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shurisneakers · 2 months

Text

saturn

summary: close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for. (OR) you die. bucky tries to bring you back.

warnings: angst. death. body horror (being revived from death and the processes that follow). sickness. war or something. swearing. there is also fluf here and there

a/n: im drunk as fuck <3 i haven't really looked at this since December. the title is taken from saturn by sleeping at last because i couldn't think of anything better. enjoy <3333333333333

He occasionally catches a glimpse of his face in the lake.

His skin is worn from months of sun damage, splotchy and incorrectly healed. His beard has grown well past the point of respectability, with strands of grey he didn’t realise could sprout from him. Eyes sunken and half-lidded always.

Bucky waits everyday for the reaper to pull him underwater. Every day is another spent on dry, barren land.

_____________

It was closing in on a year and a half. Time moves like aged honey when you're punished, slow and grasping.

He steps off the bed and into the resolute silence of the cabin. There was a hole by his bedroom door after a regrettable night of alcohol. Mead. Something that had his head spinning and bile stuck to the walls of his throat, and of which he doesn't even remember the name of the next morning.

It's all fleeting, anyway. Names, labels, lives.

He cooks himself breakfast on an old pan. The room is bone-cold, and the floorboards creak when he drags the decades old chair from the dining room to the porch.

Paint peels under his feet, and his toe curls. A dull, faded orchestra of evergreens as far as he can see. He's had a target on his back since he was a kid, always under the gaze of something beyond his understanding. Always making sure he doesn't take a step out of line, or let too much life into his heart.

It's been a while since he's felt that. Like it had finally decided he learnt his lesson, that he wouldn't dare to take a new breath without considering if he deserved it. And so he doesn't wonder if there are irises staring back at him with the same lifelessness with which he watches them, day after day, hour after hour.

The outside cools his blood to a standstill, and he is almost entirely certain he is alone. The vast expanse of an empty sky, bearing no clouds, no birds. Some days, he almost thinks he can feel you when the winds move.

He thinks he's past the point of insane.

__________

His friends are kinder than he is. To a fault, almost. God knows he hasn't given them a reason to be.

After a couple of months of shifting to the middle of nowhere, there are fifteen fucking knocks to the door.

Bucky flings it open, ready to chew someone’s head off. Raging, still in the ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants and socks with holes in them that you swore you would burn. He is armed with a battalion of curses and threats, only for words to die a quick death at the tip of his tongue.

“Hey.”

Bucky's muscles tense to the point where they might crack, but he forces his arm to lower.

“Been a while,” Sam says, arms crossed over his chest.

He doesn't know how he's hunted him down, given the nature of his disappearance, but Sam was nothing if not determined in his humanity.

With nowhere else to turn, Bucky silently pushes the door open.

________

“I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Bucky glances around the house. There are cobwebs hanging from each corner he sees. Bulbs coated with dust. Fine china starting to fade with unuse, and utensils slowly beginning to gather rust.

He doesn’t reply. He’s offered him water, but Sam declines.

“You get cell coverage out here?”

“Don’t make a lotta calls,” Bucky’s vocal chords sound like they’re lined with gravel.

“We noticed.” Sam leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Talked to Dr. Canmore?"

"Yep." Not since the psychiatrist was forced to clear him after Bucky showed no signs of violence, or returning back to him. To him, that concluded the purpose of their relationship.

"And?"

"There's nothing to say, Sam," he rebukes, gruff. "'M fine."

Sam looks like wants to raise an eyebrow, but the patience he's grown over the years from dealing with those worse than the mess setting in front of him disallows him. "Get enough food?"

Bucky flashes him a thumbs-up, and feels the onset of a migraine.

"Sunlight? Water?"

"'M not a fuckin' plan--" he begins harshly, but clears his throat. "You?"

"Doin' alright." Sam shrugs. "Been training a buncha new recruits, getting in touch with new ones. Superheroes are poppin' up all over the place. Got a girl saying she can control squirrels."

Bucky nods absent-mindedly, picking at the hem of his shirt. He thinks you would have found that amusing, considering that you thought Scott Lang's schtick was a bit on-the-nose too.

“Do you want to?”

Bucky sharply shifts back into focus. “What?”

“Help out,” Sam clarifies. “Recruit, train.”

Bucky’s jaw inadvertently tightens. “No,” he says sharply.

"Could be good for you."

""M done with that life."

Sam's eyes reflect a reality that's different, but he still relents, "Okay. Whatever works for you."

Bucky can’t say he retired, exactly. He’d unceremoniously quit and had gone AWOL, but it had never been on paper. SHIELD was gracious enough to accept in whatever form they had, sending him funds every month as an unofficial pension.

“You should drop by sometime. Compound's all re-done."

Bucky shifts in his seat like the chair is too small for him. “‘M not exactly a joy to be around.”

“You’re actin’ like that’s somethin’ new,” he riffs, mouth curling into a smile. “Still.”

Sam's a good man who often lets his instincts lead the way, and if he's insisting on Bucky to return then something must be worth listening to. But his only company's been the thoughts in his head for a while now, and they're no good. What's impure about him surely wraps its tendrils around the world around him, poisoning them.

It's difficult, impossible, even to shake the suspicion growing on him, crawling up his back.

“Alright, well–” Sam pushes himself off the couch “-- just give us a call if there’s anything you need help with.”

Bucky may not have as many words as he used to, but he hasn’t forgotten his manners. He walks Sam to the front, where his truck lay parked, all polished from the last time he saw it.

"You got everything you need?” Sam asks again, and something inside him ignites a spark.

“Yes.”

Sam nods, hand on the hood of the truck, giving him a final look up and down. The few seconds of a leeway fans the spark into a red-hot anger, one that has Bucky's muscles painfully tight.

"Right. See you aro-"

"Why'd you come here?" Bucky interrupts. "To check if I'm losin’ it again? SHIELD couldn't get Dr. Canmore on the line so they send their next bet to tranquilise me?

Sam's eyebrows raise this time, and Bucky thinks he's finally managed to piss off the last person who cares if he's dead or alive, but everything in him is too hot, too scathing to bother.

He wants someone to get it, what it's like to claw at concrete walls with raw fingertips and broken nails. He wants someone to see what it's like, living like they've been injected over and over with needles.

"I know it’s hard, man," Sam replies, gentle like cool water on a burn.

Bucky's hands freeze, because he realises very quickly he wanted someone to hurt.

"Just thought you could use knowin' you had someone there," he continues. "Got flowers too, but I wasn't sure if you'd..."

Something in Bucky deflates, and he wants to cower into a ball. Bury himself so deep underground that he doesn't have to deal with how his ribs feel like they're cracking into splinters all over again.

Sam's already moved towards the passenger side door, and pulled from it a beautiful arrangement of evening primroses and jasmines. Of course Sam remembered.

You would have loved it.

"I don't have anywhere to keep it," Bucky croaks. He's turned the home he bought into a tomb, and he's closed the door to any remainder of life waiting to be lived.

Sam simply hands it to him, and Bucky takes it cautiously like it'll wither in a second. His touch is venomous and his want is a death-sentence, but the flowers stay alive.

"If you ever find a place," Sam says, squeezing his shoulder, "leave something there, too. Might help."

________

He'd add 'liar' to the list of words he's chosen to describe himself, if he said he didn't think about it every second since you died.

The idea initially comes to him like a snake, slithering and winding its way up his shoulder to hiss into his ear. He shudders the first time, jaws clenching, and dismisses it immediately.

But 'sinner' is a word he would use, and so on nights when he's awake too long and when your laugh sounds like a draft in his ear, he entertains the thought.

Indulges in it, grotesquely allows himself to think of an alternate ending, where his presence had not corrupted your fate, and you would have been alive and vibrant and trying out new flavours of gelato from the corner store. Stealing kisses from him, half awake, and dragging him to watch sunrises from the roof.

He thinks of things he'd do differently. Retire a lot faster. Took you to the National Parks like he said he would. Make sure your scent seared itself like a tattoo on all his clothes, because there's nothing on earth that replicated it and he's turned it inside out trying.

When the air is icy and the skin aches where his metal arm meets flesh, he thinks of how you always flicked his shoulder when he passed an off-hand comment under his breath, but muffled a laugh when his insults got more creative.

But soon, it will be closing in on two years since Bucky's last heard you groan at his stupid comments and the lake is just as pristine as the day he bought the cabin. The water glimmers like shards of diamond and there are days he thinks it's too still for even his liking.

"Have you ever been to Asgard?" you ask one night, legs splayed over his thighs.

He looks up from the book he's reading, pencil tucked into his ear. "I have not."

"Not even once?" you ask, distracted from whatever show you had gotten hooked on on TLC. Ever since you'd discovered the channel, you were convinced it was the best way to learn about "his culture". Sometimes he tuned in to learn about updates to "his culture" in the years he was gone.

"Strictly earthbound," he replies.

You nod, eyes drifting back to the TV. He watches you for a few seconds, hand gently squeezing the arm closest to his.

As it always was, your posture was pin-straight. Always ready. Like sitting still wasn't even an option. He used to think it was because you were never truly comfortable around him, until he realises that that was simply a part of you.

Bucky re-adjusts his glasses. He was getting old. His back pained and creaked like an old door hinge more each time.

He didn't think he'd get here. He's growing to love it. Mission reminders and target locations get replaced more and more with reminders that he still has to put the leftovers in the fridge from the date earlier that night, and that your shampoo needed a re-stock.

"Would you want to come with me one day?" you ask suddenly.

He puts the book down, and you turn away from the TV again.

He can always tell when you're thinking. The world buzzes a bit. When you're older than a few galaxies, the universe and you become not so distinct.

"Might be a bit too grand for a fella like me."

"I think you'd like it," you counter, "and you're in a relationship with me. You'd fit in as well as anyone could."

He's still not sure how he's managed to accomplish the second part but you must have liked something about his ragtag sarcasm and social isolating tendencies.

Bucky's growing older each day. You're the closest thing he's seen to eternity. He doesn't think he would fit in, not with his thrift shop t-shirts and unbridled insecurities.

"Do you want me to?" he asks, hesitant.

He's met Thor, and he's heard mostly about Loki through childhood tales and news reports. Thor didn't seem to mind him, but then again, Thor saw the best in everyone.

"I'd like to show you the place I grew up," you reply, playing with his metal fingers. "You showed me yours."

"That's a couple'a streets from here, sweetheart," he reminds playfully. "Not exactly another realm."

The corners of your mouth lift slightly. "But you feel connected to it, don't you? That it is a part of you?"

Bucky intertwines your grins and keeps it there. He's always felt something towards Brooklyn. Something that kept him going when Siberian frost nipped at his skin. Tethered.

But when he'd shown you the place he grew up in, it wasn't the same. Brickwall had been overlaid with plaster and paint. Doors ripped off their hinges, wallpaper a ghastly white instead of the stained floral print his sister and he drew on. It was unease, trepidation.

It didn't feel like his anymore. Probably because Bucky didn't feel like him anymore.

"Yeah," he replies after some thought, even though it's not entirely right.

"I feel that way about Asgard," you continue the thought. "Being here is lovely, and I love learning of all the things your people do, but--"

"It's not the same," he interjects gently. "I get you."

You look at him and smile, and Bucky feels the same gnawing feeling that this is something that's too good, too pure for him.

God of the Night Sky and the Mortal of Blood Stained Hands.

It shouldn't work, but you've already got a drawer in his shelf for your belongings. You've talked about moving to a cabin by the woods if you ever wanted to settle down. You kissed him that morning, and once more on his shoulder, and the last time he's laughed this much in one dinner was the one he had the night before with you.

"Whichever day you're ready," you promise. "I've got a feeling you'll be convinced."

Bucky presses a kiss to your fingers, and you turn back to the TV with a smile.

He watches you for a while. Your fingers continue to play with his. Bucky thinks getting older may just be worth it.

You made a dozen or so trips back to Asgard since the conversation, and he pushed his involvement on each one with the unfailing and ultimately misplaced certainty that he'd have time.

__________

You wouldn't approve of the way he'd kept the cabin. You wouldn't approve of the way he lived. He knows that, but he also knows if you were around then he'd have a reason to actually sow more than vegetables in the land he keeps digging up. He'd make sure of the table cloth that he found stashed away, leave the blinds open more to allow light to reach his room.

He looks at the bouquet of flowers by his feet and thinks that laying it by a boulder would be insignificant.

So for the first time in a long while, he prays the act of creation will bring him some respite and builds.

A little hut, with sticks he finds around the place, and makes it big enough to house Sam's bouquet from the wind and sun. He carves out your name onto the boulder, painstakingly with his pocket knife until each letter was guaranteed to last a century. He adds the year of your birth, and can't find it in himself to add the year you died.

He steps back and exhales. It's a memorial. It's a start.

__________

Bucky spends most of the day digging up dirt, sitting out on the porch and looking for firewood. He’s learnt how to grow his own vegetables, and how to go into town unnoticed for other essentials.

And now he has something to tend to.

It starts with fickle sticks and grows into something sturdier. He brings the memorial stronger wood, and bands to hold it together. He looks for wildflowers and pretty leaves, bunches them together and leaves them under the protection of the small roof.

It's the most he's done in over a year.

Months go from crawling to a standstill when it nears October. Bucky leaves the house less often.Truth is, the sky has never entirely recovered since you were gone. It's never truly dark-- a faint navy blue or even azure in the days leading up to the anniversary.

He's seen people puzzle over it-- call it the newest effects of light pollution or climate change. There is no reasonable answer, but the one that exists is that you left and you took the constellations with you.

Still, evening always comes faster and he can't quite stand being out at that time, when there is a void where he used to feel you the most. Instead he stays asleep for as long as he can. He makes use of the brief time he has to fix himself some food, and bare minimum upkeep.

He gathers the last of the flowers he can see around, some leaves that hadn't entirely been lost and makes his way to the lake.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. Season's changin' and I don't got a lot of options," he says lowly and to the hut that's managed to stay up.

Bucky looks at the sparse flowers in his hands and thinks that he'll make the godforsaken trip into civilisation to get you better ones. Ones you really liked, colourful and dynamic.

For now, he tries tying them together with a blade of grass to make it look less pathetic. It breaks every single time-- he's never been very good at being delicate.

Something around his wrist catches his attention. Some days he forgets it isn't a part of him.

His hair whips rather majestically around his head. He’s used to the sting when it strikes his skin, only reflexively reaching up to tuck it behind his ear.

“Hair tie?”

His eyes snap to yours in surprise. You've never really talked to him before, just brief nods and smiles along the way. Bucky wasn't exactly the patron saint for socialising either. He's always thought something about you was otherworldly. He didn't consider himself significant enough to be going out of your way to talk to either.

“Would you like a hair tie?” you repeat. “It’s rather bad out there.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, though he’s never considered that as a solution. “Sure, if you’ve got one.”

“We’ve learnt to carry them around when you fight alongside the likes of Thor and Volstagg.” You smile, reaching into the compartment of your belt. “Long hair looks good. Doesn’t always work that way.”

Bucky gives you a tight smile, feeling slightly embarrassed but a voice in him compels him to accept the kindness you’re offering.

He quickly secures his hair into a lower bun, giving more show to cheeks dusted pink.

“I’ll give it back after the mission,” he promises.

“Don’t.” You pause, giving him a once-over. “It suits you.”

Most days he remembers it's one of the only things he's still got of you. Still, he ties the flowers together with your hair tie-- and they stay this time.

"See you next week," he says, and a wind blows past him. Pathetically, he dares to hope it's a sign from you.

___________

Two sharp knocks on the door, but his eyes are open before the second one. It wasn’t like he was getting much sleep anyway.

When his arm doesn’t keep him up, it’s the ache in the rest of his body to be near you. Trailing kisses up your arm and watching wildfire heat spread through his neck when fingers tip up his chin. Lips trying to catch each other until panting breaths matched.

He flips over to the other side. Both sides of the pillow are drenched with his sweat. Christ, if this was how it was going to be in the days leading up to the anniversary, he can't imagine what would happen the day of.

Someone rapps intently at the door, only picking up pace when Bucky chooses to ignore it. By all means, he’s retired. That alone should entitle him to some fucking peace, but no.

He curses as he drags himself out of bed and pulls on a shirt, shuffling to the door. When he pulls it open, his eyes are probably murderous, but there is no one to catch the daggers. There is a simple brown cardboard box, labelled with his name.

Bucky, with a narrowed gaze, takes a step away from the box and instead heads into the open air. But there is not a soul, even as he stalks around the cabin and really stops to listen.

He comes back to the threshold and eyes the box. Using his foot, he swiftly kicks the lid off it and braces for an impact that doesn’t come.

There are shirts. And a mug. He frowns, kneeling down to shuffle through the contents, only to find bits and pieces of things he just…left behind when he left the compound.

Pictures he never really got framed. Socks with torn toes. Sweatpants. Laptop.

And there’s a tiny box. His chest twists the second he lays eyes on it so much that he thinks he’s been injured.

There’s a ring in there. Not really even an engagement ring, since you were gone before he had a chance.

Just a ring. But it’s enough to make him suddenly feel the weight of the air around him and he’s forced to take a seat right there on the steps. There’s nothing else in there of you, just old mission reports that mention your active involvement. Maybe if the smell of cardboard hadn’t permeated through the fabric of his shirts, he’d have traces of your scent.

Fragmented parts of his life, like snapshots of his history, running through his mind like an old film. It makes him question, for a second, if death was finally catching up to him.

Well, it was late. He’d been kept waiting for years.

_____________

The day itself is grey and sullen. In crackles of electricity, he can almost feel Thor’s state of mind. He tries not to think that in a few years, you’d be gone for longer than he knew you.

He rounds up leaves as orange as mandarins and ties them together with the hairtie. He clears up the last bunch he’d left and takes a seat on the shore of the lake. Cloudless and barren. Chill.

He can sense the end of the battle is near– he sees Sam a lot less overhead, even his gun didn’t require as many re-stocks. His pace slows to match the few that are left around him, and he’s already wondering how he can finish this quicker to get to help with search and rescue.

But Bucky didn’t even have to be told. Mid-punch, something in the air shifts and a deep shiver runs up the curve of his spine.

Before he even straightens up the sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson. His body reacts faster than he does, because the speed at which his stomach drops is only rivalled by how fast he was sprinting to your last known location.

He yells names through open comms-- yours, Thor's, Sam's-- turning the corner and immediately feeling the full force of a blast shove him onto his back.

With a groan and the force of his left hand, he presses into his ears to stop the excruciating ringing. He feels someone pull him up– blue, red and white kevlar against bruised skin and he’s already pushing away.

“Sam, where–” he blinks furiously, trying to read what word’s Sam’s got on his mouth because his head is still spinning. “She–”

He hears something about Thor and building and searching and forces himself to look at the force of a multistory highrise that’s collapsed into rubble on the street.

Something about impaled and sacrificed and he feels like vomiting violently, shoving Sam aside to stumble through the dust and smoke, teeth clamping down on his heart in his mouth.

Thoughts of you waiting under rocks, choking while fly ash turned your lungs to rock, suffocating. Every second of his incompetence is a second you spend wasting away where he couldn't find you.

It takes hours for Thor to give up searching through the rubble. It takes Bucky days.

It took a few seconds for the sky to turn red. It took weeks to turn from crimson to the ghost of blue it still remains.

God of the Night Sky and A Man Too Slow.

Your body is never found, and Bucky never forgives himself. It takes a whole month to be able to look at the night. Some days he hides his face from the moon, afraid of wrath.

____________

When Bucky gets the call, he isn’t exactly sure how to respond. One, because he didn’t even know you had his number memorised and two, he’s not sure how you’ve allowed yourself to get arrested. But it’s 2am and he’s on his motorcycle, on the way to the police station, still entirely confused about what exactly was going on.

“That’s him.” You point, jumping up from behind the bars.

You look lovely– someone’s gotten you out of the battle armour he usually sees you in, and into something that passes as authentically Earth-like.

He makes a mental comment to tell you, but to still be discreet about it. He's not really sure where the both of you stand these days. You've got him agreeing to braids in his hair like a viking, and sitting next to him during team nights. He's got you reading the entirety of Lord of the Rings and going to museums with him to steal back his belongings. But he's not really sure.

Bucky’s eyebrow twitches at the fact that they’ve got you locked up, but you look entirely unfazed like it’s a new restaurant or escape room you’re checking out. Excited, even.

"Hey,” he says calmly to whoever wants to listen, “what the fuck?”

The grin you give him is sheepish and he already kinda wants to laugh, but he fights back a smile.

“Broke two tables at the bar two blocks down,” the officer replies. “Looks like she was going for a third.”

“I promise, I did not mean to,” you swear to him. “I did not realise your furniture would be so weak.”

Bucky looks at the officer wearily. “Had t’lock her up for that?”

Whatever the officer was expecting, it was not Bucky's lack of respect for the law or private property.

“Well– superpowers– we’re not really sure–” he stammers.

You watch the man curiously, while Bucky's eyes flicker over to you. He knows you could bend the bars of the jail cell and walk right out, so indulging them was clearly a choice.

“I’m an Avenger, I’ll take it from here,” he interrupts, making his way over to you.

“I’m gonna need to see some ID–”

“Google it,” he bites back, before turning to you. “Y’okay?”

“I’m great,” you reply, full of life as if it wasn’t the middle of the fucking night. “It was a lot of fun.”

“How’d you know my number?” He mentions for the guard to unlock the gate, ignoring the swelling in his stupid chest.

“We are friends, are we not?” you ask, a bit confused.

Bucky can't figure out if he's surprised or disappointed- a good mix of both, perhaps. He's glad you consider him a friend, but something in him aches dully. He positively despises it and how often it's been creeping up on him whenever he sees you around the compound. He was a 100 years old, not some lovesick fuckin' teenager.

“Yeah. We are,” he agrees, turning to glare at the officer who was holding up his phone, eyes darting between it and Bucky’s face. “Could y’move faster? It’s late.”

The guy hurriedly unlocks it and you step out, stretching your arms over your head before waving goodbye to the guy and sauntering off. He watches you go for a second before pressing back a small smile.

“The bar-”

“Tell them to get stronger tables,” Bucky calls from over his shoulder, not even waiting for a reaction. “Send the paperwork to the Avengers office, and put the bail on the tab.”

He finds you outside, arms crossed over your chest while you wait for him.

“Thank you.” You give him a smile. “I forgot that it would be late for you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waves off. “Wild night, huh?”

He had heard that some of the agents who had shifted here recently were checking out the hubs around town, but he had no idea that you’d be with them. It made sense in hindsight. More often than not, you were seeking recommendations and guides on how to learn what it was like here.

“I’ve seen worse.” Your eyes shine, and for a second he thinks that they even glimmer like starlight. “I did not realise breaking tables would be such an issue.”

“Yeah, we tend to be possessive over stuff,” he scratches his neck, almost embarrassed for his kind. “Coulda kept the cops out of it, don’t know why they had to go through all this.”

“I will have them replaced. Ours will not break, they’re made for Asgardian parties after victories in battle.”

He nods slowly and wonders if a crane would be enough to lift the table into the joint. It was nearly 3am, and he was out here with you in front of a police station, and he can't stop his stomach from fluttering. He wants to punch himself.

“Are you hungry?” you ask suddenly.

Bucky’s head tilts. He definitely had dinner….maybe. Half a leftover burrito and an apple.

“I’m starving,” you add. “I saw this place along the way here–”

Not to rub it in, but Bucky Barnes, smooth player and charmer extraordinaire, blanks. He's about sixty years off his game, and sure, he thinks you’re real pretty and that maybe he’s always wanted to know what it’d be like to buy you dinner and maybe hold your hand? If you were good with that? Maybe even–

“Like a date?” he blurts out and immediately wrings his fingers.

You falter and he wishes he was never born. “A date?”

“Like– getting dinner together,” he tries to remedy. “Breakfast. What time is it?”

“Yes, that is what I asked.” Your head cocks to the side to match his in confusion.

“No, like– like different. Not just dinner– yeah, dinner, but more–” Christ alive, he wishes he could run into traffic, but the road was deserted.

You wait for him to explain a little better where he was trying to get at. He can feel his ears burning bright.

He just shuts up instead.

“Dinner-breakfast, but more,” you test slowly.

“...more romantic?” he tries finally, defeated. “A date. Romantic date– I’m tryin' to ask you out here.”

"Oh.”

The world is very still. He thinks he will hand in his resignation tomorrow and disappear.

He had done his part, embarrassed his mother and every internet poll that deemed him the most suave and mysterious Avenger, and could now die in peace.

“A date it is, then. Breakfast-dinner, but more,” you reply.

Oh. He thinks he’s probably going to combust but you lean over to press a small kiss to his cheek, and now he’s sure he’s going to combust.

“Humans think too much,” you say simply.

"Think I'm more of an exception than the norm,” he mumbles.

"Aren't I lucky," you tease, and tap on the helmet. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an extra?”

Bucky’s eyes fly open, and the blankets get kicked off in a frenzy. His chest heaves as he sits up, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

He knew it was going to be bad, but he didn’t think it would be this fucking insidious.

He moves to wipe the sweat from his brow but comes back dry. The air is still cold even though he keeps the window shut, and he turns to it to see a thunderstorm taking place outside.

He watches the drops pelt against the window and trees shake violently for a moment, forcing himself to breathe as he rakes his hand through his hair.

Before it clicks, and his stomach drops.

“Fuck,” he hisses, not even bothering to throw on a jacket before bolting outside.

The path that he’s trodden a thousand times before looks entirely unknown, and had he not been reliant on his muscle memory he would have had no clue where he was heading. Inky blue trees, harsh and sharp, and he's sure he's gotten a few scratches on his face already as he sprints through the forest to the lake.

The boulder is there, the carving of your name remains but the hut of sticks and leaves-- it lays strewn across the land.

And the hair tie. The fucking hair tie.

He crawls miserably on his arms and knees, relying on the light from a clouded moon to guide him through every inch of grass. Eyes burning red, he continues to scour until morning breaks with twilight.

6 years he’s kept it with him. 6 years, and it’s gone with the rain.

He lets out a cry, fist driving into the earth, barely met with any resistance.

God of the Night, and Devil of Misery.

_______

The flowers had dried up and left him to rot with them. The lake was troubled on more days than not. He had a ring that was neither entirely yours, neither entirely his and no more than the traces of your skin in his memory.

So this time when the idea appears to him like a snake, crawling and inching up his back to tell him that he deserves it, you deserve it. It would solve everything.

He is no stronger than Eve. He had fallen from grace a long time ago. He shudders just as he did the first time, but now it felt like more reprieve.

_____________

“James,” it greets, hollow like a windchime.

His voice comes out more gruffer than he expects from months of unuse, “Got a minute?”

The light retreats further into the house, away from him. He watches it fade as it travels, unsure of what to do until it pauses, hovering in one spot.

It waits for him, he realises. He slips the beanie off his head and into his pocket, before hesitantly taking a step into the cabin. The floorboards creak under the weight of him the way his own used to months ago. Now they were well-worn and all the corners that made the most noise were identified and memorised. The house and its resident both stayed silent.

Bucky finds Wanda with her eyes closed, palms pressed into her knees as she sits midair, body levitating like she was held up by a marionette.

The room is lit dimly, the only light enough to see Wanda and he understands that the woman he met years ago and the one in front of him now were not the same. Even without his serum, he has a feeling the hair on his body would be standing up, adrenaline replacing desperation and fingers bound tightly into a fist. But even with his senses on high alert, Bucky finds it hard to find a reason to care.

“You found me.”

They gave him back his laptop. He knew the Avengers had eyes on her– but only because she was allowing them.

“What brings you here?” she asks, eyes still closed.

“I need a favour,” Bucky replies, voice unnaturally strong.

“Most do,” she hums, bones cracking when her head creaks to the side. “What is it that you want, James?”

“Got a feeling you already know,” he replies.

“Humour me.”

Bucky’s eyes burn the more he continues to stare. He feels sweat trickle down his back in a clean line. The room felt like it was closing in on him with every pulse of light, crawling into his skin and scraping up and down his bones until–

“I want to bring her back from the dead.”

Wanda’s eyes stay shut but a sick, twisted sort of smile works at the corner of her mouth. “Who?”

“You know who,” he swallows thickly.

Wanda straightens her head till she is sitting pin straight again, eerily firm as if her spine had been replaced with a rod.

“It has been months. Nature would not have been kind to her.”

“But it’s possible,” he says– asks, really.

“Anything is,” Wanda tuts. “But all that time would have eroded away at her.”

“We never found the body." He hates how his voice quivers for a second. “And she’s not from this Earth. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Depends.”

“Can you do it?”

“I can.”

Bucky feels relief flood into his system, an ecstatic sort of euphoria that has his heart lead–

“But I won't.”

And it goes back to how it was. Cold. Bitter. Was this some sick fucking joke?

“Why?” His voice drops an octave.

“Time will heal you. Getting in the way of that is only harmful to you.”

Real fuckin’ rich coming from you, he wants to scream.

“I tell you this because I know from experience.” It’s almost as if she reads his mind. Probably does. “Bringing someone back from the dead is not what you think it is.”

“I’ll handle it. Whatever it is.”

“Can you?”

Bucky wavers, brows furrowing. “Yes.”

Wanda hums, the same smile from before returning to her face. “Your spirit is admirable. But I’m afraid I can’t grant you this wish.”

Bucky feels white hot inside, and like his world crumbles into a dark heaving mess. “Wanda–”

“It’s for your own good, James.” If he wasn’t so full of rage he’d maybe hear the fondness that hid behind a few of her words.

“How would you know?” he snaps. “Vision wasn’t human–”

Wanda’s eyes snap open. Bucky is forcefully shoved a step back, arm jumping up in front of him in a second. For the first time he notices that the light wasn’t shining on Wanda– it was coming from her. Crimson red and pulsating as fast as the blood raced through her veins.

“You think Vision was the first time I’ve lost someone?” Her voice is cold. “You met him, James. You knew his name.”

Bucky’s grown to carry guilt on his back like Atlas. A little bit more is hardly a burden. “This– it’s going to be different,” he says. “She’s not a mutant, she’s a God, Wanda–”

“So you think you can match up to that by playing one?” Wanda’s voice raises. “You don’t get to pick who stays dead. You don’t get to choose. I didn’t. None of us did.”

“I wasn’t there when she died. If I was, then maybe–”

“That doesn’t mean anything. I cannot give you this favour.”

“Then consider it repayment. Of a debt,” he finally exclaims. “You said it. You owed me one. I’m cashin’ it in.”

Days of starvation just so that the kids could eat. If his handlers knew, they’d make him kill them with his bare hands. He gladly accepts fifteen more broken bones just so that the twins are kept together, and even when he goes back under, the sight of their big eyes, too big for their faces, staring at him haunts him in his nightmare.

“I just want another chance.” Bucky’s stare is strong, voice steady. “I’m tired of praying. I’m sick of it. I’ve been begging my whole life for a second chance at everything. You think I want to be here? That I get to be the one that’s still alive?”

The glow around Wanda looks like it should burn her. All consuming and vicious, like blood splattered on a wall.

“Please,” his voice reduces to the strength of a child. “Just try. That’s all I’m askin’.”

Bucky watches as the light slowly dims to a silhouette, leaving him blinking back the burn on his iris. He loosens his fist, knowing later that his fingernails probably broke through the skin of his palm.

Wanda’s chest rises and falls.

She closes her eyes. “Leave.”

He wordlessly turns on his heel. It was stupid of him to hope, he supposes.

______________

Autumn dies for December to grow, and he starts staying inside more than he already does. Snowfall covers the roof and the treetops. He swaps eggs for soup and makes batches large enough to last the whole day. The ground freezes over, and he looks for ways to keep his self-sustaining system going, but trips to town become more frequent.

Sam visits once more, and brings some more things with him this time. Books, a journal, some old box sets of shows. Bucky nods along to the conversation, asks after his family and when the time comes, rejects another offer to come to spend Christmas at the compound.

He accepts Sam’s flowers with more grace than the last time. The door closes, and he leaves it by the couch.

__________

He attempts to rebuild it. Pulls together some stronger branches and heavier stones. A new memorial lays together half-heartedly. Dejected. A little miserable looking.

He stares at it a little too long before one swoop of his arm cracks it in half and leaves it strewn across the grass.

Bucky doesn't try again.

__________

“Did you come up with the constellations?”

It's a stupid question, but he's always curious about you.

“Hm,” you reply at first. “Not in the sense that you’d think.”

Bucky turns away from looking into the abyss and towards you. His flesh hand continues to trace shapes into your skin as your neck rests on his bicep.

“I didn’t place them in a way that was meant to be drawn,” you reply. “My mother used to tell me when I was a child that the spirits of those I cherished would live on through parts of our creations. For others, it would be through groves of orchards, or rain that corrode caves into mountains.”

Bucky watches the fingers of your free hand dance nimbly, while the other stays tucked between the both of you.

“I was young when I realised that certain lights were brighter when I felt too much for someone. Pain, joy, rage,” you continue, fingertips pointing upwards, “Those stars, satellites– whatever you wanted to call them– they were the ties I had to those I loved. So sometimes, I would move them with me so that every time I looked up, I would see that I had company.”

He tears his eyes away from you and towards where you were gesturing. It’s subtle at first, but then he sees– stars moving faster than they should, darting all around the canvas of the night like runaway splotches.

“Over time, those on earth noticed patterns and called them constellations. I’ve always seen it as my family,” you say, gently dragging a barely lit star from the corner of his eye towards the centre.

“That’s for Thor. Sif.” You take turns to point. “Loki. Fandrall. Hogun. My parents.”

Each seems to glow a little brighter as you call out their name. “There’s one for you, as well.” Your finger drops, finding its way back to comfort on his chest.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise.

“You’ll have to see for yourself which one it is.” You leave a kiss on his jawline, and he instinctively tugs you a bit closer. “It won’t be any fun if I tell you.”

He doesn’t need to ask. There’s one slightly to your left, that’s glowing a little brighter tonight than the rest. His chest swells, and there's a profound sort of speechlessness that engulfs him. He never really knows what to say around you anyway.

“Really fuckin’ love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your the skin of your temples.

“I’ve got a clue or two.” You laugh and along with you, so does the sky.

___________

Bucky eyes fly open, fingers digging deep into the pillow. Not because of the way his brain was choosing to torture him again.

But the fact that the fucking person from before was back at his door, even though it was the middle of the fucking night.

He lets the first three knocks go unanswered but by the fifth one, he’s ready to unleash the force of the shitty month he’s had into whoever was here to drop off the next box of fucking whatever.

He doesn’t even bother pulling on shoes or straightening out his clothes. Hair wild and untamed and fury in his eyes, he marches down the steps of the cabin with a select choice of words for SHIELD and their stupid protocols.

With enough force to pull the door from its hinges, he yanks the door open, eyes ablaze and mouth set in a scowl.

And the earth stops spinning.

The absolute wind gets knocked out of him and he’s scared to even blink because this has happened to him before. It’s happened, and his eyes have closed and it’s left and he can’t afford that again–

He freezes when a hand reaches out to touch his bicep. Because that has never happened before. He’s always woken up before this.

At the threshold of the cabin, he falls to his knees. His joints ache the same way they did in church all that time ago when his fury was masked with tears.

“Oh,” he whispers, kneeling before the essence of a God he thought abandoned him.

“Bucky?” you ask, confused and soft, hand reaching out to cup his cheek before lowering yourself to his height.

Bucky makes somewhere between a strangled noise and a strange laugh, head reeling.

“You’re back.” His hands fall at your waist lightly like he’s afraid to disrupt still water.

“What’s–” your sentence is interrupted when your eyes roll back into your head.

Moments later it goes limp, and his reflexes move faster than he can comprehend as he grabs you, body springing into action when his mind gives up on him.

He lets out a sigh of relief loud enough to be a sob, fervently holding up the dead weight and a rhythm returns to the stillness of the night, one he’d forgotten the sound of. If he was even the slightest bit aware, more than grateful, he would see the signs from then. His vibranium doesn’t warm when it meets the sliver of skin as he bunches up your shirt in his grip. It feels like he’s breathing in Antarctic air, not spring drafts.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your shoulder to whoever is listening. “Fuck– God, thank you.”

_______

"It's been a month."

"A week, and that's pushing it."

"You're pushing it," you mumble, tightening the straps of your armour, "I do not know how you live like this. Do you always just stare at the ceiling when you're bored?"

"Sometimes I like to switch it up. Look at the floor," Bucky adds gruffly, to a roll of your eyes. "Maybe the door on the days I'm feelin' real fancy."

"You will just let your TV lay that way? With half the screen missing?"

He shrugs half-heartedly. "Sports season's done. Got nothin' to watch."

"Hmm," you pause a second. "'No' to your offer then. You may take that as my formal reply."

"'No' to Thai takeout later?" Bucky squints out into the twilight through the window of the ammunition room. "Lebanese then?"

You raise your eyebrows, tightening the leather around your wrists. "Goodbye, Barnes."

"Bye," he replies, checking to see if his knives sat securely in his old tactical pants.

You send him a nod before you start striding towards the door. The jet had landed a while ago, still onloading agents and recruits from the compound.

Bucky's arm jets out to grab your elbow, pulling you back into him. He's well aware it's only because you let him.

"I'm kiddin'," Bucky laughs at the matching smile on your face. "I'll get it fixed. I'll fix it myself. Just marry me, please. I'm growin' old here, sweetheart. All this questioning's not good for my heart."

"You're already old. And we will talk about it when we get back," your fingers press gently into his chest, and he can feel your touch even through the bulletproof vest. "Your laws-"

"There's no law out there that says ex-enemies of the state and Gods can't marry. Even if there is, it'll be just another one I have to break."

Your eyes twinkle when you laugh. Bucky sees remnants of old cosmos in there, as he always has.

"We'll talk about it when we get back," you promise. "Be safe."

"Can't guarantee that."

"Try not to die, then."

"Always."

He can't remember a time when he wasn't the last one on the jet, owing to goodbyes like this. You never opted to join them, reaching the same way Thor does.

The night was uncharacteristically calm, especially since he knew that miles away you were about to step into another battle. But it's good. The night means you will be at your strongest, and that is what he hopes for.

Bucky allows a few seconds of silence to take you in, skin glowing even against harsh fluorescent lighting and a cool air of confidence around you. You raise an eyebrow at him, because this is far from the first time he has done this. He would never divulge why.

He takes a chance to press a quick kiss to your lips, humming. "I'll get the TV fixed when we're back."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Barnes." You smile, thumb swiping across the dent in his nose, an imperfection in a sea of many. "Thai for dinner?"

"Lemme check my calendar." Bucky takes a step back, feeling his heart constrict in a way that he's gotten used to craving. "I may have an opening."

"Please, don't try too hard."

"I'll have my secretary get back to you."

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. "I love you."

"So, that's a yes then?"

"Get on the plane, Bucky." You sigh. "You already know the answer."

"Love you more." He grins at you, bright and like he's never known sadness. "Catch you later."

____________

In the days that pass, he doesn’t know how to be.

His body leaves him no choice– staying up all night, waiting for Wanda to show up at the door, fingers burning to take it all back. He keeps the doors locked and windows shut, as if ageing wood would provide any sort of a barrier when it came to her will.

Bucky walks around in a trance, eyes glossy and body stiff like he isn’t sure how much of what he’s seeing is real.

Your body, housed in his old clothes, looks three seconds away from death. He keeps a bucket by the bed from when you cough up dust, the last remainder of old organs. He massages leg spasms, and muscle cramps from your neck.

He keeps a towel close by for the nausea and anything in between as your body fights off the shock of a rebirth. Allopathy is useless when you're a God either way, so he resorts to herbs and roots to alleviate as much as he can.

Your lungs struggle for air at night. He’s already awake, propping you up to make sure you’re breathing better. He rubs at your back in circles the same way he used to do for Steve and finally takes a breath when the wheezing subsidies.

He fervently tells you he loves you every time you slip back under, and wipes at your forehead with a wet cloth to ease the warmth. He’s met with coughing fits and clenched eyes.

Exactly one week from your return, a trip downstairs to gather more firewood for the room and Bucky falters to a stop near the kitchen.

There's a note pinned to the dining table with no indication as to how it got there.

The debt is repaid. This was by your will. Whatever happens next will be by hers.

Every hour, he watches rotting flesh, dissolved muscles and clotted blood crawl out of your mouth. He forces himself to watch. It was his choice after all.

Bringing you back from the dead was never going to be easy.

_________

A week later, the remains of your old body stop exhuming itself. Perspiration beads line your forehead, and he thinks the salt of sweat is your first act of creation.

Your breath steadies. Nights go smoother. He learns he can live off of two hours of sleep.

He toys with the idea of telling someone. Sam. Thor, even. But your lips are bluer than he’s ever seen, even more than when he’d introduced you to blueberry juice pops when the heat beat down on you both in July, and you’d kissed his red-stained ones.

The longer he stares at you, he dismisses the idea. Something in him says that beyond being something they could accept, they could actively bring a stop to what he was doing right now.

He couldn’t afford that. Not now, not ever; not when he’s let you down once before already. It’s a secret for now, then. For as long as it needs to be.

__________

In the days later your nervous system seems to be rewiring itself. The first time he sees you with your eyes open, the plates he’s holding clatter to the floor.

“Hey,” he whispers, fingers clutching the side of the bed, “Hey, honey. Can you hear me?”

But your eyes never meet his. He slowly follows your gaze to the closed window, eyes glassy and surrounded by strings of red.

He sees you mouth something, and desperate as he is, he never truly understands what it is before you’re gone again.

His exhale leaves staggering, head dipping to your arm as he clenches his eyes tight till he sees spots.

_____________

Bucky starts leaving the windows open. The ones in your room, at least, and only when he's there to keep watch.

It becomes a mission then. The next time you opened your eyes couldn’t be to the desolation he lived in for months. He looks for flowers. Vines. Anything to make the place look less dreary and miserable. He cleans the blinds, and dusts the paintings in the room.

The cells in your body seem to be working overtime– every day there is a little bit less that reminds him of where you came from. Scabs fall away faster than they grow, leaving unbroken skin.

He notices it late. There is only one wound that remains-- a red, jagged scar along your stomach. It looks angry. Heals slower than the rest of them. It is the only place Bucky sees specks of gold instead of bronze when you exert yourself too much.

__________

It takes a good amount of time. He should have anticipated it— the next time you awake, and the next few times after that are only when the sun chases beyond the horizon.

He drops to your side with questions of “can you hear me?” or “does something hurt?” but each time, something outside the widow holds your attention dear to its chest and unwilling to share.

The moon rays become an elixir more powerful than anything from this Earth. Light almost surrounds you like a cloak, sinking into your skin and drowning in your bones.

He stays up at night, massaging your arms and your temples, but you are still so cold to the touch he isn’t sure the blood is circulating at all. So he gets more firewood. Makes sure the house is warm all the fucking time.

Stagnant. Still. Some nights he thinks he can see you looking at him from the corner of your eye.

The second he turns, you lay unmoving as before.

________

He stands labouring over the stove. There's a batch of rich tomato soup, with bread toasting in a skillet nearby. He alternates between wiping down the bowl to serve you in, though you still haven’t eaten, and stirring the soup to stop it from sticking to the bottom of the pan.

He makes note that he still has to get more gauze from the town, and proper tools to sand down the chairs before he can even think of--

But something interrupts his to-do list. It's so soft, he thinks for a second he's imagining it. But the ladle he's holding clangs against the pot, and he abandons the bowls with such hurry that he wouldn't be surprised if it's in shards.

He races up the stairs, three at a time, his heart is thumping louder than the floorboards creaking.

It’s silent. He can hear his own arm whirring quietly.

He lets out a breath when he sees you haven’t changed positions since he last saw you, and wordlessly turns to head back downstairs to an over-bubbling cauldron of soup.

"Bucky?"

It’s almost like eternity whooshes past his ears when he realises that he wasn't imagining it.

“Hey.” He drops without a second thought to your bedside, knees scraping against the wood. “Hey. Hi sweetheart. What do you need?”

“Water,” your voice is hoarse and just above a whisper, but you’re looking at him.

You’re fucking looking at him, and your eyes are a share darker than he remembers them being.

He makes a grab for the jug by your bed and holds a full glass to your lips carefully, watching as water treacles in through chapped lips.

"How are you feelin’?" He hates how shaky his voice sounds, as if he wasn't prepared. As if he hadn’t been waiting.

It takes a second for you to form the word. "Tired."

His fingers brush against your cheek. "What can I do for you?"

You don’t respond, and he watches your chest rise and fall heavily again. You were asleep again.

He bites into his lower lip so hard he can taste the rust of his blood. Moonlight filters in through your curtain and he runs his thumb over the corner of your eye, placing a kiss on your forehead.

It was a start.

___________

Bucky grew up with siblings he outlasted and an absolute wildfire of a friend. It was safe to say the man had more patience than most.

The same conversation repeats three more times over the next few days, and he answers each time with as much tender refrain as the first, begging to know where he can help and what he can do.

“Tired” turns to “I’m tired” turns to “I’m just tired”, and with each he is as proud and hopeful as he was when you talked the first time.

You begin to eat finally, and he hopes his skills aren’t bad enough to send you to the other side again. Spoonfuls of soup. Bites of bread. A glass of water, and then two.

“Buck,” you rasp.

And he’s as ready as he was the previous day, with a gentle, “Tell me, sweetheart.”

You’ve already gotten a slice of bread into you today, and you’ve slept through the night. He’s considering this one of the best days you’ve had so far, and that alone is triumph enough to ease the anxiety that pervades him.

“I was dead.” But this was new.

Bucky blinks, not sure if he heard you right. Your eyebrows knitted together tells him he did.

“You were,” he confirms, not daring to breathe.

“But now…” you trail off, as if you were expecting to wake up that minute.

His Adam’s apple shifts up and down. “Things changed.”

“How?” you ask, eyebrows pulling together even tighter, and he worries it takes energy that could be used elsewhere.

The muscles in his jaw tighten anxiously. The floorboards press into his knees.

"You did something?" your voice comes back quietly.

His silence is enough of an answer.

"How long was I gone?"

"It’s been a while, honey," he replies, eyes never leaving yours.

Your head turns to face the ceiling, a deep exhale working its way through you. Bucky's eyes drift to the scar on your stomach, hidden under the fabric. Thorny and broken.

"Who knows?"

His gaze shifts back to your face, but you aren't looking at him.

"Only me," he says, voice unwittingly dropping before adding, "and Wanda."

"Wanda," you repeat quietly. "It was magic."

Something familiar sets into Bucky's chest. Heavy, pressing down on his throat and making the bile rise.

"I'll get you more water," he says, pausing briefly to look at you, but you continue to stare at the roof. "I'll be right back."

You don’t have a response for him. As he makes his way to the door, it follows like a shadow. He pauses by the frame to look at you once again, but your eyes have closed.

Bucky watches for a second, swallowing thickly. It feels all too similar to guilt.

__________

Bucky dedicates himself even more vigorously to the house. He finally takes out the cutlery, cleans it up the best he can and wipes down the table every single day. He spends the day collecting fruits for juices and vegetables for broth. Firewood. Making sure everything is sharp enough to use, and the traps he set up in his initial time here were still functional.

He checks to see if the trees can take the weight of the swing he’s hoping to fashion out of bark. How fast it would take to polish the porch chairs and flooring, and what exactly it would take to do that.

No matter how much he cleans, it isn’t enough to wipe the look on your face from where it was seared into his brain like hot iron.

A week later he's in the garden, digging up the ground to plant seeds. It's January, and it's still fucking freezing, but he's gonna fucking try anyway.

He's got a hold of seeds of poppy, marigold, daisies and who knows what else, and plenty of fucking time.

"You garden now?"

He looks up in surprise. You lean against the backdoor, no winter coat on even though it's freezing. It flashes in his mind that you look paler than you used to, and he wonders if that will go in time.

“I’ve always gardened,” Bucky defends weakly, and tries to keep his tone normal. “Just– not well.”

Arms crossed over your chest, you ask, “Has that changed?"

“Can’t say it has, sweetheart." He looks at the mess he's created on the ground. "'M tryin', though.”

The corner of your lip upturns into a faint smile. His stomach twists painfully.

"You're up," he says, a little too late. It came faster than he thought it would. Then again, you weren’t human. You didn’t always listen to the laws of nature.

"Y'feeling cold?" he adds quickly.

You shrug, pushing off from the door to slowly take a seat. Your legs dangle off the ledge of the porch, barefoot. Bucky waits for you to swing your legs like you always have but you stay still.

He dusts his hands on his jeans and stands, tugging his jacket off his shoulders and holding it out to you. "Can I?"

"Go on," you allow, and he drapes it around your shoulders, making sure it isn't likely to slip off before stepping back.

A draft blows past you both without either of you saying a word. Discarding the little shovel on the ground, Bucky chooses to take a seat beside you instead.

"You will feel cold, won't you?"

"I'll be fine, don't worry 'bout me," he reassures.

"Seems like you have it covered already," you say, making a motion to imitate the shape of his beard. "Mighty fine mane you've got there, James. You could give Odin a run for his money."

He gives a short chuckle, threading his hands through his hair that reaches down to his shoulders.

He’s finding it hard to formulate words. He couldn’t even tell if his mind was racing or entirely blank.

"You've got grey in your beard now," you observe. It sounds wistful. Sad even, and all of a sudden he’s left realising that he doesn't know how long it has been for you.

"Been a while since I got a haircut."

Christ, he was drier than a brick. His conversational skills and charm had deserted him along with the rest of his luck.

You lift your eyes from his beard to his face, scanning from his hairline down to his chin. "You look as handsome as you always have," you say and his heart jumps. "Just a bit..."

Sadder. Tired. Mistrusting.

"Older," you settle on.

He'd grown more wrinkles than he could count, and his skin didn't bounce back as much as it used to.

Beyond that, he smiled a lot less. He spent more time thinking than verbalising.

“You need help?” He hears you ask faintly, head gesturing to the patch of dug-up mud.

“You need to get rest,” Bucky shakes himself out of it. “I’ll get you some–”

“I’ve rested long enough, Buck,” you say assertively.

He wonders if you did. Bucky remembers what you told him of Asgardian funerals. How your body is set floating along a river, and your soul lifts towards the sky to rest. You never got to have that. He doesn’t even know if they sent an empty log along a cold river.

"Tomorrow?" he delays.

You look at him briefly before nodding.The ground stays untouched and the sky still greys. Bucky sees you take a few deep breaths, shuddering when a draft of wind blows by. He silently shrugs off his scarf too, and wraps it around your neck loosely.

You simply let him. Minutes pass in silence, and neither of you make any motion to move.

You bump your shoulder into his. "I see you haven't fixed the TV yet."

A swift exhale leaves him in the form of a laugh. He turns away so that you don't see how his eyes begin to burn.

"Sorry, honey," he croaks out, "I've been distracted."

The smile you give him is melancholic, and that's enough to dissolve his red eyes from a warning into tears.

_________

Bucky buys every single streaming platform available, and every channel available on cable.

That night he takes apart every single component of the television, wipes it down and puts it back together better than before. He only rests when it's 2am and the sound of late night commercials softly flood the living room.

__________

Bucky takes the guest bedroom, initially, a floor away from you to give you the space you need.

He then realises it's too far, it's too risky. Sheepishly, he shifts to the same room as you, but makes himself a place to sleep on the floor with blankets and a pillow.

You voice your protest, and even though he’s spent three years curled up beside your sleeping frame, he says his back could use the hard surface now.

He gets you clothes from town. Sweaters and socks, scarves. Things he knew you used to like and things he always promised he'd get if he had another chance. You take them with a small smile and a thanks. He sees you wear them around the house, and while they're exactly the size they should be, and the colours he knows you love.

There's a nagging feeling in him that they don't sit right. They don't look right. Still, you wear them on the days you can leave the bed. He shows you around the house. The good parts, at least, and pretends like that’s how he’s always lived even though he can tell you see right through his facade.

He’s there when you thrash around at night. Bucky's up before the minute is even over, at your side and gently calling your name till you jolt awake. He hands you glass after glass of chilled water, rubbing your back in circles till the wave passes. It’s entirely too reminiscent of what you used to do for him, and he hopes the familiarity would do you good.

Sometimes you tell him what you saw. Darkness enveloping you for hours, holding you close and sliding its vines over you, binding your limbs like rope before you're shoved into blinding light.

“Last I remember was the fight," you say one night, as he wipes the sweat from your forehead. "I cannot tell how much of it was real, it's--"

And you pause and struggle, and he's at a loss for words because you never have been. You've always known what to say. You've always had a thought you wanted to share.

"Thor told me a little bit," he offers quietly. "If you'd want, I'd tell ya."

You look at him, conflict raging behind drained irises. "I was fighting. I heard them say something about-- there was a building with civilians hiding."

"Yeah, there was," he confirms, voice tight.

"They wanted to-- do something to it." You close your eyes, brows furrowing in concentration. "I told Thor I would get them out before anything happens. We had done it so many times before."

"He said there was an explosion."

The sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson.

And Bucky was too slow to get you out.

"I don't remember that," you say and his eyebrows furrow. "I remember--"

Bucky watches you hesitate for a second before your hands nimbly move the fabric of your shirt slightly to reveal the outline of the scar, inhaling sharply.

"I wasn't careful enough. There were civilians I was getting out and someone from behind--"

It dawns in a slow realisation the reason why the scar hadn’t healed yet. Why it stood out from the others that littered your skin. Bucky had thought for this long that you'd died in a blaze, trapped under bricks and mortar. That you had been left suffocating because he hadn't been fast enough, that he wasn't good enough.

"I knew I would not be awake for long. I just wanted to get rid of as many of them as I could."

"The building came down." He swallows the rock in his throat. "We spent days searching through it."

"I think I was gone before the explosion happened."

It makes sense-- the sky shifted all too quickly that day. You were gone before he even had the chance. Your fate had already been sealed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have been there.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

"That's not–" his words come out in a rush, stumbling over each other, insistent. "If I was there--"

"There is no point in punishing yourself," you interrupt his spiral. "It was a choice I made. I would do it again. It was what had to be done."

He swallows thickly when he knows the conversation ends there.

__________

Some nights Bucky settles on pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and lingers there for a second longer than he should.

You turn to face him from your place on the bed, looking at him like you've known him for centuries. Some nights it feels like you have.

_________

Bucky builds you a swing. It's a little ridiculous, and it takes a whole week to do it.

But your face breaks into the biggest smile he's seen since you got here, and he can taste the sun on his tongue. The strange feeling in his stomach is alleviated for a moment, and replaced with something closer to pride.

You spend hours on it while he works on parts of the house. He makes sure you've got a blanket with you at all times, even though you’ve never once told him you feel cold.

You ask him questions about everything. Him, the world; like you’re trying to relearn what you’ve lost.

"How long ago did you buy this place?"

"Nearly two years ago," he replies, paintbrush in hand as he swipes up and down the deck. "Owners hadn't come here in a while and they wanted it off their hands quick, so I made an offer."

You hum, using the balls of your feet to swing yourself higher. "I have always wondered what it would be like to live in a place like this."

Bucky’s painting halts for a second as he fights a smile, but he doesn't respond. The squeaking of the swing stops. He looks over to you, only to find you already looking at him.

"Is this why you bought it?" you accuse.

Bucky returns to painting the wood, face turned away.

"You are far more of a hopeless romantic than I ever remember you being."

He scoffs out a laugh. "You'd'a run away."

"I wouldn’t have." You narrow your eyes. "I have had suitors in the past who've done far worse. You are far from the most embarrassing."

"You laughed when we kissed for the first time," he points out, amused.

Your jaw drops. "That was because I wasn't expecting it. You'd been courting me for months, I thought you were never going to move beyond that."

"I was tryin' t'be a gentleman," he defends. "I didn't know how they do it in Asgard."

"Well, for starters, they don't kiss someone after dropping tiramisu all over them."

He cringes, but it doesn't escape him that memories of the both of you feel like they're accompanied by a light this time, instead of dread. "Could you blame a fella for bein' nervous?"

"I do not know why, you had no reason to be."

He wants to ask if you've seen yourself before. He was damn near pissing himself whenever you got too close to him. The tiramisu was just collateral damage from when you chose to wipe cream smudged at the corner of his lip that night.

When he lifts his head to look at you, you're back to swinging. Back to your own world. A new one you seem to have constructed for yourself since you came back. Back then he was privy to all your thoughts, no matter how mundane they were.

Right before he goes back to painting the deck, his brain makes a small connection. It's a small detail, but one that holds a lot more weight the more he begins to notice.

Your back curves in on itself ever so slightly. No longer pin-straight. His grip on the brush grows a little tighter.

__________

February rolls around. Bucky's only managed to work up the courage to hold your hand occasionally when you go for walks.

Fingers laced in yours, he shows you parts of the woods he's discovered that stray from the main path. The shrubs that look like they're alight when the sunset catches them. The trees that have a hole right through the centre, like they've taken a bullet.

You keep him out longer and longer, and by now he’s run out of things to show you. He ends up repeating a lot, but you look glad each time, like you’re learning something new about him each day even though he’s dredged you through the same mud path at least thrice now.

He wants to think that it’s because you like having longer to hold his hand.

You listen intently, asking questions whenever you could. You let him know what parts you like better, and parts you’re glad he’s left behind, even if it was recent.

Bucky blushes from head to toe when you pick a flower and tuck it into his hair, and you smile it away with a swing of your hand.

"You get visitors?" Your mouth moves in tandem with your fingers that weave together a crown from stray leaves and blades of grass. You tell him, even though he remembers, that it was something you learnt from Sif growing up.

"Sam drops by every now 'n then."

"Do you visit them?" you ask, hands twisting deftly and with skill of someone who’s done this all too many times. "How has everyone been?"

Should he tell you he's been sequestered? That he dropped everything and disappeared overnight because the questions of 'are you fine?' and 'do you want to talk?' became as suffocating as a thick cloud of smoke.

"Last I heard, they were doin' alright." He hopes it's enough.

"I tried talking to Thor," you tell him casually, but it feels like a cold fist clamps down on his chest.

“And?”

“I couldn’t hear him,” you tell him, just as normally and he’s disgusted that he feels even the tiniest bit of relief. “I couldn’t hear Heimdall either. I know he’d respond if he could hear me, so I can only assume he hasn’t.”

“You’re sayin’ you’re not able to talk to them?” His voice sounds small.

“I believe I lost the ability to communicate with them,” you tell him, tying the last bit of grass together. “I don’t think there is precedence for when someone comes back from the dead.”

You hand him the crown, and Bucky doesn't dare to meet your eyes. It’s too small for him. It’s closer to the size for a child.

"'M sorry, honey," he mumbles. It returns to his stomach. The sick, gnawing feeling that he’s tried to obtain salvation for.

"I still have you,” you tell him, “But you were here for this long without anyone. It must have been lonely.”

Truth be told, he never really noticed. It almost seems like he’s forgotten how it felt.

"Hasn't been for a while, now." He squeezes your hand.

"I don't like the idea of you staying here alone.” Your eyes scan his face. "You deserve to be around others."

Bucky doesn't know what it is about the way you say it-- like you're not entirely sure you're here either. Like you aren't real.

He calls your name, unsure, scared even. You answer with a hum.

"Are you okay with being here?" It’s too late to be asking this.

Your face pulls together thoughtfully, but he can't decipher what you're thinking.

"I like spending time with you. Always."

Your head leans on his shoulder, and you resume the tune you’re humming. Bucky tries not to think about the fact that you haven't quite answered his question.

_________

He wakes up on the ground again, not to your muffled groans or bed sheets being thrown to the ground.

You're not in bed. The window is open. There's scattering downstairs, and it's followed by a strange scent, and for a second he panics.

He scrambles down the stairs, mind already conjuring pictures and images so vile and ghastly--

But all he sees is you in his biggest shirt, one that you yourself once got him as a joke for a punchline he can’t really remember right now.

And you're surrounded by broken pans, bent forks and an entirely indiscernible charred mass on the bottom of a skillet.

"I tried to cook," you admit, "like on TLC."

"And you broke the pan?" he asks, a little stunned, a lot more in love.

"I did not realise your cookware would be so weak." You try so desperately to hide a smile. "Tried to scrape it off using the fork."

He looks at the misshapen piece of cutlery.

"And what's that?" He slowly makes his way into the kitchen towards you.

"The remnants of a frittata." You hold it out to him.

Bucky takes the handleless skillet from you and looks at the ashes.

"What do you think?" you ask.

Bucky holds it back out to you. "Could use a few more minutes on the stove."

The smile you try to hold back breaks into laughter and his face lights up in surprise. It's the first time since you've gotten here, and the first time in years since he's been graced with the sound.

He bites his lip when you take it back from him, all while still giggling, like he doesn't quite believe his ears.

"I do believe I would fare better at toas-- oof."

Bucky pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like a weighted blanket. The pan drops to the counter as his head falls to your shoulders.

"I missed you so fuckin' much," he utters desperately into your neck, clenching his eyes closed so tight it hurts.

"I missed you too," you say softly, arms circling his waist, pulling him closer.

___________

The days start to get warmer. Your skin still stays cool to the touch. It's something he's getting used to. For years he was used to waking up at night to turn down the thermostat, just so that he could stay under the covers with you without burning up.

But while good days increase, there are the ones you spend too feverish to get out of bed. You sleep the whole day, only waking when he brings you food.

March fades the dark circles around your eyes as much as it can, but they never truly go. The scar on your stomach doesn't heal beyond a certain point, and is always ready to turn garish and violent on days you can't get your head to lift.

Bucky wonders if you’ll ever get better.

Fevers break when the mornings do. You tell him you dream of the same thing over and over. Darkness, holding onto you with the same tenacity as a mother stops a child from running into a flame.

You walk with your shoulders drooped, and always some sleep in your smile. Sometimes he hears you call for your parents, who he knows haven't been around for a few hundred years. He hears Thor's name, and Loki's during nights that are more peaceful.

On days that are good, you spend time helping with the garden and for once, the flowers start growing. Tree bark he can't break into two, you manage with one hand. You watch shows together on the couch, and he massages your head when it's in his lap.

And finally, Bucky shows you the lake when it thaws over. Crystal clear waters let you peer at the little plants growing on the bottom, and the sunlight glows in the ripples.

You notice the engraving on the boulder before he has the chance to divert your attention. When you ask, he tells you about the little memorial and the rain and the loss of the hair tie.

Your hand squeezes his a bit tighter. He thinks no memorial can hold a candle to that.

You look at your reflection in the water a lot. Bucky sits beside you, skipping stones to see how far it can go, like he did in the harbour as a kid. Steve always used to win, no matter how much Bucky tried.

"There was a lake by my school when I was child," you tell him. "When I was mad, I used to skip class to go sit there for hours."

“What made you mad?” He chuckles.

“A lot of things. I had too much energy to just sit there, and that was ‘unbecoming of a future leader of Asgard’.” Your face pulls into one of distaste. “I always thought there was more to learn about the world than what their books contained.”

Bucky collects a few pebbles from around him. "Did the lake make you feel better?"

"Always." You take a stone from him to skip across the surface. "Sometimes my friends used to join. Our elders said the water had the ability to remember. Loki used to make faces, and it would always linger for a few seconds before it disappeared. Even after we thought he was gone, I'd see his face there."

Bucky stays quiet, nodding at points to let you know he was listening.

"I used to see younger versions of myself sometimes," you continue, voice distant. "It always surprised me. I thought I used to know what I looked like. It was different each time."

You inch towards the shoreline, leaning forward on your knees. The clear water looks like an open sky underneath you. "I look different now, too," you say. "But I can't remember what I used to look like."

Bucky discards his stones to come join you, leaning down to where you were. The face staring back at him pulls a sick, twisted feeling in his gut. Deep in him, he knows what you're talking about extends beyond immediate impressions. Centuries of being intertwined with the universe had always given you lines and traces that transcended your physical appearance.

You have always felt like the God of the Night.

Now you have been to the other side and returned, seen things others haven't and still kept intact. While he doesn't have the courage to admit it, he knows in his blood what you feel like.

He's scheduled an appointment with him many times, but always just missed it.

Now, you feel closer to the God of Death.

"You've always been beautiful. Still are." It's a band aid on a gaping, festering wound.

Even still, you look at him with a smile. "So are you."

Bucky makes the mistake of looking at his visage in the water, and immediately recoils.

"Christ," he grunts at the difference between the both of you. "What a fuckin' mess."

"Oh, it isn't that bad," you laugh, watching him contort his face.

"Easy for you to say, you look stunning." He points to your reflection. "I look like I was raised by wolves."

"You just need a shave," you hum.

"I need a new face."

You leave aside his last comment to propose something entirely new instead, "I could do that for you."

"What? Give me a new face?" he asks and you give him a pointed look. "Oh. Shave my beard?"

"Same thing, no?"

He supposes so. "Alright," he agrees, with a certainty reserved for no one else.

A small smile appears on your face, even though you aren't really looking at him.

Bucky watches you lean forward. Your fingers dip into the water, disturbing the reflection.

_____

Late evening finds you settled on the counter, armed and ready. "Lot of trust you're putting in me."

"I'd trust you with anything," he says, looking in the mirror to check once again that foam covers every inch of hair on his jaw. "You know this."

"Still," you note, watching him tilt his chin up. "I could do this with a dagger, if you'd like."

"This works fine, thanks."

You let out a laugh, and he finally steps in front of you, satisfied with his part. You swish the razor into water once again just in case, before leaning forward.

The first swipe goes agonisingly slow. Bucky watches your face screw up in concentration as you scrape down his left cheek.

You pull back and make a face. He raises his eyebrow in question.

"You are too far away," you declare, wrapping an arm around his bicep and tugging him closer.

Your legs wrap around his waist to keep him in place, locking behind his back. His breath hitches in his throat the proximity but you appear entirely unfazed, washing the razor again.

"Are you okay?" you ask, keeping one hand on his neck for balance as you get a much better go at his face.

"Yep," he thinks he says. It may just have been a sound.

You could have spent hours there for all he cares. He's too focused on the pressure of your legs on the small of his back and the way he's basically melted into your hand.

"Your eyes have always been my favourite feature," you tell him, blade carefully running down the curve of his jaw. "When you smile hard, there are these lines in the corner. It's like you can't handle being that happy."

He can't tear his sight from you, and from the fact that this is the closest you’ve been in years. You may as well have been telling him utter nonsense, and he'd still find it hard to control his breathing.

"But I have a soft spot for this." You lightly tap the bridge of his nose. He knows immediately what you're talking about. "I will never forget how stupid you were. Throwing yourself in front of danger like that."

"Couldn't let that guy touch you," his voice comes out an octave lower than what it was. "I'd gladly take a few more punches."

"That's why they stopped pairing us up on missions." The corner of your lip upturns, and you swish the razor around in water again. "You were being reckless."

"I'd do it again."

"One scar is enough." You tilt his jaw to see if you'd gotten everything. "I don't enjoy you getting hurt on my account."

Bucky exhales deeply when you get started on the other side. His hands itch to hold your waist, pull you closer like it’s been carved into the strands of his being, but they stay by his side.

"I tried for so long after you were gone," he tells you instead, to gain a sense of control. "I went to the therapist. I tried talkin' about it. No one got it. It was the same thing over, and over."

How do you explain that it wasn't simply a person. He thought that that was where it ended-- everything in his life had finally culminated. And that was taken too.

"Went back to the roof a month after everything happened," he continues, studying your reaction. "It was s'ppsed to be a clear night. There was nothing in the sky. I couldn't see the constellations. I couldn't see your family-- I couldn't see you."

You listen intently, but never stop working at him. The longer you spent there, the more of his old face revealed itself to you. Worn, and aged a thousand years in a few months, but it was still the still face you swore to love and cherish for aeons.

"They took all your stuff. Said it belonged to Asgard, they couldn't keep it here. Thor went off grid. All I had was pictures of us and the hair tie you gave me."

You clean the razor off in water, eyebrows furrowing at the information.

"It felt like you were never here. Like I'd just made you up all those years." You can hear the faint trembling in his voice. "But I had memories of you in all these places-- and I couldn't stay. It was easier to move here and start again."

Looking back at him, you realise you've already finished. There was nothing left on his face to clear.

"Was it hard?" you ask finally, letting go of the razor in the water.

He looks at you, and you know he's struggling to form the right words. He looked like he wanted to scream, rip the hair out of his scalp, punch a hole through the mirror.

"More than anything.” His voice comes out raw and peeling.

Bucky watches you look at him for a long moment, and he wonders if he’s said too much too soon.

But instead you kiss him.

His arms find its way back home around your waist, and he feels you sigh against his mouth before your body relaxes, tilting your head to deepen it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there,” you breathe, forehead leaning against his.

"Don't," he begs.

You search his eyes for any kind of a message.

He kisses you harder, pulling you flush against him.

__________

Bucky moves into your bed after you threaten him well and good, and he knows you intend to keep your promises.

For the first time since he can remember, he keeps the windows open throughout the night and throughout the day.

It’s foolish, to think he was invincible. That what you had had finally cemented itself as final.

You both stay in as long as you want. There is no hurry, nothing to get to. You talk a lot more. You begin to tell him sometimes at night that you see glimpses of what seemed like beyond the end.

Gold. Blood of ichor. Warriors fallen in battle go to Valhalla. Trees that kissed the skies, and valleys so green it hurt. Sometimes, in the corner of your eyes, you could see those you'd lost over the years waiting for you, hand outstretched.

No matter how hard he tries, Bucky doesn’t seem to get it. Every time he thought he was dead, there was only jet black silence and crushing pain. Then again, he never truly died.

But he isn’t ignorant. Fevers and fatigue that initially lasted a day, now knock you out for a week. There are times you throw up more than you've eaten, and the dark circles look like abysses.

He worries to the point of his stomach churning. You look like you don't have the energy to be here, even though you kiss him like you do.

Bucky runs his hands over your scalp and tells you stories of his childhood. What he felt when you moved in with him, how anxiety made space for comfort. He reads you tales from other mythologies and marks the similarities in the stories you've told him over the years.

Each time you come around your smile gets more tired. Your shoulders grow heavier and your skin loses colour.

You still cook breakfast together. You still watch TLC together to figure out the culture on earth because even after all this while, you still maintain that's the best way to do it.

Things could still be good. But more often than not, Bucky wonders if he’s unknowingly surrendered you to a life you do not wish to live.

_______

"Sweetheart?"

You continue to drag your finger through the water, oblivious to what he's saying.

He calls your name, and there's still no response. April sees this happening more often, and Bucky's learnt that no matter what he does, it only seems to worsen.

He touches your shoulder lightly and you almost jump.

"It's getting late. Wanna head back?" he asks, because you’ve skipped out on lunch to stay by the shore the whole day. It seems like it’s the only place you want to be.

"Yeah." You give him a small smile, wiping your hands on your pants.

"Want a hand?" he asks, holding out his.

You grab it, and pull yourself up, giving him a small peck on the lips along the way.

It feels comically normal. He wants to pretend that it is.

"Pasta tonight?" you ask breezily, slipping your hand into his.

Your fingers are ice cold to the touch. He forces back a shudder.

"Anything you want," he promises.

__________

He catches you humming as you water the plants, when you walk with him, while you read from the end of the bed.

It's the song of my people, you tell him. They used to sing it when everyone was together.

He listens to the tune and tries to commit it to memory, but it changes far too often.

May catches you staring a lot more often. At walls. The trees. The lake is the worst.

On what would have been the fifth anniversary of the both of you being together, he brings you a cake. The both of you share it over a glass of wine, even though it clashes terribly and leaves an aftertaste.

You laugh harder than you have in the last few weeks and he gets to feel triumphant for an evening.

You chase the frosting on his lips with a searing kiss, and that's that.

“What do you suppose it means?” you ask later that night, arm wrapped around his middle.

“What?” he mumbles, drowsy from a full stomach and good time.

“That I got a second chance and others didn’t?” your voice sounds distant.

Bucky is suddenly very awake.

“It couldn’t be that they weren’t as loved," you continue. "So then what made me different?"

He doesn’t have an answer.

He rolls over to look at you. But you are staring at the ceiling once again.

_________

His unwavering faith that he can learn to live with it feels like it’s eroding.

Death changes everyone. He knows that before Steve left a few years ago, he wasn't the same Brooklyn-born spitfire. Steve's died a dozen or so times. He was reborn into a different soul each time.

Spring bounds towards you with warmth and life. The grass is greener, and Bucky's learnt there's more to life than just casseroles and toast.

You bring him more flowers to tuck into his hair. He wears them dutifully, and then learns to press them in between pages of books you both buy from old bookshops.

You give him wider smiles. You talk a lot less.

Bucky learns that silence doesn't have to be filled. He's loved you in the winter, and he loves you in spring.

But there is always a tension simmering under the surface, just out of reach, like the sky reflecting in the lake.

Sometimes you say things that he can't quite make sense of. Sometimes it's a lot more obvious, and the same feeling of guilt returns to his chest and flowers under his ribs.

So he asks you one day. You're on the couch, head in his lap while he reads a book you've annotated the week before. The only disturbances are when he stops occasionally to ask you why you liked a line, or why you drew a heart next to another.

You're humming the tune he can’t catch.

There's nothing really wrong, but he knows. He can feel it in his marrow.

“Sweetheart," he calls gently.

You look up at him.

"Are you– are you happy?” And he leaves his heart, raw and unprotected on the line.

You don’t look surprised. Not entirely knowing either.

A beat passes before you open your mouth to speak.

“I like being here with you. I love you, I always have, and I will always love being here with you,” you choose your words carefully. “But I don’t know if I can feel that anymore. Happiness, I mean. Or sadness.”

Bucky keeps the book down. You don't lift your head from his lap.

“I feel like there’s a void where my body should be,” you continue in a chance to explain, “I feel like I'm made of air.”

“Are you feeling under the weather?” Bucky tries to find a rationalisation. Anything, that he can fix. That he can control.

You slight him a smile. “Not since the last bout.”

He doesn't know. He doesn't want to get it. He’s always felt that he was selfish, that that was ultimately what led to his punishments. This was a whole new level.

“I was born on Asgard. I have always felt like I was a part of the mud and the riverbed. They were a part of me as much as I was, them. I don’t know if that’s still…”

You pause, and Bucky feels time come to a standstill around him.

“I’ve been reborn here,” you continue. “I don’t feel like anything is mine. I don’t feel like… I am a part of something. Even the night.”

He knew. Though he knows in his dreams he can still feel traces of Brooklyn carved into his bones, it had jaded over time, been eroded by years of waking up in places he couldn't place.

You sit up to look at him. Your eyes have an intensity to it that even the universe couldn't mask.

“Do you really like who I am now?” you ask finally.

“I love all of you. Every one.” Ever changing, transient.

“How?” you ask softly. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He swallows thickly and wills himself to ignore the chill creeping into his body. In truth there is so much he wants to say. He doesn't think that as a war-fractured man from the thirties who grew up in bloodshed will really have the sufficient words.

“I just do. Can’t help it.”

Even if you aren’t satisfied with his answer, he will never know it. He has known for a while now that he's been letting you down since the day he walked into Wanda's cabin.

You give him a slight smile. Lay your head back down on his lap. His book remains unread.

It felt like the beginning of the end.

It's a simple decision then. It would have been, for anyone who wasn’t born with a soul as corrupt as his.

One more week that is hard for you to get up from bed, turns into two. One more week that your face morphs into something he can’t quite recognise. He's never wanted to harm someone he loves, but he seems to do a fine job at it.

It's a simple decision, really. But simple didn't mean easy-- God knows he is anything but a saint.

When you see it finally, the fruits of a labour that took far too less time to manifest than justified the time he spent putting it off, the smile that appears on your face is blinding, he wonders how the sun even has the gall to shine.

“Thor,” you breathe out, only seconds before being engulfed in the most bone-crushing hug you’ve ever received.

Bucky watches from the sidelines, fingers wringing and entirely ready to be smithed to ashes.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he breathes into your shoulder. "I cannot believe this."

You pull back, and standing next to Thor gives Bucky a new frame of reference. One that isn't dependent on how you looked the week prior. He doesn't know how it slipped past him, how he hadn't noticed that you looked so different.

“You look wonderful." You grin at the behemoth of a man. "Your hair has grown out once more."

"They can try cutting it off my dead body," he replies defiantly, arms clasping at your shoulders to keep enough distance to study you from head to toe. "You'll have to give me a second. I didn't think this would be true, when Heimdall gave me James' message."

You look over at Bucky whose lips pull together in a tight line.

He looks embarrassed. Unsure. Afraid. Guilty, and prepared to be berated for how long it took him.

"It's true," you reply instead, giving him a smile. "Here, in the flesh."

Thor squeezes your shoulder once more, and laughs the same laugh he's always had around you. Loud, boisterous and entirely free.

"The others will be thrilled. Sif, Hogun-- you have no idea how the past two years have been. There is so much to catch you up on."

Bucky knows. The fact that you're standing there today is living proof that he knows so well.

“I cannot wait to meet them." The corner of your lips upturn wider at his enthusiasm. "I've missed them terribly."

"We did not get to give you a proper farewell. Your welcome back will be a thousand times better," Thor says brightly. "We can return as soon as you say the word."

You look to Bucky, not for permission, but as a question he's known has been awaiting him a long time.

"Ready?" you ask softly.

He knows you didn't have to ask. That if you'd left him there and never returned, he'd deserve it and worse.

But you're you-- patient and kind. And he thinks that he can try to start redeeming himself.

__________

Turns out he wasn't wrong. Asgard really is too grand for a fella like him.

It is opulence-- gold and towering heights that bleed the love of its citizens and a history richer than words can contain.

Thor is smart. Aside from Heimdall, who greets you with the hug a father gives a child who's been away for too long, no one knows of your appearance until you are ready.

You get a few days in the tower to yourself, to breathe in the air that grew your lungs and touch the marble you've split your head open against in the past. The help are sworn to secrecy, and no one knows who Bucky is anyway except as the man who has been specifically allotted to the same room as you upon your request.

It doesn't take long for your face to pick up. Your skin comes alive with a vibrancy he didn't think he'd see again. You sleep sounder at night, and you eat more than you've had the appetite for in the last few months.

He trails behind you and Thor initially, not wanting to eavesdrop into conversations he has no place being a part of.

But you grab his hand, lace your fingers in his and tug him along as if to say that this is his home too.

He sees what you mean when you say that you are connected to the land. Clothes on Earth have never fit you right. Silks from Asgard decorate you like you are one in the same, like it flows from you.

_________

Reunions are a tearful affair. Lots of hugs are exchanged, punches to the shoulder, and kisses to various parts of your face.

“You have been alive for months, and we are just now learning of it,” Sif holds your hands in hers.

“It took me a while to recover.” You give her a small smile.

“We would have come as soon as you called,” she continues. “You did not have to heal alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

Eyes turn over to Bucky, and he’s suddenly very aware that the clothes he’s been given are too rich for him, too grand. He feels small, like they drown him out.

Despite what he’s saying, he feels as though he has deprived you. He knows that he has, and he has no one else to blame but himself.

“Thank you,” Sif says instead, taking him by surprise. “We will remember this.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies weakly.

__________

It takes days to meet the closest of your friends, until they decide they had their fill. Bucky is slowly introduced to all of them. Boisterous and loud, most greet him with a wide appreciation. Others are less quick to warm, and he gives himself no room to blame them either.

Upon insistence, he joins you for your welcome back dinner, and gets a seat right beside you.

Your hand holds his the entire night, squeezing tighter when something makes you laugh, or when someone is particularly embarrassing.

When there is a lull in the conversation after hours, sly grins are exchanged.

"So, this is the one you raved on and on about."

His eyebrows quirk in amusement.

"I did not rave," you huff. "I simply informed you--"

"For hours. Days even,” they drag on. “A great warrior from earth with eyes that could rival storms--"

Bucky chokes on his wine. You award your friends with several curses and glares.

"Long hair past his shoulders. Oh, and arms to die for--"

You take in the way his face has gone red, all the way up to his ears. You laugh and grip his hand tightly with an unabashed shrug.

"I am only glad that that's all you remember," you joke.

He thinks he should be buried in the garden for his sanity.

_________

Walks around the castle become increasingly common at night. You are mostly left undisturbed, and you take the opportunity to show him everything you've ached to.

Where you've learnt, where you first scraped your knee. The first arrow you shot. Where your parents met. The first and last time you cried over a friend gone astray.

He can't fathom why he ever thought he wouldn't be ready to know this. As if knowing more about you would cement the fact that he was lesser than.

“You look ethereal,” Bucky tells you one night, honest and true.

You look at him, a bit taken aback. There was nothing particularly different about you this evening. In fact, you’d chosen to stay away from festivities today to lie around the gardens with him, citing a headache.

“I should have said yes earlier,” he continues. “You belong here. It shows.”

A laugh leaves you as an exhale. “It feels different.” You run your fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if it would be the same if I brought you here years ago.”

“Different how?” Bucky closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your touch.

“I don’t know,” you tell him. “I am not sure it is what I remember it to be.”

You don’t say anymore. Bucky doesn’t ask.

He lays with you under a clear night sky, and your fingers deftly move the faint lights in the sky to mimic shapes of fishes and hunters.

He notices the sky here, too, has taken the same fate as it has on earth. Not as full as it could be, always just a little less bright.

He assumed it would change when you came back. He assumed it would change when you came to Asgard.

The sinking feeling in his stomach reminds him of what he already knows is going to come.

_____________

There are nights you are dragged off by your friends for things that don't include him.

You shoot him a sorry smile and he tells you to just go with steady reassurance.

Bucky takes to exploring. He's been given robes to blend in. They always fit in a way that's too soft.

He looks at statues erected, memorials in place for those who've given up their lives for a bigger cause. He spots your name in there as well, as if they've not yet entirely sure that you're back. He spends hours at the library, reading up on things he couldn't find on Earth. Where heroes slain in battle actually go, what it's like over there. Stories of when they are brought back. None of them end well.

Thor finds him, and introduces Bucky to Asgardian mead that he swears got Steve tipsy. Bucky’s had a rough couple of years. He’s in no place to turn down a drink.

He remembers what it's like to be 21 and drunk again and like nothing bad can ever happen. When you choose to join in with them, Bucky finds he’s a lot braver and a lot smoother with liquor flowing through his veins.

Stumbling through tower hallways, giggling and stealing open-mouthed kisses in the shadows like a bunch of teenagers until he has your back pressed up against the bedroom door.

“Eager?” you breathe out when he nips at your neck, hands scouring every inch of you he can find.

“What gave it away?” he mutters, pulling away to look you.

Wild eyes and equally untamed hair, and there is a light in his eyes that outshines supernovae.

“I love you,” you tell him, and it’s a startling moment of clarity in the middle of a juvenile hour. “I hope that always remains with you.”

Before he can respond, you thread your hands behind his neck and steer him towards the bed, mouth never once leaving his.

________

Another solitary night, and it's by pure accident that he ends up retracing his steps to the first place he was introduced to in Asgard. He wonders how much of it was intentional, his conscience forcing him to a reckoning long awaiting him.

Heimdall is there as always, standing tall with a grace that is still threatening. Bucky is not a fool-- he knows he can sense his presence.

Still, he looks only for a moment before making leave.

"I hear it was magic that brought her back," Heimdall voices.

Bucky pauses in his tracks.

"Yes," he says, like he’s forced to respond.

"Are you aware of what it takes to bring a body back from the dead?" Heimdall asks, tone still. "Cells are broken and reattached if they do not malfunction. The brain is attacked with sensation after being dormant for months. The heart pumps degraded blood through vessels that have collapsed."

Bucky feels bile rise to his mouth at a memory that seems so far away. Enough has happened since.

Heimdall looks at him, steel cut eyes boring into his. “Our ancestors have tried this for centuries,” he says slowly. “It has always ended the same way.”

Bucky keeps silent. Wonders if the God can hear him swallow the lump in his throat– probably can.

“Tempering with fate has never fared well.”

“I’m not trying to play with fate,” Bucky finds himself moving on its own accord. “If this wasn’t supposed to happen, it wouldn’t have. I am not a God.”

Heimdall stares into his soul and Bucky feels suffocatingly exposed. “The separation between divinity and mortals is thinner than you may imagine.”

“I have no interest in crossing it.”

“Haven’t you?” Heimdall’s eyes flicker over to the direction you were last going in. “When your will supersedes reality– what else do you call it?”

“Luck.” His voice comes back stonily.

Heimdall gives him a wry smile. “No such thing.”

Bucky’s palms feel clammy, his stomach twisting into knots.

“Your grief is natural. But do not let it overpower your love,” Heimdall adds. “I am sorry you had to go through this. I'm afraid sooner or later you will have to see that you cannot disrupt the natural order of things.”

"Why?" His voice cracks and he curses himself.

Heimdall's eyes soften. "There comes a point where your love for someone becomes indistinguishable from hurting them. Your intentions are noble, but you already know where you stand."

Bucky quietly turns on his heel and leaves, but the conversation remains heavy on his mind for days to come.

_________

The first time you fall sick, really sick, like you used to be on Earth, Bucky watches from the sidelines as various people tend to you. Those with divinity at their fingertips, those with herbs and concoctions he’d never heard of, others with tools and prayers and everything.

They try everything. It takes you a full week to recover.

Bucky sits, emotionless by your bedside, and feeds you from a spoon, food that your friends swore you grew up loving.

Asgard was supposed to work. Being here was supposed to work. No one knows what to do, except to wait it out. As your fever quells and Bucky watches you open your eyes for the first time in a few days, everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says quietly from your bedside. “How can I help?”

The smile you give him is tired. He gives you a small one in return, and leaves a kiss on your forehead.

It feels all too familiar.

God of the Night and the Devil of Cursed Fates.

_________

Thor teaches him the song, the one he caught you humming for months. It sounds different to what he remembers you singing.

He watches you thumb through titles in the Asgardian library, looking for a book of wildlife to show him. It only takes a few seconds for you to hum under your breath again, but Bucky is quick to ask this time.

“Oh.” You blink. “I may have remembered it wrong.”

He tilts his head at you, but you go back to browsing through library books.

___________

Nights in bed, he spends tracing up and down your arm. He's full from a feast, and he's watched you dance around a courtyard with spirit and joy, and for the first time in years he feels like he can breathe.

You drag him along with you, and while he may have been quick on his feet in the thirties, Bucky was significantly older. You don't seem to care. You laugh like nothing has ever worried you before, and he finds it infectious.

"D'you s'ppose we'd have been married by now?" he asks, breaking the quiet.

"I remember turning down your offer," you say, the corners of your mouth pulling upwards. "So, who's to say?"

Bucky's face breaks into a smile, one that looks particularly incredible in the moonlight. "You said I knew what the answer was already. Looks like that leaves the ball in my court."

You look at him, a little endearingly, and as he's come to expect, a little sad.

"I think we would have," you hum. "But you wouldn't have survived wedding festivities here."

He scoffs, rolling onto his back and feels his stomach ache dully. "Barely holdin' on now as it is."

You pull closer to him, fingers dancing across his chest. "Why didn't you try to find someone else?"

He exhales, sharper than he intends. "Didn't wan'to," he mumbles.

"I'd hate to think you didn't try to find others who loved you," you tell him, brows pulled together, "You have so much of it to give. It'd be a shame."

"Didn't see the point." Bucky hopes he doesn't sound as sharp as he does in his head.

"If something were to happen tomorrow, and I am no longer here," you begin and he wants to beg you to stop talking about this, "It would break my heart if you didn't go on with life as you were meant to live it."

"This is how I'm meant to live." He sounds pathetic-- obsessed, and entirely dependent but he isn't sure you know. "This is it. This is the best it's ever gonna get for me."

You look at him, eyebrows knitted. Your thumb caresses his jaw, running across the sharp curve.

"You deserve more," you say gently. "You do. Life has been unkind, but you will always deserve more."

You’re doing it again. Preparing him. For the inevitable he knows is looming on the horizon. The one he saw in Heimdall's eyes.

Still, you notice that it is too much for him, and you break the tension with a smile.

Outside the window, the sounds of a party continue on. You would be out there too, if he hadn't noticed the slow in your movements and the dip in your energy. He instead gave his lack of stamania as a reason and asked if you would join him in the room, for which you shot him a grateful look.

"You never gave me a ring," you remind instead, voice teasing.

Bucky looks at you wearily before silently getting up from the bed.

You sit up in confusion, watching him trail across to the wardrobe and pull out the clothes he was wearing on his first day here.

He shuffles back into bed and turns to you, holding out his hand in a request.

It takes a second but you give him yours, and he silently slides a ring onto your finger. Even in the darkness it glitters like it’s made of light.

"I've had it for ages," he tells you. "Woulda given it to you quicker if you'd just said yes the first time."

You laugh loudly, and hold his face in yours before kissing him hard to the sounds of a fading party.

__________

The effect wears off gradually. It goes the same as it does in the cabin.

You begin to space out visits. Stay in for a day or two, which increases as time passes. Though the castle help are ever gracious and at your beck and call, you send them away in exchange for quiet nights in.

Bucky wipes your forehead with cool cloth. Feeds you nectar by hand and tells you of everything he's learnt since the time you've arrived there.

You begin to look sick again, and miserably, he does not know what to do. You've been attended to by the best of medicine that the nine realms have to offer. You've spent nights with your friends, drinking in joy and embodying love.

But you are dying. You have been since you came back, and he can no longer choose to look past it in hopes for a remedy.

He looks at you like you've given the world the light it bathes in, and wipes your perspiration with his thumb.

You smile back at him in your sleep, and he lets that slow the march towards the end.

_________

One of the good days, you lead him to the lake. The one where water remembers. You point out faces. He discerns them to be some of your friends a couple of hundred years ago.

He follows as you walk along the banks, letting you show him yourself through the years. Some streaked with tears, others with joy so infectious it has his stomach doing flips.

"That is the last time I came here," you point at the last one. "Two months before it happened."

He remembers the trip. He thought he remembered how you were back then, that he'd etched into the crevices of your mind.

When he looks down, he sees a different person. Your face is light. The weight of circumstance does not weigh you down.

You were right when you said you did not recognise the person you were.

That night in bed, he holds onto you tighter than he has, no longer afraid of causing more damage. He has already done the worst, and you've taken it without a word.

“Bucky,” you call.

He doesn’t trust his voice to answer, so he just makes a noise.

Your eyes meet his intently and he knows. You do not have to say a single word to him.

You’ve made a decision. It was your will, as Wanda had told him all those months ago.

“I'm sorry,” his voice cracks. “I'm so sorry. It was so selfish.”

“It's okay,” you press a palm against his cheek and shudders from the cold.

“I love you.” His eyes burn, but he forces himself to take more of you in. “I love you so much, I'm sorry. I just wanted a second chance.”

“I know.” You smile but your voice is sad. “I know. I understand.”

“I don't know how you aren’t angry at me." I don’t know why you stayed.

You look him in his eye, giving him no space to run. "I would have done the same. If I could, I would have done the very same thing."

He chooses to believe that, despite what Heimdall has told him. If he tries, he can find heat in the frigid veins.

"But we are simply delaying the inevitable, my love." You press a kiss to his forehead. "I no longer belong here. I am not who I was. I doubt I will ever be."

He loves every version of you. He already loved, and he will always learn to love whoever you change to be.

"I know it is hard, but I have to go," you tell him softly.

His eyes burn and his head stings.

"I grew up with friends I loved, and a family that loved me. My life was good," you tell him. "I didn't realise how much I wanted to give that forward until you happened. I will always love you for that."

Bucky kisses you till you can't breathe and his tears mix with yours.

Till the morning breaks and you have to tell everyone of your decision, he tells you over and over again a tale you already know. Everything he's ever felt. Everything that’s happened in the last few months– his revolving door of therapists and all the movies he’s watched and all the bakery foods he thought you'd like.

You listen, and you tell him stories he memorises to heart. You are still dying.

But this time he is there, and in that lies his true second chance.

________

A month later, and not a day before that.

You pass away quietly, surrounded by people instead of rubble. He holds your hand throughout, and for long after even once your chest stops rising.

The Asgardians let him stay for as long as he wants, still and quiet. No one says a word as he presses a kiss to the crown, leaning his forehead against yours for as long as the universe permits.

The funeral goes by in a haze. Everyone gathers, even after such short notice. No matter how much time he had to prepare, the air was thick, and he swallows down his discomfort.

A gentle breeze whispers through the columns of the great hall, carrying with it the soft, mournful melodies of Asgardian lyres and flutes.

In the center of the pyre, you lay, ethereal even in repose. Around you, night-blooming flowers bloom alongside, as if the sky itself was paying its respects.

Thor recites the ancient eulogies. With reverent hands, they guide the vessel into the river that flows through Asgard.

As the vessel drifts away, a hush falls over the assembly. Just before reaching the edge of the waterfall, arrows shoot fire onto the wood, letting the flames consume the casket. Bucky holds back a cry.

Thor hits the staff, and the casket continues onward instead of falling off the edge. Within a flash Bucky sees an orb rise above you and shoot off towards the sky.

Thousands of lights are let loose into the sky. He closes his eyes, says a few words no one will know except you, and lets go of the soul orb given to him.

And that was it.

________

Bucky looks at the last of his belongings, tied tightly together.

There were a few things he was allowed to take with him, things that belonged to you while you lived here. He's grateful more than anything, that he's not relegated to photos.

He was made to stay a few more days in Asgard while everything was completed. Though the people were lovely, and he's more than glad he came, he knows that this was where this ended.

He exhales, looking back at the place where he spent the better part of three months.

"You will be alright?" Thor asks, walking with him to the courtyard.

He shrugs. It was still fresh, but the utter despair he had felt the last time had been replaced with a quietness.

"You?" he asks in return.

Thor smiles, and claps his back and Bucky is forced to take a step forward.

"It will be an honour to remember her," he says, and for a moment, Bucky feels a sense of peace at his words. "You are always welcome here."

A small laugh leaves Bucky in the form of an exhale. "Don't be a stranger, Thor."

The God summons the Bifrost and the force is enough to make Bucky hold his hands up to his face.

"I'll see you around. Thanks for everything." His lips pull together in a tight smile.

Thor takes a second, but then says, “You will be alright, James.”

It’s reassuring, he thinks. Bucky nods and turns, taking a step towards the bridge.

"Wait," Thor calls loudly, "I almost forgot."

He turns to him in confusion, and a list of possibilities running through his head.

"She told me to give you this," he says, "She used to carry them around for us."

From around his wrist, he pulls off a hair tie and holds it out to him.

Bucky takes it, a little stunned.

________

Two months pass.

Bucky stands on the threshold of a door that is foreign to him.

His head falls, but his arms raise either way. Two swift knocks and he takes a step back. He looks around nervously, hands stuffing into his pocket. His car lays at the end of the long driveway, ready to leave at any given moment.

For a second, he thinks about making a run for it. But the door swings open and Bucky's eyes quickly dart up.

"Hey," he says, voice coarse. "You got space for one more?"

Sam looks at him in initial surprise, but it fades to softness when he notices the shape the man is in.

“C’mon, Buck,” Sam says softly. “We’ve got you.”

Bucky lets out a staggered breath, and leans over to pick up his backpack that Sam's already beaten him to.

He takes one good look at the sky. Dark, clear and finally returned to the way it had been for centuries.

But he swears that a single star in the corner of his eye shines a little brighter than the rest.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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breadbrobin · 8 months

Text

friendship bracelets

leo valdez x reader — heroes of olympus

[gn!child of demeter reader]

summary: friendship bracelets are a love language in themselves. it’s a shame leo can’t wear the ones you make him.

warnings: little bit of swearing, possibly ooc leo, fluff, food and eating, leo forgets to eat sometimes.

word count: 1.2k

(so i wrote a leo fic too uhhhh. anyway. i love him and i have always loved him and i will always love him, so here’s a lil gift from me to you and uhhh yeah enjoy!)

——————————————

you’d given leo two bracelets. one was at the wilderness school. it was flimsy and made of red and yellow beads, held together by an elastic tie you’d smuggled into the school. the second was after your first quest. you’d managed to get some leather straps and made a braided leather bracelet for him.

he thought you’d made them for your other friends too, but he soon found out that he was the only one to get a matching leather bracelet with you.

“i don’t have enough for everyone,” was your excuse as you hid your rolls of leather threads and straps under your pillow. “i wish i could.”

that was good enough for him.

he soon realised, though, that he couldn’t wear them.

the risk of them burning was far too high, and after he nearly melted the beaded one when he got too excited one day, he decided to stop wearing them.

they held pride of place on his bedside table though. they were right beside his three-day-old water glass and the shrivelled pot plant you’d given him that you swore he’d be able to keep alive.

“it’s a cactus, leo! you can’t kill a cactus.”

he killed the cactus. or, at least, he mostly killed the cactus. you’d even named it jeremiah in the hopes that it would make him remember to water it, but he’d known a jeremiah once and hated his guts, so it hadn’t really helped much.

so leo valdez was a plant-killing, bracelet ignoring bastard. what was new?

oh, nothing. just the fact that he was madly in love with you.

maybe it was the bracelets, or your insistence that he would be able to keep a little cactus alive, or your uncontrollable laughter as he showed you the wilted plant, or maybe even the way you used your influence over plants to heal the little cactus and bring it back to life.

whatever it was, he was totally screwed. so screwed, in fact, that he took to staring at the two bracelets on his table every night before going to sleep, wishing he could wear them to see the look on your face.

leo worked hard. he always did. once he got into something, he didn’t stop until it was finished. sometimes, that meant ignoring his body’s need for food and water.

you marched into bunker 9 with a bag in hand. “leo valdez!”

he looked up from his workbench. “what did i do? whatever it was, it wasn’t me. i swear.”

“yeah, you didn’t do anything. like eat! i didn’t see you at breakfast or lunch!” you sat on his workbench beside him and placed the bag down in front of his busy hands. “it’s three o’clock now, so i bought you food.”

“i really have to—“

“eat? yes, you do.”

“no, but—“

“and drink water? that too. there’s a water bottle in there.”

“y/n—“

“leo, if you don’t eat your food i’ll break your hands so you can’t work anymore and then i’ll spoon feed you chicken soup every day until your hands are better.”

he looked up at you, offended. “i hate chicken soup.”

you smiled and leaned forward. “i know. so eat your fucking food.”

he raised his hands in defeat. “okay, fine.” he set his tools down and opened the bag with a teasing roll of his eyes. “if it pleases you so.”

“it does, indeed.”

as he ate, you walked around the bunker as you did every time, your hands behind your back like you were at an art gallery. to you, it was a gallery. bunker 9 was like the inside of leo’s mind: chaotic, messy, always moving and changing, and covered in memories of you. there were polaroid pictures that you’d given him pinned to a cork board. the whiteboard beside it read: ‘meet y/n for campfire’. there was even a note you’d scrawled to him in Ancient Greek a few weeks ago: ‘don’t forget to eat, dumbass.’ Apparently, he hadn’t listened to that one.

you walked back over just as he finished his food. he made to hand the back bag to you, but you stopped him. “you didn’t get everything.”

he frowned and opened the bag again, looking inside. “what are you— oh!”

he reached in and pulled out a leather bracelet. it was similar to the one you’d made him before, but tidier. you’d clearly gotten better at making them. “it’s beautiful, but, y/n, you know i can’t—“

“you can’t wear them because you’ll burn them. i know. put it on.” you smiled knowingly.

he put it on warily. it was nice, and his heart fluttered a little at the gesture, but he still couldn’t wear it out of fear.

“now burn it.”

his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. “what?”

“burn it.”

“i’m not gonna—“

“do you trust me?”

“sometimes, like when you tell me to burn your hard work, i don’t, no.”

you stepped forward and tightened the bracelet on his wrist. “leo. burn it. or i will.”

he frowned up at you. “you’re very scary today.”

“thank you,” you smiled, stepping back. “just trust me.”

he sighed and shook his head, but lit his hand and lower arm on fire, watching forlornly as the bracelet melted to nothing—hold on. he extinguished the fire. the bracelet was still there. “how did you—?”

“talked to lou ellen. there’s a spell on that one. i had to get her to do it as i made it, but it won’t burn. it’s magic.” you smiled proudly, rocking back and forth on your heels.

he looked at you in shock and stood up. “you made a fire resistant bracelet for me?”

you shrugged. “of course, i did. and look!” you extended your wrist to him, showing a matching one. “i made a better one for me too!”

he looked from your wrist to your face with his signature impish grin. “thought you didn’t have enough to make anymore.”

you shrugged. “maybe i underestimated myself.”

“maybe you did.”

for a moment, you just smiled at each other, and he thought he could have kissed you right there and maybe (just maybe) from the look on your face you wouldn’t push him away, but then you slipped your hand into his and pulled him to another work bench. his hand was still warm, as always. “now, tell me what this is, because i have no idea.”

so, as he explained how one of his many projects worked and you hung onto his every word and held his hand tightly, he couldn’t help but feel a little warmer than usual.

and maybe, when you left that afternoon, leaving him to continue his work, pressing a kiss to his cheek like you always did, he could summon the courage to pull you back in for a kiss on your lips, like he’d always wanted. and maybe your friendship bracelets would turn into something more.

but, even if they didn’t, he knew he’d fall asleep that night without staring at his bedside table. he’d stare at his wrist instead. and he’d never take that bracelet off. ever. not even if the gods themselves required him to.

#leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #pjo x reader #hoo x reader

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cordeliawhohung · 2 months

Note

Honestly Simom is the kind of psycho I could totally see just fucking breaking Bonnie’s legs to keep her from running. Never lets them heal right, either, gotta make sure she can’t ever try anything again. Either that or sever her Achilles tendons.

you know what, you're so right. anyway-

non-canon addition to Touch Me 'Till I Vomit (pet!au) | ghoap x reader

i'm sorry, johnny

cw: non-con, threats of violence, slight body horror, slapping, spreading bar, light bondage, dead dove

The cuts you received from the bramble and thicket still sting.

Splinters and thorns embed themselves deep into your skin where they sing their songs of torment. It’s enough to make your eyes water. Inflamed and irritated epidermis squeals as the thick fabric of your jeans further poke and prod the already broken and delicate skin. Still, none of it is worse than the look in Simon’s eyes as he towers over you, brow slick with perspiration, chest heaving and bobbing beneath his shirt.

An achy sere ravages the back of your throat, causing the skin to stick to itself as you swallow with little relief. There is something worse than contempt in Simon’s eyes. Worse than frustration or anger. He is virulent. You can see it in the twitch of his fingers and the way he bares his teeth. Desperate hands paw against the living room floor as you back away, limbs scurrying with the same pathetic effort of a rodent as your back collides with the couch.

“Think you can run?” he goads, heavy feet stomping closer to you. His knees collide with the floor just before you, and he yanks you closer by your ankles. Squealing, your legs thrash, but his grip is ultimately stronger. “After everythin’ I’ve done for ya? Ungrateful fuckin’ slag.”

He begins to work on your shoes. Thick fingers rip at the laces until he’s tossing them aside where they clatter on the ground with cacophonous bangs. No amount of begging or pleading is going to save you from this infraction. Of running from the hands that feed you and the teeth that bite you. The confusion that precedes the pain is the worst. The unknown. Baffled as to why his punishment would involve removing not only your shoes, but your pants too.

Fearing the worst, you squeal as your jeans rip and tear with his fury, tattered remains tossed aside as he tries to get you to straighten one of your legs. You don’t make it easy. You’ve turned into an animal, just like he’s always called you. Some mutt that’s perfect for his sweet Johnny. You growl and claw and screech — a cornered dog, a cat caught in water, a bird with clipped wings.

Your cries cease with a well timed slap. Simon uses the back of his hand, knuckles colliding with your cheek, bone on bone causing pain to blossom with a throb. The back of your head bumps against the floor, and your vision sparkles. Petite black dots dance across your view like ballerinas. Spinning and pirouetting without a care in the world.

“Quit your bitchin. Runnin’ away like that? Think that’s ever gonna happen again? Not on your fuckin’ life, Bonnie,” Simon promises. “Now stop it. It’ll be easier for you if you quit strugglin’ like this.”

It isn’t until his knee begins to rest on your shin that you realize exactly what he means. Slow pressure builds as he attempts to find the fulcrum of your tibia. The soft point in which he can snap it in two. To truly break you worse than he’s ever had before.

“Ye found ‘er!”

Johnny’s tone is all too triumphant for the mess you’re being made into, but it makes Simon hesitate. Blazing eyes look away and lock onto Johnny who stands in the doorway. You tremble, sweat slicking along your spine and the back of your neck, nervous system going haywire as it attempts to prepare itself for the agony you’re about to endure.

“Go back to the room,” Simon orders.

He cocks his head, brows furrowing. “What are ye doin’ to ‘er?”

Simon puts more pressure on your leg, and you swear you can feel the marrow begin to boil. “Makin’ sure she doesn’t run from us again.”

It’s impossible to hold back the terror or the brine that comes with it. Tears cascade down your cheeks as you paw at your aching face, just wanting it all to be over already. To feel the ache and the pain and then be done with it, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Johnny treads carefully as he approaches, kneeling next to you, warm hands rubbing at your free leg like he’s petting a skittish cat.

“But she has such pretty legs. Please, we kin do something else, cannae we?” Johnny begs.

Simon hesitates. It’s something he only ever does when Johnny’s around. Pause. Think for a moment about something other than the malicious terror he wants to inflict upon you. When he takes his weight off of your leg, you’re finally able to breathe again — albeit, a bit too easily. Your diaphragm seizes as it hyperventilates, hot tears accompanying them as he begins to rip the remaining scraps of clothes off your body. Tearing you apart until you’re bare, he rolls you onto your stomach, hand pressed flat against your back as he leans in to whisper.

“Don’t fuckin’ move a muscle. If I come back an’ find you in a different position, Johnny be damned, I’ll shatter those goddamn legs, ya hear?” he says. Each syllable is horrisonant, and still you nod.

His absence is all too short. You would have rather stayed there bare on the floor for an eternity than bear what you face now. Hands tied behind your back with thick, scratchy rope; the position pushes your breasts out, displaying them perfectly as you sit leaning against the couch. Rope isn’t the only way he chooses to hinder you — to keep you bound to this place. A metal spreading bar grips your ankles, forcing your legs apart. You’re unable to move them, except to bend your knees.

The sight is all too much for Johnny, who sits on the floor before you, salivating. Tongue wetting his lips, blue eyes rake over your body like a greedy child at a candy shop. His hand wanders as he adjusts his aching cock in his pants, unabashed. Proud, almost. As he crawls toward you, you want to look away. To close your eyes and will this all away, but you can’t.

Simon’s legs rest on either side of you as he sits on the couch, almost as if worried you’ll still be able to escape after his handiwork. Truculent fingers grip your overgrown hair — you’ve been here so long, you’ve changed so much — and he keeps your gaze straight as Johnny begins to fish his cock from his trousers.

“Gonna be good now? Gonna apologize for causin’ a mess? Huh, Bonnie? Go on. Tell ‘im your sorry,” Simon demands. “Say it. Tell Johnny you’re sorry.”

Lips pressing together, you try not to look at Johnny, or the way he eagerly fists himself at the sight of you. But no matter where you look, there is a reminder of pain somewhere. Old stains that soak the floor. The ichor that beads along the scratches of your legs. You have been torn to shreds in this very spot, and it will continue to happen as long as you draw breath.

“Say it,” Simon snaps.

Trembling, your knees shift in an attempt to conceal as much from them as possible — as if you even have a shred of dignity left to protect. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

He takes everything he’s ever wanted from you, and still, you repeat it — like a cornered dog; a cat caught in water; a bird with clipped wings.

I’m sorry, Johnny.

I’m sorry.

#ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #pet!au #touch me 'till i vomit #tmtiv #f!reader

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educatedsimps · 4 months

Text

— inarizaki 4 x f!reader on her period (hcs)

≪ back to fics masterlist

ft. miya atsumu, miya osamu, kita shinsuke, suna rintarō x f!reader

a/n: only writing for these four (so far) 'cause i don't think i have a very good grasp of the other inarizaki characters but perhaps in the future! anyway this one's short and sweet but i hope you enjoy~~

cw: timeskip spoilers for osamu but that’s it

— MIYA ATSUMU

is a dumbass

this man would only know what to buy for a period care pack because kita got him a care pack when he was sick

“i picked up a few things from kita-san ya know, WHADDAYA TAKE ME FOR?!"

he gets anxious and worried that he'll forget stuff when he's at the store

like he had to ask kita to make him a checklist for when he gets supplies for u

would go on a day trip around the neighbourhood to find the store that has everything on that checklist

keeps that checklist pinned in his notes app (right below a little note where he writes down everything he loves about you - he's a simp)

he's always worried he missed something so he will not shut up

"are you sure the pads are in there? did i get the right ones? the big ones with the wings right? the extra absorbent kind? I SWEAR I TOOK THE RIGHT ONES BUT IF THEY'RE NOT IN THE BAG I'LL RUN BACK TO GET IT FOR YA RIGHT NOW" (he took the bus there btw)

"oh and they ran out of the usual snacks you like so i got three other brands for you to try, if you don't like any of 'em i'll get some more!"

asks osamu to make your fav onigiri too but he only asks nicely cuz it’s for you :)

— MIYA OSAMU

would make SO MUCH food for you like you’ll never go hungry if you’re with him

he also does not care if you bloat during your period he WILL keep you fed even if it's against your will

would also find a bunch of different recipes that will reduce your bloating

he's an onigiri guy but he'd go to his mom and ask her to teach him her healing soup recipes

he'll start making so much soup you'll just be drinking soup the whole day (with onigiris and anything else you'd like, of course)

would NOT let you within a 10 foot radius of a cold drink when you're on your period

like you'd go to the fridge in the middle of a hot day to grab some chocolate and you'll just hear "STEP AWAY FROM THE FRIDGE WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR"

you turn around and he’s pointing at you with his spatula in hand

he knows how warm you might feel on your period though so he'll make the kind of hot soup that cools the body (he learnt it from his mom)

— KITA SHINSUKE

kita is kita

kita is the best one out of everybody

he KNOWS what he’s doing like i don’t even need to explain

but yes you can trust that he’s got everything you need and has everything before you even know you need it

fav snacks, fav drinks, heating pad, painkillers, a gallon of water, hot soup, fresh food, weighted blanket if you like those, your fav movie or show already set up for you and a shit ton of cuddles and naps throughout the day

also he’d write in or call your boss to tell him or her that you’re staying home

“kita, i NEED to go to work today-“ “no. you need to rest.” “but-“ “i already called your boss.” BRO IT’S 6AM

will physically force you back in bed if you try to get up or out

also asks osamu to make ur fav onigiri

of course, his grandma loves u SO much that every month she’ll ask kita if you’re on your period and she'll make herbal or like the healing kind of soup and packs it so nicely for kita to bring it to you

sometimes she adds a little note in the carrier and your heart melts every single time

— SUNA RINTARŌ

king of cuddling and doomscrolling tiktok in bed

he knows you don’t really like lying down in bed and all during your period, especially if it’s really heavy so he’ll lay out extra towels and stuff in case anything happens

also would 100% clean up for you if your period gets too heavy and leaks onto the bed or something

“go get yourself cleaned up in the washroom and wait here for me once you’re done. don’t touch anything, i’ll take care of the sheets.”

keeps painkillers and water on his nightstand and a ton of heating pads in his drawer

ENDLESS CUDDLES like he gets so clingy it’s almost embarrassing but he’s cute so-

uses tiktoks to distract you from your period

“my period hurts-“ “babe look look look it’s a cat” “AWWWWW ITS SO FLUFFY”

tbh i don’t think you’d even use heating pads much if you were with him cuz you cannot look at suna and tell me that he’s not a heater in human form

his warm hands on your lower belly is the BEST feeling when you’re on your period

*places hands on tummy* “does it still hurt?” “no i think it’s going away…” “it better be. or i’m dragging your cramps to the depths of hell myself.”

— EXTRAS

osamu probably makes extra batches of onigiri every week just to give it out to his brother’s and friends’ girlfriends and honestly God bless him for that

would give atsumu’s girlfriend atsumu’s share of onigiri tho

the first time you got your period after you got together with kita, he probably asked you a whole list of questions he prepared and noted down all your answers like your fav stuff and the types of pads or tampons you use etc. it was honestly pretty shocking but sweet nonetheless

suna def has the period tracker app on his phone but he remembers your cycle so he uses the app to remind you

atsumu also has the app but he sets it to send him reminders and notifications when your period is coming up

a/n: THANK YOU FOR READINGG hoped u enjoyed it ~~ stay tuned for more original and requested works coming soon!! -lyssa

#educated.simps #haikyuu x reader #lyssa.writes #simps.write #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #kita x reader #suna x reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #kita shinsuke #suna rintaro #atsumu fluff #osamu fluff #kita fluff #suna fluff

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evera-era · 1 year

Text

heal me.

there’s a new medic in town, and ellie williams is about to find out who she is.

ellie williams x fem!reader, pt 2 here

warnings: fluff, mention of cuts/wounds, medical setting, suggestive themes. wc 1.3k

a/n: first time writing an ellie fic! if this does well i might post a second + third part <3

Ellie hated anything to do with doctors. She could take care of herself perfectly fine, she swears. But Dina witnessed her earning a nasty gash during a patrol, and wouldn’t shut up about it unless she got it checked out.

Word was that there was a new medic in town. Ellie’s pretty sure she’s seen you around Jackson. Walking around in those dumb white clothes, tending to everyone who needed you.

You’ve seen her too. Sneaking glances anytime you could. I mean, Ellie was pretty, and it was no big deal, right?

That is, until a flash of auburn hair ducks into the med clinic, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

Ellie clears her throat. “Uh… you guys are pretty much done for the night, right?”

She’s hoping you would say yes so she could just go back home and rest. Watch a movie, maybe. Have everyone fuck off and leave her alone.

You nod, clicking your pen, when you notice her clutching her side. “But I’ve got time for one more.”

You were on call, anyway, so your shift was never really over.

Fuck, she thinks. Ellie has always had trouble asking for help. She could take care of herself just fine. It didn’t help that you were so nice — nauseatingly so — but she figures that’s why you’re the town medic and she’s not.

“Follow me,” You add, motioning her over to the first room on the left. Even though meds were hard to come by, bandages were plentiful, and you weren’t gonna pass up the opportunity to tend to your crush.

Totally innocent crush.

“So, what was it?” You ask, eyes scanning over the girl as she takes a place on the edge of the hospital bed.

“Some fuckers we ran into, lone group. Nothing too serious... think they were looking to steal shit.” Ellie mutters. “But one took a swing at me and I fell on something sharp. My friend’s been bugging me to come here, get it checked out.”

Your conversation pauses as you take her vitals. Everything is in a normal range.

“The group…” You break the silence, looking down. “Are they a concern?”

“They’re gone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You felt a light blush rise on your cheeks. Ellie was so strong, and brave. It showed, even in the way she just talks about her patrols.

You flit your eyes back up, trying to refocus. “So can I see? The wound?”

“Oh. Right.” Ellie’s fingers dip down to grab the hem of her shirt, and pull up. For a moment, you only see her toned stomach. You try not to get distracted.

Then you see the bandage under her ribcage.

Your fingers are gentle when they graze over the gauze. It’s a barrier, but Ellie swears it’s like you’re touching her directly. You move to peel it off of her.

Ellie absentmindedly sucks her breath in through her teeth. You whisper a small apology.

“It’s not… bad right?” She says after a moment. “I mean, I’ve had worse.”

She made a mental note to get onto Dina. This whole thing made her look like a fucking pussy.

“I’m sure you have,” You smile meekly, examining the cut. “No… not bad.”

After washing off your hands, you pull up a chair in front of Ellie. She watches you carefully as you sigh.

“Won’t need stitches, and no signs of infection.” You add. “But I can at least disinfect it and send you off with some new dressing.”

“I mean, it’s fine, I can—“

“No, let me.” You say quickly, cutting off her retort. “You’re already here, right?”

Ellie opens her mouth, then closes it. You had a point. She merely nods instead.

You reach down for the bucket of clean water. When you come back up, you notice Ellie has removed her shirt completely. The only thing clinging to her upper body is a flimsy sports bra.

“Oh,” You all but whisper accidentally.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

The rag becomes stained as you wipe the area. A few swishes, and the water in the bucket has turned a cloudy mahogany.

“So… your friend,” You add. “Was it Dina?”

Ellie raises her eyebrows slightly. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.”

“She must really care about you.” You say quietly. It takes Ellie a moment to realize what you’re implying. She’s quick to answer.

“Oh, yeah. Not like that anymore, though. It’s… just friends now.”

You take that as confirmation that their relationship ended. And even though in a way you were happy to find out Ellie is now single, it would be rude not to apologize.

“Oh.” You mumble. “Sorry.”

She looks down. “It’s cool.”

You disinfect the wound with some alcohol before applying new dressing with gentle fingertips. You smile up at the brunette.

“Good as new.”

She feels herself smiling back. She wants to kick herself; she didn’t even wanna be here in the first place. But now it doesn’t feel like a mistake after all.

“Thanks,” She says. Her gaze has softened.

You grab something out of the cabinet. Ellie realizes it’s fresh bandages when you outstretch your hand to her.

“So, just… use these. Every couple hours, change it out, till it scabs over. If you ever need more you know where to get it.”

Ellie knows this. But she realizes that she likes hearing you talk, so she thinks of something else to ask.

“Uh, and how do I know what to look for? If I have an infection?”

“Oh,” You say. “Here, lay back. I’ll show you.”

Something about the way you’re hovering over Ellie has her stomach fluttering. You were so tentative. Why hadn’t she tried to talk to you sooner?

“Gotta check it everytime you change your dressing. If it smells weird, or feels hot…”

Your fingers trace over her body yet again. Her eyes are stuck on you, the way your hair falls into your face. The way your lips move to explain everything. Not to mention how soft your skin felt on hers.

She thought the whole “hot nurse” trope was something that only happened in movies. It was pretty clear now that she was wrong.

“Got it?”

“What?”

Shit. She wasn’t listening.

“Do you get it now?” You repeat, looking down at Ellie.

She blinks before propping herself up with her elbows. “Uh… yeah. Think so.”

You smile again, leaning back so you’re no longer positioned over her. You take your place against the counter.

Ellie didn’t hear a word. But she’ll make the effort now to be extra gentle with herself, because of you. If that’s worth anything.

Silence fills the room once again as Ellie pulls her shirt back over her head. You sneak in one last glimpse before she’s fully clothed.

“If something changes you can always come back and see me.” You add with a breathy laugh. “I’m in here, like, all the time.”

“Oh yeah?” She asks, looking up at you. “I’ll have to stop by again sometime, then.”

Your heart skips a beat. Is she trying to flirt with you? No, it’s probably nothing.

You clear your throat. “Hopefully not under these circumstances.”

“Right,” She says. Her eyes widen as she realized she’s extended her stay. “I’ll, um… I’ll go. Get out of your hair.”

Ellie’s never used that expression before. She nearly facepalms. So stupid.

But then you laugh a little, and it’s such a beautiful sound when it hits her ears.

“I don’t mind.” You add bashfully. “But… you need to rest and get better. Go back to kicking ass, all that stuff.”

Ellie feels her face wanting to turn red again. You were so sappy, and shameless with it. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention, really. She didn’t think people like you even existed at all anymore.

She merely hums, unable to find the right words to say. If she sticks around any longer, she might actually develop feelings for you as if she hasn’t already. So she opts to bid you goodbye.

“Well… see you around.”

You nod, watching her head for the door. You hold the clipboard to your chest in an effort to soften your heartbeat.

“Night, Ellie.”

— part two

#ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #tlou2 fanfic #ellie tlou2 #the last of us

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sereisstuff · 2 years

Text

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

- a new family has arrived on the metkayina lands, facing grief, responsibility and her connection with Eywa. Renaia catches the attention of the eldest sully boy, is she ready for it.

This story contains - slight heartache, swearing, mentions of death. Slow burn but not really if you look closely.

Word count - 4K words I think or more.

Part 2

I’m making a part two to this but this was just how they met and a little background on the reader, I’ve also given you guys a name because the story feels more complete when the character has a name, but feel free to let me know if this doesn’t sound like neteyam. Might’ve indulged a bit I guess.

Anyways do enjoy x

Being reclusive was a prominent trait of yours, preferring the serene sounds of the water clashing against the sand while boaring a heavy oddity towards being around others.

You were an outcast to a lot of the village, always wandering off alone. Never really speaking because you never felt the need to, solitude was something you found importance in. In order to grow with your surroundings, to gain a deeper connection with eywa and your ancestors. You always felt different from the rest.

As a young girl your first feeling of grief that drew you into your reclusive personality, happened when you were around the age of 8, the only friend who truly saw you. Was killed, during the marine biologist's hunt for the tulkun. Weapons of mass destruction and large explosives were amplified and being used against your spirit brothers and sisters.

Manisa, a beautiful girl with a heart as mighty as eywas wrath, she was an unstoppable force but despite these traits she was kind, loyal to the metkayina. Loving and most importantly, my sister by fate.

In desperation to help the tulkun, her 12 year old self snuck off during dawn. Riding past the reef and further out to sea. She was fearless and in an attempt to save her very own spirit sister, she was shot. Left for dead at the bottom of the sea where my father, the olo’eyktan of our village. Found her lifeless body, her soul returning to eywa where her spirit would know peace.

Your chest tightened and your heart cracked when you were watching her body being cradled as she returned back to the our ancestors, sinking further and further into the ocean floor.

That night you climbed the highest tree you could find in a desperate attempt to get away from the memory of manisa. although your limbs were growing weaker, used to the tides rather than the vines of the forest behind the village. you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything but determination.

Resting idly on a branch that stuck out more than the rest, giving you a clear view of the village miles beneath you and more liberty to gaze at the other islands.

You took in account every star in the dark blue sky that night, every ring around the planets surrounding your own. Standing on your two feet, steadily balancing yourself with a huff.

Then you saw it, the shooting star. It held a kaleidoscopic of flashing colours, the vibrancy bringing a comfort into your life, you felt the warmth in your heart grow as if Eywa was speaking to you herself. It was a sign of hope, to preservere and in spite of manisa being welcomed by the ancestors. She was still there, in spirit and around you.

You’ve grown since then, now at a peak in your adolescence. You’ve found a love for the children of the tribe, aiding the new mothers of the metkayina village or supporting them by caring for their infants.

Although you were young, you were experienced. Having been taught by your mother, the tsahik of the metkayina people to heal and to nurture.

In spite of your sister tsireya being the eldest, she found her passion in the water. Not paying much attention to the teachings of mother, it was heavily disapproved by your mother and father. You were always in tsireyas shadow, what she could do you couldn’t do as good, she was a treasure to your father. She was perfect in the eyes of the village, compassionate, beautiful and the next tsahik by right.

“What is wrong, Rini. Speak to me” I released tenderly towards the young child before me, her innocent eyes staring off into the distance. Her head turned my way making the small beaded braids on her head sway.

She shuffled to my side, not uttering a single word. Her small hands attempting to wrap around me, without a reply to my question Rini proceeded to tuck herself under my shoulder, She often did that when she didn’t feel the strength to speak. So out of pure feeling. I lifted my hand, patting her head in the process.

“Whatever it is, sweet child-“ you tapped lightly against the placement of her heart “this is all that matters, strong like the tulkun but soft like the ilu. Unlike me, my heart is feeble like the sand, that’s why I need you to keep me up don’t I” in an attempt to cheer her up, rini smiled up at you, her fangs slowly developing to full sized teeth.

“Because you are weak” she mumbled under her breath, I caught a glimpse of the smile peeking through her facade.

Your hand reached for your own heart, feigning surprise.

“Weak? Me? How dare you” you tapped her head a little, lips jutted down into a pout.

Rini giggled but stayed adamant “yes very weak like a baby” she mimicked the cries of an infant, falling onto her back.

“Like you then? You are a baby” you joked, standing on your two feet with a pointed look.

Rini shoot up from the ground, stamping her feet onto the ground “I’m a big girl, bigger than you”

A smile fought against my cheeks as you tapped your chin with a curiosity dawning in your eyes “well, a big girl can catch other big girls. If you are, catching me would be very easy for you”

Rini gained a mischievous look, her six year old build towering as high as it could, puffing her chest with pride “easy” she promised.

Next thing you know You're jogging through the village, Rini struggling behind you as she shouts incoherent promises that she’d catch you.

“This is no challenge” you teased making the younger girl huff, pushing her little legs as fast as they could go.

Just before you, Aonung, your brother had appeared alongside rotxo, running towards the beach in a hurry. You paused, watching them join a group of villagers piling by the entrance of the metkayina lands. Then you heard it, the putatara.

A warning call spreads throughout the village, halting both yours and the younger metkayina girl in your tracks. Rini looks at you with fear in her eyes. After all, she was a child. So you did what you usually do to comfort her, reaching for her hand and squeezing it ever so gently.

You were the tsahiks daughter and it was of great importance for you to be by your family in a moment like this.

As you drew closer, Rini closely stood behind you whilst strengthening her hold on your hand as a reminder she was still here. You managed to make out the figures standing ahead of you, you weren’t generously tall but you were lengthy enough to see the family that had just arrived.

Gently pushing through the crowd until you reached behind your mother and father, your mother was the first to notice your presence, choosing not to speak, just moving silently for you to stand near your siblings.

“Come here child” your mother called, whisking Rini away from you.

The tsahik shot you a look, a demanding one. To stand beside your brother and sister, you complied obidiently, except as you turned around to face the family. Head bowed in hopes to not garner too much attention. You felt a pair of eyes shift your way, almost burning holes into your skull.

“Where were you” you heard your brother aonung whisper in your ear, looking up at him you scowled “none of your business” Aonung squinted his eyes before he rolls them back.

“Don’t do that you’ll scare yourself seeing how small your brain is” you retorted, rotxo standing beside your brother sniffled a laugh.

“it looks like tsireyas not the only one who’s got those forest boys' attention '' Rotxo announced under his breath, moving the attention away from you, making both Aonung and I look at him with question.

You followed his gaze meeting a pair of chartreuse eyes staring right back at you, his little brother so it seems couldn’t take his eyes of tsireya.

But this one had his eyes on you, your own grew wider before you relaxed yourself again and drew back from noticing it. You were not going to falter in your path for a boy you’ve just met.

He seemed to be the eldest out of the pair, holding himself strongly beside his brother. He was wearing an ionar and it made sense with the ikran he had standing behind him and his family, he was an Ikrana maktoyü. You knew this as you’ve ventured far and wide on your own, often visiting different islands and people.

He was tall in height, braided hair falling against his back and the stance he had was one of protection. He was putting himself in front of what could possibly end up in a fight between clans, standing just a few inches ahead of his brother, he stood out from the rest. I knew from the look in his eyes he meant well, he also lifted the burden of responsibility placed on him at a young age. You knew because you had the same. He was moulded by knowledge and knew right from wrong by the looks of it.

“My children will teach yours the way of the metkayina people during your stay”

Oh shit.

Before you could step in to say something Aonung placed a hand infront of you, stopping you. You shoved his hand off of your chest, daring him to do it again, “mother will have your head if you embarrass her” he spoke slowly, this made me stop. One thing I hated was being the fuel to my mothers disappointment. Oftentimes I was and today I wasn’t feeling like starting the fire.

Neteyam watched as you struggled to accept the news, wanting to do anything but that. He felt a tug in his heart when he first laid eyes on you, seeing the way you brought the child with you, reassuring her with nothing but your eyes. The way you walked before your family with a mind of your own.

To say he was interested was an understatement.

“This here is Aonung, our oldest,” he pointed towards Aonung who was already glaring at the younger brother, neteyam seemed uneasy by it, his eyes slicing from me to Aonung with a fiery look.

“Tsireya, our daughter” your father pointed to tsireya, whom you were standing behind. Tsireya lifted her hand, waving gently with a bright smile. Your beautiful sister.

Then he moved the attention on to you “and this is Renaia”

You meet gazes with the eldest boy again, he examined you from head to toe. Engraving your entire self into his mind with a single glance, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

Lo’ak nudged his brother with a cheeky grin, gaining nothing but a slap at the back of the head by neteyam.

My father announced for the people and the family “Ronal and I will show you where you will stay while with us, Jake sully.”

And just like that, you walked towards your mother as the crowd dissipated. Latching on to Rini and lifting her away.

Ronal gave you a stern look “if any of these children are hurt, I expect you to take care of it. You know the ways better than your sister therefore you are responsible if any of these newcomers are injured”

Your mother isn’t always like this, she was a kind woman, compassionate and caring. Except being the tsahik came with its highs and lows, having a mother who was the tsahik was a different story. She loved you but she was very strict with her approach, in order for you to learn, she was hard on you. You had to remind yourself she was doing it out of love but oftentimes it was impossible.

Tsireya, Aonung and rotxo jumped into the water to start immediately with the new arrivals. Swimming in front of their Kelku (home) to wait for them to come out for their first lesson.

You, on the other hand, left the beach with rini. Returning her to her parents for the time being “did you see the little girl? Tell me you seen her. I wonder if she wants to be friends, do you think she wants to be friends with me??” Rini rambled continuously, finally taking a breath of pause. She gasped for air before rambling again.

Your ears flicked back and a smile dawned on your lips, stretching out your cheeks “I saw her alright, I just know she wants to be best friends with you.” I tapped my chin in thought again, something I often did with Rini.

“I’ll make you a deal” she perked up

“If you let me braid your hair, I’ll ask the little girl if she wants a new friend; by the name of Rini” Rini squealed, grabbing your forearm in her small hands. She loved when you braided her hair so this deal was nothing to her, she’d get the best of both worlds.

Before you could set the girl down by her kelku, you felt a heavy wave of anger wash over you “Renaia” your mothers voice echoed throughout the village, “you are meant to be helping your brother, what are you doing here with Rini”

You jutted your head in the direction of Rinis home, the small child latched onto your leg in an attempt to hug you, running off into the distance away from you two.

You stood strongly, knowing you weren’t here for any bad reason. “I was just making sure Rini got home safely, you know how clumsy she is mother.” Your heart was always a weakness, is what your brother often reminded you of. Your heart was too empathetic, too kind, too caring. It was too much.

Your mother sighed, placing a hand on your shoulder “one day, your disobedience will get you in trouble. I tell you one thing and you go do the opposite, the quicker you start becoming aware the faster you’ll learn.” She lectured, you knew she meant well but she never failed to make you feel dumb.

You had a good reason too.

After being lectured for nearly an hour in front of some of the villagers, you had arrived at the edge of the beach. Diving into the water to meet your brother and sister, “Follow us, it’ll be fun” you heard tsireya say, you slid under the water. Making sure there was no splash. You dove as deep as you could before popping out and scaring Rotxo.

“Shit” you heard a huff of surprise, the youngest brother held a hand to his chest. Eyes wide as they landed on your soaked figure “how long were you down there for?” He asked, perplexed.

“Longer than you know”

The eldest of them both came out of the water, gasping for air. You giggled a little, finding entertainment in it, “Lo’ak, my name is Lo’ak and this is my brother-“ he was shortly cut off by the eldest “neteyam” he said, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Sorry about my skxawng brother, he’s very curious about things” neteyam said, voice laced with his own curiosity as his gaze settled on you “and you aren’t curious about things?” You questioned, still having distance between them and yourself. You stayed silent, waiting on his answer.

Neteyam didn’t know how to reply, for the first time in his life he couldn’t come up with some intelligent, well thought out excuse instead, he spoke before thinking “I’ve never been more curious than now” he exposed, you couldn’t tell what he meant, his tone and his gaze signifying something completely different. You confirmed by the look Lo’ak shot him, that same cheeky grin he had before.

“Oh yeah? We all know what you're curious about?” Lo’ak teased, he was too busy fluttering around like a child to notice the glare coming from Aonung.

“That’s enough forest boy, do you want to learn or do you want to drown? Your choice” Aonung threatened the pair, aiming mostly towards lo’ak, two more began swimming towards us and I took notice of them being the younger sisters.

“Neteyam, Lo’ak” the young girl yelled, her screeching voice alerting all of us. Neteyam, out of instinct. Swam towards tuk, placing her on his back so it would be easier for her in the water. Neteyam, couldn’t help but look at you. There was something to it, you didn’t just hold your beauty on the outside, you held it on the inside as well. He needed to know more.

The loving and warm gaze you shot Tuk was comforting to him and he didn’t understand why.

“This is Tuk, the baby of our family” neteyam introduced, gazing up at Tuk with adoration in his eyes. “Hi Tuk,” you all greeted, Aonung grumbled it under his breath, showcasing his displeasure.

Tsireya then spoke up “the first thing about the water, that you must learn is that breathing plays an important part, every living being breathes. We’ve seen how long you guys can hold your breath so now we must teach you how to do it, properly.” She then took a decent breath of her own, waving for them to join her moving forward under the water. Rotxo latched onto kiri, pulling her down under the water.

Lo’ak shrugged his shoulder, showcasing a piece sign motion. Or you assumed it was a piece sign.

“Your very pretty” Tuk spoke up earning a hiss from neteyam, your cheeks were starting to hurt with the amount of times you smiled, you were only really like this with the children of the village. Having a soft spot for them.

But the more neteyam spectated the interaction between you and his youngest sister, he too couldn’t help but smile.

“Not prettier than you Tuk, you are the prettiest girl here” you complimented, tuks lips thinned, trying her best not to smile. You looked down upon Neteyam before speaking.

“Follow me, I’ll show you where we're going” you kept it simple and short.

Quickly diving under the water, you began swimming. Glancing behind you in search of the two omaticaya villagers, yet the further you swam. The slower they got, huffing under the water before remembering your mothers words.

“They are your responsibility”

Despite that, the moment you turned around was not because of her words ringing through your ears, it was purely out of concern. Tuk was immersed in the water, neteyam learning quickly but you knew it would take a while to get to the rocks if this was how they swam.

neteyam already had his eyes locked on you, almost like he knew you needed to say something. You pointed to the surface, signing ‘we’ll take some air and I’ll lead you the rest of the way” Neteyam only shot you a confused look, you kept pointing for him to swim up.

He grabbed tuk, swimming to the surface.

He gasped for air again, his braids falling elegantly infront of his face before they were pushed away “what’s wrong” he asked, voice laced with worry.

“It’ll take us too long to get there if we continue swimming like this, I’ll take Tuk on my back and you can hold-“ you gently grabbed his hand, the softness of his palms escalated the beat of your heart.

“Here” he was quick to latch on to your shoulder, stammering in his response, his grip was secure. He couldn’t seem to look at you for long before gazing at the sky again.

Tuk wrapped her slender arms around your neck, diving once more into the open water.

You’ve always loved the sea, holding it dear to your heart. The water to you was like speaking to eywa, it was a connection. An entirely different aspect of the world around you and above you, when you swam you felt grounded, controlling your breathing was another form of connection to your people. It was the first thing many of you learnt as children, if you had control over your breathing, you could always find peace.

You swam further into the ocean, you were quick. Neteyam noted, very swift. It was almost as if you had been born from the water, you did it without effort, weaving through the floating seaweed and masses of rocks like that of a dolphin.

He couldn’t help but admire your skill.

Arriving at the rocks granted you space from the eldest brother, that entire time consisted of you holding back from slapping his hand away out of fear of what could be, you didn’t want to feed into your own delusions.

Your brother was right, your heart was weak.

“Just sit on those rocks over there” you muttered under your breath, wanting to escape the area. far from the visitors, “are you not staying?” neteyam asked, eyeing you with hope glimmering in his eyes. Or so you’d wished.

Tsireya perched in her spot, “she is staying,” she said, more so an order than a question.

Aonung shook his head, earning another laugh from rotxo who shot you a look of stupidity, reflecting his stupid self. You’ve known rotxo since you were children, he was always there. Always around, it was to the point you had even asked if aonung and rotxo were mates.

Rotxo fed into it, Aonung not so much.

“Renaia would rather swim with the fish and talk to the rocks” Rotxo joked, I lifted my hand out of the water and pointed it at him “Talking to you is like talking to a rock, only difference is the rocks smarter” Rotxo shot you a glare but that didn’t stop the others from laughing.

You lifted yourself from the water, flicking your hair back off of your shoulder. You had two thick braids circling your head, while the rest of your curls were left to silk down your back. A few loose strands hung from the crown of your head.

Neteyam was in awe, his mouth hanging as he tried to compose himself. Tuk giggled watching her elder brother panic under your presence, everyone noticed except you.

“Breathing is a life form, breathing gives you life and takes away that very same essence. You breathe from here,-“ she huffed in a breath, holding her chest with one arm “and here” moving the other to her stomach.

“In order to be one with the people you must learn how to control your breathing, it’s one of the most important parts of being metkayina. If you have control over your breathing, you have control over your life.” Rotxo finished.

All of them copied Rotxo and Tsireyas movements, Lo’ak whom was sitting by tsireya struggled to adjust to new knowledge. This made you curious as to how neteyam was adjusting, you could tell he was a quick learner but being the eldest he’d still carry past teachings with him, very dearly.

The rest were all too busy helping the others, glancing towards neteyam who sat cross legged on the rocks. Eyes closed, his eyebrow bone knotted together in frustration, you could immediately tell he didn’t know what he was doing.

You reached out to him, not uttering a single word as you placed your hand on his chest. His eyes shot open, wide and big in shock. His breathing rapidly escalated at the touch of your hand, you go to remove it but stop when his hand grasps your wrist.

“No it’s okay, I’m sorry for scaring you” Neteyam held a gentle look on his features, guiding your hand back to his chest “there’s only one way I’m gonna learn, go ahead” he consented, acknowledging you.

You pushed the emotion rising within you to the far back of your mind, you trained yourself how to not show emotion at a young age. This was a walk in the park.

Your smile faded, eyes rested, there was no sign of emotion in your face but the eyes speak for the soul and Neteyam was no fool.

“Breath in from here” you held his chest, tapping it with your middle finger, reaching your other hand over and placing it on his stomach “then you breathe out from here”

You breathed out from your own stomach, showing him how to do it. He mimicked you, not once breaking your gaze. His stare was strong, powerful. He was very relentless but you could see he didn’t mean evil.

I felt pulled to him, feeling no need to break the tension, I found myself wanting to drown in it. In his warm forest eyes, his gentle smile. But you barely knew the boy and you’d be damned if you’d gotten caught showing attraction for someone you’d just met a few hours ago.

After multiple attempts, you finally broke his gaze. Coughing slightly from the lack of air you took, although you were used to holding your breath, this somehow felt different.

“Good” you hummed, removing your skin from his. Then turning around to watch as Lo’ak fell prey to his feelings, he seemed to be the rebellious one. The way he held himself was awfully similar to the free spirited tulkun.

“Your heart rate is fast.” Tsireya teased, Lo’ak quickly glanced her way before lowering his gaze again “yeah sorry”

It seems like these boys apologise a lot.

After hours of teaching them how to breathe it was time to return, you had disappeared before the group could notice. It was a nightly ritual for you to go sit on that same branch and fall in love with the stars all over again.

You could see them from where you hid, choosing the spot just before the large bush of leaves to keep yourself hidden. Not even your own family knew of this place, thinking that you’d been out swimming every night since Manisa's death.

You had healed from that, as you looked upon the islands. Watching the water cascade with the tides, when they pulled back you’d imagine the hurt you’ve endured being pulled with it. Washing away your fears, your pung (hurt).

It was always beautiful sitting on top of the tree, weaving through the vines and gaining your balance rather easily now, you’ve endured so much but spoke so little of it. It was your responsibility to help, it was your job to uphold the honour of the olo’eyktan, everyday was a chore for you when all you wanted to do was be free spirited, one with eywa.

You could feel her presence in everything, you could hear her voice in the trees as they swayed. Eywa was always there, around you, above you and infront of you.

With your eyes closed, ears perked. You began listening to her, her heartbeat was mighty. Breathing in and out to the rhythm of the beat, it was a gift being so close to her, to the all mighty power of eywa. Your chest felt full, like her solace had been placed into your heart.

You’d rather be anything but who you were, Eywa has taught you that it’s not you who is deceitful it’s the people who convince you so.

The crunch of branches alerted you, you sat up quickly. Searching around for the intruder. You had a knife strapped to your thigh. It came in use during hunting, but this time it wasn’t going to be used for such a thing, before you could register the voice being used. You shot around, grabbing the intruder by their chest, pushing them into the tree swiftly with a knife against their throat.

“I didn’t mean to scare you” Neteyam choked, your breathing harsh against his as you dropped the knife onto the forest floor. Watching it drop further and further, “what are you doing up here?” You asked, more annoyed than shocked.

“My father told me and my idiot little brother that we can go exploring, I wanted to feel more at home so I came here” he truthfully spoke, “you could have died if I didn’t realise it was you”

Neteyams brow lifted in question “I don’t doubt your skill but I’m sure I would have been fine” he laughed. Of course, he was the son of olo’eyktan too, by the looks of it he’d already been trained in the ways.

You granted him no reply, sitting back down on the branch, remaining what you came here to do. The boy had no clue as to what that was, so he sat next to you, thigh touching yours. His shade creates a dark contrasting blue against your emerald skin. He was much taller than you, broader too. His shoulder rested by your head as you looked up at him for a slight second, then returned to your sullen features.

“Why do you come here, all alone?” Neteyam pointed out, so curious as to why you're always alone. Somehow this piqued his interest, your solitudious personality didn’t go unnoticed. He noted your disinterest in partaking in the activities with them but only when tuk was around did you finally enjoy being there.

You grumbled in response “because”

Neteyam shifted his gaze from your touching skin, to your blue eyes. He noticed how they had gold specs in them and a freckle, if he looked close enough it seemed as though the freckle was a second pupil.

The answer didn’t suffice “because?” He dragged on.

“I have my own reasons like you have yours, why do you put them before yourself? I see the way you step in when it comes to Lo’ak, the way tuk is like your child. Kiri is the same age as you, is she not? Yet you treat her too as if she’s a baby.” You rambled, feeling called out. You enjoyed your privacy, for once. You’d thought about sharing it with someone else, but for now you had to make it clear you were not easy and never will be.

Neteyam scoffed lightly, nodding his head as if you’d just analysed his entire life and been correct “it’s my responsibility”

You nodded in understanding, nudging him a bit to continue. Neteyam glanced your way, searching for safety in your eyes, he didn’t understand why he’d find it so important to do so but something in his heart told him too, and he always listened to his heart.

“Being the first born always means you sacrifice everything about yourself for them. They mess up? It’s on me for not teaching them to do better, they fall and hurt themselves. I should have been there to protect them, in some way they are my children but I’d never admit that to them. That’s just the burden of being born first, that’s how I’ve been raised”

You couldn’t help but feel sympathetic, he was wise beyond his years. Being the first born meant so many things and one of them that held importance was responsibility, although in that sense Aonung would fail miserably.

After a few moments of silence, Neteyam mirrored your actions of enjoying the eclipse.

“You're a good brother” you released, your voice weak.

The forest boy snapped his head in your direction, you continued “Aonung would rather die than have to bare the burden of me or tsireya, he comes off protective but at the end of the day it’s me protecting him from his own stupidity.” You reached for his shoulder, anywhere else was off limits to you. Reassuringly patting it.

“That's an admirable trait, you’d make a great olo’eyktan one day.”

Neteyam couldn’t help but to take in the moment, staring into your eyes with a glimpse of confusion flickering in them as he searched around for the answer in yours. You couldn’t bear meeting his gaze, before he could open his mouth and utter the words he wanted to.

A voice from below called out to you both “Neteyam, mothers looking for you” Tuks high pitched voice called from below, how she found you two was a mystery. She noticed your presence, getting giddy already. You had nearly forgotten to ask her the question you’d promised rini.

“I guess being the oldest has its perks, you get your own watch team” humour was never really your forte and even you didn’t find the joke in that but Neteyam sniffled a laugh.

“Yeah, one step and tuk is threatening me that if I don’t take her she’ll tell everyone everything about me” this made you laugh, children were stubborn but tuk had a new level of stubbornness. Almost like she’d go to war for an adventure.

Before we could start climbing down, Neteyam grabbed a hold of my wrist again. A pleading look on his features “do you think I could come back with you tomorrow, same place, same time” he asked politely so as to not alarm me, his hold was soft and gentle. Like he was almost afraid he’d break my wrist if he held it with security.

I looked down towards tuk who held her thumbs up in a yes motion “your free to do whatever you want, Neteyam”

He couldn’t help but feel the pull dominate one side of his lips into a grin “so that’s a yes?”

“Yes, it is”

.......................

I tried proofreading but i'm lowkey blind so sorry for the little fuck ups guys.

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #avatar : the way of water #na’vi x reader #lo’ak

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elcpsstuff · 11 months

Text

S!ut! // Conrad Fisher

“I might as well be drunk in love”

a/n: I’m so obsessed with 1989 TV it’s not even funny and this song is my anthem. Please use * when saying the name because I don’t want my content to get banned ‼️ also when the text turns bold it switches to yns pov!!

warnings: toxic complex conrad, swearing, drinking, yn is a mess + delusional, small smut? if u squint :0

i’m sorry in advance..

—

You didn’t plan for this to happen.

You and your family have lived with the Fishers every single summer. Steven was the oldest and Belly was the youngest. Meaning, you fell right in the middle.

For years, you had wanted Conrad. Steven and Jeremiah always made fun of you but Belly never did because she had a thing for the youngest fisher, Jeremiah.

How could you not? He was so young, and a true peice of art. You had always been the hopeless romantic of the family, Belly falling not to far behind. It was safe to say you got love sick way to quick.

And with Conrad, well, that was dangerous.

It was one of the first nights of summer, and you had decided to take a solo swim. You gathered all your things and then made your way outside and over to the pool.

You didn’t notice him at first. In fact, you dove in and let the cool water heal your body. When you rose to the surface, that’s when you saw him. A joint in his hand, and a small smirk on his face.

Your heartbeat accelerated, “Stalking me?”

He chuckled, “I’ve been out here longer if I’m correct.” His voice was teasing, and he was testing the waters. Maybe you could too.

“So, seriously? Smoking?”

Conrad rolled his eyes, “Don’t scold me like everybody else is. I don’t need a second mom.”

“Just quit, Conrad.”

He looked you in the eyes and then smirked, “What will you give me if I do?”

Your face went red. You felt your cheeks burn.

Slowly, you said, “What do you want?”

It was funny. In this aquamarine swimming pool that was filled with lights, all you ever really needed was him.

—

It had been a week since you and Conrad kissed. After responding to him oh so temptingly, he couldn’t help it. He kissed you right then and there. (He jumped in the pool, first.)

Conrad didn’t know what to feel. Deep down he always knew he had some sort of feelings for you. He was shit at showing it though, but now you were in for the long run.

You were love sick. All over his bed.

Sex with Conrad Fisher was one of the best things to ever happen to you. He made you feel like a different person completely. He could be so sweet yet so, different in bed? It was indescribable.

You groaned against the pillow, digging your nails into his back, leaving tiny little scratch marks. In response he groaned and moaned into your neck. You cracked a smile.

“You alright, Fisher?” You teased.

“I’ll be asking you that soon.” He looked up at you, lips red and plump and eyes wild. He began to nip and leave marks all over your neck, and you had never felt more alive.

Sex with him showed a whole new vulnerability. He would kiss you and worship every inch of your body. How could anybody be so perfect?

It was getting harder to hide. Each time you two went at it, he left marks that were as obvious as handprints on wet cement. One time, Jeremiah even caught wind of it.

“What’s that on your neck?” He had asked one morning.

You mentally cursed yourself. You thought you had concealed most of these marks with makeup, but it seems Conrad’s love for you was harder to hide each time.

“I— um… chin burn?” You lie.

Jeremiah didn’t believe it, but he laughed anyways. “Alright, sure.”

It just became worse from there. You became lovelorn and sex with him felt like thorns. Instead of cuddling you after, he would leave you wobbling walking back to your room. It was like you were a toy, and he was getting bored of you.

Most nights you cried after. You felt used and sad. You truly thought Conrad had felt what you felt for him all these years, but maybe he was just bored. And wanted an easy grab.

Still, you found yourself in his bedroom almost every night. He would make you promises in the bed to ensure you kept coming, but nothing ever amounted to the lies he fed you.

Blindly, you were still in love with him. So you kept this a secret from everybody you loved. You didn’t want anybody, especially Belly to worry.

You’d pay the price, so he won’t.

—

You had dressed up nice for this party. Just in case Conrad wanted to slip away from the crowds and have a good time with you.

Belly and Jeremiah had become very suspicious at this point. Those two were open about their new relationship all summer, and a little part of you felt jealous. You wished Conrad wouldn’t keep you like a secret.

“Are you okay?” Belly asks, handing you a beer to which you accept.

You nod, “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” It was a lie. You were far from good at all. You wanted to cry and break down into your sisters arms. She was your younger sister and yet she was more stable than you at the moment.

Belly said some other things, but you were too distracted by Conrad signaling you to come up the stairs. Finally, the moment you were waiting for. You shouldn’t have been, but you simply couldn’t resist him.

As soon as you walked into the room Conrad was ripping your clothes off. You knew it was wrong, and that if anybody knew they’d probably call you that word. A sl*t.

But you know, in this moment. It might be worth it for once?

You were drunk off your ass, but nothing felt better than the art Conrad was perfecting on you. In moments like these, you almost believed it was all real. He traced your curves so calmly, and you swore you saw the light.

Conrad kissed your cheeks, and then your lips. He worked his way down to the area you so desperately wanted. He looked up at you with a smirk.

“You’re beautiful like this.”

His eyes told a story, one you were so foolish to believe.

Yes, you were drunk. But you were drunk in love.

—

It’s was the day of the deb ball.

Somehow, you had convinced Conrad to come with you. Apart of you was giddy, hopeful, but things still remained the same. Conrad kept you his little secret and it pained you when he sent you to your room crying at night. You still took all this pain for him.

When they called your name, Conrad was there to escort you. He smiled at you, that beautiful smile only Conrad fisher had. Laurel and Susannah were both in tears from you and Belly.

When you curtsied for them, Conrad linked his arm with yours, and whispered, “Beautiful, as always.”

You couldn’t help but smile. No matter what, out of all the boys, he remained a gentleman.

When it came time for the escort dance, Conrad danced with you, and it all seemed so real, so genuine. Summer was ending, but maybe this didn’t have to. Maybe this could be the start of something.

When the danced ended, something changed in his face. It was like the color drained from his face.

“Con, are you—”

“Outside. We need to talk.” Before you could object he was grabbing you and pulling you away from the center of the room. Belly mouthed something to you that you couldn’t decipher.

Once you got outside Conrad paced around and then looked you in the eyes. Oh fuck.

You began to shake your head, “Don’t say it.”

“yn—”

Tears brimmed at your eyes. You couldn’t believe this.

“Is this a joke to you? My feelings? I fucking gave myself to you and now your just gonna make me forget?”

He paused, “I needed to forget about my shit and you—”

“Screw you!” You pointed your hands at him and tears streamed down your face. He looked broken, for you. He probably didn’t give a shit. Maybe he cared somewhere in his cold heart, but not enough.

Conrad inched closer to you, “I— I’m sorry.. It’s all so so complicated okay? You were there. I care about you, you know that. That night in the pool was just the wrong place but the right time.”

Those words stung, because they were true. Did you mean nothing? If it was anybody else, would he have done the same?

the wrong place but the right time.

I started to break down, falling to the bench next to me. I was sobbing, because I felt disgusting. Like an idiot.

I would never do this. This wasn’t who I was. I wouldn’t continue to give myself to someone who truly didn’t want me. I would have walked away. I knew what I was, and I was raised better than this.

Still, looking at him was hard. Because I still loved him. It was supposed to be me and him from day one. The two oldest kids, everyone saw it.

I felt his arms wrap around me and I hated it. He’s pulling me in like the nice gentleman he was.

I pushed him off me and he stumbled back a little.

“Just get away from me!” He went to speak, but I put my hand out to stop him. With a big sigh, he slowly walked away from me and back into the ballroom. His eyes were red, I saw them.

Within minutes Belly was running out to find me. When she saw me, she ran up to me and sat down next to me on the bench. The look she gave me, it was too hard. She knew it in her heart, me and Conrad.

“Yn? What’s going on?”

I didn’t say anything, and then I was sobbing in her arms. She held me like there was no tomorrow, and even though I was soaking her dress, it didn’t matter. Not to her. She knew what I was going through and I didn’t have to say it.

To say what I was, that was harsh. I wasn’t like this always, I was just twisted by the sick and harsh lies the man I claimed I had felt true love with gave me.

I thought if I was called it, it would be worth it for once. If i was drunk, I was drunk in love.

But was it? Was it worth it?

—

Like i said.. i’m sorry in advance :0

let me know if you guys have any more requests!! :)

Listen to the song that inspired this fanfic here ->

#the summer i turned pretty #conrad fisher #jeremiah fisher #team conrad #belly conklin #conrad x reader #team jeremiah #tsitp #love #summer love #conrad fisher fic #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher fanfic #Spotify

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ilguna · 1 year

Text

☼ the water heals our wounds (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick was beginning to believe that the damage done on you was permanent, but he had to try one more idea.

warnings; swearing, death mention, torture mention

wc; 5.3k

–

It’s too loud.

You can hear everything, between the people shouting nearby, and the consistent beeping from machines. There’s voices talking over one another, orders being barked around the room, fighting for more attention.

It’s bringing on a pounding headache, as if there’s tiny people inside of your head, slamming their fists on the inside of your skull with both hands, trying to get out. At first, it’s bearable, considering what you’ve been through lately.

And then it burns.

You fly up in the bed, eyes opening, hands reaching for the source of pain, attached to your forearm. Several people reach to grab and restrain you to keep from moving any further. You can see that there’s a needle, blood moving into a small vial.

“Miss (L/n), we’re just drawing your blood.” A nurse tells you, “You’re in District Thirteen, you’re safe now.”

“Dis—” You begin, and find that your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat, “District Thirteen isn’t real.”

“I assure you, it is.” He says, “We just had a team of volunteers rescue you and a few other victors from the Capitol.”

“The Tribute Center.” You murmur, watching as they pull the needle out, and replace it with a cotton pad, wrapping your elbow. “We were in the Tribute Center.”

“Yes, very good.” He says, “Can you tell me where you’re from?”

“District Four.” Your face twists, the headache is coming back, “Can we—?”

“When did you win the Hunger Games?”

“Sixty-Seventh. Can we talk about something else?” You look away, observing the space you’re in, “Anything else…”

You must be in District Thirteen’s hospital, judging by what you’re surrounded by. You can see a lot of people moving around, dressed similarly. The nurses and doctors look like they’re wearing different outfits than—what you can only guess is—regular civilians. There’s a few people sitting on gurneys dressed in hard armor and bulletproof vests, pockets absent of weapons.

You’d like to say that it’s not usually this busy or disorganized often, and that’s because of how the medical crew are reacting to the sheer amount of people in here. It’s crawling with bodies. They push people on gurneys away into hallways, some straight into private rooms where they pull the blinds, others are subjected to being treated in the main open room, like you.

You must not be high risk, then.

You watch as a team of professionals wheel a gurney by, someone laying unresponsive in the bed. You look away quickly, to the next rapidly moving object, and realize that you recognize the person. You manage to look back in time to see who it really is, stomach squeezing in horror.

It’s Johanna on that bed, head shaven to the skin, scabs covering every inch of available skin. She looks disgusting, but it answers the question that’s been on your mind these past couple of weeks. You finally know what’s been happening to Johanna in the Capitol.

“Are you hungry? Or thirsty?” He asks, “We normally have to wait for clearance, but you’re alert and responsive. They wouldn’t want us to wait for permission.”

“I’d like water, if you can.” You nod, “I’m not hungry, though.”

He gives you a smile, turning to place his hand on the girls’ shoulder next to him, beginning to talk to her. You look away again, towards the doors that have just been pushed open, doors slamming against the wall from the force.

A young woman with dark hair in a braid is looking around the room quickly, searching for something. You get a glimpse of her face, and you know instantly that it’s Katniss Everdeen.

You grit your teeth, a shudder running through your body. You grip onto the railings handles, letting out a shaky breath. You’ve seen her a lot recently, although you’ve never met her, not yet anyway. You had mentored the Quarter Quell—no, no you shouldn’t think about that.

“Gale!” Katniss shouts, starting for him.

A nurse blocks her, saying something, and you’re trying to read her lips, when a voice cuts through the noise.

“(Y/n)!”

You flinch, jerking to the other side of the bed, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts—the memories—of all the times he’s screamed your name, screamed at you. The morning he left, the purple bruises…

He punished you, said that it’s your fault this happened.

“Miss (L/n)?” The nurse asks, placing his hand on yours.

You jump, swatting his hand off of yours. In the process, your eyes fly open, catching sight of him—of Finnick—coming towards you. You can’t let him have you, the last time he did—the nightmares still haven’t stopped. You can’t do it again. You need to get out of here.

You almost trip getting out of the bed, legs tangled in the scratchy white hospital sheets. Your bare feet slap against the tile floor, which is cool against your soles. You stumble a few steps to catch your balance before wheeling around, both hands grabbing the gurney.

“Get away from me!” You scream, pulling the back back a bit before launching it in his direction.

You watch his smile drop, eyebrows drawing in. He’s doing it again, the next thing you know he’ll have everyone on his side. He’s not going to trick you, you’re not going back to him this time. You’ll die before you end up in his hands. It was better in the Capitol. He wasn’t there, and you were safe.

A couple people jump to catch the gurney before it slams into him. It almost makes you want to scream at them, too, for trying to protect him. You don’t have time to, you turn around and start for the exit doors on the other side of the room. The male nurse that had been helping you tries to make a grab, but completely misses.

“Stop her!” He shouts.

You slip past several people, slamming into the metal doors, which start emitting a terrible, high-pitched scream that starts once they’re opened. You make a run for it down the long, cement hallways, feet slapping painfully on the floor. You can hear shouting behind you, pleading for you to stop.

You’re faster than they are. The further you run, the less you’re able to hear them, until their voices are gone entirely. You end up tripping into one of the side doors, leading you into a dark room. Good, they shouldn’t be able to find you here for a long time.

You drag your feet to the corner of the room, panting, struggling to catch your breath. The burning in your chest slowly grows stronger, you dig your nails into your collarbone, trying to distract from the pain.

You slide down the wall, letting out a sob, hands moving to clamp over your ears to block out the humming sound coming from somewhere inside of the room.

—

You hate the hospital wing of District Thirteen.

Surprisingly, it has nothing to do with the fact of how the medical team is treating you. For once in your life, they couldn’t be more considerate and caring about your feelings. It’s refreshing, considering you’ve been in and out of the hospital since you won the Hunger Games.

The Capitol didn’t catch that your immune system was weaker than it had been before. You were home for a week before you caught the nasty disease that was going around the district. You spend two and a half months in the hospital trying to recover and leave.

You honestly thought you were miserable in the arena, but it was nothing compared to how they treated you in the Four hospital. You know it was nothing personal, that’s how they treated all their patients. It was just so odd to see so much aggression in a place of healing.

There were a few times you almost left the hospital without being discharged because you couldn’t handle it anymore. It’s difficult to deal with that behavior in such a fragile state of mind. You couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares that plagued you, you were hardly eating because every bite made you nauseous.

The only reason why you were convinced to stay each time was because of Finnick. You think you remember him telling you that you could risk putting yourself in more danger if you didn’t stay. The last thing you wanted to do after you won the Games was die when you got home.

When you told that story to the Head Doctor here—mostly the part that you hate hospitals, in hopes that he would change his mind and let you stay in your own dorm—he hung onto that story, and a certain factor about it. Like how you didn’t mention Finnick in a negative light.

Those times in the hospital could’ve very well have been Finnick drawing you in. You smelt honey each time you were around him, making you feel safe enough to land. And the second you did, he trapped you.

The doctor won’t let you leave, no matter how many times you beg him to.

Like you said, you completely understand that they’re just doing their jobs when they come to check on you, and accompany you to the bathroom, and take you for walks around the hallways. The issue is that there’s nothing more you want right now than to be left alone.

When they hover like this, it’s like they’re trying to set you back. They did this in the Capitol, hovered over your smallest movements, made you second-guess your sentences. Now, you’re always waiting for the nurses here to say something like they did, always waiting for the drop that’ll never come.

“Do you want to go around one more time?” The nurse asks.

“No, I’m done.”

There’s no point in walking around these halls. There’s nothing to look at, no rooms to look inside of. All it does is leave you to your thoughts, because half of the time, the nurses can’t bring themselves to carry a conversation. You might as well stay inside of your room.

“You remember that you’re supposed to be pushing yourself, right?” She asks.

“He wants me to push myself to walk in a rectangle?” You snap back, looking at her, “I can obviously walk just fuckin’ fine. They didn’t break my fucking legs.”

“It’s to keep up your stamina.”

“If you wanted to test my stamina, then you’d let me walk around the entire bunker and keep your fucking mouth shut to see how long I’ll go for.” You shake your head, rounding the corner to go inside of your assigned room.

You make it two steps before you stop, eyes locked on the foreign object. Your foot moves back to get you out of there, but you know that there’s nowhere to run to, anymore. You need clearance to get through the doors, and you can’t do it without one of the nurse’s approval.

You would’ve snuck out by now if you could.

Your arms wrap around your upper body to hug yourself, fingers digging into your upper arm’s flesh to ground yourself.

It’s just a vase of flowers, it can’t hurt you. What can, is the thought of him being in here, delivering these himself. What else can be in here? What of your belongings did he touch? Is this why the nurses insisted that you get out of bed at that exact moment.

“(Y/n)?”

“Was he in here?” The words are harsh.

“No, we don’t let visitors back here, they are to wait in the lobby.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice is surprisingly measured, despite the uncontrollable urge to freak out. You grip your arms tighter, “Was he in here?”

She’s silent for a few seconds, “Yes.”

“Why on earth would you let him?” You tear your eyes from the flowers, “Who approved of that?”

“Doctor Hurley did.” She says, “There’s been so much progress between you two, so he allowed Finnick to come in here on special request to deliver a gift. He picked the flowers himself this morning. He wanted them at their freshest.

You begin to take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself, “I don’t understand.”

“What’s the matter?”

“You let him in my space?” You ask, tears building in your eyes. You can’t be safe, not even back here, in an area where you can’t escape if he were here. Is he here? “The one place that he wasn’t supposed to have access to? You let him in here? What did he touch? Did he leave?”

There’s a smile that hints at the corners of her lips. He must’ve talked to her, that’s the only reason why she thinks it’s okay. He told her the same sob story that he told you to get you to stay. She’s supposed to be on your side.

You start inside of your room, one long stride after the other, hand reaching for the clear vase of colorful flowers, paired together to show the end of summer, the beginning of fall. There’s a few long leaves sticking out, giving you more of the outdoors.

You twist around, letting out a scream as you throw the vase at the nurse. She jumps out of the way, making it shatter against the concrete wall instead, glass bursting into pieces, flying in every direction. The bundle of flowers lands in the puddle of glass and water.

—

“I want to go to the cafeteria to eat!” You shout, hand flying out in the direction of the door, “I don’t understand why Peeta’s allowed to go and I’m not!”

Doctor Hurley is shaking his head at you, face twisted like it always is when he’s delivering bad news. Behind him stands Boggs, the head of security, arms crossed and waiting in the doorway. You demanded to see both of them today, because it would be the only way to appeal to both at the same time.

“It’s not an act of unfairness, (Y/n).” Doctor Hurley says, “Let’s say you have an episode, there’s a chance you could trigger both Johanna and Peeta at the same time too. And it’s vice versa with Peeta.”

“You really think that Peeta’s aggression could set me off?” You ask, “Peeta and I might have had the same treatment, but it was obviously done in different ways. He’s aggressive towards Katniss, and they made me afraid of Finnick.”

“Yes, precisely.”

You turn your attention to Boggs, “Please, you know that my first reaction wouldn’t be to fight. The first thing that I’d do is run. All you’d have to do is worry about getting Peeta under control.”

“We would still have to spend time finding you after you run. That first day you came here, you only had access to the hospital wing, and it took hours for us to find you. It’ll take longer, possibly days, if you went hiding here.” Boggs says.

“Yet you were able to find Katniss each time she hid, right?” You shoot back, watching his face twist. “Yeah, I know about that because of Haymitch. And worst-case scenario, if you can’t find me, I come down from the hysteria and come out myself.” Now you look back at Hurley, “You’ve been teaching me self-soothing techniques for a reason to bring myself back down when I’m feeling that way.”

Hurley shakes his head, “This is not a time to put that to the test.”

You cross your arms, shaking your head, “Then why don’t you send Johanna or Peeta to their rooms? It’d be a fair trade-off.”

“We can’t, we’re under special orders from Coin to continue to push his progress. We need him outside of his comfort zone.” Boggs says, “And Johanna’s stable enough to mix her with the other victors. We can’t risk a third.”

“So he’s the golden one, again?” You ask, “You say that it’s not a matter of being unfair, but that’s exactly what it is.”

“(Y/n), why don’t you go down on a different day?” Hurley asks, “It’ll still let you feel some sense of normalcy.”

You slam your fists into the desk, the tray full of food rattles against the wood, “You only let them go down once a week! I don’t want to sit with people I don’t know! I want the victors, for fuck’s sake!” You scoot away from the table, back further onto the bed to give you more leg mobility. This is when you draw your leg back and kick the table so it topples over, the tray hits the floor, food splattering up the wall. “I want to see Finnick!”

The room’s silent for a good minute, while you struggle to get your emotions under control, realizing that this is exactly what they meant about you triggering Peeta and Johanna. These outbursts don’t help you, but what else are you supposed to do? They don’t listen to you. They back you into a corner and give you solutions you don’t care about.

“You said—” You begin, wiping the tears that are forming in the corners of your eyes away, “You said that denying me things like this is a step back.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Hurley says.

“It feels like you’re trying to keep me from moving forward, by keeping me away from them. How am I supposed to know how to act around them, if you don’t give me a chance?” You ask, “I want an opportunity.”

Boggs watches you for a few more seconds, and then he lets out a sigh, “Tell the nurses to give her a jumpsuit.”

Hurley turns to look at him, “After this?” He motions to the mess on the floor, “How do you think Peeta will react?”

“I think Peeta’s shown a lot of empathy for the people that were with him in the Capitol, recently.” Boggs says, “He’s made it a long way as well, and I’m not going to prioritize him. If there’s a step back, fine. We have another couple of weeks to work on it.”

“If you think so.” Hurley looks at you, “We’ll have a nurse bring a jumpsuit. Boggs will bring you down.”

“Thank you.”

Both of them leave, heading in the direction of the nurse station at the end of the hall. You try not to bother them too much if you don’t have to. They’ve begun to lift a lot of the restrictions they’ve put on you, which is a relief. It’s driving you crazy to be treated like a child.

While you wait, you go over to clean up the mess you made. You place the table upright, and get to work on using napkins to scoop the specific portions of food back onto the metal tray. By the time Boggs comes back, the food is relatively gone, and you can’t even tell you knocked the table over.

He hands over your new outfit, one that you’ve worn a few times before. You take it, and shuffle inside of the bathroom. You use the one hair tie they allow you to have to tie your hair out of your face, and then you change into the grey outfit. You leave the bathroom, pulling on your flats, because that’s all they allow you to have.

Boggs escorts you out of your room, down a hall and through a pair of swinging doors. They moved you out of the first area because you stopped showing a threat of escaping. You nearly cried when they told you the news, because the nurses there are significantly meaner than the ones over here. And they’ve told you several times that they would never have let Finnick go into your room like that, regardless of what Doctor Hurley approved.

The moment you step foot out of the hospital, you wrap your arms around your body to hold in the anxiety that’s beginning to bubble inside of you. In a few days, it would’ve been two weeks since you last saw Finnick. You’re not used to him being away for so long, especially with how persistent he is. You’ve been told by the nurses that it’s because he’s working on something with Coin, Plutarch and Haymitch.

When you asked more about it, you were told that they didn’t know anything. And even if they did, they wouldn’t be allowed to tell you, because you haven’t hit that stage yet. Yes, you’re a victor, and you’ve just managed to survive the Capitol, but that doesn’t give you a rite of passage here.

Boggs brings you to an elevator, where he has you step inside, and then pulls the door down. He presses a button on a box next to him, and the two of you begin your descent to the cafeteria’s floor. The elevator’s not even close to as nice as the ones from the Capitol, those ones move smoothly and noiselessly.

It stops, he pulls the door open, and leads you to the cafeteria doors. He stops in front of them, “If you feel the need to leave, you have to let me know.”

“I will.” You nod.

“We’ll grab you a tray, and then sit down with them. Lunch just started, it should be over in thirty minutes.”

You nod again, letting him know you’re listening. He goes through the doors, and you follow behind him, hugging yourself tighter to give you something to focus on. A few people glance to look at you, but their eyes don’t linger for very long, returning to the person they’re talking to.

Boggs brings you to the short line that leads to the window where you get your food. When it’s your turn, the lady on the other side gives you a wide smile, and tells you to enjoy. You wonder how many of the people in here know who you are.

Boggs starts walking away, and you follow behind him, taking deep breaths to calm yourself, because you can no longer hug yourself. You’ve got the tray in your hands, something to focus on.

“Mind if we join you?” Boggs says, stepping aside.

You suck in your bottom lip, giving a smile to the table of victor’s in front of you.

“I was wondering when they’d finally let you out of your cell.” Johanna says first, motioning to the one open spot, “We have so much to catch up on.”

“Trust me, it was a fight to even come eat lunch down here.” You set the tray on the table, and then move to sit on the bench. Peeta scoots over to give you more room, “If it weren’t for Boggs, I’d be eating my lunch off of the floor.”

He laughs behind you.

“Lucky you.” Peeta murmurs, “You do that often?”

You breathe out a laugh, “I try not to anymore.”

You pick up the fork, twisting it in your hand, looking up to see exactly who you’re sitting with. Johanna’s sitting across from you, with one leg up on the bench, leaning into it while she eats. Peeta’s sitting to your right, his own personal bodyguards tower behind him, they must not bother him.

Katniss is sitting across from Peeta, but she’s more toward the end of the table, eating with the man you saw on your first day, the one she couldn’t see, Gale. On the other side of Johanna sits a blonde girl, twirling her hair around her finger. She offers you a wide smile.

And the last person, who was on the other side of Peeta—now next to you—is…

You swallow thickly at the sight of Finnick, feeling your heart begin to beat faster in your chest. Usually when you see him, it’s across a table, at the far side so that you’re not close. Always your request, never his. He goes along with it because he doesn’t want you feeling uncomfortable.

You have to quickly remind yourself that he won’t hurt you. Doctor Hurley and his team of doctors have been working hard to try and reverse the damage that was done in the Capitol. However, if there’s one thing that people tend to hold onto the most, it’s fear.

Finnick raises his eyebrows, the small smile he was holding is slowly fading, “Do you want me to move?”

You shake your head, “No, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, “It wouldn’t be a big deal, you didn’t know—”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I heard you’re working on some projects with Beetee?”

Finnick’s expression transforms entirely, lighting up, “Yes, he’s showing me new trident designs. You’d love them, he made one the other day that made me think of you. It had these vines that snaked around the handle, and bright colorful flowers. It’s not practical to use, but I know how you like the prettier looks.”

“Maybe you can show me the next time we have our meeting. It was on paper, right?”

“Yeah, I think he made a small prototype, it’s plastic, so hopefully it’ll pass through the doors.” Finnick shrugs.

“That sounds nice.”

Johanna lets out a scoff, “Nerds.”

—

“I still can’t believe you convinced them to let both of us up here.” You say, jogging slightly to catch up with Finnick. “And alone?”

“I have a way with words.” Finnick turns to wink at you, “You’re going to love it.”

He readjusts the bag he has on his shoulder, it’s gotta be heavy. You offered to carry some of the food inside, but he told you that he wants you to enjoy being outside again for the first time in months.

“This is the last door.” He tells you, going through it first, and then holding it open.

The sunlight streams through the door, and blinds you on your way through. You take in a deep breath as soon as you’re fully outside. It smells so fresh, lighter than the recycled air from inside. The sun on your skin feels nice, and it’s warm.

“Johanna would love it up here.” You murmur, crossing your arms over your chest, “Do you think they’d let her out?”

“If she shows signs of getting better, they will, but she’s having issues at the moment.” Finnick shakes his head, “I wish it could be the three of us again.”

You nod, “So where are we picnicking? Right here?”

Finnick scoffs, “Are you kidding? No, I’ve got a special spot that you’re also going to love?”

“How deep?” You ask, “We shouldn’t go too far.”

“It’s not too far, I promise. It’s closeby, Katniss showed me where it is.”

“Okay,” You motion for him to go first, “Lead the way.”

Finnick begins walking along a path that has been stomped into the ground. The two of you travel through the trees, and you can’t help yourself when you touch every green object you pass. The bark, the leaves, the grass, the rocks. You pluck a white flower out of a bush and carefully tuck it behind your ear.

“Can I ask what you and Katniss passed? I heard it was some sort of test.” You pull a leaf off of a plant to fold and pull apart while you walk. “I was going to ask Johanna but I was told I couldn’t see her.”

“I can tell you, but you can’t go and tell Boggs that I did. You can’t tell anyone, actually.” He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes lingering on the flower.

“Promise.” You smile.

“Well, they’re planning an attack on the Capitol, which you already know.” He starts, “The test Katniss and I took was to see if we were eligible to join.”

You can feel the smile disappear from your face, “Why would you want to do that?”

“To help, of course.” He says, “I was placed on the same squad as Katniss, Boggs is going to be leading it. Johanna failed the test, she freaked out. That’s why she wasn’t available for visitors. I had to fight them to be let in.”

“When are you going?” You ask, fingers gravitating toward your mouth, teeth biting onto nails.

“Soon, hopefully. We won’t know more information until we ship out.”

You’re not sure why they, Katniss and Finnick, would want to go there after seeing what happened to you, Johanna and Peeta. Haven’t they learned anything from it? What happens when they get captured? They’re automatically killed.

“That’s a bad idea.” You murmur, “For either of you to go.”

“Our luck, we won’t even be able to do any of the action.” Finnick shrugs, “I could tell by Boggs’ face that we’re going to be decoration.”

You hum, “How much farther?”

“Only a couple more minutes.” Finnick tells you.

He changes the topic, talking about Peeta’s cake decorating skills from a couple of weeks ago. They threw a party and filmed it to use for propaganda. You were in a few of the shots, but not many. The cake that Peeta made had to be carried out by four people, and they were careful not to ruin the beautiful icing that must’ve taken Peeta hours, despite his skilled hand.

You wish you had even half the talent that he does.

“We’re going this way.” Finnick begins to go down a slope, you follow, not really paying attention.

And then you hear it, the sound of running water. You pick up speed, going right past Finnick to see if what you’re hearing is correct. You’re led to a tree, a patch of shade, and beyond that, a small cliff that leads to a shallow river.

“Oh my god!” You gasp, “You knew this was here?”

“That’s what I was bringing you to.” He laughs, placing the bag down by the tree. He reaches in to pull out the blanket, spreading it over the patch of shade.

You reach to pull off your shoes, not bothering to entertain the idea of sitting down, not with something so refreshing and familiar nearby. You throw your shoes by the end of the blanket, and move on to rolling up the legs of the jumpsuit, not wanting them to get soaking wet.

“What are you doing?” He asks, looking up at you.

“I’m getting in, of course!” You turn away from him, heading to the river.

“Wait!” He shouts behind you, getting up, “What if it’s faster than you think?”

“So be it! Let me get carried away by the waves!” You laugh, sitting down on the edge before scooting in.

You’re afraid that you’re going to land harshly on rocks, but your feet sink into mud. The water is cold, but not as bad as it can be back home in Four. It feels nice on your skin, and combined with the sun… it really is a perfect day for a picnic.

You wade deeper into the water, feeling it go up to your knees. When you turn around, you’re met with Finnick, standing at the top, staring down at you. You splash a handful of water in his direction, letting out a laugh.

“This is so much better than taking a shower and pretending it’s raining!” You throw your head back, arms out while you spin slightly, “I love it!”

“You don’t want to eat first?” Finnick asks, laughing.

You wave the idea away, “This reminds me of the summer after I won. How we went to the beach all day, forgot sunscreen and went back home burnt to hell. It hasn’t been that hot in a long time.”

Finnick’s face twists, a pout appearing for a second, before it disappears, “I remember.”

“Get in here!” You splash at him again.

1K notes · View notes

onim5 · 2 months

Text

Portgas D. Ace x demon reader

Demon contract au

It's here, everyone!!! I'm sorry, I just like this so much. I don't care there's, few who want it!

Warnings: "You read this at your own risk." And see!!!!!

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Ace jogged to reach the little house. The rain and wind made it muddy on the ground. Thunder echoed through the island, and Ace saw a lighting crash down in the distance. Holding his hat, he speeds up. As he reached the little house, he found it abandoned as it had many cracks and seemed broken. Ace opened the door, forgiving his ears as they had to listen to its horrible squeaks. As Ace was inside, he brushed himself off to make him less wet. He squeezed his clothes to get the water out and sighed.

Looking around the small house, he found a bathroom and bedroom, and the kitchen and living room seemed the same. So, three rooms. Ace walked up to an old coach and settled down in it. The green fabric was dirty and had holes here and there.

Ace pov:

What now? My mission is done, but this thunder makes it dangerous to leave on the Striker. Maybe something is interesting here?

Standing up he walked to the bedroom and looked into the closet—some old clothes. Opening a drawer he found something more interesting. It was a box with beautiful patterns. Ace took it to the couch and looked at it. For some reason, he found it to have an aura. It gave off a feeling of unease and it felt heavy to hold it. Trying to open it anyway Ace realizes it's tighter shut than expected. But with his strength, he managed to tear it up. The contents ended up around him and he dropped the box on the table.

Crouching down Ace picked up one of the stuff in it. Realizing what it was he looked at the other human teeth. There were so many of them, and all of them seemed to be the same kind, premolar. That means every tooth was from different people, but it was at least over a hundred maybe even two hundred. Ace stood up and his eyes landed on the box he dropped. It stood on its corner, in other words, an impossible angle, without support.

Reaching out with his hands he moved the box and felt around where it had been. His hand got in a strike of pain and began bleeding. Swearing Ace looked at a cut. His blood had dropped down on the table and with widening eyes, Ace watched as a knife and a paper showed itself. The knife had his blood on it. The blood had ended up on the paper where you were supposed to write a name. Picking up the knife, this time on the handle Ace moved it and looked at the text of the paper, a contract. That he had signed with blood.

Your pov:

Your one eye stared at the small demons called imps as they opened your cell, letting you out. Your black blob-like form slipped out and your eye glared around the other cells. And you slowly changed into a form looking like an imp. "Where's the portal?" You smiled sending a shiver down everyone's spines. The two imps began to lead the way through hell to the only opening back. An elder demon stood at the gate. "If you have a contract that somebody has signed then the portal will let you through and if not you burn and end up in your cell again." He said, fumbling a little with his hands.

It was extremely rare for a demon like Y/n to be let out. Since a demon contract is invisible until signed and very hard to create. You shifted into your black blob form and went into the portal. Amused you opened someone's eyes. Scanning around you found yourself in your old home. On the floor laid your collection of teeth from all of the victims you killed. Reaching out to the box you realized it was a dude's body and that he was bleeding. Healing his hand and removing the blood with your abilities you took the box and levitated all the teeth in.

After placing it down in the drawer you looked at your room's mirror. The guy you controlled for the moment had adorable freckles on his cheeks. Blushing at his freckles you moved on finding him to have a strong build. Holding up his hand you made some flames. How practical. You thought. Going into your consciousness, you found him sleeping. You moved around him and made a bed since he would be asleep for a while. On a wall hung the contract. Both of you could summon it at will, but not break it. Sticking out your snake-like tongue you touched his forehead and saw all of his memories.

Going out, you took your knife and placed it into the room where you and Ace shared consciousness. You also took the box and then began the journey to the Striker that Ace used for travel. Knowing he will go back to the Whitebeard pirates. As you walked in the rain you watched the new city, remembering what you had done to the old one.

You had lived in that small house and had a good life until a lie about you ruined everything. It became a rumor and made you lose everyone. Seeing as everyone began to treat you like a monster, that's what you became. Burning the city down and killing everyone in sight you had fun, a different kind of fun. Children hadn't been safe nor had anyone else either. Your lack of humanity had disappeared and you had felt more like a predator. When everything was gone you have taken all of the people's teeth and put them in a collection. After that, the only emotion you felt was relief and freedom.

Your eyes reached the Striker and then you used his devil fruit abilities to power it. The wind and thunder didn't cause any problems when you used your powers to keep them away. And after traveling for hours the sun came and half an hour after that Ace woke up. He almost lost his balance when he found himself standing on the Striker in the middle of the ocean.

Ace pov:

"How did I get here?" He mumbled, he looked down at the vivre card and began following it. He tried to remember. Finding everything was blurry, but it had been a box with teeth in it, right? And he had been injured. Ace looked at his hand finding nothing at all. "Maybe a dream?"

Ace smiled as he saw the Moby on the horizon. He had ignored his lack of memory to the best he could and wanted to eat as fast as possible. "Ace is back!" He heard faint from the boat. His grin grew as he waved to the crew.

As normal the crew threw a party and they all began drinking and such. Ace ate as much as he could and fell asleep now and then. You watched the crew from the shadows learning and analyzing. When you found them all to be boring you went to the library. And began to read. When you found the books quite boring you went back to hell.

The old geezer shivered upon seeing you come through the portal. Changing into an imp form you walked to a library, finally finding books about dark magic. You had one eye on the book and the other on Ace. He was your priority after all. Thanks to the contract you didn't have chains anymore and were to assist Ace with well whatever you felt like. It was a convenient alliance between a human and a demon. Well mostly for the demon as that's how you had conjured your contract.

Ace haki wasn't strong, though yours were unbelievably strong as you had trained it in your cell for . . . . . . decades at least. "How long have I been here?" You asked yourself, taking another book to read. "Well, well, well isn't it Y/n." A pretty strong demon said as it settled down in an armchair opposite to yours. Hmm, you let out. "I heard your chains have been broken, thanks to a contract with a human." He said when he realized you weren't gonna replied, he continued. "That's rare you know, tell me how strong are you shapeshifter?"

"Strong enough." You answered looking up at him with a calm and cold stare from your one eye. He failed to hide how intimidated he was by you, and began shaking. Through hell, you were known as a demon who could shapeshift, throw powerful spells, and change your personality from time to time. Aperently you once been so kind and regretful you got to heaven only to change again and fall.

You teleported to the portal and went back to Ace. He was slumped over a barrel, he was drunk, and so were also a lot of other pirates on the ship. Changing sight on the sky you saw how dark clouds moved in fast. It was a thunderstorm and a big one at that. Marco the first division commander realized the situation. And hurriedly woke up people who were asleep to at least get them in, so they wouldn't fall overboard. "Everyone sober enough, help out!" He yelled out. Since Ace was fast asleep you took control of him and began to help.

You carried people who were too drunk on the ship and took command also shouting out orders. One of the ropes that held one of the many sails broke. You grabbed the rope and got it back in place by using the right amount of fire to melt it together with the metal. You had used some of your demon strength as the rope was huge and being pulled by the wind. "Don't lose focus!" You yelled at the ones staring in awe and surprise.

After a while, the situation was finally more under control. Then a huge wave came over the ship, everyone held themselves tight except the one at the helm. Who got it by surprise and was on his way overboard. Knowing Ace would have saved the guy, you jumped overboard to everyone's horror as Ace can't swim. Using once again your demon abilities you sent out a purple tentacle thing under water and grabbed him. Take a strong grip on the boat, you swung him with as much power as needed to get him up.

Now hanging on the boat you felt Ace's body getting weak every time sea water hit. In a swift moment, you left his body and went into the shadow. As his body began to fall you sent out purple tentacles and took his body into the darkness. And placed him somewhere at the railing, unconscious. "WHAT!!! ACE IS HERE!" A crew member yelled out as he grabbed Ace's body and carried it. You followed the guy from the shadows and listened as everyone commented on Ace jumping down on the other side.

Ace woke up and to his surprise, he had a headache due to drinking. When he walked up to the dining hall he found himself getting praise and compliments. "Thank you, Ace, you saved my life." A crew member said bowing. Ace tried to remember but found nothing. "Hey, Ace I didn't check on you yesterday due to the storm. Are you injured anywhere?" Marco asked walking up to them. Ace looked around at everyone seeing them. "Uh, I don't even remember, what happened?" Ace said to everyone's, surprise. Whispers like, maybe he hit his head, and not maybe he drank too much were heard, to Ace's surprise.

As the breakfast went on, he got to hear about the storm and how awesome he was. "I was so surprised when I saw you take command. Like you did compete in a drinking contest, not too long before that." Marco commented. Ace just shrugged, as he didn't remember much anyway.

The days went on the Moby in peace. The only unusual thing is that Ace was sighted holding a book and that he was doing better under haki training. "Damn Ace, you learn a lot faster than before," Marco said, folding his arms with a smile. "Yeah, it's weird, cause every time I do something wrong, it's like a whisper telling me what I'm doing wrong," Ace said, scratching his head. Marco didn't know what to do with the info and brushed it off when Thatch came.

"Ace, I found something interesting." He said holding up a purple devilfruit. "Oh, ain't that a devilfruit," Ace said in surprise. "I don't know what fruit it is yet, though," Thatch answered. From the shadow, you watched the crewmate named Teach's expression change. You could tell he was up to something. You weren't the nicest, after all, you were a demon. Though the more you watched Ace a little candle had found itself lighten within you.

Ace was awake in his bed, so you couldn't take control of him like you had done all the other times. Outside it stormed, but it wasn't bad enough to make anyone care. With one eye you watched Teach on his way with a sword, feeling his intentions you went back to Ace's room. Ace sighed in boredom. Then he felt weird tentacles crawl up his body. "What the." He said as they began to move him around. He watched in horror as his arm began to turn purple.

Ace felt his body run out of the room. His body jumped up on a mast and then struck down, a knife came from nowhere in his right hand. His eyes somehow widened more at the sight of Teach and Thatch. "WATCH OUT!" Ace yelled, actually warning them from him. Thatch tenses up and manages to move away from Teach's strike. Teach heard Ace coming from above and moved away just in time to not be stabbed by your knife.

Now Thatch stared in horror at Teach due to understanding what he was gonna do. Teach turned around to kill Ace only to see him wrapped up in purple tentacles half of his face turning purple. Thatch also sees Ace and in both surprise, they watch as a horn grows out of one side of his head. Ace's left eye slowly turns red, his teeth grow to more fang-like ones. Thatch yells for the rest of the crew as Ace once again attacks Teach.

You control Ace's body and then begin to use powerful haki attacks. The crew ran out and saw Thatch on the ground and Ace's body wrapped in tentacles. Teach protected himself desperately as you used both Ace's flames and your abilities. Whitebeard walked out and watched as crew members tried to help Teach as he looked like the victim. Marco began attacking you helping Teach. Thatch sat back quietly as he knew he could tell them about Teach later, but for now should focus on Ace. Whitebeard's eyes widened as his eyes landed on Ace's expression.

"ACE! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!" Marco yelled. As he attacked. Teach saw his chance and grabbed the devil fruit he wanted. Though you made Ace's body throw the knife on his hand. Letting out a hitch of pain Teach glared at Ace as the devil fruit dropped to the ground. However, he grabbed it anyway and began his escape.

You realized as people began to search the boat for a potential intruder with devil fruit abilities you also needed to get away. The crew watched in horror as a black monster rose from nowhere. A white tongue that shined with light wrapped itself around Ace. Whitebeard attacked the thing that tried to eat his son. Your mouth opened wider and you grew bigger. Crew members could only watch as Ace reached out his hand before being swallowed behind a wall of darkness. Everyone tried to attack you, but instead, you disappeared.

When the situation cleared the Whitebeard pirates got to know about Teach's betrayal. But what happened to Ace was much more scary, even for Thatch. "Pops, do you think Ace is still alive?" A commander asked.

Ace pov:

The thing dragged me to its mouth its white shining teeth lining it out. When I opened my eyes I found myself in a familiar room. Though the green couch was fixed. Everything was fixed. Ace turned around and found a human cooking at the stove. "Great you're awake." They said placing the food on a plate and coming up to me. "Here, you're hungry." They said and then sat down on the couch next to me. I ate quietly and my brain tried to understand how I even where here. "So what's your name?" I asked through my chewing. "Y/n." They answer, and upon looking closer at them, they let out an aura of loneliness and numbness.

"Ah, I'm Ace." He said, as he was done with the food he placed the plate down on the table. "Here," Y/n said holding up their hand. Their hand began to light up in purple and then a paper was in it. I took the paper as they stood up and walked to the bedroom, closing the door. Shit, I don't like reading. Ace thought analysing the paper. It was a contract and someone had signed it with blood.

The door to your bedroom slammed open and Ace walked in. "Is this my blood?!" He asked panicked. "No, it's a dude named Mister No Shit." You commented looking at him from your book. "Okay, I get it. Uh, but, you look human and the thing I saw yesterday was not even close to a human. "I can shapeshift." You said holding up your hand and transforming it into various shapes. "That's practical I guess," Ace said settling down in the bed. "I've been thinking. Pops attacked you, and his attack didn't do anything. Just how powerful are you?" Ace asked a hand in his hair.

"I'm a demon, having someone alive stronger than me would be embarrassing." You answered with disgust in your voice. "Makes sense, except it doesn't. Anyway, why did you decide to try and save Thatch?" Ace asked looking at you. "I didn't like the thought of you getting sad." You answered simply. "Wait, you care about such things?" Ace asked with surprise clear in his voice. "Sometimes, and other times not."

You and Ace talked and after a while, you gave him your memories from controlling him. "That's what happened?" He'd had commented out. "Is there anyone else with a demon contract?" Ace asked. "Not that I heard of." You answered. "So this is rare huh." Ace put his hands together deep in thought. "So can we go back to the Whitebeard pirates?" Ace asked. "Not my decision." Your eyes went back to the book, ignoring him. "If it's mine we go there immediately," Ace said, standing up. You snapped your finger and now you lay in his bed, in his room.

"Oh, that went fast," Ace said as his brain progressed where he was. "I'm gonna clean your room it's dusty from top to bottom." You said, turning the page. "I'm gonna go talk to Pops." Ace declared opening the door and leaving you in his room. "POPS!" Ace yelled as he came out on the main deck.

After Ace got to know about Teach, now known as Blackbeard, he decided to hunt him down. And who was gonna have to come with him, that's right you. You had no interest in the crew, but Thatch thanked you for saving his life. The whole crew looked at you and wondered how you could go from a weird black blob with scary teeth to a decent-looking human. Ace had said to them that you and him were in a contract, and just honestly didn't feel like explaining you were a demon thingy. "Okay, we're leaving Ace." You said, tired of the crew's ongoing goodbyes.

"Yeah, right, see you all later!" Ace waved and stopped in the movement when you walked into him. "That felt weird." He exclaimed and jumped down on the Striker. The crew waved goodbye slowly still surprised by you going into Ace.

Y/n? Y/n? Y/n? Y/n? Y/n? Y/n? Y/n? Y/n? Y/n? Y/n? Come on, I'm bored. Y/n? Y/n? Y/n? I know you can hear me. Y/n? Y/N!!! Y/n? Please just talk to me. It's killing me knowing I can speak with you and that you're ignoring me! Come on, what did I do? Please? "Ace, what do you want, You whine like an idiot." You finally thought back. "You know, I'm bored and wanna talk," Ace answered, thinking and feeling a weird connection as he heard your voice in his head. "Fine." You dragged out.

Ace tracked Blackbeard to Drum Island, he had also followed the news and realized that his brother Luffy would come soon. In Alabasta Ace waited around convincing you to turn human so he could hang in a bar with you, drinking. You sipped the liqour a little, but focused on Ace. "Hey beutiful, wanna get down?" Ace kind of sluged out. Once again drunk, due to a guy challenging him to a drinking contest. One of your eyebrows lifted as he swinged unbanced on the bar chair. "What did you just ask me?" You asked placing your glass down on the counter. "He asked if you wanna hook up with him?" A guy next too you grinned.

"Hook up, like go hang ourselves?" You asked confused, surprised and concerned. "Noooo, he wanna fuck you idiot." The guy explained flipping a finger on your fore head. A weird heat rose to your cheeks as you finally understood. You grabbed Ace's hand and dragged him out of the bar. In his state you could take advantage of him, but did you wanna do that? Yes. Would Ace hate you afterwards, also yes. You went into an alleyway and placed Ace up the wall and then slammed his lips against yours. Forcing your way into his mouth with you're tounge you explored his mouth feeling the taste of the drink he had only half a minute ago.

You shape shifted your tounge and chowed it down his throat making him moan breathless. Moving your tounge back up again you felt his teeth one last time, before pushing him into the darkness onto the bed. "I'm a good good-night kisser ain't I Ace?" You said closing the gate, leaving him to sleep. Looking around in the darkness you went up on a roff.

Do I like him? Does he like me? Is 'like' the wrong word? Thoughts like that flew around your head as the cold night went on.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♡♤♡

Comment to get part 2 faster!!!

#portgas d. ace #one piece #fire fist ace #portgas #portgas d ace #one piece x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x y/n #demon y/n #demon contract au #demon contract #demon #Portgas D. Ace x demon reader #Portgas d. Ace x demon Y/n

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year

Text

Lavender - Ch. 27

A trip to the clinic with Ellie goes awry. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-26 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon typical threats of violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only!

Length: 5.4k

You grabbed Ellie by the shoulder and pulled her inside, ducking your head out the door to make sure no one saw. You kept your hand on her, steering her to the kitchen table.

“Here, sit down,” you said gently. She just nodded. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?” She shook her head. You got her a glass of water, anyway, and put it in front of her. She chugged it. “Ellie? It’s OK. I’m not going to let you turn, OK? If you are… I can promise I’ll make sure it’s not that bad. But that’s still if. Understand? We’re still at if.”

She just nodded.

“Can I look at it?” You asked. She nodded again. You tugged her sleeve up and flipped on the light over the table so you could see. You looked at her arm, running your fingers over the telltale signs of cordyceps beneath her skin. But they hadn’t spread far and the bite…

“Ellie,” you said quietly. “You’re sure you were bitten by an infected?”

“Yeah, pretty fuckin’ sure,” she said, then she winced. “Sorry.”

“No, this is an appropriate time to swear,” you replied. “When… when were you bitten?”

“Last week,” she said. “Doc…”

You ran your thumb over the partially healed wound.

“More than two days?” You asked, looking up at her. The wound definitely looked like it was older than that, at least. She nodded. “You’re sure?” She nodded again.

“I kept waiting to go crazy,” she said, her voice thick. “I knew it was supposed to happen but it never happened, nothing ever happened why didn’t it happen?”

“I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I’ve never seen anything like this…”

You thought for a moment, looking at the girl in front of you. She was terrified. By all rights, she should be. By all rights, she should be fucking dead - or as close to dead as a person can be. But she wasn’t. And you weren’t about to let FEDRA kill her because they didn’t understand what was happening with her.

“OK,” you said, taking your hands off her arm. She pulled it back against her body, cradling it with her other hand, looking down at the marks. “I have a plan.”

“Are you going to shoot me?” She asked.

“No,” you shook your head. “Not going to shoot you. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you get to live a long, healthy life, OK?”

“OK.”

You nodded once, getting up and going to your stash of trauma equipment that still lived in your apartment, just in case Joel or Tess showed up needing stitches in the middle of the night. You got out a wrap.

“First thing’s first, make it so we can move you without anybody freaking out,” you said, sitting back down and nodding to the table. She stretched her arm out and you quickly wrapped it so it looked like she might have a broken arm or a sprained wrist. “The last thing we need is some asshole guard seeing that and shooting you on sight.”

“We’re going somewhere?” She was watching you.

“The clinic,” you said. “Give me two minutes to put on something besides pajamas…”

You went to your dresser and grabbed a t-shirt, pulling it on over your tank top. Then jeans, on over your shorts.

“Why the clinic?” She asked. “I thought…”

“I’ve been working on a treatment,” you said. “The drug I was trying to make would do what you seem to be doing all on your own - stopping the cordyceps from spreading. What I was working on would only be temporary. I’m not sure about you and I don’t want to risk it so we’re going to go there, I’m going to numb you up and I’m going to take all the cordyceps out of your arm before the end up on the move again.”

“You think it will move and get into my brain and…”

“I have no idea,” you cut her off. “I’ve never seen anything like this, I don’t think anyone has. But I’d rather not take risks with you, so we’re going to just pull it on out before it can.”

You moved your couch a bit and got into the loose floorboard. You pulled out your pistol, some ammo and a few handfuls of ration cards.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to shoot me.” She sounded scared. You looked over your shoulder and smiled a little. You hoped it was reassuring.

“Gun’s not for you,” you replied. “We’re going to be out after curfew, it’s dangerous, I’d like to make sure I can bribe or kill anyone who tries to touch you.”

You put the floorboard back and moved the couch and grabbed the keys to the clinic off the hook by the door.

“Stick close to me,” you said. “If anyone stops us, stay behind me and let me do all the talking, do you understand?”

She just nodded. Her eyes were wide. You put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a squeeze.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” you said. “I’m going to take care of you and you’re going to be OK, Ellie.”

“OK.”

Ellie listened and stuck close to you, following your directions as you slunk through the QZ. You were getting close to the clinic - close enough that the tightness in your chest has started to ease. You almost didn’t see them in the shadows.

“Hi Doc.”

You froze, throwing your arm out and tucking Ellie behind you. Marlene stepped out from an alleyway, smiling.

“Marlene,” you said. “You’re out late.”

“So are you,” she said. “Not usually your thing. Even when you go outside the QZ you tend to respect curfew.”

“You go outside the QZ?” Ellie whispered. You hushed her.

“Can I help you with something?” You asked her, the hand not holding Ellie behind you drifting for your gun. “We’re just heading to the clinic…” You scrambled for a name. “Veronica here is a student of mine, she got hurt. Trying to help her out.”

Marlene laughed once.

“Veronica,” she shook her head. “Well, you and Veronica are coming with us.”

“No,” you grabbed the gun and pulled it out, leveling it at her. There was the distinctive sound of metal from the darkness behind her. “We’re not.”

“Doc,” Marlene walked forward. You kept the gun up. “We both know you’re not a killer. Besides, we’ve got you outgunned and I doubt you’d win even in a fair fight. You usually need your attack dog at your back.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snapped.

“Yes you do,” she said. “We won’t hurt you. Or her, since I imagine that’s what you’re more worried about.” You kept the gun up. Your heart was pounding, your legs shaky. “C’mon. Even he’d have a hard time with these odds. You’ve got no hope. Put the gun down.”

You glanced over your shoulder.

“She stays with me.”

“For now,” she shrugged. “Sure.” You opened your mouth to argue but Marlene cut you off. “You don’t have room to argue here. Either you do what we ask or we shoot you, it’s that simple.”

You lowered the gun, glaring at her. She held her hand out and you put the weapon in her open palm.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “Always liked you the best of all of them. You were always the reasonable one.”

“Just not the dangerous one,” you said flatly.

Marlene laughed again.

“No,” she said. “No, you’re not that.”

You brought Ellie forward and tucked her against your side, your arm around her.

“You leave the QZ?” She asked. “Who’s the dangerous one?”

“Not now,” you said quietly.

Armed men flanked you and Marlene led the way, running from shadow to shadow. At one point, you heard what sounded like a FEDRA patrol and you went to yell but Marlene put your own gun against your head.

“I will fucking shoot you,” she said. “Besides. Do you really want to know what FEDRA would do with her? Especially without you there to look out for her?”

You stayed silent.

Marlene brought you to the building you’d gone with years ago with Tommy, to the meeting where she told you about the hope for a cure. You kept Ellie tucked against your side until Marlene brought you to an interior room a few floors up. The men stayed outside. She closed the door.

“What’s below the bandage?” She asked.

“Broken wrist,” you said, moving Ellie behind you now. “I was taking her to the clinic for X-rays and so I could set the bone. I put her in a splint for the trip.”

“You were breaking curfew over a broken wrist,” Marlene smiled a little and shook her head. “I’m surprised you didn’t become a better liar given the company you’ve kept…”

“It was just business,” you said.

“Tommy was just business?” She asked. “Sure he’d be surprised to hear that.”

“What do you want with us?” You asked. “If you’re hoping for some kind of leverage with Tommy or Tess or Joel because you have me, your intel isn’t very good, they couldn’t care less if you put a bullet in my head and left me here.”

“Not interested in you or them,” she said, watching the girl behind you. “I’m interested in your student. And the bite that’s on her arm.”

You reached behind you and found Ellie’s wrist, holding it tight.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said.

“We’re not going to hurt her,” she said. “Not unless she turns. But I think we both know that probably isn’t going to happen. Don’t we?”

“Doc,” Ellie sounded scared. You shushed her gently.

Marlene knocked twice on the door and armed men came back in, going for you.

“No!” Ellie screamed. “Don’t hurt her!”

They wrenched you away from her, you clinging to her as long as you could before they ripped you free. You planted your feet, making them have to drag you. The second your feet were off the ground, you went limp, making yourself a dead weight, the men straining to keep ahold of you.

“We’re not going to hurt her,” Marlene said. “This is a precaution. We need to monitor her alone….”

“Leave me with her!” You yelled, straining again, shocking the men who were trying to carry you enough that you could squirm free for a moment. “I don’t care if it’s a risk, just leave me with her.”

“Doc,” Marlene shook her head. “Do you really think I’d risk the mind of the one person we know of who’s been able to make any progress on treatment for cordyceps?”

You just stood there, blinking at her.

“You were never going to shoot me,” you said.

“No,” she smiled. “I’m surprised you hadn’t figured that out. But then, I’m a better liar than you.”

Tuesday, August 29, 2023

If you were Joel, you could probably figure out a way to kill someone with a tennis ball. You probably could if you were Tess, too, but Joel, you figured, definitely could. If you were Tess or Joel, the stupid Fireflies never would have trusted you with a tennis ball.

You they trusted to not hurt a fly. Apparently.

You bounced the ball off the floor then and the wall and then the ceiling and caught it again. Thud. Thud. Thud. Catch. Thud. Thud. Thud. Catch.

Why they couldn’t have decided you wouldn’t hurt a fly with some books was beyond you but you settled for the tennis ball. It was better than nothing.

You’d basically been in solitary confinement for two fucking weeks. Your clothes were disgusting and the rest of you even more so.

Marlene had forced you to write letters of resignation to both your jobs so no one there would come looking for you. Andrew, you were sure, had noticed you were missing but if FEDRA thought you’d just dropped off the face of the planet, he wouldn’t have much help searching for you. There wouldn’t be much he could do on his own. Beyond work and Andrew and his family, there wasn’t anyone to notice or care that you weren’t there.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Catch.

Every day you got to spend a few hours with Ellie, at least. You were able to check in and see that she was OK, that she was getting fed, that she wasn’t being left alone with her thoughts. She always had dozens of questions. You tried to steer them back to things you knew the answers to and things that weren’t too personal. But she was stuck on one point.

“You left the QZ,” she said for the millionth time.

“I lived for 25 years outside the QZ you know,” you said. “When you’re old like me it’s not that special.”

“But you’ve been outside since then.”

You sighed. You were splayed out on the floor of the room she was being held in, Ellie sprawled next to you. They’d taken the chain off her today, which was an improvement at least. There was paint on the wall, part of the Fireflies’ slogan of sorts. ‘When you’re lost in the darkness.’ The irony was apparently lost on terrorists.

“Yup.”

“Are you a smuggler?” She asked, lifting her head enough to look at you. You rolled your eyes.

“It’s not nearly that exciting,” you replied.

“Sounds exciting,” she muttered, putting her head back on the ground. “More exciting than FEDRA school.”

“I left the QZ mostly to scavenge medications from pharmacies,” you said. “I’d make runs with a smuggling team but all I was doing was bringing in things like blood pressure medication. Once I made a run to Harvard to get medical journals. Why do you find this so interesting?”

“It’s kind of like finding out your teacher is a secret agent or something,” she said. “Plus, this place is boring as fuck, what the hell else are we going to talk about.”

“I could quiz you on the name of all the bones in the ear,” you replied.

“How is a smuggler this boring?” You could hear her smiling.

“Not a smuggler,” you smiled too.

“Marlene talked to me,” Ellie said after a moment. You turned your head to look at her.

“Buried the lead there, kid,” you said. “What did she say?”

“They’re moving me out of the QZ,” she said. “Tonight. They think… they think I’m immune. They want to use me to make a cure.”

You sat up.

“Did they say where they’re taking you?” You asked. She shook her head.

Your jaw twitched.

“What?”

“I have a friend who moved out west to work with the Fireflies,” you said. “He mentioned a lab out that way, he tried to get me to come with him out there…”

“Doc,” she said quietly. “Do you think… Are they right? Am I immune?”

Your eyes drifted to the place on her arm where you knew the bite mark lay below her sleeve.

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I think you might be.”

The door to the room flew open and Marlene and a woman you didn’t recognize ran in. It was the first you’d seen of her since the day you’d been brought here. You shot to your feet and stalked over to her.

“You’ve left a fucking child chained up and isolated for weeks!” You shoved her and she didn’t move to stop her.

“Not now,” she snapped, cutting you off. She looked between the two of you before focusing on you. “We’re cutting a deal here to get what we need to go tonight and they don’t know you’re here…”

“Who?” You asked. You weren’t sure if you were hoping it was Joel and Tess or hoping it wasn’t.

“Robert…”

“Robert?” You gaped at her. “That asshole? You have to be kidding me…”

“I thought you said you weren’t a smuggler!’ Ellie said.

“I’m not,” you replied. “I just know some and I’ve heard enough about Robert to know better than to try to do a deal with the guy, what the fuck are you thinking?”

“We don’t have a lot of options, OK?” Marlene snapped. “I came in here to ask you to keep an eye on her and stay hidden. I think you know well enough to know that we don’t need Robert knowing about any of this.”

“I’m coming with you,” you said quickly. “Tonight. When you move her, you bring me.”

“Doc,” Marlene shook her head a little. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to bring one of the few people on the fucking planet who would know what to do with a sample when we get one? You two are a package deal now.”

You laughed once.

“Good to know I was going to have such a say in the matter,” you said.

Marlene shrugged.

“Just keep an eye on her,” she said. “And… well.”

She didn’t need to say it. Protect her, if necessary. You nodded once.

You took Ellie to the far corner of the room from the door. You tucked her against the wall and put yourself between her and the door. She was stiff against you.

“It’s OK,” you said, watching the door.

It was not OK.

The shoot out was loud and you weren’t sure who won.

“What if they’re all dead?” She whispered.

“Then we’ll get the fuck out of here,” you whispered back.

You both waited until it had been quiet for what felt like a few minutes before you crept toward the door. Ellie darted around you.

“Ellie!” You hissed, reaching for her, but she was quick, pressing her ear to the door. You stood to the side, gesturing behind you. “Get away from there!”

She ignored you, putting her hand in her pocket and pulling out a knife and opening it before she ripped the door open and lunged into the hall. You heard her hit the wall with a sickening thud as you scrambled to follow her.

You froze in the doorway, Ellie on the ground at gunpoint.

“Joel.”

***

He was so surprised to hear your voice he damn near forgot he’d been jumped by a fucking kid in a hallway.

“Joel?” Marlene said.

He glanced her way, keeping his gun on the kid on the ground, before looking back at you.

“Don’t tell me you’re mixed up with this shit too,” he snapped. You’d fucking disappeared without a trace and you’d just been in goddamn Boston the whole time? “What, Tommy talk you into this?”

“This is who Robert screwed us over for?” Tess said. “The Che Guevara of Boston?”

She noticed you then.

“And of course you’re involved,” she said. “This day just keeps getting fucking better…”

“Hi Tess, nice to see you too,” you rolled your eyes.

“You know these psychos?” The girl on the ground gaped at you.

“Unfortunately,” you replied. He glared at you.

“Alright, cool it,” Marlene said, hand on her lower stomach. You frowned and started moving. Joel pointed the gun at you and you glared at him back, almost daring him to do it, like you almost thought he might be able to.

It was the first time he’d seen you since that night at the clinic. He’d never seen you like that before. Not even when dealing with raiders or infected. No, you’d reserved that wrath, that level of hate, just for him. It made him sick, that he’d dragged you to that point. That you felt that way at all. That he fucking deserved it.

He couldn’t even bring himself to fight you on it as you yelled at him. He let you scream, tried to hold onto you and you wouldn’t let him. He’d wanted to touch you so badly then, clutch your frantic, overwrought frame against him until you could breathe. He longed to be the thing that held you to the earth again, the stable body you turned to when everything else was spinning out of control. Instead, he was the thing hurting you. He had been, for years. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to stop, something in him always snarling and grasping and reaching for you if he wasn’t shoving you back and that snarling, grasping, reaching thing scared him more than almost anything else left in this world.

He’d almost hoped he’d never see you again, just so he wouldn’t have to face the cold detachment in your eyes.

Then Andrew showed up at his door a week earlier.

“What?” Was all Joel said.

“Look, I’m pretty sure the answer’s no but,” Andrew sighed. “Have you seen her?”

Joel frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean has she been here?” He said. “I haven’t seen her in almost a week. I’m checking everywhere…”

“She hasn’t been at work?” Joel frowned, standing up a little straighter.

“She sent in letters of resignation,” Andrew shook his head. “I don’t buy it…”

“She’s not with Derek?” He asked.

“They split weeks ago,” Andrew shook his head. “They haven’t even spoken.”

“When did she cut contact?” Tess asked, joining Joel at the door.

“Almost a week,” Andrew said. “She was at our place, everything was normal, and the next day she sent in the letters and no one’s seen her since. It doesn’t make sense, she wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye…”

“Tommy stopped calling a few weeks back,” Tess shrugged. “Maybe she went to be with him.”

Andrew just set his jaw, shaking his head.

“Something’s wrong,” he said. “If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her. And tell me?”

“Yeah,” Joel said.

Andrew left and Joel closed the door, standing there for a moment before putting on his boots.

“You can’t be serious,” Tess groaned.

“He’s right,” Joel said. “She wouldn’t just leave, not without saying goodbye to them. Something’s wrong…”

“You think, what, someone who grabbed her off the street would make her write those letters?” Tess asked. “Because raiders are so concerned with their victim’s careers…”

“If someone doesn’t FEDRA breathin’ down their necks they would,” he said.

“Were you not listening to her?” She demanded. “She doesn’t want anything to do with you!”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. He glanced back at Tess. “I’m not leavin’ the QZ. Just… gonna ask some questions.”

“She went with Tommy,” Tess said. “He asked her to come with him when he left. My guess is she took him up on it and that’s why he stopped talking to you. He knew it’d piss you off.”

“He…” Joel ground his teeth. “Don’t matter. I’m just going to look around, ask some questions. That’s all.”

He went to your apartment first. He didn’t have a key anymore so he had to pick the locks but, thankfully, no one caught him

It was obvious you hadn’t been here in a while but it was also obvious something had happened when you left. Your bed was unmade, your side disheveled like you’d just gotten up. There was a used cup on your table and your medical kit was out. He went to your closet and saw your backpack was still there. He moved your couch and went into your floorboard stash. Your gun was gone. He frowned, standing up and putting the couch back before going and sitting on your bed. He was trying to retrace your steps when something caught his eye.

On your bedside table was the picture of him, you and Sarah from your hiking trip in New York. His hand shook as he picked it up.

As usual, his eyes started on Sarah. Absorbing as much of her as he possibly could. It was a relief, looking at her and feeling like he hadn’t let things slip. He still remembered the precise color of her eyes and the way her hair curled around her face. It was good that he still knew the constellations of the freckles on her nose.

Then, he moved to you. He’d spent more time than he cared to admit looking at the one photo he had of you since the day at the clinic. But this one was in color and you were looking at the camera and he hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. You’d been so happy here. All three of you had been.

Joel had a copy of this picture on his fridge in Austin. He sometimes wondered, idly, if it was still there or if someone had torn it down since he’d left. On the back, he wrote June 2002 and the words ‘my girls’ as though he’d have ever forgotten who either of you were to him.

He only glanced at himself, just long enough to wonder when the last time he’d been as happy as he looked here. He knew the answer, he just didn’t want to think about it. About what he’d had, about what he’d failed to protect.

He put the picture back.

He justified looking through more of your things as he tried to find any indication as to where you might have gone. If it had been to Tommy - doubtful, given that your backpack was still here - you’d probably have written some info down somewhere. You always brought a notebook with you when you went to the radio. If he couldn’t find it in a few minutes…

It didn’t take him long. It was inside your bedside table. There wasn’t much to it, just dates - going back decades now - to when you were looking for him. When he’d already given up on you.

11/2/03 - No news - J, S, T, C, J

11/5/03 - No news - J, S, T, C, J

11/9/03 - No news - J, S, T, C, J

The notebook didn’t shift until he and Tommy reached Boston. You missed a few days and then were back to a regular, now weekly cadence.

10/22/08 - No news - C, J

10/29/08 - No news - C, J

It looked like you gave up on Cassie around 2018 but had started regularly talking with Tommy in early 2016, about the time he made it out west. Your notes with him were simple. “T made it, found FF.” “T says lab is nice, asked again.” They appeared every other week. The last note you had from him was late July. It was the last note in the notebook at all. “T concerned. Things changing.” No mention of you going to join him. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, either.

He flipped through the notebook to see if there was anything he may have missed and a photo slipped out. It was the one of him with Tess. He’d seen it once in passing - you’d given a copy to Tess and she loved it. He didn’t think you’d have kept one for yourself but you had. The side of the photo with him in it had darkened over the years, like it had been touched a few too many times. He swallowed past the tightness in his chest and put the photo back in the notebook.

He’d given up on you before. He wasn’t going to give up on you now.

Joel asked around to some smuggler friends to see if anyone had heard from you, if you’d asked for passage. He was about to call it when one of his contacts mentioned a woman in her 30s - which Joel thought you’d pass for - asking for someone to take her to Kansas City in a hurry the week before. A friend had taken her and the friend wasn’t back yet. Joel described you and the man shrugged.

“I dunno man,” he said. “She had cards, friend had time. Could have been her.”

Joel just went back to Andrew’s.

“Anything that’d make her leave in a hurry?” He asked.

“Besides you?” Andrew replied. Joel glared at him. “Not that I can think of.”

“Somethin’ happened,” Joel said. “She left everything behind but I have a contact who might’ve taken her west…”

“Christ,” Andrew groaned. “She’s going to get herself fucking killed…”

“Already thinking of going that way to look for Tommy,” Joel said. “I’ll find her.”

Andrew looked him up and down.

“Never been quite sure what to think of you,” he said.

Joel shrugged.

“Not sure either.”

“About me?” Andrew asked.

“‘Bout either of us.”

Joel didn’t tell Tess why he was so desperate to get the battery.

And you’d been just a few miles away the whole fucking time.

“Doc,” Marlene said. “Stay by Ellie. I’ll be fine.”

Your jaw tensed but you stayed put.

“The fuck you need a car battery for?” Joel asked.

“Something that’s more important than finding your brother,” Marlene snapped. He narrowed his eyes and she shrugged. “We know things.”

“You should,” he snapped. “Your fault he’s gone.”

“Is it?” Marlene asked. “Not what I heard. I heard it had more to do with you.” He felt your eyes on him. Before Joel got a chance to argue with her, she kept going. “Doesn’t fucking matter, the product was faulty so you’d have been fucked without us interfering anyway.”

Marlene looked from Joel to you to Tess to the kid and she sighed, resigned.

“Here’s what we’re gonna fuckin’ do,” she said. “Because FEDRA’s about to swarm this place, we’ve got a team waiting to take her west and all of us need to get the hell out of here. You’re taking her to my team.”

“No way,” Tess scoffed.

“No,” Joel growled.

“I’m not going with them!” The kid said.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You snapped.

“Take get the kid and Doc to the statehouse and we’ll give you more than a battery,” Marlene said. “You can have the whole goddamn truck, anything you need to make the trip, it’s yours, it’s done. Just take her that far…”

“Do you have any idea how fucked it is out there right now?” Tess said. “I’m not hauling some fucking kid…”

“Why do you want to move them so bad, anyhow?” Joel asked, his gun still pointed at you. Your hands weren’t up as you looked a him, your eyes narrowed. Like you knew he wouldn’t shoot you. “Why’s she so important that you’re this fuckin’ desperate?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Marlene said. “To you, she’s cargo. Whatever you want, my guys at the statehouse will give it to you. Just get them there in one piece.”

“You know how they are!” You yelled, all but ignoring the gun Joel had on you. “You can’t trust them to get anyone who isn’t a goddamn mercenary anywhere safely, they don’t give a shit…”

“I know full well what they’re capable of,” Marlene said. “Which is why I’m asking.”

“They’re going to get her fucking killed!”

“No, they won’t,” Marlene was watching Joel. “Not with this deal they won’t.”

Tess jerked her head at Joel and they stepped to the side.

“Don’t trust her,” Joel said. “Not as far as I can fuckin’ throw her.”

“Yeah, but she’s desperate,” Tess said. “And Firefly gear…”

Joel nodded. It’d be solid.

“Clock’s ticking,” Marlene called.

“Not thrilled about dealing with Doc but we’ve hauled her further,” Tess said. “And if it gets her out of town, I can handle one more run.”

Joel’s jaw tensed but ignored Tess’ jibe. He just gave her a nod. She stepped back toward Marlene.

“They give us everything we want, no issues, or we kill the kid,” Tess said.

“Done,” Marlene said.

“What the fuck?” Ellie gaped at her.

“They’ll give it to them,” Marlene said. “You’re the most important thing now. They’ll give it to them. Go get your stuff.”

Joel picked his boot up off the kid’s knife and she grabbed it before she ran to you, glaring at Joel the whole way.

“Should’ve told Andrew you were fuckin’ leaving,” Joel growled at you. You just narrowed your eyes at him.

“We’ve gotta move,” Tess said. “FEDRA’s going to be here any second.”

The kid appeared next to you, looking up at you for approval and direction. You put an arm around her.

“It’s OK,” you said, giving her a tight smile. She looked back over her shoulder at Marlene as you and her followed Tess.

“Joel?” Marlene said. He paused, looking back at her. “Don’t fuck this up.”

He just nodded and the four of you headed out into the streets of the QZ.

A/N: So this is like the first canon thing we ACTUALLY see! Yayyyyyyy! Let me know your thoughts on how that worked if you'd like - I wanted to keep the vibe of this scene the same but not create a carbon copy of it because that felt boring. Since there's going to be a blend of canon/OC going forward, I'd love any feedback you have!

I have a taglist! If you want to be added (or I've missed adding you - so sorry if I have!!) comment below :D

Thank you thank you thank you for reading! Writing this has been so fun and going on the journey of this story with all of you has been one of my favorite things. Love you all!

Taglist: @paleidiot@ayamenimthiriel@ginger-swag-rapunzel@drewharrisonwriter@flugazi @pedropascalsbbg@taoyuji@starstruckmusiciansartghost@splendsay@bigboiseason123@jpbplvr @ashleyandring @mrsyixingunicorn10@sloanexx@ninaminaromina @lady-bellyn @hufflepuffriver @sarap-77 @storyarcscribe @mellymbee @jasminedragoon @lemonmeli @reds-ramblings@arizonadaydreamer@mumma-moonchild@blackroseguzzi@candypeaches16@kittenlittle24@wrappedinfiction@oatmeaiboy

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #enemies to friends to lovers

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