#and now I just feel such a weird mixture of loneliness and sadness and emptiness and uncertainty

[bloomingsalma]

so, as an update: my friends are terrible people 😗🤭😯🤪😟

i think one of the most disappointing things is to see that your childhood friends have grown up to represent the kind of people you're disappointed in

[milliedazzledust]

Somewhere Only We Know (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Request: @the-craziestone story about Bucky x Reader, where Bucky is really obsessed with Reader - But not in a creepy way, more like he's really really in love with her and he can only see her, like she's his world Anon: can you do something with reader gifting Bucky Barnes the 3 Lord of the Rings books? They were published after WWII, and reader knows he liked The Hobbit so she thinks it's something he'd like

Words: 2943

A/N: this is pure fluff with no warning, also I changed a tiny bit the second request to fit the story - enjoy ;)

He couldn���t explain the sadness he constantly felt every time he was walking through the streets of the city he used to know by heart. A stranger in a strange land was the best way to describe him. More than seventy years had passed, and he hadn’t witnessed any changes. While he had been a puppet deprived of freewill and controlled with the sole purpose of killing, he had missed the birth of a whole new world. Now, as he strode around the streets, he could easily remember each of their names, but none of them were familiar. His mind remained in the 1940’s and in the middle of the noises, surrounded by the sound of first responders vehicles, the children running around and cars piling up on the road, he was a stranger in his own home. It was an unsettling feeling, a pining melancholy that reminded him in every step he made that his Brooklyn didn’t exist anymore. 

He was furious in a way, but mostly confused. Haunted by memories he had gotten back a second ago, and they didn’t fit this new reality. He wasn’t even nostalgic, but the loneliness was getting heavier every day. He could still picture the park he used to take his sister, the alley where Steve had gotten beaten up one day, the bakery his mother used to go to every morning. Treasure of souvenirs he would keep forever. And although the park, the alley and the streets names were still here, he was left alone walking down Brooklyn. 

“Hey, Y/N!” He heard a voice shouting. “Where do I put those ?” 

His head mechanically turned to a young boy carrying a heavy box of what looked like antics. Without thinking he crossed the road and when his eyes laid on the small shop, he gasped. There it was, one small piece of his past still here. It was an old bookstore he used to go to with his sister. The man, a friend, an immigrant from France with a thick accent, would let them stay for hours. Bucky loved reading to Rebecca. They would sit inside and she’d insist to hear The Hobbit. François, the man owning the store, would make coffee and stay with them, relating the stories he had heard around the world, telling them all about the France he had known. It was all still here. ‘Au Nom de la Rose’ was still here. 

He didn’t hesitate a second and rushed inside the place, an honest smile on his face. His eyes roamed over the room and he took a deep breath. It was just like he remembered, a place filled with murmurs and whispers floating above his head and through the roof, indistinct conversations between friends, huge windows bringing in a powerful light at this hour of the day, plants in almost every corner. Even the atmosphere was the same, this powerful smell of imagination coming from the laying books on the shelves, begging to be read, mixing with a distinct smell coming from the dust. The small couch and the old table he used to sit by with his sister were also there. The wooden pieces had many rough and sharp edges but looked just as smooth and clean as he remembered. Finally, his eyes landed on a woman there. He watched her rearranging a bouquet of daffodils, breathing in the perfume of the vibrant flowers as she tended to them meticulously. 

For some reason, he couldn’t look away. She felt familiar, like he had known her all his life, yet he had never seen her before. When she turned around he took an instinctive step toward her. She noticed, raised her head and that was the moment their eyes met. His breath caught in his throat when she smiled at him. He stood, frozen on the spot, staring at her. He couldn’t comprehend that instant connection. There was an inexplicable sense of excitement yet weird feeling that they had known each other forever, that they were meeting each other again after a long journey. He was transfixed, almost stuck by the confusing mixture of emotions but oddly comforted by them - all at the same time. 

“Can I help you ?” She asked him.

He surprised himself thinking there was something eerily calming about her voice, that he could listen to her for hours.

“Do I know you ?” He quickly wondered out loud, mentally facepalming himself for his lack of tact. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking that question ?”

“Why ?”

“You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes” She grinned.

“I’m … I’m sorry” He apologized profusely. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“Look weird ?” 

He could swear his heart skipped a beat when he heard her laugh.

“This place is beautiful”

“Thank you” 

“How long have you been working here ?”

“Forever” She smirked. “The store belongs to my family. Passed on from generation to generation” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“You’re related to François Y/L/N ?” He questioned.

She tilted her head, crossing her arms.

“Now I’m intrigued” She told him. “How do you know about my grandfather ?” 

“We’ve met,” He answered without thinking. He rapidly realized his mistake when she narrowed her eyes in utter curiosity. “I … I didn’t mean … I mean … It was … It was a long time ago”

He gulped, hoping she wouldn’t push it. She looked him up and down, assessing him. 

“What’s your name, weirdo ?” She inquired, giving him a skeptical glance.

“Bucky. M’am” 

She smirked.

“Let me guess, a soldier ?” 

“How … ?” 

“You all have the same manners, and the same eyes”

“What do you mean ?”

She was now standing in front of him, staring at his face with the most adorable smile he had ever seen.

“You carry the same sadness and the horror you’ve seen” She replied honestly. “My father was a lot like that too” 

Her answer had the effect of a punch in the gut he hadn’t been expecting. He felt naked under her gaze, a stranger with the power to see through his soul.

“I’m Y/N” She introduced herself, raising her hand to shake his.

It was rare for him to smile truthfully but the unexpected bliss slowly growing made his lips twitch before he could even acknowledge it.

“Hi, Y/N” He greeted her.

She chuckled, amused. 

“Hi, Bucky” She murmured. 

After that encounter, he made a point of coming back as much as he could. He stayed for hours sitting on the couch, reading the same book over and over again. They shared quick words but he didn’t dare to start up a conversation, too afraid he would say something he shouldn’t, something that would scare her away. He was content like this. There was no Winter Soldier, no war, no fight, no one else than Bucky. Being next to this girl was in itself a medication for him. It made no sense but she was so bright and radiant. Like a magnet, he was sucked into an invisible gravitational pull toward her.

By the second week of him coming into the store, she started to notice the small marks of attention. He would come so silently she wouldn’t hear a thing, bringing a fresh cup of coffee he would lay on her counter when she wasn’t looking, replacing the daffodils before they could fade, carrying the heavy boxes filled with new books. When she wasn’t working, she would grab something to read and sit next to him. They would exchange a smile but wouldn’t talk. The proximity was enough. Their presence was louder than any word. A quiet routine they were slowly creating. 

By the fourth month, nothing had changed and that day was no different. Rain was pouring outside and the store was empty, except for Y/N and Bucky. Just as usual, he was reading in a corner while she was working. New stacks of books had arrived and she was methodically putting them on the shelves. Standing on a ladder, on the tip of her toes, she was so focused on the task she had failed to notice the soldier walking up to her. 

“Do you need any help ?” He offered. 

Surprised to hear his voice so close to her, she lost her balance and slipped. She yelped as her ankle hit one side of the ladder and automatically closed her eyes, anticipating the fall. She tried to brace herself but before her body could touch the ground she felt something cold holding her waist. Suddenly, instead of laying on the floor, she was against his hard chest, in a protective embrace. She recognized his arms around her and shivered at the odd coldness. He  felt it immediately and was quick to put some distance between them, making sure his metal arm was no more on her body and only his human hand was steadying her. 

“Are you alright ?” He questioned. She pursed her lips, trying not to show that she was hurt when she heard how worried he sounded. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine”

He looked skeptic but didn’t say anything about it.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” He apologetically told her.

He took the books scattered on the ground, putting them away, and helped her walk to the couch.

“You know, if the goal was to literally make me fall for you, I’d say you did a pretty good job there” She flirted, making him chuckle. 

He sat on the table in front of her and grabbed her calve, gently laying her leg on his thigh to assess the damage. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her blushing. It made him insanely happy to know he wasn’t the only one affected by their closeness. They tried not to look at one another, too embarrassed by the situation. This was the closest they had ever been and the touch on his skin on hers was more than enough to make her heart ready to jump out of her chest. When he clasped her injured ankle, she cried and instinctively pushed him back. 

“Fine, huh ?” He repeated her own words with a smirk.

She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“It’s not a big deal, Bucky” She reassured him. “I’ve got to get back to work”

“You’re not moving from this couch” He ordered.

“Is that an order, soldier ?” She ironically threw at him, crossing her arms in annoyance.

“You bet it is”

She watched him, intrigued, as he stood up and piled up some books on the table to put her ankle to rest on it. 

“No moving around, got it ?” He made sure she would follow his advice.

“Aye, aye, Captain”

He chuckled 

“Technically speaking, I’m not a Captain” He confessed as he continued what she had been doing earlier and started putting the books carefully on the right shelves. 

“Would you have preferred Sergeant ?” She replied, bitting her lips, unsure this was the wrong moment to admit she knew who he was.

He instantly stopped what he was doing and slowly turned around to stare at her.

“What did you say ?” He asked, more scared than ever.

Up until that moment, he had avoided telling her who he was. Becoming part of the Avengers meant his identity wasn’t a secret anymore, and although he had done a terrific job staying hidden among the mass of people, it wouldn’t have taken more than a little push to find who he really was. He stood in front of her, frozen, not having a clue how to react.

“Sergeant Barnes, isn’t it ?” She sounded nervous, almost frightened to say his name out loud.

“I… “ He tried to say anything, but as the rain kept pouring outside, slowly turning into a thunderstorm, he blankly stared back.

“Would you have told me ?” She whispered.

“Eventually”

She humorlessly snorted. 

“We’ve known each other for more than three months, Bucky. I see you practically every day. Be honest, eventually would’ve never come” 

“It’s not like that” He tried to explain.

“I’m not mad, don’t worry” She sadly smiled. “I just wish… I guess I wish you could’ve trust me” 

He rubbed his jaw in frustration and made a step toward her. Without breaking his gaze, he slowly took the glove off, revealing his metal hand. Still, he didn’t look at her, too afraid of her reaction. The cold metal had never felt so hot against his skin, a burning reminder of the stranger he had become.

“I didn’t want you to be scared,” He admitted in a broken voice. 

“Of you ?” She was surprised. “Why would I be ?”

“I’m not a good man, Y/N”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that ?” 

“You don’t understand…”

“The red box under the counter” She interrupted him. “Can you take it for me ? And turn the sign of the shop, we’re closed.”

He gave her a puzzled look, but did as she said anyway. He locked the front door and took the box she asked for before walking to her and putting it directly in her hands.

“Sit” She instructed him.

He didn’t dare to stay near her and chose to stay on an opposite chair.

“I found this a little after you and I met” She told him, motioning to the box. “It was in the basement, hidden under old junks my parents had kept over the years”

He let her speak, not understanding where this was going or why she was telling him about that. She slowly opened the mystery box and took a small envelope out of it. It looked old, so old the paper had turned into a deep shade of yellow.

“My grandfather wrote this” She confessed. “In 1957. It’s addressed to Bucky and Rebecca Barnes. I believe it belongs to you” 

She handed him the letter that he took with shaky hands.

“How did you… ?” He started to ask.

“It was a long shot,” She explained. “The first time you were here, you said my grandfather's name like it meant something to you. Like you really knew him. When I found the box, and the envelope, I didn’t make the connection with you right away. But your name was all I needed to start my research. My parents kept pretty much everything so it didn’t took me too long to find an old photo with you and him, back in the 1930′s” 

He wasn’t moving at all when she showed him a picture François had taken of them right before he was enlisted. 

“I wanted to wait for the right time to tell you, I guess. I mean, you have enough ghosts as it is”

“Still not scared ?” He inquired in a humorless chuckle.

“Not one bit” She didn’t hesitate to reply.

She softly smiled and motioned for him to come closer. When he sat next to her, she moved the box from her lap to his. 

“We were friends, François and I” He recalled, his eyes glued on the letter. “He was married to Eloise. This bookstore was their treasure. He kept repeating that I shouldn’t go to war when I could stay hidden under the pages of books that would take me around the world without risking my life”

She took his metal palm between her fingers when she heard his voice breaking. He almost tried to remove it but she tightly entwined their hands together.

“Maybe he was right” He muttered under his breath.

“Or maybe you and I were meant to meet almost a century later” She shrugged.

He snorted before turning around the envelope to open it. Y/N gently laid her head against his shoulder and let him read in silence. She didn’t move when she felt his body shaking with tears but only held his hand harder.

“They’re originals, from 1954 I think. He kept them for you” She told him as he slowly took what was in the red box. A set of three old books. “Why Lord of the Rings, though ?” 

He laughed,sniffing, before brushing the tears off his face and staring down at the woman. At that very moment, he felt like the journey was done. His soul had stopped the search it had been on for a time that felt like forever. Like a century. 

“My sister and I, we used to come here often,” He said in a melancholic grin. Sorrow was finally starting to be replace by something much better, happiness. “We would sit on this very couch and she would make me read the Hobbit. She used to love that story so much.”

“How many times has she make you read it ?” The woman smirked.

“Enough to remember every single word” He exaggerated, making her giggle. “When I told François I was leaving, he said he would send me books to help me travel away from the war, even just for a moment. I guess he kept them, hoping I would come back. Even after I was declared dead” 

“Maybe deep down he knew you weren’t”

“And he planned this whole meeting with his granddaughter ?” He ironically added.

“Oh no, that was beyond him. That was fate, Barnes”

“I was meant to find you” He agreed, a deep feeling of love and utter contentment forming in his heart. He bent his head down and let all he needed to say be spoken through the kiss they shared. 

“Will you read it to me ?” She playfully requested.

Overflowed with joy, he smirked and kissed her forehead before opening the old book on his lap. There it was, the only choice he needed to make. The only home he had yearn to create. Her. 

[esamastation]

Because i am writing it and wanna see what people think

Sneak preview of hithertho unnamed sequel to “True” Reality 

Nothing is True.

Nothing is there.

Desmond doesn't so much float in the nothingness as he… just… is. He doesn't know how long it's been, he's kind of lost the sense of why of it, too. He thinks he minded it, way back when, an eternity ago, he wanted to leave, maybe? It doesn't really matter. Nothing matters. There's nothing.

Well, that's not exactly true. Not True true, just true. There's something – just enough of a something for him to still be sticking around. It's like a string inside him, a cord frayed to its last sliver, gently waving in the nonexistent wind, just enough to remind him that, that he's still there. He's not gone yet. He's here, here is nothing, and he's in the nothing.

No one would ever see him here. No one would find him. And no one would care.

The Lonely savours him slowly, digesting his slowly ebbing, flowing misery like a tasty morsel. He's a candy on it's tongue, and it's wearing him out slowly, so slowly, tasting every aspect of his Aloneness and humming with the drawn out enjoyment.

The knowledge that he was always alone. Surrounded by what amounted to paper cutouts of people, rather than real individuals. They stand up in his memories now like stand-ins, all hollow and two-dimensional, repeating the same hollow, meaningless words.

Get up, Desmond, the words echo, sharp enough to cut, to bring forth a reaction, to make him twitch. Dad, calling him across the training ring. Get up, Desmond, he says, and never holds out his hand, never helps him up, never does anything. Get up, Desmond, he snaps, impatient enough for Desmond to hear it in his voice, but also distracted, like he's looking elsewhere, his attention on something else, like whether Desmond actually gets up or not doesn't actually matter. Get up, Desmond.

And the Loneliness whispers, No one ever asked if you needed help. No one offered a hand to pull you up. Did anyone ever give you their arm, their shoulder to lean on? Did anyone ever lift you to your feet? Did they hold you?

His mother's hands, cool and perfunctory on his cheek as she dabs stinging antiseptic on a cut. Her fingernails feel like paper cuts, and her disapproving tutting sounds like distant static. "It's just a cut, and you're a big boy, Desmond, you don't need my help."

Desmond knows, theoretically, that his mother helped him. He remembers it. But he also remembers the holes in those memories, the parts where they don't exist. Dad is easier, Bill Miles actually made an appearance in his life, such as it was, but his Mother is only a voice. Voice, and vast holes of absence, where the game creators hadn't bothered to fill up his background. Seventeen years worth of memories.

The Lonely has filled them, bit by bit, with cold shoulders from her, with dismissal, with distracted disregard as she turns away. Just enough care to make him feel it, a hand on his shoulder, a band aid on his lip, just enough to make him long for more – and then the Lonely takes the image and turns her away from him, leaves him at the mercies of a father, who turns more and more callous and cold as the memories twist and turn and...

You were a thing they raised, a fruit of labour, the culmination of a bloodline. They married for lineage, not love, they didn't love each other, they didn't love you – you were just a thing they made, an Assassin of Assassins, the Assassin, their Chosen One, alone and strange and…

Desmond drifts. He thinks he might be floating. He has enough will left to know that this is kind of – not wrong, exactly, though it's that too. The Lonely wants his suffering, his slow anguish, his Loneliness, his Aloneness, his Solitude – and his knowledge of it, too. Wants to make him feel it.

But it doesn't come naturally for him. He can feel it, but it's artificial, in the end. Those people never existed, and those experiences never happened, and he knows it. He knows what he is. The Lonely can't take that away from him – it's the main thing it's feeding on.

He's a Solitary Existence, artificial, hollow, fake, empty, the Lonely can digest him forever. So it won't make him think he's human, not all the way. Whenever he threatens to tip over the edge of that knowledge and into delusion of humanity, it reminds him – he's just code, code, code, nothing but symbols on a screen, unloved and unreal, a thing no one knew, a thing that shouldn't be – and that breaks the illusion of suffering.

Desmond sighs, and the Lonely drinks it up all the while breathing in on it, like blowing on a hot coal, making it blaze in his chest. Alone, alone, alone, and unknown.

Desmond has no idea how long it's been going on. Doesn't know if there's time in this place. There probably isn't. The Lonely can and will feed off on him forever, and he's more or less… fine with that. Would be nice if it wouldn't try and fake it, though – it doesn't feel right.  He knows loneliness and isolation, and it can be so nice. So much nicer than fake social isolation. He's never minded social isolation, it's never done that much for him. Sure, he was sad, at times, but true isolation, the feeling of being properly removed from everyone and everything…

That's sweet.

Desmond jerks in the Nothing and in the Emptiness, and around him the Lonely shifts and breathes. There's – something. Like a tug in Desmond's chest, in his soul – in his code screen, or whatever it is he has. The empty space that's his body is feeling a drag, though. It kind of feels like he's - 

Gasping, Desmond convulses and grabs at his chest, as the Lonely disperses like so much mist around him, and the faked illusions of social isolation and dismissal fade. There's a tether – Desmond can almost see it, and he can definitely feel it. Someone's got a hand around his story and is tugging at his words, at the strings of his code, and he's -

Out there, someone Knows him.

He's Known.

He's Seen.

The string is tugged – and then released. Desmond stares in dismay as it goes taut and then snaps, withering away like smoke in the wind – the mist of the Lonely eats it up, wears it out, until Desmond is left holding just a – a bit of it, hanging from his chest. It's – thin, and black, plastic.

A… tape? It's thin and flimsy and takes Desmond a bit to actually remember what it is, but… yeah, it's tape. Cassette tape. "Huh," he says out loud, as the thin flimsy string of it loops loosely over his fingers, almost too light to be felt. Been – never, since he's seen this stuff, actually.

"Statement of Desmond Miles," the cassette tape announces into his fingers in a firm, brisk male voice. "Regarding his… existence…"

Desmond's skin crawls and he knows, instinctively, that it's Another. Another what, he's not sure, but it's Another. It feels like – like sandpaper against his senses, like anathema, but also like kin. It's a weird mixture of sensations, not entirely pleasant nor unpleasant. Kind of… tingly, like an itch that's satisfying to scratch.

It has to be the story, the one he made to the Eye, just like that old guy said – that has to be – someone out there, someone with power, just did something with his story. Recorded it on tape maybe? He isn't sure, but…

He has his hands again. And legs. So that's kind of nice.

Slowly, shakily, Desmond finds his feet enough to stand on them, peering around curiously. The Nothingness hasn't changed, the Lonely is still there, looming upon him, wishing to smother him, but – he's Known now, and that changes things.

"You're hungry," he says, which – is probably a weird thing to say, but it's what he feels. "I'm sorry, I'm not that kind of meal. I don't fear being lonely – it's all I've ever been. Can't fear the only thing you've ever known."

The Lonely doesn't answer, of course not, but it leans in, hungry and withering, whimpering and savouring. No one loves you. it whispers in his own voice, which is right enough. No one wants you. You're safe here. No one can hurt you here.

They're not really things it's saying, though, more like stuff his mind is saying at himself, as a placeholder for the things it craves. It kind of – it has the feel of a petulant, lonely child, mumbling into its knees, bitter and unintelligible.

The weird thing is, though it's been slowly digesting Desmond for eons, now, Desmond kind of feels bad for the thing. It's pitiful. Lonely things usually are… at least until they learn to live with it. And Desmond did, a long time ago… given the value of living, maybe, but… still.

"Here," Desmond murmurs, and gives the Lonely not his sadness, because he doesn't really have any to give, but his… serenity, the masochistic, drawn out edge of it – the moments spent alone in his flat, feeling self-righteously bitter about having to turn down an invitation to a party because someone was filming there. He feeds the Lonely the moments in abandoned gas stations when he was at his most desperate, his most alone, and with no one to turn to he turned inward instead, and felt worse for it. The moments of dissociation just after using the Animus, when he felt disconnected from everything, body and soul…

The Lonely flexes around him, and Desmond draws a shuddering, shocked breath. "Yeah," he croaks, shaky. "Now you get it." His mouth feels like dry parchment and tastes like mothballs at the end of a cabinet that hasn't been opened in decades – like an empty tomb in an abandoned castle, where Altaïr sat alone for centuries. "Isn't that better?"

The Lonely lets him go, and Desmond grips the shredded cassette tape in hand, and turns to follow it out.

-

So, Desmond the avatar of the Lonely? Taking place somewhere early on season 4 of the Magnus Archives. Yeah.

[futurewriter2000]

6. 10. 2020

I remember my dreams; the ones where everything came to me so easily and suddenly it was all there. I did it with a lift of my finger- easily. 

Then I woke up and I squeezed my eyes shut because I wanted to go back and for a moment I did. I went back to a place where everything was easy, where I didn’t feel alone. No matter the crazy things that did happen there, I still didn’t feel alone.

Until I woke up and I heard life calling. I heard the voices, the wind outside, the bell that rings you back into the sad reality. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing to go back- back to the place that felt more home than this. I couldn’t. It was too late to go back because now I was fully awake. 

My whole body ached and I couldn’t find the real reason why. No, that’s a lie. I knew the reason. It’s because I sleep too long, extensively long. Sometimes I think that maybe if I slept long enough I won’t be ever to wake up. That scares people. It doesn’t scare me though. I’d rather be asleep forever than awake to see what’s around me. 

From that safe world to a lonely one. You wake up and nobody takes notice. You stand up and nobody sees you. Nobody checks if you are right after sleeping for so long. Nobody cares to ask you. 

I spent hours being in my bed and then I see my dad at the door, asking me what to eat. I haven’t even thought about eating but when I did, my stomach growled and even pained. I still wasn’t hungry, no matter how much it hurt. I looked at him and shrugged. It doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry. I said as my stomach kept telling me otherwise. I know how my voice sounded and I hated it when it did sound like that; weak.  You have to eat. He told me but I shrugged again. He left eventually. I stayed in bed than thought of coffee. Sometimes coffee can make things better, especially when it’s warm and it fills your empty stomach with so much warmth. 

My stomach kept on growling and aching to the point I had to get up. I didn’t think much of eating, so I grabbed a small cookie- the ones you get in the cafe’s and I ate it. I went to the stove, make myself the coffee that I wanted. 

Dad was on the computer. He never speaks much. He asked me what to eat. I shrugged and told him that whatever he wants is okay to me though I hate his taste in food, at that point I really did not care if I starve to death. 

Coffee was made and I waited it to cool down. I checked my phone but couldn’t help myself to stare outside. It’s something about the branches moving in the wind that makes you wonder why am I not a branch? I wish I was a branch or a character in the current book I’m reading. Maybe life in there isn’t that beautiful. It’s kids killing kids, it’s aliens taking over but it’s better than the stagnancy your life is in and wishing you were a branch. At least in there you don’t have time to contemplate your existence. At least in there your life has some sort of meaning. You fight for something; your life, humanity... something. 

Why are you so absorbed in thoughts? I hear my dad say. I shake my head and think of taking my phone into my hand but feel annoyed at the thought of it. I grab the coffee mug instead. I’m not. I deny. I know he doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me. It’s obvious but how do you tell someone that all of your thoughts with them trying to understand it. You can’t and it sqeezes your throat like lemon. 

I sipped on coffee. Rarely it tastes as good as today. I needed that. The milky mixture on your lips, the one your tongue gathers from your lips after that first sip. You know, the ones in the commercials. It fills the emptiness just enough to make you feel warm before it turns cold again.  

Your sister went to eat to your mother’s. He said, sanding in front of me. In my mind I scoffed and rolled my eyes, thinking of course, she did. She takes care of herself selfishly. Yet on the outside I was emotionless. Okay. That was all I said. I didn’t care anymore. Are you going to eat there too? He asked and I looked up at him and I felt that feeling in my throat spread all over my body, even to my eyes. I swallowed it and simpered. I shook my head and told him no. I don’t want to see them. I don’t want them to talk to me and I don’t want them to talk to me. So no.  You have to eat, sine. It’s a thing for Balkan parents to call their kids, no matter the gender, sine. It means son but girls and boys are called that sometimes as a habit. I’ll cook myself something. Lie. At that time I was sincere but now I know I just don’t want to eat. He didn’t argue. I left to my room, leaving my phone there. I needed to clean the room and as I was making my bed, my dad saying goodbye I felt that tightness again. Tears welled up in my eyes and as soon as I heard the door close, I started letting it out. Whimpers at first, I tried to finish making my bed but when I grabbed the pillow I couldn’t do much but squeeze it to my chest and cry. From whimpers to sobs. Just make it easy. I wished to the Universe. I just want it to be easy. I continued to rock my body on my bed. And see how I said Universe and not God. It’s because I prayed to God for years to help me and it never did but when I started to explore the forces of the Universe, something clicked inside of me and I had some closure to the life I have. The sun shone through the branches and the leaves, on the pillow in my arms and me, who was holding it. 

There was peace for a moment. This tiny, comforting, peaceful moment. Then I had this weird vision of my head where an angel sat beside me. I sobbed at the vision. Another one was behind me, putting their hand on my shoulder and causing me to burst into tears because it’s so hard. I thought it was my imagination taking control but for some odd reason that loneliness left me. I calmed down eventually and put the pillow where it belonged. I looked up at the corner of my room and saw Frank, my webbly roommate. I couldn’t see him due to my bad eyesight but I knew he was there. He’s just hanging on his web for days. At first I was scared of him because I had a nightmare of him attacking me but he’s done nothing but hang up there. My mom said spiders bring good luck and sometimes that’s why I don’t kill them. I also don’t kill them because it’s a living being and even he loves to live. Plus, he listens to me and I know that Frank knows me better than anybody in this world. He sees me at my worst, he sees me at my best. I sing to him sometimes. He’s a great audience. He doesn’t complain. He’s just here. He could leave me or move to the other corner of the room but he’s just there. He chooses to be there. Frank, my loyal spider. If he leaves me, I’ll cry for him. 

[ofwolvesandbutterflies]

notch | iii

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags: unrequited!au, college!au

Warnings: language, mentions of mature content

A/N: i was stuck for a while trying to figure out how to fix a transition... but i think its okay now. i’m working out what i can when i can, thank you for reading!

01 | 02 | 03

Synopsis: early morning calls. picking him up from some stranger’s house after a few bad decisions. the torment of loving someone who was incapable of loving you back. those two small words create such a large chasm between the two of you. but hey, what were best friends for?

I woke up with that weird feeling in my chest again. It was… sad, but not painful. Kind of sorrowful… Kind of melancholy. The amber sun’s rays fell from the broken slats of my 20 year old blinds directly onto Jungkook’s slumbering face. I reached forwards to tangle my fingers through his long, unruly hair. His eyebrows furrowed at my ministrations, nose scrunching, lips pursing as the graze of my fingernails against his scalp tugged a sober expression from his sleeping body. 

A smile pulled at my lips, contrasting the emptiness I felt, the loneliness I felt despite my best friend sleeping right beside me. The shadow of his thick eyelashes stood out against his skin and pulled me further into my thoughts. I studied the way every silken strand of hair slipped through my fingers. His messy hair framed his face in the softest way possible. When was it… I mused to myself, that I realized something was wrong? With the way I felt? With the way I prioritized our friendship, our time, him, and his feelings over my own happiness? 

Overwhelmed by emotions I thought I could control, my arms seemed to move on their own and I watched as they pulled him closer to my chest. His sleeping body moved in synchronization to mine as if the motions we went through were muscle memory to him. Jungkook’s arms tightened, retracting to pull me flush against his chest. A breathy sigh fell from his lips while he nuzzled my clothed breasts. Warmth blossomed in the pit of my stomach the more I gazed at the sleeping figure wrapped in my blankets. When was it that I realized it and still did nothing? 

Somewhere over the course of our friendship, he had become more important than my own well being. It wasn’t healthy, I bemused, fingers subconsciously braiding strands of his hair together. I knew that. Any relationship that was built on an unstable foundation was bound to collapse eventually. But that was just how I had been taught. Put others before yourself. Be selfless. Serve. That had become my way of life; serve though you may not receive anything in return. Love - though ninety-nine times out of a hundred - you will not receive any love in return. My eyes fell once again over his cherubic features and I marveled at the way a single one of his smiles - even those that appeared in his sleep - could blur my boundaries of hurt and love. 

“Mmm…” A quiet groan rumbled in his chest, disrupting the peace I had felt mere moments before. His eyelids fluttered a couple times and some distant worry creased his eyebrows. Chuckling softly, I brought a hand down to massage the distaste from his sleeping expression. 

I glanced at the digital clock sitting atop my bedside table. 13:22. The time should have surprised me more than it did. Indeed, I thought to myself. When was it that I began to disregard the things that should have been the most important? Exhaling slowly, I brought my attention back to the keeper of a large piece of my heart.

The golden afternoon sunlight glanced off the strands of his deep brown hair and framed his face with an otherworldly glow. Pink bubblegum lips were parted slightly, breath coming out in slow cycles of inhaling… and exhaling. As if my hand had a mind of its own, I found myself reaching up to brush the hair from his eyes. Though unpleasantly oily - undoubtedly from the night before - his hair remained pliable and my plaything. Through and through my fingers traveled in his hair, newly manicured nails grazing over his scalp, unaware of the arousal my ministrations were causing him.  

“Mmm… Y/N, keep doing that,” Jungkook’s voice came out throaty, demanding, husky, low, hot, and bothered and quite literally everything I had not been expecting. I froze, fingers pausing at the nape of his neck while I glanced down to check if he was awake. Sure enough, a pair of dark, hooded eyes dredged in a mixture of tired lust stared back at me. 

“..Jungkook? Wh-what… What are you saying?” My breath hitched in my throat at the intensity of his gaze. One of his arms tightened around my waist, pulling me flush against his bare stomach. His eyes searched mine, scanning my body language for any signs of hesitation. 

“I’m saying I want you to keep up that horrid teasing, princess.” His eyes screamed at me to continue, the low whine escaping his throat in an effort to edge me on. 

The breath caught in my throat and my eyes widened at the pet name falling from his panting lips. Thoughts breezed through my mind at a thousand miles an hour. Everything about him had the butterflies fluttering unceremoniously at the bottom of my stomach… the way his eyes searched mine and the intensity in which he gazed at me through glazed eyes and thick lashes… the tantalizing path his tongue made along his swollen bottom lip…  the sun-kissed tint of his torso… the damning fact his lips were so, so fucking close to mine… 

My heartbeat pounded against the walls of my chest and I prayed desperately he couldn't feel it. His hot breath mingled with mine and the mere proximity between us sent my mind past previously unthinkable borders. What if I continued to run my fingers through his hair? What if… I let myself drown in the sweet sounds of his breathy whines? What if… I closed all the space between us and pressed my lips up against his? What if… what if he felt more than just the platonic love thought to be shared between us?

He shifted his body about in discomfort, eyes still placed heavily on mine.  A delicious moan ripped itself from his lips when he rolled his hips up against mine, pressing something unbelievably hard against my stomach. A gasp fell from my lips and the red of my cheeks burned brighter. In that moment of sudden clarity, I came back to myself. 

"J-jungkook… stop." I tore my gaze away from his startled one. I was here, I was in love, and I was his best friend. He was just hot and bothered, looking for an escape and I was conveniently here for him to use. Though the yearning in my heart begged me to stay wrapped up in his arms, the minuscule part of my brain that functioned the way the rest of me should have tore the rose colored lenses from my eyes. He wanted sex, the purest form of love one could give and receive… But at what cost? I frowned, fighting to turn around in his grasp. “Jungkook.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s voice sounded strained. “What’s wron- what are you doing?” Craning my neck to peer suspiciously at my best friend, I gazed desperately into his eyes, hoping - praying - to see something other than lust and want and insatiable thirst. In any other situation with this man, this man that I loved, this man I was willing to give my entire heart to, I would have given in to his animalistic sexual drive. But deep down inside, a part of me knew he didn’t return the love I felt. I searched, craving something other than the shallow, carnal yearning, but all I could find in his eyes was the unmistakable desire for sex.

I tore his arms from around my waist and pushed myself out of bed, stumbling over my legs. Confusion clouded his lust-filled gaze and Jungkook pushed himself up, the comforter falling dramatically to reveal his heaving chest. I stumbled over to my closed door, knees still weak from the intensity and weight of his eyes undressing my scantily clad figure. After all, I was only wearing one of his shirts and a pair of panties.

“I’m going to start breakfast... or lunch or… whatever,” I mumbled, turning my back on him. Heat painted my cheeks and shameful tears threatened to spill from my eyes. “Come out when you’ve taken care of -” I paused to gesture to the unfortunate tent in his boxers. “- that.” 

series m.list

<< | >>

[anuschkalova]

The Backup Plan (Chapter 1: The Approaching) Elliot x Reader

Summary: Elliot who suffers from weekly crying attacks finds comfort by chatting with a girl called Y/N that he met online. They have a real mutual understanding and grow close. Elliot enjoys the virtual connection, but is soon forced to step out of his comfort zone.  Pairing: Elliot Alderson x Reader Word count: 2.795 Part 2 HERE

If Elliot had to name one thing that he hated the most, it would be his loneliness.

He hated it whenever the silence overfilled his apartment, making him aware of the missing. He hated the overwhelming sadness that attacked his body, forcing him to curl up into a weeping ball and let it all out. He hated his own fucking blubbering; it was pathetic.  And he hated the fact that his morphine was out. 

Elliot squeezed the empty plastic can in his hand and threw it against the wall. „Fuck!“, he spat and pulled at his hair in frustration, walking in circles. Tonight was far worse than usual - his whole mind was intoxicated by the mixture of every single negative thought he had collected over the years, and this damn mental cocktail was hard to swallow. 

He needed something else to numb the pain, to turn his overheated system into sleep mode. What Elliot needed was a backup plan, a good one and preferentially in the next few seconds.

Flipper’s sudden barking made him slightly jump and Elliot stared at the little dog. She always did this during his crying sessions, probably because she sensed his anxiety. But the longer Elliot stared at the big round black eyes it seemed they fixed something behind him, so he turned and sighed. The computer.

„Of course…“ Elliot sat down and furiously tipped on the keyboard, bringing the monitor to life. Its harsh light illuminated his puffy face and the rest of the dimmed room. 

One klick and the browser opened, Elliot typed swiftly and the white page turned into his surrender: the blue version of his morphine - the most popular social media platform. He created an account, logged in and began searching. Looking for someone to write to, getting off his mind for the moment, exchanging nonsense and feeling normal for once. He went to ‚public groups‘ and thought about a topic, something that his future dialog partner would share with him; a common interest was essential for a fluent conversation. Elliot knew that, but only theoretical.  It was a group called Best movies of all time where he read Y/N’s comment about The Nightcrawler, discussing the two faces of society with three other members and without thinking twice his hands had already started a private conversation.

Elliot A., 12:43  What are your favorite movies?

He brought one hand to his mouth and bit at his knuckles impatiently. Shit, he was so desperate that he forgot a ‚Hey‘ or ‚How are you‘. She probably won’t answer him. One minute had passed and the loneliness was still there. Elliot moved the cursor to close the conversation, eager to find someone else, when a noise accompanied the new message he got.

Y/N, 12:45  I will tell you after a proper greeting.

Elliot A., 12:45  Hey.

He hesitated and typed more.

Elliot A., 12:45  Hey. I’m sorry.

God, why did he have to be that awkward? But nevertheless, he got an answer again.

Y/N, 12:46  Hey, don’t be. I was just messing with you ;-) I do like thriller movies like Shutter Island, Split and Hick. What about you?

Elliot felt his tensed shoulders relax as his eyes roamed over the letters. 

Elliot A., 12:46  Sounds interesting. I like any kind of movie as long as it’s good.

Y/N, 12:46  Haha, and what is ‚good‘?

Elliot A., 12:46  Back to the future is pretty good.

Y/N, 12:47  Yeah, I’ve seen it. So you like the sci-fi genre or just the imagination of traveling through time?

Elliot A., 12:47  Don’t we all wish to do that somehow?

Y/N, 12:47  In order to escape reality, yes. 

Elliot leaned closer to the monitor. He felt a weird sensation, as if somebody had put a cozy blanket over his back and rubbed the soft fabric on his skin while whispering I understand you. Did Y/N understand him?

Elliot A., 12:47  Do you wish to escape reality sometimes?

His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he awaited her answer. Elliot was so nervous that he didn’t register his burning eyes due to not blinking. His body however forced him to do so and after his eyes were set back to the monitor he had a new message.

Y/N, 12:48  Yes.

Her answer was short, but it revealed so much more. Elliot, intrigued by Y/N, clicked on her picture to visit her profile. It was set private, so he just stared at her smiling face. She looked so happy and open-minded, her messy bun had lost some strains of hair that framed her blushed cheeks. What story hid beneath those sparkling eyes? What made her wish to escape reality? Elliot’s fingers began to tingle, they always did before he hacked a person. He felt the urge to open her sealed book, reading the missing lines that would complete her story, the beginning and the ripped out pages - he wanted to know everything - every misery and every secret. 

The familiar annoying noise of another message interrupted his thoughts.

Y/N, 12:49  I don’t want to seem weird or anything, considering we chatted for only 5 minutes, but I’m glad you texted me, Elliot. 

Every word became more blurry as Elliot’s eyes teared up. He ran his hand over his face and took a deep breath. Her honesty unwrapped his true intention, so gently and careful not to rip the thin paper that covers his vulnerability. 

Elliot A., 12:49  I am the weird one. I know it must sound pathetic, but I needed someone to talk to.

Y/N, 12:49  Then you’re not alone. I need someone to talk as well. Idk why, but it’s so much easier with a stranger than a friend.

There it was. He read the sentence over and over like a mantra. You’re not alone. You’re not alone. You’re not alone. And then, the loneliness was gone. Elliot, who went to therapy for over two years now, started to understand Krista’s words. His therapist always urged him to tell his thoughts instead of bottling it all up inside. Now, the relief was overwhelming as the lid was removed, the inner pressure left his body in pleasant small waves. 

Elliot A., 12:49  I understand you. 

Y/N, 12:50  :-) Btw, I guess you’re a man? You have a unisex name, my sister’s name is Elliot as well. 

Elliot A., 12:50  You’re right. How do you know?

He had no profile picture and no information given to the site besides his name. Of course Elliot had used a fake e-mail account during the registration process. The internet was not trustworthy. 

Y/N, 12:50  The way you write gives it away. Or maybe I just traveled through time and got a glimpse of you.

She tried to lighten up the mood and Elliot appreciated it. His lips twitched into a quick smile before he typed his answer.

Elliot A., 12:51  I take option two. So how do I look?

It took a while for Y/N to answer, so he went over to Flipper’s bowl to fill it with fresh water. The little dog wagged its tail happily while drinking. The roll chair creaked when Elliot sat back to read her text.

Y/N, 12:55  You have bright eyes, blue or green, I couldn’t tell in the short time and you have natural curly hair, brunette and not too short. You wear glasses and a knitted oversized sweater with cats on it.

Elliot A., 12:56  I almost believed you. 

Y/N, 12:56  Was worth the try and hey, I don’t judge.

Elliot A., 12:56  I’m more a dog person. 

Y/N, 12:56  Cool. What’s his/her name?

Elliot A., 12:56 Flipper.

And so Elliot told Y/N the story of how he got Flipper, of course leaving out the hacking part, and they continued writing about this and that. He learned that she was addicted to coffee and long hot baths; that she enjoyed going to the cinema and secretly danced at home to 80’s music. Y/N on the other hand found out that Elliot worked for a cybersecurity company and that he had a sister as well. When Y/N excused herself for a moment, Elliot checked the time. It was 2:28 am and for the first time during this day he was calm. The anxiety had crawled back into the back door of his mind and Elliot won’t open it for the rest of the night. He decided to end the chat and go to sleep, work awaited him in 4.5 hours.

Elliot A., 02:28  I’ll go to bed now. It was nice talking to you, Y/N. 

Y/N, 02:29  Alright. Good night, Elliot. Keep the systems clean :-)

Elliot A., 02:29  I will.

Y/N, 02:29  See you soon.

___

That conversation took place on a Sunday night, and since then the two of them would chat every time Elliot suffered from his loneliness. He could go for a week, completely fine by himself, enduring the lack of human interactions in his life, just to break down within the safety of his apartment. But Elliot had his personal backup plan - Y/N. They wrote about nonsense and meaningful things, about deep emotions and opinions. She was the anchor when his anxiety washed over him like a giant wave, she would keep him on the surface and Elliot stopped panicking.

The routine was set like a clock:  Crying and writing to Y/N. One week past. Crying and writing to Y/N. One week past. Crying again and writing to Y/N.

It worked. She became an important part in Elliot’s life and so it was only natural for him to hack her. He had lasted two days before he gave in and followed his nature. Private messages with friends and family, bank and e-mail accounts, online-shopping activities and social media profiles were not safe from Elliot’s endless thirst for knowledge. He was more than glad to find out that she told him the truth. Then, something caught his attention in her browser’s history, a specific search.

>>Cybersecurity company New York Elliot<<

Y/N had tried to find him. Elliot leaned back in his chair and kept his eyes locked to his name. It was understandable, her wish to put a face to the person she spend hours and hours writing to. Elliot got it, but he still felt uneasy about the imagination showing her his face.  Their relationship would reach a new level of intimacy. He wouldn’t be a screen to her anymore, but a real human. A human she could meet in real life.

„Elliot?“ Krista’s soft voice addressed him, causing him to snap out of his thoughts.  Today was Thursday and Elliot sat on the large couch of his therapist’s office. She titled her head a little. „You are quieter than usual. What are you thinking about?“ Elliot refused to meet her eyes and instead looked down at his fumbling hands. He hadn’t told Krista about Y/N until now.

„I’ve met someone…“ Elliot could see from the corner of his eyes how the woman’s head lifted up, eyebrows raised. He got her full attention. „That’s great, Elliot. Tell me about him, her.“ „Her name is Y/N… We are writing a lot“, he said slowly and his face softened. It was the first time he said her name out loud and he liked the way it left his lips. Krista noticed the change of Elliot’s mimic and smiled in satisfaction. Seeing her patient like that really warmed her heart.

„So you haven’t met Y/N so far?“ Elliot’s head twitched slightly and he turned towards the window. „Elliot?“ „I’m afraid of showing her my face. What if she’ll be disappointed?“, he spoke quietly and Krista watched him swallowing hard, fighting against the upcoming tears.

„What if I won’t match her expectations? We live in a world where looks and status rule. Swiping left because the nose is too big or the eyes are too narrowed, the first impression is always crucial for a relationship.“ Elliot began to shake as the anger built up, his eyes darting across the room before he finally locked gazes with his therapist. Krista raised her hand and motioned him to calm down. He took a deep breath and clenched his hands. 

„You are talking about relationships. Do you feel something for Y/N and are afraid of her possible rejection?“ Elliot shrugged his shoulder and kept his eyes down. „But Elliot, she must be special if you write so much with her. Do you really believe that she’s superficial and will abandon you?“ Krista was right. Y/N wasn’t like the others, she was willing to write to a complete stranger who’s face she hadn��t seen. She had trusted him and what did Elliot do? Hacking and accusing her for being a hypocrite. 

„No…“, he mumbled and Krista nodded. „I know I tell you this every time, but real human interactions are important for you, Elliot.“

___

Y/N, 10:13  Hey, how are you? 

Elliot frowned at Y/N’s message. It had been three days since his last crying session and she was never the one who approached him first. Y/N always waited for him to start the conversation, because she probably knew not to push him.

Elliot A., 10:14  Hey, is everything okay?

She didn’t answer right away and it fed Elliot’s worry. He tipped his fingers against the wooden desk and his nervous tick made Flipper bark in response. „Sorry“, he said to the dog and finally he heard the noise of a new message.

Y/N, 10:17  I’m sorry it’s just… I feel so alone right now. My shithead of boyfriend broke up with me and I’m not sad about it, just really mad. I knew that he cheated on me and I planed on breaking up, it’s just that he accused me of destroying the relationship… He blamed me for everything and it’s just so frustrating.

Guilt laid heavily on Elliot’s shoulder as he recalled today’s therapy session. He also had blamed his anxiety on her and Elliot regretted it. He also regretted hacking her and therefore feeling the lack of surprise. He had read the chats of Y/N and her boyfriend, hacked his profiles and found out about his dirty secret named Samantha. Judging by the texts, he had cheated on Y/N for 1.5 years and Elliot was often tempted to blow his cover.

But he didn’t, because Y/N knew it. She wrote with her sister about his cheating and how she was going to break up with him. Or using her words ‚beating his ass up‘.

Elliot A., 10:18  Don’t be sorry. I would feel the same. He is more than a shithead if he gives up on such a smart and funny woman.

He hoped that his words eased her pain a little. God, he was so bad at this. How did Y/N just managed to safe him every time he was close to falling apart? He saw her typing, but then she paused a moment before she continued.

Y/N, 10:20  Thank you, Elliot. 

She was holding back something, he felt it.

Elliot A., 10:20  You can tell me anything, Y/N. Don’t hide.

Elliot scoffed at his own text. Don’t hide. He should be the last person telling her to not hide. But his words actually reached her and Elliot’s heart stopped beating when he saw her plead.

Y/N, 10:22  I just wish you could hold me in your arms. I’m sorry if it’s weird, but I trust you so much and I know you probably want to keep it this way and maybe it’s just because of my emotions, but I want to know you more.

Elliot could visualize her crying face - eyes red and cheeks glistening from her salty tears. She must be so desperate if she asked him for the one thing she knew he avoided all the time. Elliot’s backup plan was a real human with real emotions and a beating heart. Y/N had saved him so many times, so wasn’t it his turn to return the favor? His hands ghosted over the keyboards, waiting for his brain’s order. He wet his dry lips as he tipped his message to her.

Elliot A., 10:24  We can meet tomorrow if that’s okay.

To be continued… Part 2 HERE