol which he would drink until it was time to close.

It wasn’t something unreal, since there were a lot of people who did the same. But what made him so different was that every time someone would come closer without warming, he would snap, always on guard. It reminded you of your grandfather, that would always carry with himself a knife; after a long life battling in the countryside, he never forgot the things he saw.

You offer him a tiny smile; despite not knowing the man — not even his name — you still wanted him to feel at ease in the restaurant, everyone was more than welcomed at this tiny place that your grandfather had fought so hard to build. 

Speaking of each, was nowhere to be seen. You weren't sad that he was going to miss your first performance of the song since you two wrote it together. He was almost tired of listening to you go back and forth, memorizing until it was carved on your mind like a detailed wooden piece. Besides, you were sure he was at her grave now, making her some company on this special day. 

The man doesn’t turn away, nor return the smile, which is fine to you. At least he didn't completely ignore your presence, being the complete mystery he was, you felt lucky that he had come to watch you play. 

Taking a deep breath, your fingers flew over the keys with ease; it was almost like a second nature by now, almost as easy as breathing. It had taken you some time to learn, to understand how the structure of the piano worked and how you could turn separate notes into a song. Your grandmother was patient enough to teach you the basics; to teach the same thing over and over until you had printed on your mind like a tattoo. 

The song was quite easy to play, you chose not to do something so out of your comfort zone because you knew your emotions were going to take over once you started to sing. The lyric had you and your grandfather crying once it was finished. But he didn't seem sad  — not entirely — he smiled and hugged you, saying that wherever she was, she was proud; and you believed in his words with all your heart.

Your voice trembles in a few parts, but nothing that would mess with the entire song. It only added more intensity and weight onto your words. Most people that frequented the restaurant knew about her, so it wasn’t something coming out of the blue - they understood the feeling behind it. And you are glad that you could remember your grandmother the way she always loved: playing the piano. 

As you played the last notes, the small crowd of the restaurant applauded your performance, a sound that made your heart jump in anticipation; it was the best reward you could ever receive. You notice that some people were weeping away their tears while you bow in gratitude for their attention. 

Stepping down from the makeshift stage, your mother gives you a hug, she wasn't good with words but you knew she was pleased with the performance. Although, before you could say anything, she shoves an apron in your direction, motioning towards a table that had a couple waiting to order. You shake your head in disbelief, but takes it anyway and starts to get ready to work.

The night goes by in a blink of an eye, there were more people than you were used to. You highly suspected it was because there was a festival coming up in the city in a few weeks, and many people came to see the fireworks. You swing among the tables; dividing your attention between taking orders and thanking the compliments and praises people would throw at you as you walked by. You took each one of them and put close to your heart — they were enough, for now. 

When your father decides to close the restaurant, you're more than tired. Even though in your mind the night went by in a flash; your bones were screaming because of the constant walking and talking. It was good for business, but not for you. Your father was a proud man that didn't accept outside people working in his restaurant, so you had to endure the amount of work and hope that the next day you were fully recharged. 

The trash of the day is by the door and by the looks of it, no one is going to take it out. You glance at your cousin but he immediately shakes his head, showing that he was still cleaning the glasses from the bar. You sigh loudly, getting up from the chair you were comfortably seated in. 

Grabbing the two huge bags, you open the door with your foot. A breath of fresh air hits your face — it smells like rain and grass — it's cold against your skin. You didn't notice the rain had come and gone, too absorbed in your job to pay attention; although you were content since you liked how the earth smelled after it.

You walk to the alleway right beside the restaurant, the huge bins still wet with a few raindrops. As you throw the trash inside, something; no, someone catches your attention from the corner of your eyes.

How fast you recognized the white hair was something to worry about another time, pushing down the thoughts that were starting to rise in your mind to take a better look at him. 

The man was seated against the wall, with his arms on his knees and a bottle of alcohol still hanging from his hand. His head was dropped into his chest, and for a moment you thought he was sleeping. You feel your heart spiking up with anticipation, your hands clench and unclench, million thoughts swing around your mind but you can't hear any of them. Against your better judgement, you start to approach him, making sure your feet make enough noise to announce your arrival.

He probably sensed that you were approaching because you notice how his body jerks slightly, slowly raising his head to look up at you. And your heart sinks in your chest as you catch a glimpse of his eyes, red and watery, some tears traveling his face down his cheeks to his chin. 

“Are you okay?“ You ask out of habit, because of course he wasn't. A man with a bottle of alcohol seated against a dark alley definitely wasn't doing fine. You want to slap yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth.

“That song…” He starts, his voice is hoarse, barely audible. As if he had screamed the entire night at the top of his lungs. “Was really beautiful.”

“Thank you,” You answer, not knowing what else to say. 

There was a growing feeling on your chest, one you couldn't ignore when seeing the man in such a miserable state. You didn't consider yourself an altruistic person, that would run to help people wherever they had a problem. In fact, your mother once said that you were a little bit too cold when outside of your comfort zone that was music. 

However, contradicting everything you thought you were, you found yourself stepping closer to the man. Since it had rained almost all night, the ground was still wet, and you could see his trousers were wet in a few spots. The place he had chosen to sit wasn't the best either, with a huge puddle right next to his feet.

And again, against your better judgment, you slowly kneel next to him. He didn't flinch nor made any movement that would be a red flag for you to step away. Rather, he looks away and stares at the bottle he was holding, lips trembling; You didn't know if it was because of the cold or because he had been crying. 

“Fuck...” He curses in a whisper, rubbing his face, a few fugitive tears falling down the prison of his eyes “...It’s been a year.”

You couldn't think of anything to say to the man. Comforting people had always been hard since there wasn't anything you could say that would make them feel better — you knew that by experience. He was clearly in pain and going through something you could only imagine. As much as you wanted to help, to offer at least some comfort, you didn’t want to prey and ask unwelcomed questions to a stranger that was in such agony.

“I wrote that song for my grandmother.” It's the first thing that comes to your mind; you heard once that sometimes, changing the subject would make the person focus on other things instead of what is causing distress to them, it was worth a shot, “Everytime I sing it’s like she’s with me.”

The man looks at you again, between white lashes that were still wet from his tears. He was a broken man whose pieces you didn't know how to put it back together. A puzzle you found yourself staring at without any clue of what form it should shape. it doesn't mean you weren't going to try anyway.

"How?" His voice breaks under the pale shine of the moon. You could see his hands trembling, an urge to hold it almost takes over your body, but you stop yourself before you could regret. Instead, you put your hand on his shoulder. 

Men are proud creatures. You knew he would probably avoid you after tonight, being seen as vulnerable was the last thing they wanted. Something you never understood why, because right now, the only thing you felt was that this man was human, that he had feelings and regrets. Most men you had the unpleasant chance to meet at the restaurant were not even half of the man in front of you. 

“Well, she taught me how to play the piano.” You say with a smile growing on your face. The memory was still fresh on your mind, one that you kept revisiting when the longing was too strong. “It’s a small part of her that I made into mine.”

He looks at you, eyes still red from the tears that dared to escape, but you pretend that you didn't see them, preferring to ignore his state for his pride. He opens his mouth to say something but falls in silence again. You still have your hand on his shoulder, and you squeeze it a little bit before getting up. Your knees were wet but it wasn't a problem.

“Sometimes, we need to fully accept that it happened in order to move on.” You say, looking in his eyes. You didn't know what he was going through, but if it was something like what you felt when your grandmother passed away, then you could say one thing or two. “It took me some time, now it’s bittersweet instead of full on bitter.”

You smile at him again, waving goodbye as you make your way back to the restaurant. You don't dare to look back as you turn the corner, but you can feel his eyes following you until you disappeared from his view.

II.

The next morning, you wake up sensing something strange. There’s a peculiar feeling settling on your stomach as you lay on your bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about the man from last night. After coming back home, it took you some time to finally get some sleep, tossing and turning around; his face still playing on your mind like your favorite song. 

Why was yesterday any different from the other times you had seen him? 

He was a common client at the restaurant; you had seen him stumbling on his feet when going home more than once. Had even exchanged a few words while filling his cup or bringing something he had ordered. Not that he had paid any attention to you, but it was small victories that you collected like seashells. 

You knew the answer, just didn't want to admit. Because you are itching to know him better since the first time you laid your eyes on him. You’re a curious brat who can’t stop interfering in others' lives. Because you had seen him vulnerable. 

You sigh loudly, rubbing your hands on your face. Fine, you could debate later why you were ceaselessly thinking about a complete stranger — who probably had a heavy amount of baggage and definitely didn't need someone looking at the content inside and making a mess of it. 

After taking a quick bath, you head over to the first floor; despite still being morning, there were a lot of things to get done before opening the restaurant again in the afternoon. You didn't completely dislike the routine, but after repeating the same thing everyday, things tend to get blurry and more often than not, boring. 

The only thing that took you out of the endless circles of cleaning and cooking was when you were seated on the piano bench; when you were allowed to travel to other places and write about whatever you wanted. However, today was an exception for the rule; your eyes instantly go wide as you watch the white haired man come through the door.  

“We are closed, didn't you see the sign?” Your mother screams from the counter next to the door. 

She has a dishcloth over her shoulder; her apron had a few stains of water and you suspected she was washing the rest of the dishes from yesterday. The man stops at the entrance, blinking a few times, mouth open midway but no sound coming from it. And you have to suppress the teasing grin that threatens to appear on your face. 

“It’s okay mother, I invited him,” You say without thinking twice. Not quite sure where the burst of courage came from. 

Both of them quickly turn their heads in your direction and stare at you. Your mother frowning in disbelief — it reminds you of the times you were still bold enough to voice your desire to become a singer, a silly dream that was erased throughout the years. The man had his mouth slightly open, the look of surprise on his face is almost comical. 

Your mother gives you a suspicious look, hesitating for a brief moment before turning around to go back to the kitchen; mumbling something under her breath between what are they thinking? and well at least their are talking with someone. You roll your eyes and decide to ignore the last part. 

Taking a better look at him in the morning light, you realize how his eyelashes were long, longer than any eyelashes you’ve ever seen; they’re pretty. But what would always hold your attention was his eyes; even though he wasn't looking at you, they were a different shade of purple, and you could stay staring at them for hours because that color was so unique.

“I…” He starts, looking anywhere but you. There’s a brief pause but you don't push the conversation, waiting for him to continue. He cleans his throat and tries again, “I wanted to apologize.”

Your brows arch in curiosity; that was the last thing you expected him to say, leaving you speechless. You didn’t understand. Well, it wasn't that you didn't completely understand what he meant by that, you were just caught by surprise. You could swear he would avoid you like the plague and pretend that nothing happened.

He runs his hand through his hair, seeming nervous with the interaction. You watch the movement, noticing how he had more scars running down his arms, and probably down his chest too. Where did he get that many? Your grandfather had one on his knee, but that was all the marks he had to remind him of the bad days in the countryside - one story that he would tell you from time to time. This man must have a lot of them if his body was covered in so many. 

“For the other night, I mean.”

“Ah,” Returning from your train of thought that often had you spacing out; you offer him a genuine smile, “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Fuck, this is embarring,” He drops his hands at his sides, clenching and unclenching his hands, “Look, I drank a lot and…”

“I said, you don’t need to apologize,” You cut him short, saving him from the embarrassment that would be telling a story he clearly didn't want to revisit; to a stranger above everything else. As much as you wanted to know, you weren't in the position to demand anything from him, “I understand.”

Because you really did. Although you dealt with your grandmother’s death in a different way, since you were still a child when everything happened, you could still remember the hurt and the grief. People deal with problems in a variety of ways, it wasn't up to you to judge. He finally looks at you, mouth opening to say something, but you wave your hand, stopping him from saying anything else

“Are you hungry?” You ask, looking at the clock. it was half past 9. There were still some hours until lunch. If he was here at this time, he probably didn't eat anything since yesterday, the man needed something on his stomach after drinking so much. “My father just finished baking some bread, come eat with me.”

And again, you don't know where the burst of courage to invite him to your house, to your table came from, but you accepted it anyway. You had always been afraid of taking the first step since your parents discouraged you every time you tried. After some time you stopped dreaming about becoming a singer, or playing for a huge crowd. However, there was something about the man that made you want to act, to do something. 

He looks surprised by the invitation, and you don’t blame him. it was a surprise for you as well. Since when did you become so bold? You would blame the curiosity that lingered every time you looked at his face; the odd feeling growing on your chest every time you thought about his beautiful purple eyes. 

“Sanemi…“ Looking away, he rubs his neck. “My name is Shinazugawa Sanemi.”

“Oh, right!“ You can help but laugh, clapping your hands together. Such a simple step that you two had totally overlooked, jumping straight to the heavy stuff, “Y/N, nice to meet you!”

You offer your hand, and after a moment of hesitation, he holds your hand and squeezes it gently. It’s a firm grip and you can feel how calloused and rough his skin truly is. You don't mind though. 

“Come,” Before Sanemi could back off and rethink the invitation; you pull him towards the kitchen, hand still holding his’ in a tight grip, “My father just took it out of the oven, it’s better when it's still hot.”

He stumbles a little over his own feet, mumbling something underneath his breath. But follows you inside nevertheless; not letting go of your hand either.

III.

When a song is created, it starts with different types of attempts; you could try changing the rhythm first. Then the words; should they rhyme? should they be separated in the chorus? It’s a long process until you reach the final piece; and it’s even a longer process to make something you’re proud of. 

It’s the same process with your relationship with Sanemi. It started with only a few words thrown on the paper, none of them making any sense together. It took you some time to figure it out, how to use those words to create something nice. 

The words would come to your mind every time he showed up at the restaurant; every time he talked to you and you could have a glimpse inside his mind. It was a tough task, to say the least. However, your heart has had a change of weather lately; rather than staying inside because of the rain; it started to go out, looking for the sun. 

Sanemi would always appear if you invited him, especially on the days when you played the piano. He had told you once that he liked to hear you playing it, and since then you tried your best to come up with more songs and more rhythms. It was almost as if an imaginary dam had been breached inside your brain, and now each night you poured your heart into the paper, there were never enough words to describe everything you wanted to say. So you played.

His presence started to become more familiar; your mother knew his name, your father did too. Even your cousin now would talk to him without receiving a death glare. It was rather amusing seeing them interact because Sanemi was still, well, Sanemi. Although he would slip every now and then, he would always come back to his feet. It was a slow progress, one that you were more than lucky to see it happening. 

You never mentioned that you were worried about his habits, what people did with their lives was up to them. However, after that night, you were always looking out for him. Talking and keeping him company when you weren't too busy with other customers. In the beginning he had told you to fuck off; but there wasn't any real threat on his voice, so of course you didn't. 

You noticed, then, that he had stopped coming back home with a bottle of alcohol; had stopped getting angry at the other customers who would  bump into him sometimes. Had a more friendly voice when talking to your cousin, and didn’t fall asleep on the counter with a glass still full. It was those small details that would make your heart warm, spring finally arriving after a long winter. 

“Did you drink tonight?” You ask, leaning over the counter. He was the last client for the night. 

The restaurant was closing; what once was relief, now would leave you feeling gloomy because you had to say goodbye to your favorite person. You never knew when Sanemi would come back. He never told you exactly what his job was; or where he worked. So you had only blank spaces that you had to fill in with your own imagination. You were up for the challenge, anyway.

“No,” He smiles at you, a sight you could never get tired of. Sanemi had a different type of beauty; it was endearing to watch. “I decided to stop.”

You can help but open a huge smile after hearing that, “That’s good news!” 

It was the little details that transformed him into someone special; not only his beauty was captivating but the way he carried himself, tall and strong. You liked to hear whatever he had to say because it was always interesting. It wasn't half assed excuses or lies most people — most men — would tell you on a daily basis. 

There was something else about him; about his scars; about his mysterious past that you felt drawn to, like a fly is drawn to the light. You could only hope one day you would be able to sail on those mysterious waters without sinking after the first storm. 

“Well, it’s time to close...” An idea crosses your mind, and like everything you have been doing lately, you don't give a second thought, you don't hesitate. It flows out of your mouth as easily as breathing “But why don’t you come sit with me before you go?”

Sanemi raises a brow at you, and you laugh at his hesitation. Without wasting any more time, you grab his muscular arm and pull him off of the bar stool, heading to the stage. You often find yourself taking the first step yet again; it was rare the times where he would seek out for you. In the beginning, it would make you second doubt everything you said or did, worrying that he didn't like you. 

However, it wasn't that he didn't like you, he just didn't know what to do; because everytime you pulled him to do something or talked to him, he would gladly follow, never complaining — unless you asked him to help clean the restaurant, that he would complain, a lot.

“Have you ever played piano before?” The floor of the stage creaks under your steps, not used to have more than one person standing over it. You sit down on the bench, tapping the small space beside you. It was tight, but it would work. 

“No…” Sanemi stands behind the bench with his arms crossed over his chest, still unsure about what you were doing. You angrily tap the space beside you as a warning. 

He lets out a loud sigh before coming to sit next to you - you knew he only did that to appear tough; it was too easy to see that he wasn't really annoyed. Sitting by your side, his thigh completely touching yours sends a shiver down your spine; instantly coloring red your cheeks, and you have to shut down the thoughts that were starting to rise in the back of your mind. 

“My grandmother used to say that sometimes music is even more powerful than words,” You say, fingers hovering over the keys. If there was one thing that you would never stop talking about it, it was her. Somehow it felt like she was still alive, remembering her so tenderly. “She would just play away her thoughts and feelings, it was fascinating to watch.”

When Sanemi looks at you, there's a strange fog in his eyes, clouding his view; as if the weather had closed and it was about to rain. It stirs something inside you, an odd feeling that you knew all too well. Sometimes you would catch him staring at nothing, with the same clouded stare. 

You knew that something had happened in the past and he was still grieving over it, not only he had told you that night, but every time you talked about your grandmother he would react the same way. You could only hope that your company was enough to distract him from those feelings. 

“Why don’t you give it a try?” You offer, showing him the keyboard, for now this would have to be enough. 

“Me?” His voice has a hint of hesitance. You nod, encouraging him with a smile and a tap on his shoulder.  

He looks at you, to the piano, then to you again. It was amusing to watch, a grown up man afraid of touching simple keys. Although, to be very honest, when you started playing you would feel completely intimidated with the size and the sounds it would make. But what was most intimidating was the amount of work you had to put to actually learn how to play by yourself. It took you some years to finally overcome that fear of failure before jumping head first. 

He touches one key, but there’s almost no sound coming from it since he didn't put too much force on it; when you hesitate to touch the keys is when you first start to fail. He tries again, but this time, his finger slips and touches another key, the combination has you two flinching. You bite your lips as he continues to touch random keys; making a rather interesting combination. 

“You’re laughing.” 

“I’m not laughing.”

Sanemi sighs and retreats his hand, looking defeated, “I’m not made for this shit.”

“Oh shut up, here.” 

You gently hold his hand; skin warm under your touch. He doesn't complain about your boldness, so you keep going, putting his hand over the keyboard again, lightly tapping his index finger over a key so he would play the note. It’s a slow process, having to move at a pace that would allow the movement, but the opportunity of holding his hand is worth every minute. In the end, you two played the beginning of an easy song.

“See, it’s not that hard,” You say, letting go of his hand. “It’s all about feeling it.” Your face is warm for some reason. And Sanemi is still staring at the piano, and you could swear that his ears are a little bit red. 

“I’m shit at feelings,” He confesses, rubbing his neck. 

Well, you couldn't argue with that. He definitely semeed like someone who would rather show than say, but that’s the beauty in people right? Learning with mistakes, growing with the years as you grasp the nuances of reality and the world around you. 

“We all have to start from somewhere, right?” You smile at him, bumping his shoulder. 

Sanemi laughs, and doesn't miss the opportunity to bump your shoulder slightly harder, making you almost fall off the bench. He laughs even harder when you try to push him off but don't get even close to move a single inch of his body. However, you wouldn't give up so easily.

The small fight ends when Sanemi accidentally hits his elbow on the keyboard, making a loud noise that has you two jumping and your mother appearing from the kitchen yelling that it's already too late. The smirk on his face doesn't go away though. 

IV.

The festival was even prettier this year. The paper lamps shining on top of the buildings give an ethereal feeling to the scenario; the sakura’s trees were adorned with ribbons of all colors, petals flying around in a beautiful dance while the night was captured by the anticipation for the fireworks. However, that wasn't the only reason. 

Seated next to you, was Sanemi. His hair reflecting the colored lights from the lamps only made him radiate beauty; they danced across the white canvas. His face looked so peaceful, there was not a single wrinkle on his forehead as he ate the food you had prepared for the night. For a moment you forgot he was really there with you. It all seemed part of a dream, but not even your dreams could come up with such a dazzling view. 

To say that you were surprised when he invited you to come with him to the festival, was an understatement. It took you so long to process the information that he thought you had denied; and it was almost a battle to make him believe that yes, you really wanted to go with him, and no, you only hesitated because you were caught off guard. Truth be told, a few days had passed and you still couldn't believe. Not even now, when you were looking at him from the corner of your eyes. 

It also took you long hours of begging and whining for him to tell you that his favorite food was ohagi. You couldn't believe how silly he acted when he told you; almost as a kid, stomping his feet and all. You tried your best not to laugh, but failed miserably, which only made him even more embarrassed. When he left, you had your hair all messy but the smile on your face didn't disappear for the rest of the night.

You had prepared everything in anticipation, counting the days and hours to this moment. Your father gave you a day off only for this occasion — he would never admit, but after the white haired man had helped fix a few things in the restaurant, lending a hand whenever they needed, he came to like Sanemi. 

Your mother happily helped you prepare the ohagi and a few other things for the festival. Even suggested buying new clothes for you, which you denied. It wasn't a date, at least he didn't say it was. You were only keeping him company, right? Oh hell, who were you trying to fool? You wanted this to be a date so bad. 

The spot Sanemi chose was near the lake. As you looked around you noticed that there were reflections of the lamps on the water; like an infinite mirror, you could find stars in the sky or down there on earth, even in Sanemi's eyes. An infinity of beauty surrendering you, bouncing around like shooting stars; all you could do was close your eyes and make a wish. 

“I don't know, just…” You trailed off, thinking about his question, “You only die when you are forgotten, memories can keep you alive throughout the decades, don't you think?”

“You sound awfully like someone I know.” He throws his head back with a smirk on his face, drinking the sake.

He had promised it was only because of the festival, just for fun. And you didn't need him to promise that he wasn't drinking anymore, because you believed. You trusted him enough to know that he knew what he was doing. Also, you had seen his journey, there was no need to be reassured when you knew by heart. 

“Hmm, I bet they are wise and smart!” The sake tastes strong on your mouth, but you didn't mind. It wasn't often that you drank, but the feeling was nice and very welcomed.

“No, actually he’s a really annoying brat,” Sanemi chuckles, “But you aren't annoying.” He confesses, and if it wasn't too dark you could see a hint of red on his cheeks. 

“But am i still a brat?” You raise a brow at his direction. The smirk on his face tells you everything.

“Don't you dare finish that sentence or else there's no ohagi for you anymore.” You try narrowing your eyes as a threat, but the tiny smile tugging on the corner of your lips is enough to give you away. 

Sanemi’s smirk is still visible even in the low light, it has become a trademark of him by now, the curl on the corner of his lips, the chuckles that would follow after. And you would take notes of each of his mannerisms, remember every word, pay attention to what he liked and mostly what made him angry. Even if he wasn't someone that talked about himself in general, you had your own way to find out about him.

He picks another ohagi, and you watch him as he takes a bite, humming in delight. It makes your heart warm, your skills with cooking finally paying off for something else rather than just for the restaurant. Watching him eat your food and liking it hits you differently than anything else. You take another sip of sake, the drink burning a little as it goes down your throat is a welcomed feeling. 

“Genya,” Sanemi suddenly says. You look at him confused; the smirk long gone, replaced by the same melancholy look that would everytime cloud his eyes, “It was my little brother’s name.” He explains.

You look down at your hands holding the cup, contemplating. It was the first time Sanemi ever spoke about his family, his past. Even knowing him for quite some time now, even after becoming his friend, building a relationship with him from scratch and turning into something you can’t see yourself without it; his past was never brought up. Moreover, you truly believe he was a good man, there was no need to open old wounds only to satisfy your curiosity. 

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” You immediately ensure him, touching his shoulder. 

The last thing you wanted was him feeling like he owed you an explanation. Yes, you wanted to know, of course you did. Because you wanted to help, pick his pieces and put them back together, Sanemi wasn't a broken man, not entirely - he still had a bright and beautiful light inside him, it was only obscured with a few debris, leftover of a hurricane that he never recovered from. 

“It’s fine…” He’s gazing at the lake, mind elsewhere, far from reality, “I feel like I’ve been mourning for so long that I can't think about anything else.”

It breaks your heart seeing him like this, even harder than the night when you found him crying in the alleway. Because now you knew him, his name, his personality, his favorite food. Because now you held him so close to your heart that you were afraid of crushing it. Because you cared, more than anything. 

“But that’s why we struggle. It never goes away,” Your hand shifts from his shoulder, running down his back, caressing with small movements. Almost embracing him with one arm. “It only gets easier.” 

Sanemi goes quiet after that, closing his eyes. But you keep rubbing his back, face so close to his that you could see the difference of the skin that healed and formed his scars; the texture is rougher in contrast with the rest of his face. 

“Were you there? When it happened?” You find yourself asking. There are sirens going off in your head. Yet, you can’t stop. It’s an intense feeling of yearning. If you could only understand, just a little bit; having a glimpse of what the man was so hurt by it, then maybe you could help put his former self back together. That’s all you wanted. 

“Yes,” His voice breaks a little, words caught on his throat. He squeezes his eyes, closing his hands in a fist. However, he doesn't flinch nor say anything. So, instead of retreating, you put your other hand on his arm, the other still gently caressing his back. 

“He… He said I was the sweetest person in the world,” He whispers, placing his hand over yours, “Shit, I wasn’t even a good brother, I treated him badly, I pushed him away. I don’t deserve his words.”

“But he forgave you in the end,” You quickly say before he would go down on a spiraling hate towards himself, words flooding your mouth before you could stop, “He could have said anything, and he chose to let you know that you were still loved by him, even after everything.” 

You didn't know what everything actually meant, there were still so many blank spaces that needed to be filled for you to fully understand the man beside you. However, you knew one thing: blaming yourself was so much easier than forgiving. 

“Fuck… I don’t,” He tries, the grip in your hand a little bit too tight, but you don't pay any attention. All your focus was on his expression, his words, “I wanted him to be happy, to get married and have a family. And now…”

“Sanemi…” The look on his face is devastating, defeated. 

He had probably held all these emotions for so long, all these words of regret and shame, kept inside his heart and let it loose on his mind; torturously haunting him at each step he took. Now you understood why he had resorted to alcohol. The pain in his words touches your heart, making it quiver under it. 

“Please, don't blame yourself. We can't choose which path people are going to take, it’s out of our hands.”

Silence falls between you two, but it isn't uncomfortable. And you are more than happy to sit there and hold him close, trying your best to show through actions how much you cared about him. If your words couldn't do the job, at least you hoped your touch was reassuring him. At least, it worked for you — every time your grandfather patted your head was enough to remember to keep going, even when the longing was too much. 

“You deserve to be happy, Sanemi,” There were so many things you wanted to say, but you couldn't find the right words, “Your brother wouldn’t want any less, right?”

You hold his calloused hands in your small ones, slender fingers touching and tracing his scars, feeling the roughness of it. Since the first time you saw him, It had awakened something inside you; something about his hands, arms, his chest, his face, drawn with a pattern that made him so fascinating and interesting, traced with stories of pain and joy; a map that you couldn't help but want to explore every inch of it. 

“This world is cold and we are desperately fighting to be heard, to be seen.” Because it was the truth. Every day when you open your eyes; every day when you close them; each day is a small battle you need to live through. “Being alone in a place like this it’s just cruel.”

You don't know what possessed you at the moment, but when you realized, your lips had touched his skin, planting a gentle kiss, overflowed with affection, on his fingers. 

“That’s why I’ll be here for you, whenever you need me.”

The first firework explodes behind Sanemi, lighting him in an endearing aura that takes your breath away. Although, you can’t hear them; your heartbeat is even louder in your ears. His face is so close to yours that you can feel his warm breath against your skin. His hand comes to rest on your chin, squeezing slightly. He tilts your head in his direction and you close your eyes. 

Then, he kisses you.

[veliseraptor]

share your fave underappreciated writers/works!

I mean, I feel like I have a whole list and it’s basically “the writers I follow.” but I guess to name a few people who are new to me/the MCU fandom, I’d put down @iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid, @anamelessdragon, and @bereft-of-frogs.

and if I were gonna do fics…I made the completely arbitrary decision to go through my bookmarks and pull out ones with under 100 kudos - I stuck with MCU for this one because if I did that it would basically be every fic for the other fandoms I’m in, and I didn’t want to do all that work. 

(but basically every fic for small book fandoms is underappreciated, so.)

there were also a number of fics that were just a smidge over 100 that would also qualify for this list, and basically - this is far from complete, just a selection of a few. 

like petals from a rose by andibeth82

This is just…a lovely, emotional fic about some of the ladies of the MCU (Gamora, Nebula, Natasha, Maria Hill, Wanda, and Okoye), and Infinity War, and endurance. I loved this one.

We Can Act Like We Come From Out of This World (Leave the Real One Far Behind) by Tandirra

Just some beautiful dark Loki/Grandmaster. You know, the good stuff I love.

Lessons by AliceinKinkland

I feel like I don’t read nearly enough Gamora and Nebula fic, but part of that is that I struggle to find Gamora and Nebula fic that I like. This fic definitely hit the spot, though. Pre-canon, the two of them on a mission for Thanos, and the tension between them (and particularly with a younger, more (relatively) innocent Nebula, is so well done.

zephyr by ikijai

A beautiful fic about Thor post-Ragnarok, trying to deal with the new burden of rule.

i fight for my nigga, take a life for my nigga (bang bang) by mayaschuyler

Do we know the name of Erik’s girlfriend in Black Panther? I don’t know that we do, but this is a fic about her, and her point of view. It’s very well done and a fresh look from the outside at canon from an (obviously) underwritten character’s point of view.

Closure by Eustacia Vye

A mortal Loki, Natasha/Loki femdom, angst, it’s tagged with “self hatred”, you know it’s my jam.

get used to the dust in your lungs by 100indecisions

I don’t feel there’s enough Natasha and Wanda fic, and this fic set post-Ultron hit the spot - exploring some of Wanda’s past, and her guilt, and her complicated feelings after the movie. I always want more female friendship fic, and I have a really hard time finding it - I was delighted to see an author I know mostly for her Loki fic picking up some of that slack.

Headstone by telm_393

I went looking a long while back for fic about Sam and Riley, or just general Sam backstory fic, and to my sorrow did not turn up much - but I did turn up this one. Sam’s got loss in his background, too, and I love this short exploration of his relationship to Riley.

as we were, no longer, not be at all by 100demons

Sam, pre-canon, with Riley and mourning. As I said above,  there’s not enough fics like this, but this one is lovely.

Lay Your Head Down by CatKing_Catkin

I’m here for every “Clint introspects about Loki after the events of The Avengers” fic, and there’s not a lot of them - but there’s this one, and it’s one that I really like. 

And okay, cheating a little to include two from Greek Mythology because I love them both a lot and they’re of course underread by virtue of fandom–

Klytemnestra, in fragments by prozacpark and The Kassandraia by Hokuto. The latter especially fills a hole I have always wanted more of (namely, Cassandra and Clytemnestra fic) and is just beautifully done besides.

[havenoffandoms]

To the End of the World and Back

Pairing: Endverse Destiel

Summary: “Look, Cas” Dean stood up, interrupting his lover in the process, “we all know that the end is approaching. You know it, I know it, and there’s no point kidding each other. Very soon, we will both be dead” 

Warnings: angst, fluff, Endverse, some crude language

There were not many days where Castiel was not high. Being awake, being aware... it had become far too painful for him. Without the drugs, Cas had more time to think about things that were and things that would never come back. And God knew he definitely did not want to think about the past. It was a waste of time, anyway. Nothing he said, or did for the matter, would bring back the Dean he had fallen in love with. So, to forget this tragic and depressing realisation, Cas used drugs. They provided a refuge from the Croatoan-infested world he lived in. They allowed him to escape the bitter reality he faced daily when Dean came back from a mission. Because it was easier to endure Dean fucking him rather than make love to him when he was high. It made it easier to ignore the fact that Dean never returned his ‘I love you’ anymore. It became easier to blame his tears on his comedown from the substance than to admit that, actually, Castiel was mourning past Dean. Nobody really understood. 

This evening was different, though. This evening was the anniversary of the day Castiel had pulled Dean out of Hell and reconstructed him piece by piece. This evening was a special evening, and Cas wanted to remember the event. It was the one thing he did not want to forget. He did not want to forget how bright Dean’s soul shined even after the angels managed to pull him out of the underworld. That was all but distant memory now, of course. Dean’s soul had changed with the years, it had become less and less bright. Effectively, Dean’s spirit had gone extinct in the most literal sense of the word. Dean Winchester’s soul had died, and Castiel felt the effect of that occurrence on a daily basis. 

The fallen angel heard the wood creak softly under his lover’s weight as Dean entered their shed. Castiel had tried to keep the place as homely as he could with the torn carpet he had nicked out of an abandoned shop, as well as the oil lamps found in an empty house. That was the only luxury they possessed, and frankly it was more than enough. Nothing could really make Castiel feel at home in this world. He, who had known the glory of his father’s creation; he, who had seen the beauties of the Earth manifested in trillions of different ways... seeing this world destroyed was slowly killing Castiel from the inside. However, he knew he had to stay strong; for Dean, for everybody still alive and fighting, although it was getting harder with each and every day. 

“How did the mission go?” Castiel asked solemnly, watching Dean intently as his lover took off his boots and went to absent-mindedly place a kiss on Cas’ hair. It seemed like a loving gesture, but really it had become more of a mechanical reflex on Dean’s behalf. 

“Just the usual. We saw a bunch of Croats, we shot them. Nothing terribly exciting”

“I see...” 

Dean poured himself a glass of whiskey as he stripped down to his trousers. Castiel could not help but let his eyes wander over his lover’s well-chiseled chest. Dean Winchester was good-looking, there was no denying that. The things this man made Castiel feel... even after all these years, even after all the carnage, Dean managed to make the angel squirm with lust. 

“You seem surprisingly clean tonight...” Dean commented, and Castiel would be lying if he said that his tone did not pinch a little. 

“Yeah... it’s just one of those nights again...” Castiel explained, remaining vague. 

“You mean it’s the night...” 

The words surprised the angel more than he cared to show. He had not expected Dean to remember, or to acknowledge it if he did. Dean had never made an effort to recall this night in the past, why would today be any different? 

“I...”

“Look, Cas” Dean stood up, interrupting his lover in the process, “we all know that the end is approaching. You know it, I know it, and there’s no point in kidding each other. Very soon, we will both be dead” 

“What does that have to do with this conversation?” Cas enquired, genuinely confused and mostly saddened. Dean sighed as he rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, undoubtedly in frustration. 

“Is it not obvious, Cas? Tonight could be our last night together. We are this close to finding Lucifer and killing the son of a bitch. Every night could be our last night. And I guess I just...” 

Dean was getting gradually more and more agitated, and Castiel recognised this pattern of behaviour. It was the way his lover acted before sharing his feelings for Cas. The angel’s heart skipped a beat at the thought. 

“Dean, what is it? You can talk to me... I’m clean, like you said”

“Yeah, I know, just... give me two seconds” Dean downed his drink before carrying on, “all I’m trying to say is that... I love you, angel. I really do, and... well, now that the end is near I guess I’m starting to realise that I’ve been a douchebag to you, and... that I might be the reason why you are so messed up now. And I’m sorry, man. I really am... I know it’s too late for an apology now, but... I can’t live with myself knowing that I did this to you” 

Dean’s words were followed by a long silence, broken only by the pouring of whiskey into Dean’s empty glass. Castiel did not know how to react, or what to say. He felt like crying, laughing and screaming at the same time. One thing the fallen angel had not managed to cope with very well were the cacophony of human emotions, and when all of them manifested together... hell, it was not easy to handle. And the nickname Dean used... the man had not used this nickname in years, and it made Castiel feel warm and giddy inside. 

“You do know that I followed you of my own free will, right? You never made me...” 

“Cas, stop, if it weren’t for me you would not be in this crap hole right now...” Dean barked, but Cas would have none of it. 

“If I had to do this all over again I would, Dean. For you, I would go to the ends of the world and back if it meant that you would get to live. There is nothing in this world I would not do to keep you safe... and if tonight is our last night on Earth, then I vow to look for you every single day I spend in Heaven until I find you and we’re reunited. I will never stop looking for you, because a Heaven without you is my definition of Hell...”

Tears were welling up in Cas’ eyes as he spoke from the bottom of his heart, and he could see that his monologue was also starting to get to Dean. The hunter turned his face so Castiel could not see the tears forming and running down his cheeks, but the angel was not one to be fooled. It was in that instant that Castiel went to embrace Dean tightly, burying his face in the crook of the hunter’s neck and inhaling his scent maybe for the last time. 

“I love you too, Dean. I’ve always loved you and I always will”

“Always is a long time, you know” Dean said with a small smile, wrapping his arms around his angels and burying his nose in the dark locks. Nothing else mattered in this moment. It was just him and Cas, enjoying each other’s presence and maybe also the last hours they would spend together alive. 

“I know” Cas replied, kissing his lover’s neck tenderly, “and I’m ready to face all eternity by your side” 

That was a promise Castiel intended to keep. 

[unfortunate-rp]

Congratulations, LIV! You have been accepted as your desired character, AVA COLEMAN. I especially loved in your app the amount of detail you went into the Anything Else section to show what makes Ava Ava. Please be sure to complete the steps listed on the NEW MEMBER CHECKLIST and send in your account within the next 24 hours.

Well, young lady, have you been good to your mother?

OOC        Your Name: Liv    Your Age: 21    Your Pronouns: She/Her    Time zone: EST    Activity Level: 5; I’m in grad school-enough said there. I can be on pretty reliably a bit each day though.      Tumblr account (for contact purposes): ooopsydaisy or thatparkinsongirl    (If applying for second character) Characters played: NA    (If applying for second character) Will you be able to handle a second character?: NA    How did you find us?: The lsrpg tag I think.    Triggers: None IC    Character you’re applying for: Ava Coleman    Why did you choose this character?: Before I even knew if Sybil’s wife would be a playable char I was fascinated with the idea of her. Right out of the gate, there’s so much potential for her. Ugh the angst, the character development, the mystery sh’s now caught up in.    Secondary character preference: Ruby Cohen! If I have time I’m apping her too.      A sample in character: The cats, Rosalind and Aslop, were crying in their carriers in the back seat and eventually Ava started too. With every mile, every turn she drove further and further from home; no, that wasn’t right, 667 Dark Avenue wasn’t home, not really. Home was Sybil. The truck was packed full of their life together, at least; every scrap of paper, every trinket, Ava didn’t dare get rid of anything or even place it in storage. Anything could be a clue, a message, an answer. She’d been around enough grieving families though by now to know that answers were a bandaid on a gaping wound and it was a gaping wound. Days after the funeral, but before the whispering of her own guilt began, Ava had woken in their bed to a noise in the kitchen, just the cats, but for a moment, sleep still clinging to her, it was any other morning, Sybil puttering around the kitchen as the coffee brewed. The car crash impact of realization, of remembrance, knocked the air out of her lungs, left her gasping alone in a bed for two, knees drawn up to her chest, trying to lessen the stomach deep pain. No one had ever explained to her how physical an emotional wound could hurt you. Pulling into the driveway of her new house, Ava tried to see it with Sybil’s eyes. It was charming enough with the view of the lake, butter yellow door, shutters, and creeping ivy. Some of that was detracted by the perpetual gray skies and the mist rolling in off the lake. It would’ve been a nice place to get away for a vacation but Sybil had always liked being in the city, in the bustle of things. Ava’s only instructions to the realtor had been for a small place out of the city, anything to get away from the whispers about her guilt. She’d have to endure it still at work, particularly where the motto was, it’s always the spouse, but at least here she was far enough from any neighbors. She slid out of the truck, grabbing the cat carriers first, Rosalind had finally settled down, having given in to her circumstances, but Aslop had switched from mournful meows to low hisses. Sybil had always joked about how each cat took after them. “We’re gonna be all right,” she murmured quietly to them, praying it wasn’t a lie. She shoved her way through the door, stopping just inside. It was so horrifically empty, bare walls, nothing but open space. The room opened straight to the living room, hard wood floors everywhere, and the kitchen tucked in the corner beyond her. At least here where Sybil had never been, she didn’t see phantoms of her everywhere-laughing over the stove as the pot of spaghetti boiled over everywhere, on the couch, cello laid out before her, carefully tending to the strings, at the desk in the study, poring over her commonplace book, a small wrinkle between her eyebrows. Ava wanted to cry, to just give into the sadness. Instead she knelt down carefully and opened up both of the cat carriers, letting them both slink off to explore. One box by one, she dragged everything in, leaving them all in haphazard stacks against the wall. She’d carefully labeled each and every box to ensure the smoothest unpacking but even still, it would be a long process. The boxes with Sybil’s name on them glared back at her. The only piece of furniture she bothered with for now was the disassembled bed, the wooden slats deposited in the one bedroom and the mattress on the floor in the living room until she could find the energy to get it down the hallway. Collapsing onto it, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Her heart ached for home, fruitlessly, uselessly. Eventually, as day faded away around her, the room growing dark, she felt the pressure of small cat paws against her chest. Eyes still on the ceiling, she reached a blind hand out, expecting to meet Rosalind’s furry head; instead, it was Aslop, and her one nub of an ear. Aslop had always been the more independent of the two cats, always exploring, sneaking outside even sometimes. And yet, here in an exciting new place, she curled up  on Ava’s chest and started purring loudly. Ava let out a shaky breath, loud in the silence.    What headcanons or plans do you have for this character? (Please take any current plotdrops into consideration):

Mostly just vague ideas at the moment. I feel like the direction I go will have a lot to do with her interactions with other people and with the development of the plot. That said, in my mind Ava’s always been one of the more background members of VFD, she joined late, she’s more into research than fighting on the front lines. Poor girl’s asthmatic and petrified of planes and quite simply not that type of person. BUT, god is she desperate to know what happened to Sybil, I think it’ll be very interesting for this desperation to push her outside of her comfort zone, to slide more into the action. OR alternatively, again a lot of this hinges on where the plot goes, I love a good moral quandary, Ava either making a fishy, not great deal with a firestarter for information or even her finding something out in her investigation that makes her doubt the holy mission of the volunteers (particularly since many of them even ones she considered friends doubt her innocence). I think her connection with Adam will be very interesting to explore. His doubt in her, their workplace relationship, his lack of knowledge about VFD. Super excited. Her and Lauren’s connection should be super fun as well. Nothing like a good arch nemesis plot. I kind of can’t wait.    Do you want any additional connections for your desired character that you’d like us to add to their bio?: I didn’t see either of them in any of the characters and I don’t know if you had something planned for them down the line but I’m very interested in Ava’s sister in laws, Clara and Isabella. I think it would be nice and heartwrenching for her to still have a family of sorts even after Sybil’s death. I mean plus they both just sounded super interesting.

   Anything else?:  A few valuable, factual details,   Ava, a young girl, curled in the old green armchair in the sitting room of her grandmother’s house.The heavy book in her lap was too old for her and boring moreover but it was a better alternative to staring out the window, watching, waiting for two people who wouldn’t be coming back (Ava had known it was the last time during the last time her parents came, she could feel it in the air, in the lingering kiss to her forehead her mother bestowed, her father tucking her in that night. Every movement whispered goodbye. It was a good thing she had this experience-it meant she knew how to recognize nonverbal goodbyes.). In a month’s time, Grammy Ellie would take pity on her and make the trek up to the attic to bring down her daughter’s, Ava’s mother, childhood book collection. She never could stop watching though. Wanting. It didn’t take long for her to read every book of her mother’s twice over. The library two streets down from Grammy’s was a small affair, homey, with not enough shelves for all their books. It was love at first sight. If she wasn’t home, she was guaranteed to be there. She didn’t play at the playground like the other children, didn’t run and scream up down the street. She was largely alone as a child; no one else understood her and she didn’t understand them. They had no interest in anatomy and chemistry and constellations, didn’t want to listen to her excited explanation of what black plague did to the body. It was okay; she didn’t even know she was lonely (that would come later). Primary school was merely a series of disappointments. Medical school might have been as well if not for that fateful taxi drive. The VFD was full of people just like her, full of that gnawing yearning for knowledge, for importance, for saving the world. It was a group of people who had as children all been told at one point or another to tone down their excitement about something. She made her first real friends there, her family (she discovered just how lonely she’d been all along). Friends she was desperate to protect in any way that mattered; for her that was using her medical skills to patch up the members of the VFD risking their lives on the front lines. A year after joining, she’d graduated from med school as an internist. Having a purpose among her family filled her with joy. Ava was often called into headquarters to patch someone up, small burns and other minor wounds mostly. That was until the panicked, late night phone call from one of her friends. Ava rushed across town her heart beating in her throat, hearing the words, poison, oh god, Ava, what do I do, I can’t lose him, over and over. She got there just in time, just in time to watch him die. She was still performing fruitless CPR, his wife sobbing on their kitchen floor, when the ambulance arrived. It would not be the last death. Going back to school for a residency and then fellowship in forensic pathology was an easy decision for her. If she couldn’t save her friends’ lives then she would do her best to respect and speak for them after death. Sybil had once asked how she could possibly bare it and Ava, unsure herself sometimes, had told her that she saw it as being a translator of sorts, passing on the last words of the dead to the family. Sybil, staring back at her, leaned up and kissed her forehead and it felt so much like a goodbye that Ava had whispered, please don’t put me through that (she would, of course, and there was a part of both of them that knew Sybil would). Sybil Holloway was a tornado carving a line of destruction through her from the first moment to the very last. She was Ava’s first everything, first friend, first kiss, first date, first time, first love. From the very moment Ava laid eyes on her, Sybil at a party, playing her cello for a small group, the music bleeding out of Sybil like a tide, she knew Sybil was special. They were as many people told them a disgusting couple, eyes following each other, soft touches, easy companionship, trust, support. Understanding. That, more than anything else was what Ava thought people were searching for, understanding, to hear an answering echo of your own spirit in someone else. Even so, it wasn’t a perfect relationship, no that would require perfect people and neither Ava or Sybil were that. Sybil never hesitated from taking on dangerous work for the VFD, dangerous, secretive work. Whispered conversations, late nights poring over notes she didn’t share, and sudden trips she claimed were just for searching out antiques. Ava knew this wasn’t the full truth and though she wanted to give Sybil her privacy she was terrified too—so many of their friends had died lately.

They fought over it occasionally when Ava’s worry became too much. Sybil accused of her of not trusting her, of acting like Sybil was just never going to come back one day just like her parents. No one could hurt you quite like someone who knew you well. They fought about it publicly at a small VFD gathering a week before the fundraiser and though they later made up at home that night, Ava knew that fight was still ringing in people’s ears as they looked at Sybil’s vacant fragile dead body sprawled on the sidewalk.

[str-spangled-banner]

“I Don’t Deserve Happiness” — Loki X Reader

Post-Ragnarok setting! Whilst there are no major spoilers, I would still like to warn!

MASTERLIST — ASK/REQUEST — FAQ’s

Summary: Only a couple of hours has passed since the events of Ragnarok, and you and Loki — the man you share an unexplainable relationship with — get a moment alone aboard the ship carrying you away from a demolished Asgard.

Warnings: Angst-ish (not really?), kissing.

Words: No proper word count this time, but I’d guess somewhere around 1 500.

A/N: BACK FROM THE MOTHA FUCKING DEAAAAD. This is like the first thing I write in for-fucking-ever, so I decided to do my first ever Loki writing cause I remembered Loki in his black suit and tie in Thor: Ragnarok and just got the Loki-craving, ya know? Anyway, enjoy, and please tell me what you think! ^^

The suite was dimly lit by fluorescent lights peaking from under trims in the ceiling design and the pink glow coming in through the large, dome-shaped, window from a long trail of cosmic dust. She sat inside the cambered window, head turned to the side and watching the galaxy pass by. Around the ship were calmly moving rocks which once had been a chaotic meteor shower. The colossal boulders were interspersed with amethyst veins which almost seemed to glow once the light hit them just right. It was mezmerisingly stunning. She had lived a life far from boring and had seen much in her extended travels, but she had never seen something quite like space.

She let her head tilt back against the glass and her eyes fall shut, enjoying the peaceful silence, even more so as it had been just over two hours since she left the turmoil of Asgard. Her home being devoured by flames was a memory still vividly being replayed in her mind. Thor’s eyeopening recitation of Asgard being a people, not a place, gave her a sense of security and hope — but even so — she mourned the loss of her home. It was where she had grown up, where she had lived her entire life. The woods she played in as a child, the rivers where she fished as a teen, or the castle courtyard where she fought in tournaments once she came of age. They were all places she would never see again.

“You may be sneaky…” She let her eyes open to look at Loki who had entered her cabin. “But you can’t sneak past me.”

“Sounds like a challenge.” He said with a subtle smile, impressed by her ability to detect him. He glanced over her clothing which where property of the ship and far from the Asgardian clothing he was used to see her in. Unfortunately, the clothes she had worn had been stained in blood from the battle led by Ragnarok, and so she had been forced to rid of yet another tie to her previous home.

“We haven’t really gotten the chance to talk since we boarded this thing.” She said whilst her eyes traveled through the room, referring to the ship, before they returned to Loki. He wore dark clothing in his usual style, his raven hair was pushed back with a small gathering of strands having fallen before his face, and the dark circles under his eyes made his blue irises appear brighter. It was clear to anyone that he was worn and tired. It would have been strange if he wasn’t.

“That, we haven’t.” He agreed. He had seen her a dozen times after they boarded the ship, but every time he saw her and intended to approach her, something else had required his attention, and she would be gone by the time he was available again. Finally, he had grown tired of the crowded main-floors filled with Asgardian’s and Sakaar rebels, and he had sought out the desolated corner of the ship where Y/N had found a cabin to claim as her own.

Back in Asgard, before Ragnarok, Y/N had been the royal master-of-arms. She lived on the castle grounds and trained the castle guards. Loki had spotted her in the courtyard, long after the sun set, practicing by herself. He was amazed by both her skill and her commitment to improve herself. Whether she was honing her skill with the bow or building her strength by slashing a sword at a dummy, she was always fully committed. It had become his favorite thing to do, to sneak out at night and watch from a distance as she trained. It wasn’t until nearly a year after he first noticed her that they first spoke. She had approached him in the throne room as she had not been able to find either his father or his brother. She wished to request new practice dummies and training swords as there were half a dozen of new recruits that needed training, and she wished to receive the funds necessary for the necessities. From there on, their single encounter blossomed to actively seek one another out to simply talk at times.

“I passed by the captains suite earlier.” She began, Loki’s eyes locked on hers even if hers were looking out the window. “I overheard only a small part of your conversation with Thor, about how you won’t be joining us on Earth…”

Loki sighed and let his gaze fall to the floor by his feet, an unusual amount of emotions storing within him and rendering him feeling quite disorientated. “You know why I shouldn’t.”

“I know why you think you shouldn’t.” She corrected him. “And I know you should at least try.”

He sighed again, raising his gaze to join Y/N and stare out the window along with her. He knew she would have said something like that. She always made him out to be a better man than he was, so it was no surprise that she would think he should join them on earth, no matter what he might have done in the past. He wished she would see him for who he really was instead and spare him from occasionally falling for her veneering and momentarily believe he truly was good. He couldn’t tell if it was better to have her bring him up in such a way only to have him crash completely when reality hits again, or if it was better to constantly be on a middle ground, but he knew the latter to be far less painful. Perhaps he was a coward for not being able to endure the agony of Y/N’s kindness fading away and be stabbed in the gut by the truth every time it went away, but he was too much of a coward to admit he was a coward.

“You deserve to be happy, and I can’t see your happiness coming from anywhere but home.” She continued just as Loki had joyfully believed she had let the subject slide.

“We left home in a wrath of fire… Even if I’m with the people, it won’t be home.” He couldn’t help but speak his mind, even if he regretted the words instantly as he noticed Y/N shut her eyes for a second due to his harsh words.

“We could make it home.” She looked to her side, down at his feet, silently wishing he could be a bit more humble at times.

“Pain and destruction follows me like a tail follows a dog. It can never be home if I am a part of it.” He forced a weak smile as he noticed her head turn up towards him. She watched him with a broken heart. She could not understand how someone could endure as much guilt and sadness as Loki did. Every part of her felt pity for the God of Mischief, and every part of her wished she knew what to do to make things better.

“Oh my… What a cheerful conversation this turned out to be!” He sudddnly had a light and joyful tone but with a distinct awkwardness lingering to it. “How do you like the fighters from Sakaar? They’re quite… interesting, don’t you think?”

“You cannot do this.” She placed her feet on the floor and climbed out of the glass dome, taking a couple of steps forward to stand before Loki. He watched her in surprise, having been sure that she would have followed on his change of subject. “You cannot say all of these awful things about yourself and take all this blame only to act as if they’re all true and you’re alright. You don’t deserve to feel like this. You deserve happiness.”

It was clear that she was upset. Her brows were furrowed in frustration from a mix of both anger and pity with her eyes conquered by worry and care. Loki barely knew what to say at first, but then he could feel the darkness within him — the one that Y/N mostly did a very good job at keeping abay — rise to the surface.

“Don’t do this to me…” He begged as he could feel himself falling for her lies again. A part of him was angry, another part was completely broken, but for the most part, he was in a constant state of suppressing his emotions al together. “Don’t get me up only to let me be stabbed once I get down.”

Y/N was completely clueless by his terminology, but the way he avoided her eyes by looking at the ground beneath them and the clear torment he was in, she knew he was clueless himself. She took a short step closer, being barely half an arms length away from him. “Loki…”

“No.” His voice was still pleading. Hearing her say his name made him feel even worse. It made him want to listen to what she had to say, but he was still determined he didn’t want to hear it. “Don’t do this to me… Please?”

Y/N had never heard him say ’please’ before, and it was heartbreaking to hear him say it shakily whilst standing so exposed and lost before her. She moved forward just a tiny bit more, letting her hand hesitantly reach out towards his. Slowly, her fingertips came in contact with the soft and warm skin of his hand. He flinched upon contact but let his arm hang limply at his side. His eyes screwed shut as she laced their fingers together, watching his body language intensively.

He had to admit to himself that he felt far more for Y/N than admiration for her commitment to training. She was everything he wished he was. Smart, loyal, kind, and brave, all in one individual. Every time he was with her he felt a warmth fill his cold soul. She gave him hope, if not in the world all together, then at least in himself. She made him feel like there was a fragment of a reason for why he should care about anything or anyone. He wished he understood how she could make him feel so much. No one had ever effected him the way she did, and it was driving him mad that there wasn’t a clear answer as to why, but he’ll be damned if his subconscious could admit and say he couldn’t care less as to how she did it, only that she did.

“You don’t want me to be here for you, but I am…” She admitted, her voice nearly a whisper. A few moments passed before Loki began to lean his forehead towards hers, unsure of what he was doing but doing it anyway. He let her other hand move up his arm softly all the way to his bicep, holding onto him for support as they came to rest their foreheads against one another. His heart was racing, same as hers, and he felt her breath warm his lips.

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispered, just loud enough for Y/N to hear him. His free hand had snuck around her waist and held her close, her hand which had been on his bicep traveling further up until it resided at the base of his neck.

“We deserve each other…” She said and let out a short gasp after, not grasping that she had been brave enough to say it.

Loki — whose mind was spinning relentlessly — felt his common sense leave him entirely and leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers. At the same time as he leaned forward, he freed both of his hands, placing them on her cheeks for the control if he felt as if he needed to pull away. His eyes were shut tight and his forehead creased as his emotions came crashing over him like an overwhelming wave.

Y/N allowed herself to move her lips, and the small yet destiny move ignited a flame in between them. Neither of them felt worthy of hapiness, even if Y/N advocated it strongly in Loki’s case. Neither felt as if they were particularly good, if good at all. They both blamed themselves for things they had no control of, kept to themselves in fear that they would hurt others — and most prominently — they had both denied the feelings which had resided between them for years.

Loki’s lips curled over hers so perfectly they seemed shaped to fit just them. His features softened and he felt a hollow and thrilling feeling erupt in his stomach as the moment truly dawned upon him. He dared to let his tongue taste her sweet lips, and he was blissfully awarded with Y/N sliding her tongue against his. They moved in synch, hands clinging onto the other as if they would slip from their grip otherwise.

The entire ship suddenly shook and a large thud echoed through the metal structure. Y/N and Loki broke free from one another, and a few moments later, the speaker in the ceiling gave off a cracking sound as it was activated.

“Hello everyone, Captain Korg here. I would just like to say that everything is alright. We just bumped into a flying rock. There is no need to worry. You can get on with your day now. Thank you.”

The room fell into silence again, a small meteor spinning past the window at a much faster speed than the surrounding ones. As it was out of sight, Y/N turned her gaze back to Loki who she still had her arms around. He was frozen in place and not saying a word, and she feared he regretted what he had done or that he felt so unworthy of her love that he would deny it.

“We just kissed.” He stated, letting out a more than surprising huff along with a wide smile. His eyes met with Y/N’s, all of his darkness vanishing for just a few moments. “I just kissed you.”

“Yeah.” Y/N chuckled and could feel her eyes begin to water as she could tell that Loki’s were doing the same. She stood on her tiptoes and leaned in again, pressing her lips so slowly and softly against his that he had to truly try and feel if they were touching him. “We just kissed.”

As she repeated his words, her lips graced over his with every move from how close they were, and their closeness triggered Loki to kiss her again. The kiss was filled with passion and joy, and whilst his hapiness may have been temporary due to how his darkness was only distinguished in Y/N’s light, he felt better than ever in that moment, and that feeling was worth all the gut-stabbing in the world.

[themisanthropiclycanthrope]

i have a merlahad prompt in case you got time: roxy: "i didn't know merlin had tattoos?!" harry: "i did" roxy: "what?"

Thank you for the prompt! First, I must apologise for turning what I’m sure you intended as something lighthearted and fun into…this angst-ridden mess of feelings. I just. They love each other, okay?

This also means I’ve reached the end of my queue of prompts. Feel free to throw a few more at me, if you like (:

Read here, or on AO3 (where there are accompanying translations.)

Roxy had become a familiar fixture inMerlin’s room, insisting that since they were both stuck there while theyrecovered from their injuries, the least she could do was keep him company.

Of course, Merlin was yet to wake from hiscoma, but that didn’t deter her in the least, and Harry was so very gratefulthat she was there whenever he couldn’t be.

And so he wasn’t at all surprised to findher sat in her wheelchair beside the window on that particular morning,chatting away about whatever came to mind. That it was an entirely one-sidedconversation didn’t matter; she had diligently kept Merlin informed of all theywere doing to rebuild Kingsman, outlined their new links with Statesman, givena full report on Eggsy and Tilde’s wedding, and kept him abreast of all thegossip, both work related and otherwise. Sometimes, she played him music.

Roxy paused when Harry slipped into theroom to greet him cheerfully, unsurprised by his appearance even though he was,technically, several minutes early.

“Good morning, Roxy.” Harry felt a swellof happiness whenever he saw her, so pleased she had survived Poppy’s horrificattack. He’d been devastated to hear what had happened, and as relieved asEggsy when they’d later found Roxy alive and with only relatively minorinjuries. “How are you today?”

“I’m good, thanks, Harry. They say I canhave the cast off tomorrow.”

“That’ll be a relief, I’m sure.” 

Harry turned his attention to the man inthe bed, knowing Roxy would forgive him his ill manners. He clasped Merlin’sshoulder in greeting as had become his ritual, born of a need to confirm thatMerlin was truly there, truly alive. If Harry was amazed by Roxy’s survival, heconsidered it nothing short of a miracle that Merlin hadn’t perished in thatexplosion. He hadn’t come out of it unscathed by any means, but he was alive,and for that Harry would be forever grateful. The Kingsman suit Merlin haddonned so proudly, while not blast proof in the same way it was bulletproof, hadprovided him some measure of protection.

Poppy’s mine may have taken his legs, butit hadn’t taken his life. Just like Kingsman itself, he was broken but notdefeated and, given time, both would recover.

Unfortunately, Harry had never been themost patient of men. 

“Good morning, Merlin.” Harry didn’texpect a response, but, like Roxy, always included Merlin in the conversation.The doctors had said there was a chance he could hear them on some subconsciouslevel, that the sound of their voices might be of some comfort. He hoped theywere correct.

“Any change?” He addressed Roxy once more.He would have been informed of any significant changes as a matter of course,but he always asked Roxy in case she had noticed anything, however minor.

As usual, however, she shook her head, anapology in her eyes although it was hardly her fault. “Sorry, Harry. Have faiththough, the doctors are positive, and I’m sure it won’t be long.”

“Oh, I have every faith. He’s far toostubborn a bastard to let something like this beat him.”

Roxy chuckled softly. “You know he mightbe able to hear you.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Harry pulled the visitor’s chair to hiscustomary spot beside the bed and sat down. There had been occasions when he’dremained there so long the medical staff had resorted to all but kicking himout, but they mostly let him be. Sometimes he talked, sometimes he just watchedthe steady rise and fall of Merlin’s chest.

“I didn’t know Merlin had a tattoo.”

It took Harry a moment to catch Roxy’s trainof thought, following her gaze to Merlin’s arm. The lowermost curves and swirlsof dark ink must have been peeking out beneath the sleeve of Merlin’s hospital gown.

“Oh yes, he has several.”

Roxy looked at Harry in surprise. Perhapsshe hadn’t thought Merlin the type.

“He calls them the product of a misspentyouth, but he’s actually rather proud of them.”

“And you’ve seen them?”

“Of course.” Harry considered that maybehe’d misunderstood the cause of Roxy’s shock. She seemed more startled byHarry’s knowledge on the subject. “That one’s his Army regiment’s insignia,” heinformed her with a nod toward Merlin’s upper arm and the design that hadcaught her eye. “But my favourite is the one beside his right shoulder blade,possibly because it’s the one I’m responsible for choosing.”

“He got a tattoo for you?”

“Yes, a painted lady.”

She blinked, nonplussed. “A what?”

“It’s a butterfly.”

Roxy grinned in delight. “And he agreed tothat?”

“Not at all. He lost a bet.”

Now she was laughing. “I’ll bet he lovedthat!”

“He didn’t speak to me for a week when herealised what I’d picked. But he did come around eventually.”

Harry smiled at the memory as it surfacedvividly in his mind’s eye; Merlin lying naked beneath him, trembling as Harrytraced the outline of the butterfly’s wings with his fingers, with his tongue.He hadn’t groused about it so much after that, only making the odd tokengrumble. It was a part of Harry he carried with him, a connection inkedindelibly into his skin.

“He was devastated, you know.” Roxy hadgrown sombre again, and Harry waited for her to elaborate. “When we thought youwere dead. He didn’t show it of course, but there were times I could see thepain in his eyes. Like when he told Eggsy how proud you’d be of him.”

Harry swallowed past the lump forming inhis throat. For more than a year, Merlin had believed him dead, had hidden hisgrief, mourning in private while continuing to work with undiminished diligence,guiding young Eggsy in Harry’s place.

“I hate that I put him through that.”

“No, Harry, it wasn’t your fault. He didn’tblame you. He blamed himself, but never you.”

Harry sighed in fond despair. That soundedprecisely like Merlin, taking responsibility for every little thing, howeverout of his control it may be.

“It was Valentine’s fault,” Roxy continued,taking it upon herself to correct the two old fools. “Just as this was Poppy’s.”

“He stood on a mine for me.” Harry wasn’tquite ready to relinquish all the blame. Not yet. “He sacrificed himself sothat Eggsy and I could complete the mission. He…” Harry’s voice faltered,failed, and he squeezed his eye shut against the sudden heat of tears. Roxystayed silent, giving him time to compose himself. “We both knew that, in thisjob, there was always a chance that, one day, one or the other of us might notreturn from a mission. I don’t think either of us realised just how much itwould hurt when it actually happened.”

Unlike Merlin, Harry had only grieved ashort while. After the adrenaline of the fight had worn off, and events trulysunk in, he had been left hollow, bereft, his heart caught in a vice and chesttight. But he hadn’t suffered his loss for long. His joy when Merlin had beendiscovered alive had been just as fierce, albeit in a different way, and henever wanted to experience that agony ever again.

He knew Merlin would agree with him onthat.

Harry remembered the delight in Merlin’seyes when he had finally regained his memory, when they were at last reunited,and could only imagine what it must have been like to carry the weight of thatpain for so long.

Merlin was far stronger a man than he.

Harry reached out, took Merlin’s hand,held it secure in both of his. They had always been strongest together.

“How long have you been in love?”

Stunned, Harry looked up, saw the gentlesmile on Roxy’s face. But of course she’d worked it out. Shrewd, clever Roxy.She hadn’t won the position of Lancelot for naught.

“More than thirty years.” Harry’s thumbstroked reflexively against Merlin’s wrist, over the pulse that continued tothrum beneath his skin. “It took us a while to get our acts together. He didn’tthink anyone could possibly love a rough-around-the-edges, penniless runaway,while I couldn’t believe someone so brilliant would ever want to waste theirtime with me. And that’s not to mention the prejudice we faced back then.”

“But you worked it out.” 

“We did.”

“I’m glad. It’s good that you have eachother, that you always have.”

“I consider myself incredibly lucky.”

And he was, fortunate beyond measure. Now all he needed was for Merlin towake up, and he prayed to whatever deity might be listening that it wouldhappen soon.

“Perhaps you should get a tattoo for him,” Roxysuggested with just a hint of mischief. “When he wakes up. To celebrate how you’reboth still alive.”

Harry glared as best as one could glare with only theone eye. He was certain it was still passably effective even when employed injest. “I’ll thank you not to put ideas in his head.”

It was, in fact, something Merlin had jokinglysuggested in the past, an idea Harry had vehemently rejected. But now hethought about it, recognised it as a symbol of his enduring affection, itdidn’t really seem all that awful. Roxy didn’t need to know that, though.

She was grinning, and Harry knew she had everyintention of mentioning it as soon as the opportunity arose. He sighed,resigned to the pestering he was certain to suffer. God forbid Eggsy should everhear of it.

But such a fate didn’t seem so terrible if it meant hewas so be surrounded by those he loved most.

“I should be getting back.” Roxy began to wheelherself toward the door. “Else the nurses will send out a search party.”

Harry saw it for the excuse it was, Roxy kindlygranting him privacy, some time alone with Merlin. “Thank you, Roxy.”

He was thanking her for more than just that, foreverything she had done, and she acknowledged his gratitude with a nod and asmile as she rolled out of the room.

Alone, Harry let his gaze linger on the familiarfeatures, so still now, but peaceful. He laced his fingers with Merlin’s,fervently hoping that one day soon he’d feel an answering squeeze.

His free hand he placed on Merlin’s chest, over hisheart and the words he knew looped elegantly above—Nemo me impune lacessit—andthe smaller script below that followed the curve of his ribs: cha dean duinedona ach a dhìchioll.

The former would always apply, as long as Harry drewbreath, and the latter, well.

“You have always done your very best, my dear Hamish,and I for one consider myself all the richer for it.”

Harry brought Merlin’s hand to his lips, pressed akiss to the dry but warm skin, and settled himself more comfortably in the plasticchair, ready to maintain his vigil for as long as was necessary.

[denimwrites-archive]

Enough Endings and Beginnings

Prompt: Not a request - I was listening to The Ataris’ song The Boys of Summer and it kind of made this, the song isn’t even that similar to this fic, but it definitely influenced it. Song HERE.

Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen

Pairing: Connor Murphy X Reader

Summary: Connor was running away from your memory, and it wasn’t a good journey, but the stars helped remind him of better things.

Word Count: 1,985

Warnings: Reader death, grief, pain, lots of angst, kind of a hopeful ending?

A/N: I’m sorry this is really depressing. I wasn’t in a great headspace and this helped with it? The reader’s death isn’t detailed it’s mostly just Connor’s response to their death and kind of mourning their memory. The POV is kind of from an outside person who’s kind of telling you what’s happening? Idek if that makes sense, but that’s why I didn’t tag this as a reader insert. Hope you like it though, feedback would be greatly appreciated!

~~~

The late summer wind rushed through Connor’s hair as he rode his motorcycle down the road. He was riding away from all the memories he made with you that summer. The summer that changed his life. Shaking his head, he tried to focus on the road, but could only imagine your face.

The sun was setting and the sky was painted with so many colors, each of them causing him to think of another night he spent with you, feeling more alive than he had in a long time. Your smile was still at the forefront of his mind. The way your laugh made his chest feel a hundred times lighter. How you were always so accepting of him. Every part, his anger, his sadness, and his happiness, even if you were the only one who could evoke it.

He just kept riding. Trying to forget how amazing you made him feel, how human he really was. As the distance became greater and greater, Connor could feel his walls being rebuilt, but they were different than the ones that had been there before. The ones that you had knocked down as if they were nothing but dust.

These new walls were painted in your beautiful colors, a constant reminder of what you made him feel, of how you saw him. Connor knew that they weren’t as strong as the last ones, and he understood that they would never be that strong again. But he still attempted to fortify them with each mile he drove.

Even when he had to stop for gas further down the road, the neon signs reminded him of your glowing personality, and the way their vibrancy lit up the parking lot painfully reminded him of how you brightened everything surrounding you, including him.

Filling up his tank as quick as he could, and he was on his way again. Driving through country roads under heavy forest canopies, it started to rain. Still he continued. The water only aiding in his distraction from you for so long.

Then the memory of you dancing in the rain, carefree and solely focused on him. You had beckoned to him with more than just your extended hand, but with your whole soul. It was that night that Connor had known he would never be the same. That was the night he told you he loved you. Maybe not in so many words, but he knew you understood. Maybe that was why he had to leave, before you understood more than you were supposed to.

Continuing to push through the agony Connor felt in his heart, he kept going. Mile after mile, road after road. Even as the storm around him grew worse and worse, just like the cyclone in his head, he persevered. Or at least he did, until he imagined your voice, and he was a goner.

He knew that he couldn’t last without you. As much as he wanted to try and leave, forget everything you made him feel, he knew he never could. He only wanted the best for you, even if that meant it wasn’t him. So that you might have a chance with someone better, someone who deserved you. He felt so selfish, but he knew that you wouldn’t see it that way. Pulling over on the side of the abandoned road, the storm still whirling around him, he screamed.

Shouting for the pain he put you through, for the misery his life was and would be if he continued on this path. But most of all he howled at the world and its fucked up way of showing humanity. It had brought him the thing he wanted most, someone to listen to him and make him feel whole, and then snatched you away as a cruel reminder that the world didn’t care about him.

That was a lie. You cared about him, and you were his world. And now his world was dead. Nothing but black skies and decomposing matter. As he shrieked into the night, he could feel his world continue to disintegrate. The cracks that had started, grew into gaping chasms. It felt as if he was being torn apart and all he could do was bear witness to his own demise.

Thunder boomed overhead, and his roars echoed the anger in the crashes. Lightening lit up the sky and he cried at the brightness. The light as beautiful and unique as the one you had given him. Alone on that country road, Connor let out all of the grief he had collected since he first met you.

He despaired for all the times he never told you how amazing you were. All of the days he missed seeing you. The days he knew he would never get back.

He mourned the moments that he couldn’t be there to comfort you, and the days that you had to comfort him. How he wished he could go back and tell himself to hold off on all of that emo bullshit until after you were gone, because then he would really have something to be upset about.

The rain continued to beat down on him, and soon enough he couldn’t handle it anymore. Falling to his knees he weeped for future you could have had. For the life you never got to live together. For the dreams you never got to see come true. And most of all for the light that had been taken from everyone, especially him.

You were so understanding, so loving. He didn’t know how he had been so lucky to find you. Someone who helped him to tear down his walls and see that there was light all around, not only that was being provided by you, and others, but by himself as well. And now you were gone, leaving him in the shadows again.

The second he heard you were no longer there, everything faded into black and white. Color just didn’t exist for him anymore. It only endured through the things you lived on in, like the photos you were in, and the memories Connor had. He couldn’t take it anymore, and tried to run, and here he was on the side of the road.

How can you be so pathetic? At least they aren’t here to have to deal with you, I’m sure that’s a real blessing, his voice said. Gritting his teeth he tried to remember how you would help him when that voice got so loud, but you weren’t there. And never would be again. Like I said, they got off easy.

Wiping the water from his face he got back on his bike, uncaring about the storm or the cold that had started to bite through his jacket. Starting the engine, he took off, mind numb from all of his emotions. Voice still ringing in his ears of how lucky you were, no longer having to deal with Connor or any of the other bullshit that was on this Earth.

He just kept riding. Soon enough the storm ended, but Connor barely noticed, he just kept going. The night wore on and he found himself lost even further in the middle of nowhere, trees far behind him he drove down empty roads surrounded by nothing but fields of crops and animals.

He didn’t realize he was slowing down until his bike slowly drifted to a stop. Blinking in confusion he realized he was out of gas. Looking around him wearily, he had no idea where he was, or how far a gas station was. Groaning, he couldn’t believe how stupid he was. Can’t even run away right. Great job on getting as far as you did though, I’m sure they would be very proud of you.

“Shut up,” he said to himself. Getting off of the bike and moving it to the side of the road, he felt the weight of everything come down on him heavily. He sat on the ground, unsure of where to go from there. Breathing heavily, his mind was filled with memories of you, your smile, your laugh, everything that made him good, along with that voice.

It wouldn’t shut up. It laughed over yours, twisting it into an ugly thing. Squeezing his eyes shut tight Connor tried to focus on anything but the awful words it was saying. He thought of the time you went to the fair and how beautiful you looked when you were at the top of the ferris wheel, all of the lights giving you such an amazing glow with the stars surrounding your head painting a crown.

Opening his eyes he saw those same stars blinking down at him. The voice was silenced as he looked at their twinkling glow. He was brought back to the night you had laid on the hill on the outskirts of town and made up constellations and stories for each other.

Connor saw the turtle you had thought of, the one who used his shell as a shield for the mouse he had found. The one who was scared of everything, and best friends with the fox that hated the world. The fox that would do anything for the turtle, and was constantly annoyed by the weasel.

He remembered that night so vividly, it was like he was reliving it. Your voice in his ear as you pointed out different animals, giving them the personalities of people you cared most about. Connor interjected every once and awhile, making corrections or adding on to the story.

The turtle had ended up saving the fox, just like you had saved Connor. And all the other animals had rallied around the duo, celebrating the heroicness of everything. But when you disappeared, no one had revered in all of the battles you had fought and won, just agonized over the campaign you didn’t even know you were participating in, the one that you ultimately lost.

As Connor focused on the shapes in the sky, a new story unfolded. One of the turtle and the fox. One where the fox was left alone, but was constantly followed by the turtle. He tried to look away, focus on anything else, but it continued to develop.

He watched, helpless, as the fox desperately searched for the ever elusive turtle. Never giving up, and never moving on, refusing to face that the turtle was gone but still there somehow, lingering. Connor watched it unfurl until the sun started to rise, changing the background and signalling the end of the chapter.

Sitting up, as the sun finally crested over the horizon, he knew he had to face what had happened. Nothing was going to change the past, but he could try to accept the good that you had brought, and the memories that would live on in him. He understood that he couldn’t keep looking for new ways out, new methods to pursue answers, like the fox had done.

Breathing deeply, he thought it had started raining again, only to realize that it was tears that ran down his face. Wiping them away, he stood. Looking in both directions of the still empty road, his eyes lingered on the way he had come. The past had happened and he had to keep moving forward, but that didn’t mean he had to run away.

Glancing down the road he hadn’t been down yet, he contemplated what to do. Swallowing his fear, he set down the new road. Sometimes looking behind him, he found his chest lightening slightly. Not as light as it used to be, but Connor found that he could breathe more openly again.

When he finally happened upon a gas station, he knew what he was going to do. He was going to make you proud. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to complete that goal, but it was a place to start. And that was enough.

Tag List:   @helplesshansen

[kittenwritesstuff]

Till the end of the line - part II

Fandom: Marvel Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (Steve’s sister)reader Genres: angst, fluff Words: 2.190 Summary: Bucky finally comes to terms with his feeling for reader - requested on AO3 Part I 

To this day, you are convinced that Natasha is secretly some kind of goddess, not only regarding her strength and abilities but mainly because of the speediness she has gotten Bucky’s files.

They were helpful, of course, but mostly they caused you further heartache. The first time you had read them, you cried your eyes out, weeping over Bucky’s fate, filled with horrors nobody should ever endure. Every single torture he had to suffer was a cut to your heart, and for a very long time you have mourned the young boy you once knew, the one you fell in love with, the one that HYDRA turned into a terrifying weapon.

Steve had somehow gotten over it and accepted it sooner than you, urging you to start looking for Bucky, keen to throw himself into action as fast as possible. He was even ready to forgo his duties as Captain of the Avengers, but you and Sam convinced him to focus on it, while you and him would care of searching.

Unfortunately, Bucky had been trained well and he knew how to hide in plain sight, how to lay low and avoid being seen or recognized and so you and Sam had a lot of troubles in finding him despite your great efforts and skills.

The search remained fruitless, until the tragedy in Vienna and possible Soldier’s involvement. Of course, you never even thought that Bucky did it, you were sure that, more than anything, he wanted to stay unbothered, to be left at peace.

The idea that somebody was causing all this only to get to Bucky came to your mind as soon as the power was shut down and, not even waiting for anyone, you darted out of the room, heading to where Bucky was kept.

Steve knew how emotional you were around Bucky so he told you to stay behind while he and Sam went to Romania. But now, as there was a serious threat that the doctor wanted for Bucky to relapse and go into Winter Soldier mode, you didn’t let anyone stop you.

Unfortunately, you were too late and Bucky was already forced to become a weapon, so his first instinct was to attack you and get you off his way. He advanced at you with a fearsome expression and your blood froze in your veins. You were mortified, ready to defend yourself from the man you loved and most likely hurting him in the process but Bucky stopped in his tracks right in front of you.

He blinked a few times as if trying to figure out why he did stop, his brows furrowed, his lips pursed and you held your breath, waiting for something, anything.

Bucky let out a shaky breath as he searched your face frantically, his palms balling into fists. You hesitantly lifted your palm and reached to his face but before you could touch him, Steve stormed in and Soldier’s instincts kicked in, pushing him into a fight.

And you – you were frozen, trying to figure out why didn’t he attack you. Bucky was gone, turned into the Soldier who shouldn’t know you, shouldn’t recognize you.

Yet, he did.

Did it mean that Steve was right? That you really could be the one to crack the Soldier’s code and bring Bucky back?    

________

When the conflict between Steve and Tony worsened and you realized that the only solution for it would be a fight between the Avengers you decided to step back. You didn’t want to be a part of the clash, and so you cursed at your brother for being so stubborn and told him to leave you alone so that you could actually get to the real issue here, which was Bucky’s well-being.

Although, for some reason you couldn’t stand being with him in one room, too hurt to know that he only recalled your name and that you were Steve’s sister. It was too painful for you to see your friends fight with each other just because every single one of them was too headstrong to find a middle ground, to compromise.

You needed time to recover, to come to terms with the fact that Bucky might be himself again, but he wasn’t the same anymore. The Winter Soldier would be always present, corrupting his mind and poisoning his thoughts.

Only when it was over, when Bucky was brought back to Wakanda, you decided to meet him. You asked T’challa for some alone time with him before he would be put back into cryo.

“Hey,” you say simply, shoving your hands into jeans’ pockets, looking at Bucky unsurely. You don’t know how to react, how to approach him after all this.

“Wise choice, to stay away from that fight,” he states and you give him a lopsided smile.

“It wasn’t my fight,” you shrug. “Had enough of them in my life.”

“That’s true,” he chuckles airily, his eyes lighting up with what looks like amusement. “I remember when you were trying to reason little Steve. Or me, from time to time.”

“Y-you remember?” your eyes widen a little and Bucky nods slowly.

“Not everything, though. Some memories are back, some need more time, I guess.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

He rolls his eyes and for a moment you see his old self, you see Bucky from before the war and your chest tightens a little.

“The best for now. Until they find a way to fix my head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, not really having anything to say. He’s made up his mind, and deep inside you know it’s a good choice.

“Steve tried it too, y’know. And I told him the same thing. I can’t trust my own mind.”

“I get it, Bucky,” you assure him and when one of the doctors peaks in, Bucky gives him a nod.

You step out of the room, unable to look at it. Just a thought was heartbreaking for you, an image would be too much.

Hour later the door to your room opens and Steve slides in, quickly gathering you into his arms, silently letting you cry the pain away.

There isn’t much you can do now. Only wait.

_______

“Steve, how many times do I have to tell you that confessing my feelings wouldn’t magically fix Bucky’s head?”

“Yeah, but hear me out-“

“You’ve read too much fairytales.”

“Those are called romances, Y/N.”

“Whatever,” you mumble as you place the last pancake on top of the pile, meant to be your brother’s breakfast.

“And every time true love wins. You and Bucky, you two belong to each other, Y/N, why don’t you wanna see it?”

“Because it’s not real. Steve, those are books, they’re made up, there’s no true love. Enjoy,” you add as you put the plate in front of him and Steve beams at you before taking a huge bite of the pancake.

“Thanks. Anyway, Bucky will be out of the cryo soon, and you should tell him.”

“Where do you have a ‘stop’ button, you jerk?”

“Huh, it’s my secret, sweetheart. Not telling you.”

“You won’t stop bugging me, will ya?”

“Never, Y/N.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he grins and shoves another large portion of his meal as you roll your eyes, asking heavens what have you ever done to deserve such an insufferable brother?

_____

You supported T’challa’s idea without thinking twice, knowing that it was a pretty good idea. He proposed that you and Steve would, only for some time, not interact with Bucky to prevent triggering memories from resurfacing. T’challa trusted his doctors yet precautions had to be taken.

Steve did rebel, of course he did. He couldn’t bear the idea that Bucky would be left alone despite T’challa convincing him that there were specialists to take care of Bucky and his fragile mind.

Natasha was assigned to keep an eye on Bucky while he was recovering and, during short moments when she visited you, you knew that he was doing well.

“He remembers you. A lot about you. It’s like you’re some kind of solid rock or something.”

“You know that I don’t want to hear it?”

“Y/N, who do you want to fool? Steve? Me? Or yourself?”

“I’m not fooling anyone,” you say through gritted teeth as Nat smirks, the all-knowing look on her face. She’s too observant, you think, she knows too much.

“You’ll see for yourself. Soon.”

_________

The nightmares aren’t something that you were told you would have to suffer from when you signed the papers before the experiment. Various side effects were listed, yes, but nightmares?

Then again, one does not have them after being given a serum, right? They come from traumas, from life events that are too much to handle, too much to come to terms with, too painful and haunting.

Natasha said once that for most of the nights, she dreamt about the Red Room. Sam dreams about his military service, about his friend. Steve, which is easy to guess, dreams about losing you or Bucky. It still haunts him, making him feel guilty that he wasn’t fast enough on that train.

You, apart from dreaming about never seeing Steve or Bucky again, often times re-live the moment of falling into the water. The plane on fire, Steve by your side and the endless water before you.

You can’t scream, you can’t move, you can do nothing.

The powerlessness is what you fear the most, and it’s a common topic of your night terrors.

Tonight is no different and once you grounded yourself in reality, repeating like a mantra that you are alive and well, Steve and Bucky are too, that you’re safe in Wakanda, you are sitting on your bed, knowing damn well that there is no chance of getting any more sleep that night.

A fearless fighter too scared of going back to sleep. Ironic, yet real. And not only describing you, sadly.

You can hear tossing and turning in other rooms. You hear muffled groaning or whimpering, but you can’t force yourself to move. Sometimes it’s best to let them wake up by themselves.

There are hurried footsteps, thumping on the floor of the corridor but you pay no attention to them. It happened more than once, more than a hundred times. You assume it’s Steve, rushing to the gym to try and take his mind off the nightmares by running or punching the training bag.

But, much to your shock, the footsteps near your room and in next moment your door are swung open with a force that almost takes it off its hinges and a panting Bucky halts in the doorway, his feverish gaze locked on you.

“Y/N, you’re… I saw you… there was so much blood…” he mumbles and you stand up, reaching for his flesh hand. Thanks to T’challa, Bucky was given a brand new metal arm, but you are still reluctant to touch it.    

He grabs your hand firmly, stroking the skin, squeezing as if checking if it’s truly real. You pull him in gently and he whimpers when he feels your other hand brushing his hair away from his face. His sweating and shaking.

“They took you, Y/N. They tied you and make me watch it. I couldn’t… I’m sorry I wasn’t-“

“Shh, Buck, it wasn’t real,” you coo, trying to soothe him. He looks tormented and he lets go of your hand to place his flesh one on your cheek.

“I know you,” he states after long seconds of absolute silence and your heart skyrockets. Your lips part slightly as you watch him smile tenderly at you. It’s a surprising change and you’re not sure what caused it.

“You’re Y/N, Stevie’s sister. That I know. You looked after us. We… I didn’t have guts then,” he says bashfully and you move both of your hands to cup his face. much to your shock, he lets out a relieved sigh and nuzzles into your touch.

“Bucky, what are you talking about?”

“I couldn’t understand why looking at you make me feel… certain things. Even when I was the Soldier, you had an effect on me and I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Until recently. Until I started dreaming about seeing as you were taken away from me. Until Natasha suggested that I was denying myself the reason because I was a coward.”

“She was right, I gotta admit. I was a coward but I don’t wanna be one now. You’re Y/N. My Y/N. And I know you.”

You swallow thickly to get rid of the lump in your throat and lean in to rest your forehead against his. You fell tears streaming down your cheeks but you don’t mind them. After so many years, so much pain and suffering, he’s here, he’s back and it’s all that matters right now.

You snake an arm around his middle and pull him closer to you and Bucky carefully wraps his metal arm around your waist. You smile gently at him Bucky’s lips curl up a little in a small but joyful smile.

“I know you, too, James.”

[bella-vida-bellarke]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Anne with an E (TV), Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Anne Shirley & Gilbert Blythe Characters: Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe, Marilla Cuthbert, Matthew Cuthbert, Diana Barry, Josie Pye, Ruby Gillis Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

It has been six months since Gilbert’s departure at the end of the season and this is his great return to Avonlea to find Anne and Diana speaking of a great ball to be had! Whimsical dancing and angst are sure to ensue! A series of nonlinear ficlets about Anne and Gilbert’s (mis)adventures in Avonlea, primarily composed of requests I receive.

Chapter 1: of new beginnings Never had Anne ever experienced such delight as when she heard the news of a ball fast approaching this coming season. All of Avonlea had been invited to the momentous occasion, even the simple Anne Shirley herself, by her dear friend Diana Barry. The two bosom friends sat outside their school house near a quaint stream, sound of which was drowned out by their gaily conversation. The weather was rather pleasant, despite it still being springtime, but warm summer was forthcoming, along with the most exciting events of the season. However, it was still quite chilly due to it being very early in the morn, they had decided to beat most everyone to school, the Barry’s had not sent their invitations yet and they simply had to discuss it for themselves without any meddling distractions. Anne couldn’t help herself from imagining a great stallion, saddled by a most pleasant and wild chap, meandering the wild daisies and dandelions in its wake along the fields before her now. Perhaps on his way to escort a blushing Princess Cordelia to a most outstanding ball. Her majesty would no doubt fashion her most impeccable white dress, as only the most refined of individuals could afford to do so, and she would appear as if a bride, a long embroidered veil afloat with the wind upon her pretty head. Anne was awakened from her most agreeable daydream by Diana, “Oh Anne, you must do your best to convince the Cuthbert’s to let you attend! Tell Marilla it is to celebrate your first year in Avonlea. I won’t tolerate it without you,” she said with undeniable conviction. According to her, the dances had always bored her to no end, there was a strict schedule for all the festivities and she always had to dance with the most disagreeable and uncoordinated of young men, “My ankles always pain me for days afterwards and all of my dresses have been ruined due to their tireless ungainliness!” Anne mused if Diana had ever been given the pleasure to dance with one gallant and very much missed Gilbert Blythe. Well, mostly missed by all the girls, especially Ruby, Anne had much more important things to concern herself with. Like learning how to sew, embroider, cook, bake, and keeping up with her school studies of course; however that was hardly a challenge for her now with Gilbert’s absence. Diana wretchedly replied that she hadn’t, he never could attend due to his father constantly being ill. Anne’s thoughts travelled to her conversation with Gilbert after his father’s funeral and all the times she had obtained a taste of what it must’ve been like for him to have to endure such a painful turn of events. She knew not of his personal turmoil and she had been through enough of them to last her an entire lifetime, even then, she had been careless and oblivious. “Its water under the bridge.”   Gilbert had graciously forgiven her, so she eventually approached some sort of redemption. And so she left the wings of such dark and painful thoughts as Anne refused to be bothered enough to mind the notion of being inconvenienced during a ball, surely Diana was exaggerating, her spirits simply couldn’t be dampened by much of anything, “Oh Diana, at least appreciate the fact that you’ve been able to attend grand balls before! I have never even been in the general vicinity of one, much less attended once in all my years.” But Anne wasn’t currently lamenting herself for her many woes, as she often took a lot of her leisurely time to do so, because now that Gilbert had entered her thoughts, she couldn’t seem to expel him once more. Sometimes, on very rare occasions, Anne liked to imagine a myriad of different adventures Gilbert could be set on, sometimes he was captaining a most threatening ship overseas as a brave pirate. Other times he was engaged in combat with appalling drunkards, usually protecting the helpless. Anne also pictured Gilbert in his more superficially tranquil and pensive moments, when all else fell away and he was left with only himself and his thoughts and the sea and she wondered if he might have also ever stopped to think about what she might be achieving during these six months apart. Did he ever remember their almost kiss? Would things have turned out differently for them? Did he feel the same raw almost impossible pull towards her as she had felt during their unaccompanied and shared moments? She always felt guilty after having such judgements, for she must be the least of his concerns and with good reason. He mustn’t have many positive recollections of their time together, not after she had treated him with such persistent ambivalence for so long. No, but he must think about his father frequently, then did ever cry out to the injustices in this world? When he is alone in the darkness of night, in the shadow of all the grief and suffering that had plagued him, is he ever fuming in the face of the universe, in the face of God even? More often than Anne would like to admit, she worried for Gilbert Blythe and mourned his boisterous laughter, tongue-in-cheek attitude, compassionate fleeting looks and stares she caught when he thought she wasn’t looking. In truth, in her plight towards overlooking Gilbert, her actions had the most contrary effect in her. There is no ignoring someone who always stays near you, in thought or in heart and soul. There’s simply no alluding it. “Please, we’re only fourteen years young,” Diana teased, breaking Anne’s reverie once again, while she committed a rather apparent burglary of Anne’s lemon slices, “So you’re coming?” Anne played coy for a few beats, relishing in Diana’s impatience as she leisurely bit into her scone. Staring off towards the vast and greening fields before her, Anne discerned a most familiar figure making his way towards the school in the distance, “Diana, the most bizarre apparition is currently deceiving me…surely it must be,” Anne gasps, rotating her friend’s head right around to face the clearing and the dark-haired young man moving steadfast for them. Now tanned skin, the brightest of hazel eyes, illuminated by the morning sun, taller in stature, his face longer and with more dimension, but the same wistful dark and curly locks. It certainly must be him. The only way for her to improve upon this sight would be for him to be atop a gallant stallion, then this would certainly match her fantasies. Quickly now, all about the ball was forgotten in puffs of smoke in the figure’s wake. How could it be? The odds of such an event. Today of all days, during this conversation, right here and right now. Anne desired nothing other than to call out to him, to jump and wave her arms as if a bird in flight after being caged for so long without being in the know of having been behind bars at all, but in spite of such fervent desires, she couldn’t find the strength to move an inch. “Well speak of the devil…” Anne gasps, overcome by her sudden urgency to move to scream, to do something adventurous and free. “Anne!” Diana chastised, perturbed by her language. Quite literally, she pulled Anne up from her contemplations to stand alongside her. She cupped her hands over her eyes to shield them from the incoming sun, “I see him too,” she smiled, excitedly turning to Anne. Gilbert wears a very light-green colored shirt, which even from afar, Anne could admire how lovely it compliments his eyes; his clothes are a striking contrast from his coats, hats, scarves, and sweaters he used to wear from this past winter. It suits him, Anne thought, he seems lighter, which doesn’t deter from his immense presence. “Do you think he’s noticed us yet?” Diana asks, her chocolate eyes as bright as ever, matching Anne’s own internal excitement. Oh how she struggles in maintaining a cool composure over herself. “Maybe you should go welcome him back for the both of us,” Anne whispered, turning down towards her packed breakfast in her quick attempt to excuse herself from the situation, “I’ll just go…” In all of her musings, Anne had never the courage to imagine the event of Gilbert’s return. Well, at least never like this, never during a beautiful Friday morning, with the sun glistening off of the trees and their leaves and her eyes and his own in such an attractive fashion… No, she imagined him simply appearing at his desk one day, beside his friend Charlie, pencil and paper at the ready, head slightly tilted towards her at all times, as if a curious bird, always observing. Just… come back someday. Diana grasped at her hands and unceremoniously pulled Anne away from her things, “Don’t do this. Don’t throw away every day you spent with him after his father’s death. Don’t throw away all the progress the both of you made together as friends at last. You worked so hard to amend things between the two of you, so don’t toss it all away.” “I’m not running from anything,” Anne said, pulling herself away. “I never said you were running, but that certainly does match your behavior,” spoke Diana, her eyes wide, revealing Anne’s own fearful ones. Anne hadn’t raised herself to ever be frail or timid or scared or to ever run away. Diana couldn’t have spoken truer words, Anne valued Gilbert very much and didn’t want to escape him. All she wanted was more time. She needed time to think about what to say and most importantly what not to say and she couldn’t do so now and not here. Exclusively because their eyes had inadvertently met across the clearing, sending Anne into a shuddering frenzy in her skin, stomach, heart, and soul. Gilbert’s dark brows furrowed as he himself examined her and she found a hint of recognized as the telltale signs of a grin began to appear upon his expression.   “I’m positive he sees us now,” Diana pointed out, straightening her lovely yellow dress with the most puffed of sleeves and tried to busy herself with Anne’s as well, but she knew not much could be done with such a plain gray dress, at the very least it was new. “Diana, listen to me. I am about to engage in what might seem to most as an improper and unladylike act and so I will trust in you to alert me if you see anyone else coming to the school and to not make this into more of a spectacle afterwards as I will deny all recollection until the day I shall perish,” Anne vowed as she handed her friend her flower adorned hat without further deliberation on her actions. “Anne, you’re frightening me,” Diana said, clutching Anne’s hat and books, but Anne was no longer paying her any attention, as she took a most deliberate breath in order to calm her nerves. Gilbert had begun to wave in their direction, his sweet curls twirling in the wind, he was holding a set of books under his arm, which Anne recognized as her own.     Before she had time to second-guess her feelings, Anne began to run out into the clearing towards a very perplexed Gilbert, defying all expectancies around her of how a lady ought to act, and she ran as if a fiery blaze were assaulting her feet and she didn’t care if her braids were becoming undone against the sweet wind’s current because she only cared for what she wanted and wanted to be unrestricted and rash in this moment, for the hurt of missing Gilbert Blythe had just crashed down onto her. And then from one moment to the next, Anne halted only a mere foot away from Gilbert, breathing heavily now, her chest rising and falling in the space between them. He was so close to her then, his eyes searching hers and Anne boldly met them in kind, still struggling to catch her breath and from this proximity, she could discern his now tautly tanned face, causing the green in his eyes to become more prominent, reminding her of the bottomless emerald lakes throughout Avonlea. Gilbert seemed both immensely surprised and endlessly inviting, the corners of his mouth grew taut and lose in question, but neither had he spoken then. Yet, Anne couldn’t seem to expel words or movement and stood still as a tree in the face of a most unlikely kindred spirit.

Notes: I sure hope all you lovely readers liked the chapter! Please leave me kudos or a comment (or both) to show your support! Feel free to leave requests as I use them to weave the story together! Btw, the next chapter will be in Gilbert’s POV (will there be a hug? a kiss perchance? I guess youll have to stick around and see :)