#but it took him a few desperate angsty minutes to figure out How

[joaniejustwokeup]

DPxDC Prompt:

The next blow sent the human tumbling into the wall. It wheezed and spat up a gob of blood, pulling itself up on trembling arms and legs.

Pathetic.

“So this is the mortal who captured our young king’s attention. The so-called warrior who he trusted with the sacred duty of guarding his core.”

A shadowed hand pinned it to the wall and it uselessly pawed at the blade-like claws pressed against its fragile throat.

“How a weakling like you seduced High King Phantom, I’ll never know.”

The human squeezed its eyes shut. I’m sorry Danny, it mouthed with cracked and bleeding lips.

The impudence.

Slammed into the ruined bricks once more, the human let out a breathless cry.

“You dare address him like that. You dare to call upon his living name!” Dagger sharp teeth dripped shadowy ectoplasm inches from the mortal’s flesh.

“I’m doing him a favor, disposing of you.”

There was silence.

Then.

The human looked up with glowing green eyes.

A wave of unearthly force erupted from its body.

A dual layered voice echoed out from its miserable throat.

“Oh you just made a BIG mistake.”

[ronearoundblindly]

I loved how you answered for Jake 🥺

If your still doing them, no pressure!!! How about Fools rush in! Steve for..

4. Who initiates affection? Why does the other not initiate affection as much?

14. Do they enjoy PDA, or are they more private with affection?

20. How do they comfort each other when one of them is upset? Is this method of comfort effective?

Questions are from this ask game and for the Fools Rush In series with Steve Rogers x lab tech!Reader.

Lol ok, I love his frustrated face, but I will also attempt to include some new info in this since I don't want to beat the Fool's struggle bus to death. *mild cursing

**Dude, this took an ANGSTY turn and I'm sorry-not-sorry.

4

This, too, is an evolution. Those very early days, you were both so tentative. Steve showed affection by spending time with you—as best he could while so busy—because that’s his love language. Being near was enough for probably a lot longer than it should have been. The exact reasons are hard to parse, but basically, Steve needs permission to show physical affection and then he still had trouble communicating why he was so unsure of himself. Not you. He’s sure he wants to show you affection. He’s unsure how to.

He needs you to take the lead, just at first, just until his confidence builds. He’s so private with his personal life that he became comfortable completely closed off. Each little step is a big deal.

First, he needs verbal assurance, then gentle touch—innocent things like dancing to a song, holding hands, or a sweet hug. After that, Steve could kiss you without explicit permission. He could always read your body language. He knew all the non-verbal cues that meant you wanted more. Finally, though, Steve realized what he was doing wrong.

He kept everything so private for so long, Steve was living out affection toward you in his mind without making any moves.

He’d see you sitting at a table and think how nice it would be to kiss the crown of your head and rest his hand on your shoulder. He’d walk in the woods with you and think about how your fingers would lace with his. He’d enter a room where you were mid-conversation with others and think to wrap his arms around you from behind.

But he didn’t do any of that, only imagined it.

Steve would experience all these little familiarities as if they happened, but it took him a very, very long time to understand you didn’t know he wanted to do them. He took equally as long to realize something very important: he’d been teaching you not to touch him.

Because he held back, you held back.

After all of that is figured out—and god knows, it’s A LOT of stuff to figure out,—you both are quietly affectionate.

Quietly because…

14

…public displays of affection are essentially a no-no. Captain America is a public figure while Steve Rogers is an unbelievably private man. He’s more reserved by sheer fact of Cap being so f**king visible.

Honestly, that's the long and short of it.

If he could be in public and no one would care, yes, Steve would throw his arm around you and kiss your cheek once every few minutes. He'd hold your hand right on top of the table at any restaurant, or he'd pull you to sit in his lap whenever possible.

The problem is that it feels like everyone cares, and even though Steve has no clue why there always seems to be an antagonistic attitude in the media about you, he's not going to encourage their shitty behavior. He would rather give them nothing, and so he keeps things very simple in public.

He can't win, however, since this is one of the biggest things that upsets you. It looks like he's cold, and you tell him it feels as if he doesn't love you when public events drag on too long.

20

Steve used to just push through the discomfort of being 'out,' but he's now aware enough to take breaks. He'll find a hallway or a quiet corner (or a bathroom, if desperate) where you two can check in, some place secluded where you can breathe with him or be sweet with each other. That's only for if it's the public crap that's upsetting you.

Sometimes, it's work that upsets you, and that requires listening to comfort you. Most of those times you neither want nor need advice; he simply has to listen. He can relate to most of it anyway because he works with various teams constantly, and there is always friction between groups of people.

Steve has/had a large slew of deaths in the years after being woken from the ice. Veterans aged and passed away constantly, and he touched the lives of so many during the '40s, Steve was/is invited to speak or attend many funerals. He makes a point of going as often as he can and has a running list of families in different areas that he could visit or write to when time allows. It's important to him and exhausting. The frequency of funerals (including those of agents who were young or not retired) very much upsets Steve. The way he handles it publicly is stoicism and gratitude. In private, you listen to the real stories.

Oftentimes Steve feels guilty for romanticizing or idealizing war, but he also knows that the truth of what soldiers go through isn't appropriate for eulogies. It is healing to him to explain to you how imperfect, how mundane, and, yes, how horrific what those men and women went through really was. He heals by admitting some of them were racists or told truly sick jokes to anyone who would listen. He heals by confessing some of them stole from their friends or off the bodies of the fallen. He heals when he can be honest, when he can say that none of it really feels like winning unless you turn humans just like you into enemies.

Operation Paperclip (where Nazi scientist were recruited in order to help America develop more weapons and technologies) upsets Steve, deeply, wildly, frustratingly, because he understands why it happened. Steve is upset at how often he's wrong about people. He believes in those morals and ideals of humanity, and he's disappointed by how often he finds the bullied becoming bullies.

None of that has ever been cut and dry, but the reality weighs on him. You listen. For the most part, that's all you can do. You also hold him. You say you're proud of him. You're proud of him for choosing to be good over and over and over again even when it seems useless, even when it is hard.

Steve is comforted when you bring him back to a very small part of the world and you focus on his 'small' life with you. He actually takes very well to light jokes about how he doesn't fold some clothes the way you like and so no one's perfect. He's grounded in the knowledge--when you remind him--that, to date, he has never managed to put away an entire load of dishes in the correct spot, and that it's weird that it's a different utensil or plate that he misplaces every time.

When you assure Steve that he is just one man, just one sorta-average man, he is greatly comforted. That's a big one for him.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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[the-type-a]

Duncney Week 2024

Day 3: Now Won’t You Promise Me, That You’ll

Never Forget

“But I’m in the fishcabin with you, aren’t I?” Create a moment that lives rent free in Duncney’s minds (bonus points if this prompt ends up being super angsty).

*Read under break*

The pitter-patter of rain echoed throughout the room. It was dim as one lamp illuminated light through the space. A large bed with ruffled sheets creaked as a figure rolled over to their back, now facing the ceiling.

A deep sigh escaped the man’s lips as he balled something in his hand. Quickly, as if regretting this action, the man unscrambled the paper. He tried to smooth out the edges as he stared at what it really was. A single picture.

It wasn’t just any old photo he had found buried beneath his bed. No, it was a special one. One that he had taken so many years ago in a place he desperately tried to forget. A picture he remembered the backstory of all too well.

“Coast is clear, Princess.”

“We’re going to get in so much trouble.”

Duncan and Courtney had now successfully found their way into Chris’s private room at the Playa Resort. It honestly ended up being easier than both expected as the camera crew straight up refused to film at that location for little to no pay.

“Relax, babe. Besides, I thought you liked living on the edge.”

“And look where it got me.” She snapped back a little too aggressively than intended.

The green haired teen turned to face her now, knowing how cheated she had felt. He took her hand and squeezed it. Her face relaxed as her brown eyes met his.

“Here, with me. I think that’s a pretty great outcome.”

“You know what I meant.” She said in a defeated tone.

He hated seeing her so upset. She was always so determined, so headstrong— Duncan needed to see that side of her again. Without a second thought he let his hands find her waist, and before she had a chance to react his fingers began to tickle her sides.

Laughter that was music to his ears filled the area they stood in. It was exactly what Duncan wanted. The way her lips curved into a smile and her playful taps to get him to stop made even Duncan start to laugh. He needed to capture this moment.

Before losing his chance, Duncan pulled his phone out and took a quick picture. The sound of the camera and flash made Courtney’s eyes shoot open.

“Duncan!” She hissed, trying her hardest to grab the phone. He held it out of her reach, knowing she’d delete it if given the chance. He made a mental note to print it out later for safe keeping.

“Come on, Princess.” He pulled her into him, giving her a gentle kiss he knew was not enough for that moment, but they would have time for that later.

“Let’s go tear some shit up.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing the ache longing to come out. He should reach out to her— if anything to apologize for how everything went down. And if by some miracle she heard him out then maybe, just maybe, he’d have another chance with her.

With a sigh, Duncan forced himself out of bed. He needed to clear his mind. He looked at the time and realized he had just enough time to make the opening night showing for a new slasher film just downtown. He just hoped whatever sucker he ended up sitting next to wasn’t a complete nuisance.

—

Courtney focused on the line in front of her, taking a few steps every couple minutes. A flash coming from the side of her made her head turn instantly.

“Cate!” She groaned in annoyance.

She had agreed to come out just for her, and how did she repay her? By taking a possibly lousy picture of her.

“Oh, come on, Court!” Cate began, “When do you ever just live a little?”

“Plenty of times, thank you very much. Now delete it.”

“It’s not even that bad, look!”

Courtney rolled her eyes as she took the phone from her sister's hand.

She thought back to the one time she hadn’t really minded such a candid photo. A lump formed in her throat as she recalled many sneak away nights she shared with a certain blue eyed boy. How her feelings got the best of her all those years ago, and how easily her heart shattered from not listening to her brain.

She wondered what his life was like so many times, but something tugged at her heart right at that moment. And without realizing she promised herself she’d speak with him if the moment were to ever arise.

Now remembering she was staring at the photo for far too long, Courtney nodded quickly with a small smile.

“Could be worse.”

“Come on, we really don’t want to miss this movie!”

Courtney followed her sister into the busy building, already dreading having to watch the new slasher film. She took a deep breath and reminded herself she was there for her sister. Plus there was no way she was waiting in this rain.

After all, how bad could it really be?

—

[emerald-notes]

Noona! Please! Help! - Part 3

Fandom: BTS Characters: Younger Brothers BTS and Elder Sister Narrator Genre: A Little Dramatic and A Little Comedic Word Count: 1.1K Words Warning: Angsty (It’s me), mention of child abuse, self doubt, did I mention angst? Note: It’s a siblings AU story of BTS with the narrator as their elder sister. I tried to write something different from what I usually write about. I had fun making this. Hope it makes you feel good too. Happy Reading Everyone :)

Summary: Her little brothers can’t attend to a single task without her help. Be it a dance competition or asking out a girl for a date, they always seem to be finding everything too hard to go through without her by their side. ‘Our lucky charm’; that’s what they like to call her. But what if she turns out to be a misfortune in different situations in one single day?

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - More to come

Who Will Pay the Rent?

9:24 a.m. 1st September, 2015

“Just a few more minutes left.” Yoongi sighs heavily, “you could have easily saved the bother to come here, today.”

“What happened?” I ask, taking the empty seat beside him. “I thought you said that we’re winning today. What’s up with that long face?”

“It seemed like that at the first half.” Yoongi nods towards the field, “as you can see, the tables took a 180 degree turn.”

Honestly, I don’t understand a thing about basketball. It is better to just take Yoongi’s words as they are. I ask him the important question now, “how much do you owe them?”

Yoongi intentionally avoids eye contact and keeps looking at the match without a reply. I notice that he is sweating like crazy. I understand now that it is not just about the game.

“Don’t tell me you have to sell a kidney to pay them.” I jokingly say to which he doesn’t budge. I grow agitated. “Yoongi! C’mon, tell me what it is?”

He sighs and says, “It’s just worth my rent, that’s all.”

“Your rent?” I ask, “like for the month?”

Yoongi nods and stays silent. We both remain silent for the rest of the game. I wish I could offer to help him. It is most likely that he will not accept anything directly from me. I, on the other hand, am not in a place to help him either.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I quickly take a look at Jimin’s message saying he’s going inside the exam hall right now. I write a small “good luck” reply and put my phone back inside the pocket.

Yoongi starts to stand up from his seat, “Let’s get out of here! It’s not like anything can change in the last few minutes.”

I nod and follow him out of the stadium. He asks me if I want something to eat to which I shake my head.

“Noona!” Yoongi says, “Stop worrying about me. It’s not like I’m going bankrupt or something. It’s just some stupid amount of money, that’s all.”

“So,” I start hesitantly, “who will pay the rent?”

“I’ll manage that somehow, Noona. I always do.”

Yoongi’s the one among us who’s the most desperate to make a lot of money. That’s why he goes into these betting games and all. I once heard from Jin that he had found Yoongi starving himself because he lost all his money on some games and Jin had helped him that one time even though Yoongi refused to be helped. I don’t really approve of his ways but who am I to stop him? I did not raise him. I don’t even understand his ways of thinking.

I still feel like I should advise him to stop this nonsense and try something else. Something permanent. He is a genius and I know he will be able to figure something out if he wants. But I also feel like today is not the time to lecture him on life. Not when he’s already so stressed about it.

I decide to head to my next destination. I am not going to leave Yoongi in this state. So, I ask him, “If you don’t have to be anywhere, will you come with me?”

“I can manage some time. Where will you take me, Noona?”

“We’re going to meet Jimin.”

Jimin’s exam will be finished at around 11 a.m. So, Yoongi and I wait for him outside the hall where there seems to be a huge crowd of the guardians of the other students. I mentally pray that Jimin will be able to outsmart them on his test today.

“I never understand Jimin’s appeal for education.” Yoongi says.

“I think it’s the same one as yours.” I offer an explanation, “Come to think of it. At the end of the day you both want to win at life. By elevating your status. Either with education or with money.”

“You know what, Noona?”

“What?”

“I hate it so much that you’re always right!” There is a faint line of smile on his face as he says the last sentence.

“Yoongi” I suddenly feel an urge to talk to him seriously. Yoongi barely talks about his real issues.

“Noona?”

“I’m asking this because I’m really worried about you, okay?”

Yoongi frowns, “I think I know what you’re going to say. I’m sorry for making you feel that way. I really am. I’m sorry, Noona!”

“Oh no, dear!” I quickly add, “You don’t have to apologize. I understand that you’re going through tough times.”

“Noona!” Yoongi looks at a distance as he speaks, “Do you remember ma’s face? Like, not the one as we see in her pictures. The face of her when she was sick. That face she had before she could finally rest after years of pain she went through.”

I don’t know why Yoongi is suddenly bringing this topic. Is he really missing ma all of a sudden or just trying to change the topic? Yoongi glances at me for a second and I can see his eyes glistening.

“If only I had the money, I would have taken a bus from school to come to see you.” Yoongi sniffs, “he wouldn’t let me go no matter how much I begged him to. Said it was a ‘waste of good money seeing some sick people’. I don’t think I can ever move on from the fact that I never saw ma and pa again after I left that house.”

“Yoongi!” I can barely make myself audible.

Yoongi never talked about the times he spent with our uncle who took him in when ma fell sick. Yoongi was only four at that time and he was the only one who never came to visit us occasionally during the five years when ma and pa were still alive. When I used to ask pa about it, he would always say that Yoongi was too busy with his school. I only got to see him first at their funeral. Only after Yoongi left uncle’s place for good when he was finally eighteen, we started meeting almost regularly.

“I’m sorry, Noona, I turned up this way.” Yoongi looks at me, his eyes bloodshot, “I didn’t really have an opportunity to be any better than this. Of course, I won’t use this as an excuse. I’m all grown up now and I’m trying to be more responsible. I swear, Noona, you will be proud of me like all the rest of our brothers one day. I will make that happen.”

“But I am proud of you!” I say, “I am proud of how strong you are. I am proud that after all those shits you went through, you still grew up to be such a kind and sweet soul.”

“Thank you, Noona! But you don’t really have to cheer me up.” Yoongi shrugs his shoulders, “I know me.”

“And I know you too.” I slowly move towards him and pull him into a hug, “I see you, Yoongi. I see you!” I slowly pat him on his back as I can sense him fighting the urge to hug me back.

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[milesmolasses]

As Long As You're With Me

second story lets gooooo and it's peter parker (my man my man my man)

its an angsty one y’all (cause I love watching people suffer)

Peter Parker has been in my life for as long as I can remember; from that one time we were playing in the sand at the beach as kids, and he watched in awe as I built my small sand castle near the shore, to now, sitting in front of me on my bed, in a suit that looked identical to the masked super hero swinging around Queens.

For as long as I could've remembered, Peter had told me everything, so why couldn't he have told me this?

"Jesus Christ Peter..." was all I could say as I looked at my best friend sitting on the bed in front of me, eyes filled with shame and looking down at the floor below us.

I took a step back, looking at my dear friend in all of this glory, a deep, agonizing wound going straight through the very middle of his chest. "I mean, aren't you Spider-Man or something? Couldn't you have blocked the attack, or can't you regenerate or something? God, Peter, how long have you been doing this? How long were you planning on keeping this from me? Does anyone else know about this?" Questions flowed out of my mouth like a river, with a painfully hurt expression covering my face. Why in the world would peter do this to himself every day?

He stayed quiet with his eyes hooded as if they were going to shut at any time. It was only when I took a good look at his face and looked down to examine his body that I realized what was going on; he was bleeding out. Blood poured out of the wound to his chest like clockwork. The stab was barely inches away from where his heart would be.

"Peter, we have to get you to a hospital you can't possibly come back from this without medical expertise," as my voice shook, Peter finally looked up at me with a frown on his face and shaking his head frantically. I quickly ran to my bathroom and came back with a towel that was sprawled out on top of my sink. I ran to Peter and wrapped the towel around his wound as tight as I could. His mouth opened, and out came a silent scream, and he looked at me with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

"Gah- my god!" he yelled out, clutching my arm for dear life; yeah, it hurt, but not as bad as whatever he was feeling right now. "I can't go to a hospital; they'll know who I am. Listen to me," he stood up, looking at me with a severe expression. He really didn't want anyone to know who he was. "All I need is a first aid kit. Just some thread, some rubbing alcohol, and a few bandages. Can you please do that for me?" He looked desperate, face pleading to me already as it is. He even seemed slightly angry. I didn't know if that was from the pain he was in or the fact that he wanted me to take him seriously; either way, it got his point across.

"Yeah yeah, I got it just give me two seconds to head downstairs," as I held his arms to guide him down to sit on the bed. I mentioned one thing to him, "don't move, it'll make you feel even worse."

As I ran downstairs to the bathroom where we kept the first aid kit, I stumbled into the one person who wasn't supposed to be here right now.

"Oh-! Uh, dad thought you weren't supposed to be home till twelve!" I tried putting on the best innocent smile I could muster and slowed my frantic breathing.

"Yeah, well, I figured I'd come back home to get some work done down here. Now let's get to the more important questions here, what are you still doing up at this hour? You know it's a school night, so c'mon, get your butt back upstairs and into the bed. Go, go!" He rushed me back upstairs as I looked behind me, pleading to go to the bathroom for just two minutes.

"Why do you need to go down here when there's a perfectly good one upstairs," he questioned me with his hand on my back, ushering me back to my room. "I have a project I'm working on with a few friends on Mesopotamians and their weapons'. I have to build a weapon with some household tools, and I need some bandages," the thing is, I wasn't lying, and he knew it. This morning at breakfast, I talked to him about some schoolwork I had to catch up on, making this, a quick and easy save.

He sighed and untensed his shoulders, "alright, but don't stay up too late. I need you to get to school on time tomorrow, understand?" I quickly nodded my head with a smile on my face and turned and passed him down the stairs and towards the bathroom. I opened the bottom cabinets beneath the sink in search of the med kit. As soon as I grabbed it, I ran passed my dad, sat in the living room, and up the stairs to my next destination; my room.

"Hey everything okay? I heard your dad and was debating on jumping back out the window," he pointed towards the open window he was standing toward.

"Hey, didn't I tell you not to move dickhead?" Gosh, all I wanted was to patch him up, and then we could talk about whatever the hell was going on here and what he was keeping from me.

"Okay, whatever I'm sorry, let's just get this over with so I can-" I didn't even let him finish his sentence before I started yelling at him.

"Have you lost your damn mind? So you could go do what? Back out there to fight crime and play superhero, huh? Peter, look at yourself. You think you can leave this room looking like that? Like your two swings away from fucking death?"

"You aren't listening to me I gotta go-"

"No Peter, you aren't listening to me! I see this masked spider guy swinging around fighting all sorts of shit; people with fucking bazookas, bitches who look like mutants, fighting WITH the mutants; I mean what the fuck man! Well, non of that fucking matters anymore now that I know it was you; you fucking lied to me. You've been lying to me for months!"

"Well it's not like you were the easiest person to tell! You haven't spoken to me in a damn year!" His breathing picked up as he stared at me with his lips agape like he had so much more to say to me. Instead, he sighed and came to sit back down on the bed as he looked at me.

"Look just patch me up, and we can go back to the way we were; not talking. Or I could just go do this shit myself, like I always have 'cause it seems like you just want me out of your hair." As he said that, he stood up from the bed and reached his arm out to the window to signal what he would do.

I stood there silent, not knowing what to say. I wanted to scream my lungs out at him, tell him I didn't think he felt that way, and say I was sorry. Hug him and tell him I love him and he could come to me for anything, that I'm his best friend forever and always, just like we promised in the sand at the beach. But nothing came out. I stood there with my head hung low as I looked up at him from my peripheral vision. Peter was one foot out of the window as he looked back at me for some sort of sign, a sign that showed him that I wanted him to stay cause he knew that if he left this room, it was over.

Instead, he was met with me facing with my back turned away from him, ready to put the med kit back in the bathroom.

oh man ☹️

this one got it bro :(

[icy-cold-bitch-latte]

It's Okay, Kiddo (Patton Sanders x reader)

Description: Patton comforts you when you're feeling down

A/N: I was very upset a couple of nights ago and desperately needed some comforting so I decided to write an angsty Patton fic to help me cope lol

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, reader suffers from unspecified mental health issues, insecurity

You'd been crying all day, and the worst part of it was you didn't even know why. Everything just seemed to be too much; it was all overwhelming, the stress piling up little by little and threatening to suffocate you until you could barely breath.

Patton didn't really think all that much of it when you failed to show up for breakfast, knowing how difficult it was for you at times to get out of bed. He figured he'd asked you about it at lunch, but unfortunately you weren't there for that either.

By the time late afternoon rolled around he was starting to get worried. He knew how to give you your space, which you appreciated, but he also made it very clear that if he thought something was wrong he was going to check up on you and make sure you were alright. This is what led him to be standing outside your room minutes later, gently tapping on the door to alert you of his presence.

"Honey? It's me, Patton. Is everything alright?"

As much as you tried to silence the sobs in your response, you were certain he could hear at least some of them through the door.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

His heart shattered a little upon hearing the tiredness and suffering in your voice.

"Is it okay if I come inside, just for a little bit?"

When he didn't hear you respond, he took it as you wanting him to leave, until he heard a timid 'okay' coming from inside your room.

He gave you a second to change your mind before opening the door, and what he saw before him almost brought tears to his eyes.

You were wrapped up in one of your blankets, laying on your side as you cuddled one of your pillows close to your chest. Your eyes were puffy and red, and he could see spots of wetness on your cheeks from where you had recently been crying.

"H-hey Patton," your voice cracked even though it was barely above a whisper.

"Oh, kiddo," Patton cooed sympathetically, walking over to the bed and opening his arms up to you.

Somehow you found the strength to get up and crawl over to him, collapsing against him as you pulled him down onto the bed with you. Your arms wrapped tight around him and hugged at his torso, your face buried in his chest so he couldn't see that you'd started to cry again.

It was a lost cause, however, as there was no doubt he could feel your trembling body begin to shake while you sobbed into his chest, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"There, there, kiddo," he comforted you, holding you close. "It's okay, I've got you." He gently rubbed your back in an effort to help calm you down.

You clung onto him, afraid of what might happened if you let go of the one thing that was keeping you grounded to reality.

Patton felt his shirt become wet with your tears, but at that point he honestly couldn't care less. Right now his focus and worry was solely on you.

He continued whispering gentle praises to you until you'd calmed down a bit, as he was desperate to help you feel better.

"It's okay, kiddo, I've got you. I'm here. It's okay for you to cry."

"You love me, right? You promise that no matter what, you won't leave me, and you'll stay?" Your bottom lip trembled as you asked, and you felt as a few stray tears escaped the confines of your eyes and rolled down your face.

Patton cupped your cheek with one of his hands, wiping them away with his thumb. "I'm not going anywhere, honey, I promise."

Nodding, you leaned your head against his chest, seemingly content with his answer. "I'm sorry for inconveniencing you, and for being such a pain to comfort. I'm sure you have better things to do than deal with me."

"Kiddo, I love you, but I swear if you don't shut your ever flapping gobtalker I will physically fight you," he said, only half joking.

You let out the first real laugh in days in response to this. "Aw, Patton, you could never fight anyone. You're way too sweet. But I appreciate it nonetheless."

~

(I could have made this longer but I feel like now's a good place to stop it at lmao)

Sanders Sides masterlist | 🏷 taglist: @iloveentrapta

[cherubcameron]

Traitor

Eddie Munson x latina reader

Warnings: angsty and a really sad Eddie. Y’all not gonna like this one I fear. Also a lot of cursing, cheating as well

You’ve been ignoring your boyfriend for the past few days. You both had an extremely bad argument. Things were said that shouldn’t have been. You asked for space and he was giving that to you. But he was starting to freak out. He was really good at hiding it though. Even from his friends.

“Oh, where’s y/n? She always sits with us.” Gareth asked, placing his tray on the table. Eddie looked up and just smiled.

“I have no idea. Probably busy, don’t worry about it. She might be here tomorrow.” He said nonchalantly, deep inside he wasn’t so sure if you would be. It was easier to lie then completely have a melt down in front of his friends.

“I call bullshit.” Dustin said, setting his tray down as well. Eddie could hide from everyone else but Dustin.

“Dustin!”Mike said.

“She hasn’t sat in this table for weeks. I’m supposed to believe she’s going to, tomorrow? Bullshit.”

Eddie couldn’t help it, he got up from the table really fast. Causing Dustin to flinch. Eddie stood like that for a minute before walking out of the cafeteria.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

“So, how are you?” Steve asks you, you look up from your book you’ve been reading. You let out a sigh and try to manage a smile.

“So not good. Okay great, what’s been on your mind chicken?”

“Chicken?” You said confused. Steve shrugged his shoulders, as a way of asking you to accept it. You let out a little laugh and Steve smiled.

“It’s Eddie.” You said, closing you book with a ribbon. Robin finally made it and walked over to you two. Steve looked up at Robin and gave her a smile.

“Okay, weirdo. Anyway what did Eddie do now?”

The fight had started because of Steve. You had been spending a lot more time with him and Robin. Ever since you started working at family video. It wasn’t even like that. You only saw Steve as a friend. But Eddie was going on about how he knew you would have a crush on Steve. Who wouldn’t? You weren’t immune to his charm.

In a way, he was right. You hadn’t realized it but sometimes you caught yourself thinking about Steve. This isn’t something you’ll admit out loud. It made you so guilty even without the fight you had with Eddie. You’ve been avoiding him for this very reason too.

“He and I got in a fight about his jealousy. He thinks I’m into other guys.” You explained vaguely. Robin brows furrowed.

“Other guys? Like who?”Robin asked.

You took a minute, you really didn’t want to make Steve feel guilty either. Thankfully you didn’t have to mention it.

“Shit! My break is over, I’ll be in the front of the store if you guys need me.” Robin said, getting up from the table and exiting the room. It left you and Steve alone. Steve smiled at you warmly and before you knew it. Your mouths were on each other. His hands were on your waist, going lower and lower. You weren’t stopping it either.

He was the first to pull away. Guilt built a home around your heart, marking its territory.

“I-.”

“Wow.” Eddie said, he was standing in the room with a bag in his hands. You both turned quickly to see his tall structure near the door. Robin close behind him.

“Fuck this shit, man.” Eddie said, dropping the bag onto the floor. You got up so quickly you didn’t bother to turn to see Steve’s reaction.

“Eddie, wait! I can explain!” You said, trying to catch up with your lanky boyfriend. Your heart was thumping really fast in your chest. This was all too much to handle.

“I knew it! I fucking knew it! You kept saying how I was out of my mind. How you would never dare look at Steve that way! Just to find you practically fucking him in your break room!”

“Eddie, baby. Just let me explain, okay.” You sounded desperate, you didn’t mean for this to happen.

“You’re a fucking traitor. To me. To our love. Did I ever even mattered to you?! Was I just a place holder until you could figure out if you could have Steve?!”

“You mean everything to me! I’m sorry okay! I don’t know what got into me!”

Eddie let out a laugh, it didn’t sound right. It lacked all humor and it was dry. You tried to grab him but he jerked his hand away.

“Fuck you, fuck you for making me believe I could be someone who could be loved.” Tears were falling down his face, you wanted to reach out and wipe them away. Even if you were the cause of them.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen? I didn’t mean to fall in love with him ok-.” You slapped your hand to your mouth.

“I hate you. I hate Steve. I hate Robin for recommending you to work here. Go fuck yourselves. Honestly.” He walked away quickly to his van and drove off. Taking your heart with him.

[chiwhorei]

the folly of man

pairing: e. todoroki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: ~2.6k

tags: the softest!enji there ever was, crybabie!reader, age gap (20ish vs. 50), d/s dynamics, belly bulge, squirting, overstim, daddy kink, size kink, dacryphilia, a spank, breeding kink, creampie, i am dramatic and clinically melancholy so it’s a little angsty but it’s really just unabashed, self-indulgent fluff

a/n: i screamed about soft!enji to @messwriting a few weeks ago, then the other night enji took me to paris and wrecked my shit in my dreams. the result? complete self-indulgence. i will not be taking criticism on my desire to fuck this man, he is a drawing. (the banner image is from the lonely doll by dare wright, if you know this book we probably have very similar issues sksksksksk)

hymn: angel by finneas

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss,” ~ John Milton, Paradise Lost

He swears it’s your quirk that got him. Grabbed him by the collar, stole his soul from his chest— you swiped it right from his rib cage.

You sit across from him, legs folded under each other and pen pressing against your lips. Is it your lips? Or the way words curl past them?

A siren’s call in the form of a 20-something journalist. He hates the likes— prodding for sound bites and snippets to plaster across front pages. But your figure buckles in on itself, nerves weighing down the fabric of a light pink blouse and tight-yet-tasteful pencil skirt. Your presence is gentle and honeyed, it feels warm where Enji is usually burning hot.

Your fever spreads across his cheeks and nose.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you need me to repeat the question?”

Your bottom lip trembles nervously, pulled in between your teeth to gnaw on. Freshly graduated and on your very first assignment, it seemed hilarious to send the newly minted recruit into a white-hot tongue lashing.

“Mr. Number One has chewed the head off of every reporter in Japan, it’s a right of passage.”

The echo of your colleague’s stifled laugh rings in your ear as you stare back, you scan over the small wrinkles by his eyes and the jagged scar across his face. The silvered skin curves around his features like atonement. There’s something about the prolific hero that seems to pull you towards him. You grab the side of your chair so as to not fall forward right into his orbit.

Any attempt at distance was doomed from the beginning.

He shakes his head, eyes darting from either of yours to find the question you asked him. He coughs awkwardly, nodding his head for you to continue. Any desire to snap at you dissolves into the carpet with the very first laugh. You let out a small, tinkling giggle against better judgement that cracks the glassed tension.

“What is your biggest inspiration?”

The question hangs in the air a moment before a rehearsed answer falls from his mouth, something about the citizens of his community and the desire to keep his country safe. Whatever tumbles out is less interesting than how you smile in response.

Every person in the room-- agents, publicists, the poor intern holding a black coffee in his trembling hands-- watch on, collectively agape, at the scene before them.

Flame Hero: Endeavor breaks composure for a moment to send you a docile, lopsided smile.

You decide it’s something you won’t soon get tired of seeing.

“Did you get everything you wanted,” his voice trails off with a hint of uncertainty, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head, “I could answer a few more questions over dinner.”

Enji stands in shock at his own behavior, the inferno flickers little more than a candle in your eyeline. Every minute holds sixty seconds of opportunity, and Enji’s hair is graying at the ends. Even if you brush the dusty old hero from your shoulders with guffaw, even if you roll your eyes or kiss his insole with a pointed heel. He can’t afford to waste a moment more.

It has to be your quirk, he decides, reciting like a prayer the only logical answer to his sweating palms and clambering heart. Nothing makes sense but keeping you within arms reach. It must be some kind of hypnosis, maybe a pheromone.

Enji’s penance lies in the soft, supplied skin of a quirkless civilian.

***

There are few places that have felt like home, no matter what four walls build a house around him. He alone is responsible for each one decaying. He deserves a spot in every plane of hell.

Enji leans against the headboard, scanning over pages of John Milton and enjoying the quiet just after dusk. Looking over the top of his glasses, the book in hand falls out of frame, like most everything does.

Pink lace hangs like bated breath from your shoulders and hips. You look on to him for approval, the set your eyes had lingered on in a boutique window now brandishes the swell of your breasts.

“My perfect girl.” His words are filled with wonder, pulling at the ends of his mouth when you twirl, the ends of flowing lace pick up around you like wings.

Winter air creeps from the open balcony to hit your skin, spreading chills down every inch. Enji watches as you shiver, the cool breeze prickles past pick lace with little effort.

“Come here.” Enji tosses his glasses and book to the bedside table and pats his lap.

Nothing feels more like home than when you settle to lie atop his naked chest, cheek pressed firmly against his pulse.

You rest your chin against his sternum, hands crawling up to find warmth from his skin. He feels the thin, golden ring as your touch trails around his neck.

His own hands, calloused and battered, eclipse over your lower back to find purchase against your ass.

Away from the prying eyes of domestic paparazzi and forty minutes outside of Paris— Enji cuts out what feels like a stolen heaven.

Idle chat about the museum he took you to today fills the room comfortably. Your fingertip comes down to trace the lines of marred skin across the bridge of his nose, he hums and smiles as you talk about paintings.

None stood out to him.

He takes your hand in his much bigger one, kissing the band that mimics his own. You tangle your fingers together.

“This feels like a dream,” your voice is barely above a whisper, lest the night air hears the talk of lovers.

“I’m not totally convinced you aren’t a dream.” Enji pulls you to sit back against his legs, in this position you can meet his eyes without straining upward. Strong hands come down to rest at your hips, thumbs rubbing lightly against the lingerie’s fabric.

You scoff, batting at his chest, you laugh his comments off in moments like this. But Enji is convinced one day you will lift straight from the world with nothing left but your shoes keeping the earth weighted down.

Soft lips ghost over his, an invitation he’ll never refuse. Your mouth is against him, small hands coming to either side of Enji’s face. His graying stubble is coarse under your fingers. You inhale deeply, he smells like campfire and expensive cologne. Your tongue slips between his lips. His mouth tastes like the remnants of the bottle of red wine you shared after dinner

The hands around your middle pull your impossibly closer, pressing into your lower back to grind your hips down against the bulge in his sweatpants. Your body moves against him, panties rubbing against your already throbbing clit.

“Daddy.” The title wraps in chords around his vertebrae, the sounds of whimpering hits his ear, and he notices the wet patch rubbing right against his knee.

“What do you want, princess? Tell daddy what you want.” The maneuvering of your hips starts slow, but Enji has you almost bouncing on his leg before you can answer him. Both of your hands wrap around his left wrist, tugging it in between your legs.

“I want you to touch me, please. I- I need it.” You bite the inside of your cheek when the pads of his fingers graze the damp, thin material of your panties, his burning touch sets every blood cell aflame.

“You’re so wet, princess, what’s got you all worked up?” There’s a gleam of humor in his voice, seeing you desperate for him has Enji stiffening beneath you.

“My precious little thing, I’ll take good care of you.” His words write you a promise, it extends far past a night of love in Paris.

You can feel his assurance carved into your heart.

Enji’s hand dips into the front of your underwear, ghosting over your clit and running against your swollen lips. He marvels at your response, the smallest ministrations have your head rolling to the side.

His pointer and middle finger prod against you, inching inside carefully. Even with the utmost care, you wince at the stretch. No matter how many times he’s fucked you open in this whirlwind year,

“You’re tighter than a fucking vise, Christ.”

A long moan escapes you, knees moving to dig into the mattress below you for leverage to buck against his hand. Enji curls his fingers upwards, calloused tips finding the spongy patch of skin that has you squirming. His fingers cross over each other, pumping into you and easing you to relax against the intrusion.

“Daddy, I want your cock. I’m ready, please.” The heat in your core is rising, licking against your nerves like wildfire. Enji tutts in response to your begging, his thumb coming down to rub taught circles into your clit.

“I know, princess, but you remember the rules. Cum on my fingers, and I’ll give you what you want.” Enji picks up the pace of his fingers, his own patience thinning at the edges with each call for your daddy.

“Close, ‘m close,” your voice wobbles, aching legs pushing you against him, chasing desperately for that first release.

Enji feels you clenching tight in finality, a squeal breaching the steamy space around you. You crack in his tight hold, the taste of bliss coats your tongue-- it tastes like tears.

You slump forward against his chest, coming to float back down to earth before he sends you hurdling back towards the sun.

“You’re so beautiful, princess, absolutely perfect.” Enji’s voice is heavy, lined with a certain bitterness you are familiar with. His compliments always sound like apologies.

You lift your head, forehead pressing against his, the stray hair around your face tickling his skin.

There aren’t words that could heal decades. No amount of atonement, no prayers to any gods will fix a life of despair. He shoulders the blame of it all, heavy against bones and muscle.

Moving to kiss him tenderly, lips pulling him back into the world's sweetest direction. You shouldn’t let him use you as his redemption. If Enji were another man, a better man, he would have walked away from you that fateful afternoon under fluorescent light with just the fleeting feeling you dipped his heart in.

He’s not any kind of good in this world, Enji is a foolish bastard.

He’ll keep kissing you, he’ll touch and lick and fuck you until your wings pick up in the wind and fly you away.

“I want to ride your cock, Daddy. Let me make you feel good too.” You beg for him once again, you beg to be a distraction, the sweetest kind of diversion-- hidden snugly in the quiet of a French villa.

Enji is meticulous with stripping you of the dainty lace, brushing off the straps of your bra so the cups fall right under your pert nipples. He moves his hands slowly, snaking up your sides to swipe his thumbs against the pebbled buds. You don’t try to stop the wines falling like prayer, your body still on edge from your first orgasm.

He pulls off your soaked panties, eyes tracing the strings of slick collecting and breaking off from your glistening cunt.

“Such a precious little pussy, and it’s all mine.” Enji frees his cock from his sweats and boxers, the length springing to slap against his abdomen. He pumps his hand a few times before pressing it against your stomach. It’s no surprise that his size is impressive, long and thick in an ever-intimidating way.

Enji admires how his cock presses against you, tip nudging against your belly button. In comparison to your smaller form, it’s a wonder he hasn’t ripped you in half.

You’d let him.

“No more teasing, Daddy. I need it, please.” Desperation sparks against your nerves, igniting with the sharp sound of Enji’s hand against your ass.

“Don’t get mouthy now, princess.” His warning is light, he’s never been good at denying you.

He pulls your hips up, lining himself up so you can sink down onto him. If his fingers make you whimper, the first breach of his shaft makes you wail.

Your hands find his shoulders, digging in to steady yourself with every deliciously unforgiving inch. You’ll never get used to his size, you never want to.

Enji has held composure with white knuckles, but his resolve is rusting with every movement of your descent. His desire to tear into you becomes untamable, his mind swims in with the velveteen grip you suck him in with.

“You’re mine, fuck, you’re mine forever.” He will promise you until he believes it himself.

He’ll believe in forever if forever means you.

The folly of man is nestled at the apex of your thighs, is pleading gasps, is begging for more, is too much and too little.

And Enji is a fool in love.

The gates of heaven open between your quivering legs to let the devil in. He’ll take every moment he can steal.

As your hips settle down finally, the feeling of being so completely full has tears collecting in your lashes to run down your cheeks. It’s depraved, truly, how beautiful your destruction is.

Enji gives you a moment, adjusting to his size and relaxing, his hand comes down to rub against your stomach, tracing against the skin lightly.

“I can feel it,” his breath hitches, the pulsing around him is dizzying, he feels his tip as it moves inside of you, “fuck, I can feel my cock in your tummy.”

Shaky thighs start moving above him, the bounce of fat and flesh atop his hardened body. He can’t help the declarations flying from his mouth, he can’t stop the itching feeling to make you his completely.

“I want to fuck a baby into you, want to fill you so full.” He can feel the way your body reacts to his most perverse desire, “I want you round and swollen with my child.”

Enji grabs your hips, taking control and quickening the pace of his assault on your weeping pussy. You cry out, a string of babbled, “Please, daddy, please fuck me full, s-so full.”

You can feel your second orgasm bubbling up with each stroke of Enji’s cock against your abused pussy. All words are lost, all thoughts fuzzy aside from the man pounding himself into you from below.

“Cum around me, little girl, cum around my cock.” Enji’s words are little more than a growl, head thrown back into the pillows as you constrict around him. His fingers come down against your clit again, rubbing with fervor. He’s adamant on throwing you head-first, body limp and overstimulated in every way.

You feel it in the gnashing of your teeth, the wound chord snapping like floss around Enji. You feel yourself gushing, your cum leaking around him and dripping onto the bed sheets.

Enji cums with one final buck, hips lifting off of the bed as he spills into you. You can feel the thick spurts against your still pulsating walls, filling you to the brim and trickling out even before you separate.

He stays inside of you for a moment, large hands wrapped around your middle, pulling you to crumble into his chest. You collapse against his warm, jagged skin. He lulls you with soft strokes to your hair, behind the flush and sweat on your face, he sees the dizzy, love-drunk expression tugging on your lips.

No matter how many times you disagree, Enji knows it’s true.

The swelling, disorienting feeling of your smile. The visions of a future, of the life he doesn't deserve but wouldn’t give up for any deal the devil could make him. The sight of you, simply and without motive, every day.

It has to be your quirk.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[dracoscene]

Hi friend! Just ran across your work and I love it!! 😍🤍 would you be willing to write something angsty where the reader overhears him talking to Blaise about how clingy she is and decides to give him space only to find out he was taking about Pansy? And then all is good and there so much fluff and love 💕

Crossed Wires | Draco Malfoy x Reader

Contains: angst, kinda mean Draco, FLUFF

A/N: Thank you so so much for the request, hope this is close to what you wanted!

Word count: 1.6k

_______________________________

"She's pathetic, Blaise."

You came to a halt when you heard the familiar voice of your boyfriend.

"No matter where I go, she's there, all the time. Like a bloody dog." His voice was filled with pure hate. It felt as if the blood in your veins froze as the words fell from his lips.

"What do you expect mate, this girl is head over heels for you. Don't you see the drool on her chin everytime you're within a five mile radius of her?"

Draco scoffed at his friend's words. "It's repulsive."

Repulsive. You weren't unfamiliar with those kind of words coming from him. He almost used them on a daily basis; when students ran past him in the hallways, when Crabbe and Goyle stuffed their faces with pastries at dinner, when first years cried after Draco had just threatened to hex them, or when Potter just so much did as breathe. What you were unfamiliar with, was him using those words in connection with you, and it made you feel sick to your stomach.

A tap on your shoulder ripped you from your thoughts, making you flinch. You turned around to see Pansy standing behind you with her hands up.

"Woah there, didn't mean to scare you." She laughed, waiting for a response that didn't come.

Pansy cleared her throat as she re-adjusted the bag on her shoulders. "So, do you think Draco and Blaise are here already?" Shit. It totally slipped your mind that the reason you came here was the study date the four of you agreed on having before dinner. You watched Pansy silently as she took a few steps forward to look around the bookshelf you two were standing next to.

"Found them!"

You didn't care to move, all you wanted to do was just turn around and get out of there, dreading to face Draco after what he'd just said. Still, you followed Pansy to where the boys were sitting.

Your heartbeat skyrocketed when you spotted the blonde already looking in your direction, the annoyance in his face very much visible. Your eyes met for a moment before you felt the urge to look away, feeling small under his gaze.

Confusion was growing inside of Draco when you took the free space on the couch next to Blaise and not him like you usually did. It felt weird doing so, but you were too embarrassed to sit next to him right now, knowing that he probably wouldn't want you to anyway.

Blaise's eyes alternated between you and Draco, trying to figure out what was going on when Pansy dropped her bag with a loud thud before making herself comfortable next to Draco, grinning. "Well then, shall we begin?"

Minutes went by like hours, the only sounds being the turning of pages and the occasional scoffs coming from Pansy when she didn't understand something in the Potions book.

"Draco could you help me with th-"

"No."

Draco didn't even bother to look at the book in front of him. His eyes had been burning into you from the second you sat down next to his friend. You shifted in your seat, staring at that one sentence in your book that you were trying to read for the seventh time now, but you just couldn't focus long enough. Your cheeks were on fire, feeling utterly intimidated by your boyfriends stare.

After what felt like an eternity, Pansy and Blaise started packing up their books. Draco didn't even move a muscle.

"See you at dinner then." Blaise stated before leaving the library with Pansy by his side. You hurried to gather your stuff, trying to catch up to them, but a firm grasp on your wrist stopped you.

"Why are you ignoring me?" Draco's voice was stern, but you could still make out a hint of insecurity.

"I wasn't ignoring you, I'm just.. tired I guess? Oh and I've been having this awful headache all day and I don't really want to bother you with that so I think I should just g-"

"I'm not stupid, y/n." he cut you off. "I know when something's up with you. What is it?"

You didn't know what to say. Confronting him about what you heard would've been the mature way to handle things, but you were hurt. Hurt about the way he talked about you, and especially how he did it; behind your back. So, you removed your hand from his grasp and looked up at him. "I'll go now. I know you don't want to have me around anyway, so don't act like you care."

You left, leaving Draco completely baffled. If you wouldn't have been in such a hurry to get away, if you would've looked a little more closely, you might have seen the effect your words had on him.

He did care. A lot.

__________________________

Draco knew you probably wouldn't want him to sit next you during dinner, that's why he did exactly that. He wasn't just going to let this go, so he plopped down next to you.

Your whole body tensed up, and Draco noticed.

The poor boy was confused as ever, you could almost see his brain working with high speed, thinking of every encounter and every conversation with you he had that day, trying to figure out what in the world he's done that made you avoid him.

Confusion turned into frustration real fast when he just couldn't seem to think of anything.

"This is ridiculous, y/n." his voice was barely above a whisper, but the desperation in it was loud and clear. "Will you just tell me what the bloody hell is going on?"

Draco's eyes followed your every move as you turned to look at him. "Can we go somewhere else?" your voice was shaking and you could feel a lump forming in your throat.

He gave you a quick nod before standing up and taking your hand to lead you out of the Great Hall. Pansy called out his name when you two walked past her, but Draco simply waved her off.

The laughter and chatting of students stopped when the doors closed behind you. He led you a little further away with your hand still in his. You felt your heart pounding in your chest when he turned to look at you, it was beating so fast you were scared he might hear it.

"Will you talk to me now?" his thumb started caressing the top of your hand when he saw how nervous you were, as an attempt to calm you down. "I need to know what's going on, did I do something?" "What happened?"

Tears fiilled your eyes when you replayed the words in your head.

"She's pathetic."

"Like a bloody dog."

"Y/n?" his soft voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"I heard what you said." You tried your hardest to keep your composure. "In the library, about how I'm always with you and how pathetic you think that is." Your voice broke at that last part.

Draco's face fell when he realized that you thought his words were directed to you. Thinking about how hurt by his words you must've been made his heart break.

"Darling." he breathed out, gentle hands cupping your cheeks as he used his thumb to wipe away the single tear that fell from your eye. "I wasn’t talking about you."

You furrowed your brows as confusion replaced the hurt look on your face. "Huh?"

"It was Parkinson I was talking about, she's been bothering me the whole bloody day."

You felt your face heat up in embarrassment, the color of your cheeks became a crimson red, which you tried to hide as best as you could by covering your face with both of your hands.

Draco let out a laugh as he took your hands into his and pulled you into a hug, his head resting on yours. "I'm so so stupid, oh my god." your voice was muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

"Sometimes." he chuckled while rubbing soothing circles on your back with his hands. "You should know better than to think I’d ever talk about you like this, love."

"I know, I'm sorry." you lifted you head and looked up at him through wet eyelashes, hands resting flat against his upper body.

"Merlin y/n, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you." he planted a kiss on your forehead, lingering for a second before you buried your face back into his chest. Your arms draped around his waist, holding fast onto him.

The creaking of doors made Draco's head shoot up, looking in the direction of approaching footsteps. His face turned into a sneer as soon as he saw Pansy turn around the corner, looking for him.

"Draco why aren't you in th- oh. Am I interrupting something?" Her gaze landed on you.

You felt the muscles in Draco's arms flex around your body as he pulled you even closer into his chest like he was trying to protect you from her prying eyes.

"For fucks sake, Parkinson. Get lost." he snapped at her, voice brimming with venom. This was all it took for Pansy to leave as fast as she came.

Draco scoffed before he let one arm fall to his side, leaving the other one around your waist to keep you close.

"Pathetic, isn't she?" You leaned into him, smiling. Draco couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips at your statement.

"Hey" he grabbed your chin, lifting it so you were looking at him. "I love you, always will. You know that, right?"

You gave him a reassuring nod before planting a kiss on his lips. "Love you too, Dray. More than anything."

[queen-of-the-vampires]

Don’t Mess With The Queen

Characters: Klaus Mikaelson x Hybrid!Reader

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: none

Request by anonymous: Could u do a imagine where the reader is friends with the mystic falls gang and is a werewolf and finds out that she and klaus r mates?

Summary: People who you want to call your friends are planning on killing the love of your life. It’s your job to show them who’s really the boss.

Author’s Note: This is a female!reader. I did change this request a tad, but I hope you like it! I haven’t written for TVD in a while now, so please bear with me on this. After asking a few people, I have decided to end this on a fluffy note. I did write an angsty alternate ending, but I don’t know if the anon who requested wanted that or not.

No one knows why you’re really here. They all think you’re their friend, so they feel comfortable disclosing their plan right in front of you. You want to be friends with them because they seem like genuinely nice people, but they are so fueled by rage and revenge that they’ll do anything to get it… even plotting against your mate, your sire, the love of your life.

Stefan and Damon have spent their entire life fighting each other and putting their noses in places where it doesn’t belong. Elena and Caroline have always been the people who want to fix others, to make them better even if there is nothing wrong with them. Bonnie is always stuck in the middle of everyone’s problems, putting herself and others in danger for no reason.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Elena asks, taking out the last bit of weapons she has stashed in the Boarding House.

“First thing we need to do is pick a location. When is Klaus most vulnerable?” Stefan asks.

“Yeah, the last time we did that, Elijah betrayed us. That moonrock or whatever was our only chance to get him at his weakest.”

“You were one of Klaus’ bitches. What do you think?” Damon asks and turns to you.

“What?” you ask, pulling back from your own thoughts.

“You spent over two years sired to him before Tyler saved you. You must know things that can help here,” Elena says.

What she says is true. You were sired to Klaus for two years, but not in the way they believe. You were sired to him in the beginning when you were first turned by Klaus’ mother. You were a werewolf that was in the same village as Klaus and his family. You two became fast friends, always leaning on each other whenever his abusive father and your abusive mother decided to make you two their toys.

Everything was going fine until one of your own decided to kill the youngest member of the Mikaelson family. There was a family friend of Esther, Tatia, that she used her blood in a spell that would make them the Original vampires. Klaus wanted you to have the same thing, so without his parents knowing, he gave you some of that wine. You were the first-ever turned hybrid that came from a spell.

You and Klaus have spent every moment together ever since. What the gang of Mystic Falls doesn’t know is just how old you are. They think you were just another hybrid that he made with Elena’s blood, stuck with him against your will. Tyler found your pack in the mountains and proceeded to unsire every single one of Klaus’ hybrids. When Tyler got to you, that’s when you started to catch onto what he was doing.

If Tyler wanted to desperately to save you, then you were going to act like you wanted to be saved. You came to Mystic Falls and befriended the vampires in the town. Now, they all think that you hate Klaus as much as they do when really, you’re just as in love with him as you were when you first met him.

“He really liked hiding out in the woods, though, they’re usually on werewolf territory, so good luck trying to get there. It’s probably why you can never find him. The werewolves will get to you before he does. He hears chatter in the wind and he moves to another pack site.”

“That’s smart,” Caroline comments.

“Yeah, so you’re not going to find him there.”

“Guys, we need to figure out something, or else more people are going to get hurt,” Elena says. Sometimes, you really want to kill her so you don’t have to hear her speak. “Klaus needs to die.”

Hearing them talk about killing the love of your life enrages you a little bit. You could take every single person in here without breaking a sweat, but you don’t turn to violence just yet. You take out your phone to let Klaus know exactly what they’re planning. You’d be a bad girlfriend if you let them attack without warning him.

They’re planning on killing you, my love.

It’s cute if they think they can.

They seem hell-bent on figuring it out.

I’m not afraid of them if that’s what you’re worried about. They can’t hurt me even with their best player.

I’m worried someone is going to get very hurt. What should I tell them?

Tell them where I am. Let them come. If it’s a war they want, I’m only happy to provide.

Are you sure?

I’m always sure, love.

You put your phone away and look at the small group, getting up to join the elite circle.

“I do know where Klaus lives.”

“That would have been nice to know a little earlier, don’t you think?” Damon sneers.

“Damon, don’t,” Stefan butts in. “Where is he?”

“New Orleans. That place is crawling with witches and vampires, but he and his family are stationed there.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because he took me there once. The witches will know once you arrive, but most of them are scared of Klaus anyway that they’ll help you blend in. Everyone from that town knows the Mikaelsons are royalty, but their castle doesn’t have a lot of guards protecting it. If you want to get to him, that’s where you want to do it.”

“How do you know all of this? This seems awfully suspicious for someone who isn’t sired to him anymore.”

“He still thinks I am. He’ll call me every day and ask for something. He figures if he has a hybrid in another state that I can do his dirty work for him elsewhere. You want to get Klaus? That’s how you’re going to do it.”

“She does have a point. Better to take this fight to his turf than ours. He’s more comfortable there,” Stefan points out.

Now that they know a location, it didn’t take long for them to come up with a plan of attack. Of course, you told everything to Klaus as soon as you were on the plane to get to New Orleans. He told you not to worry about a thing because he’ll plan a little something for their arrival.

No one messes with the King and his Queen.

When you land in New Orleans, the gang is eager to carry out their plan of attack. Just like you said, the town is crawling with witches who sense you the minute you landed. Every single witch knows you by heart, so they’re confused why you’re with them and not with Klaus. Your love must have only told them the basic information instead of what was really going on.

“Okay, where is this son of a bitch?” Damon asks.

“The French Quarter is where he likes to hang out. You’ll want to start there. Caroline and Elena will blend in more since they’ve never been here, but you two might stick out like a sore thumb. Just be prepared. If anything, I know these guys so let me do the talking.” You pause right in front of the group and turn to Bonnie. “And Bonnie? These guys know you’re a Bennett witch. Try not to do magic unless absolutely necessary. Klaus has a thing with witches.”

You lead the group into the French Quarter while keeping your head down to avoid conflict. The group follows your lead until you reach the middle of the place you call home.

“Stay here,” you say and leave the group on your own.

You approach the small bar within the Quarter, and lean over the counter a tad, looking at the bartender.

“Is Klaus here?”

“I’m right here,” you hear your lover’s voice. You and the Mystic Falls gang turn to see him standing in one of the many doorways that enter the French Quarter. “I hear you’re looking for me?”

“Where in the world did you hear that?” Damon asks, giving you a side glare. You step away from the group and speed over to Klaus, standing just a tad behind him. He smirks and doesn’t break eye contact with the older brother. “Traitor.”

“It isn’t a betrayal if I was never on your side to begin with,” you state.

“What are you doing? You’re not sired to him anymore,” Stefan tries to appeal to you.

“My sire bond wore off in the tenth century. I’m a lot older than you think I am. I really did want to be your friend, but you’re all so driven by rage and revenge that you can’t leave us alone until we’re fixed to the standards set by you. Next time you plan to kill someone, you should think twice about who you let into your home.”

“We should get going,” Elena whispers.

“Always the level-headed one, Elena. Too bad you can’t,” Klaus grins.

Stefan and Damon try to leave using their vampire speed, but they are blocked by the spell put there from the witches in this town. It’s like a big spell to trap the four vampires and the one witch inside. Caroline steps into the sun and immediately screams in pain, seeking the shade to calm her burning skin.

“My daylight ring isn’t working.”

“Yes, you’re all trapped here. For how long is still yet to be determined. Welcome to the French Quarter ladies and gentlemen,” Klaus chuckles.

“I can’t use my magic,” Bonnie panics.

“The next time you even think about going after Klaus, I won’t be so nice,” you say.

Klaus wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, whispering something into your ear.

“Pardon us, we have other business to tend to.”

Klaus leads you away from the group, and only when you two are alone, does he turn you so that you’re facing him.

“You can relax, Klaus, no one is going to hurt you. Not as long as I am alive.”

“I can take care of myself, love,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, but isn’t it better when I do it?”

“Tenfold.”

“Always and forever, my love,” you whisper.

You lean in and press your lips to his, showing him just how much you love him.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why! (not sure how much i will write for this fandom, but add yourself if you want!)

@essie1876​ @choosemyname​ @cuddlyklaus​ @sotmperrie​ @akshi8278​ @chynarosep101​ @gh0stgurl​ @littlemissslytherinprincess​ @honeybums-blog​ @kendall-michele​ @tdntu0​ @miraclesoflove​ @nasatonie​ @thelazywitchphotographer​

[strawberrymilkgeorge]

Part Seventeen. The Bugity Stream

warnings: swearing, dream is jealous, kinda angsty word count: 4k (not including pictures)

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist wattpad

a/n: heheheeee bugity stream!! barely any dreamsy interaction and we don’t read the actual bugity fanfics, but lots of pouty dream :/ and we’re seeing stuff from a new person’s POV (also, elmo and i 389757% have come up with lore for the foxtrot fic that they mention in this chapter..... side fic??)  everyone say THANK YOU HARVEY FOR BEING AN AMAZING BETA (@hungoverhellhound) ur the best :)  also also, 🦀 anon suggested using discord people’s names for twitch chat so i did!! (i asked beforehand and everyone who wanted to be included was) it was fun adding that little bit so hehe hope mushroom field likes their comments

ANYWAY, ENJOY THIS PART!!!!!!!!! and as always, thanks for all the positive comments and stuff yall really make me cry /pos 

**********

George’s POV

.

George left the messaging app when he received a spam of notifications from Dream on Discord telling him to call him as soon as possible. He knew it wasn’t an actual emergency, which is the only reason he took his sweet time rising from his bed and meandering over to his desk. George fell on his chair with a huff, taking a deep breath before pulling himself closer to his desk and opening Discord. He picked up his headphones and slid them on, preparing himself for the loud voice his best friend was about to use. After pressing a few familiar buttons, he could hear his best friend's frantic cry for help through his headphones.

“GEORGE.”

He tried his hardest not to roll his eyes. “Dream.”

“I'm-I’m going to literally—GEORGE. What am I supposed to do?”

“About what?”

“You know what!” Dream huffed, exasperated. “The stream!”

“You don’t even know what it is, why are you being so weird about it?”

“I’m not being weird,” he defended.

“Yes, you are,” George countered. “You’re, like, panicking, I dunno.”

“Because it’s Quackity! He’s probably gonna make, like, a proposal video or some shit to show her and then everyone is going to ship them and she’s going to forget about me and—”

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you tell her you like her.”

Dream scoffed. “Oh, so they can make fun of me for it? No, thanks.”

“She wouldn’t make fun of you for liking her,” George reasoned. Definitely not. “Why would Bugsy make fun of you for that? Or for anything in general?”  

“Okay, maybe not, but she’d definitely be weirded out or not believe me. I can’t tell her yet. It… it has to be the right time.”

George thought it was rather cute that Dream cared so much about his confession being perfect, whereas Quackity was doing everything he could to make Dream just say it. Dream had been stressing over how to tell her he liked her for a few weeks, constantly running ideas by George before telling him to forget it and coming up with new plans. He could see how important it was to Dream that he did it right. They just needed to figure out what “right” was.

“Fine, but I’m just saying if you told her already, you wouldn’t have to be so worried about this.”

“Should I be? You make it sound like me panicking is justified! WHAT ARE THEY DOING?”

“Stop being so dramatic!” George laughed. “She isn’t going to forget about you and if he proposes to her, we can just ask to join the call and we’ll all yell at Quackity for you, okay?”

“No, I wanna yell at Quackity.”

“Well, he said he’s not going to let you in the call so…”

“He did? When did he say that? Wait, why won’t he let me in?? What are they doing??”

George laughed at the franticness in Dream’s voice. “I’m not allowed to say.”

“George!”

“I can’t!” he said as he threw his hands into the air. “I literally can’t!”

“Oh come on, you’ve never kept a secret in your life but now you decide to?”

George shook his head. If only Dream knew how many secrets he was actually keeping, it would be obvious just how good George was at not spilling things.

“George, just tell me what they’re doing,” Dream begged, his voice now somber and genuinely worried instead of frantic. “Please.”

“I can’t, Dream. I’m sorry. But really, it’s going to be okay.” Hating the seriousness of the conversation and the oddly soft tone of his voice, George changed the subject. “Oh, look at that, Karl wants to join the call. I’ll add him,” he said quickly, knowing Dream wasn’t going to say anything about how much he liked Bugsy around her best friend. In Dream’s eyes, Karl was unaware of his feelings for Bugsy, and George assumed he wanted to keep it that way.

“Wait, George before you—” Dream started softly but was cut off by the sound of someone joining the call.

“Hey, Karl!” George greeted obliviously.

“Hi! Neither of you are streaming or recording or anything, right?” Karl asked.

“No,” Dream answered bluntly.

“We’re just waiting for Quackity to start his stream and we’re gonna watch together.”

“Oh, yeah!” Karl cackled. “You really wanna see it, Dream? Even though Quackity will probably hit on Bugsy?”

“Yeah, why should I care?” he faked disinterest, even though everyone in the call knew he would definitely care if that happened. “It probably will be funny, to be fair. And since Bug will be too busy to talk to me, I guess I can still, you know, hear her voice…” he trailed off to an almost inaudible volume and George smiled, deciding not to tease the younger boy for the sweet sentiment.

“I'll watch it with you,” Karl said. “We can all make fun of them together.”

George noted the long pause of silence before Dream softly asked, “Do you know what they’re doing, Karl?”

“Yup!”

“W-what is it?”

“Mmm, can’t say! Sorry!” Karl chirped in fake obliviousness. “Why do you want to know?”

George rolled his eyes; he knew what Karl was doing, pretending like he didn’t already know Dream would be jealous in hopes that Dream would spill to him. It’s like he and Quackity enjoyed causing Dream pain, pushing him to the edge in situations where he couldn’t vent his feelings, forcing him to keep it inside and build it up in an overwhelming pile of emotions.

“Just… curious,” Dream lied.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” Karl said nonchalantly. “I’m gonna be honest though, George, can I just say, I’m a little annoyed with them.”

George laughed. “Really, why?”

Karl hummed, choosing his words carefully. “It might mess things up,” he said softly.

“Yeah, I’m starting to see what you mean by that,” George admitted vaguely. In the few minutes he had been talking to Dream, he could already tell it wasn’t going to go over well with the blond boy.

“Can you guys just… tell me what they’re doing?” Dream tried again, the desperation spilling out of him. “Why is it a big deal? What would it mess up?”

Karl giggled again. “Bugsy and Quackity like keeping their fans on their toes, you know? As Bugsy’s number one fan it would be the worst to tell you.”

“Well, I’m also Quackity’s number one anti right now so it cancels out,” Dream reasoned. “So you can tell me.”

“Aw, he admitted he’s her number one fan!” Karl teased.

Dream groaned when he realized he wouldn’t get anywhere by repeatedly asking the same question. In other words, he gave up. “When are they supposed to start?”

“Um, soon I think?” George answered vaguely as he opened Twitch on his other monitor. “He’s not live yet but he Tweeted earlier that it would be around now.”

There were a few moments of silence before Karl spoke up. “So, how have you guys been today?”

“Mm, pretty good,” George admitted, scrolling through Twitter on his phone and pretending to not hear Dream’s pitiful sighs. “Kinda slow, but not bad. What about you?”

“Good, actually. Bugsy, Naomi, and I went out for lunch earlier which was fun. Speaking of…” Karl giggled. “Naomi? And you? What’s up?”

George felt himself turn red at the mention of their relationship, whatever it was. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“I have,” he admitted happily. “I just want to make sure your stories line up.”

“Karl! No, that’s-that’s… I’m not telling you anything now.”

“George doesn’t talk about feelings, Karl. He’s not going to tell you. I know his side of the story though,” Dream said. “He’s told me.”

“What did he say?”

“I could tell you,” Dream bargained, attempting to get the information he wanted in any way possible, “if you tell me what Quackity and Bug are streaming.”

Karl cackled. “Woah, woah, woah, Dream. I don’t need to know that bad. Dang, you’re really impatient!”

“Yes, okay!” Dream snapped, annoyance in his voice. “Sue me for wanting to know what super top-secret thing that the girl I really like and the boy who constantly publicly flirts with her are doing! Because it’s obviously not just a cooking stream or roblox or else you guys wouldn’t act like the FBI put you in charge of keeping it from me. And don’t give me that garbage and ask why I assume it’s something flirty just because it’s being kept from me. I know that all of you are aware of how much I like her so Quackity is definitely doing it on purpose. Literally everyone except maybe Y/n knows I like her, I know that. So yes I want to know and yes I’m worried about what the fucking stream is.”

George and Karl were silent for a few moments, processing his rant. Maybe Karl was right, maybe it was stupid of Y/n to try to make him jealous this way. Sure, jealous Dream was entertaining, but when was it too far? Would Dream think them reading fanfiction together was funny at all or just purely exasperating? George started to think the latter was more likely.

“Shit,” Karl mumbled. “Dream—”

“Dream, I promise there’s nothing to actually be worried about,” George tried reassuring.

“Yeah, you’ll probably get jealous and it’s very understandable if you do but… Quackity’s just messing around,” Karl added.

Dream took a deep breath and almost on cue, George got a notification from Twitter that Quackity had tweeted.

“He’s live,” Karl announced softly and they waited to hear Dream’s reaction once he saw the title.

It came softly, a voice of disbelief ringing through George’s headphones. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Hey, you’re already trending for your joke, that should make you happy,” Karl offered and Dream knocked something over on his desk.

“Shit,” he mumbled through the mic. “Shit, shit, shit. I spilled my—shit.” A few seconds passed and George took the silence to share his screen with the others so they could watch the video together. “No, Karl, that doesn’t make me feel better. It’s not really a joke. I mean, I’ll play it off as one but… wait, don’t share your screen,” he told George. “I don’t want to watch this shit.”

“You said you did.”

“That was when I didn’t know what it was,” he replied as if it was obvious. “I don’t want to watch them read fanfiction together.”

“He doesn’t actually like her,” Karl reminded gently.

“I don’t care, it’s still embarrassing for me! It’s just a fat reminder that she doesn’t like me back and that she’s not my girlfriend.”

George wanted to slam his head against a wall. He opted for his desk instead, his forehead coming in contact with the wood with a loud THUD. It was so hard to keep his mouth shut and not just tell him about Y/n’s feelings.

“It’s, like, Quackity is rubbing it in my face that she doesn’t like me. What an asshole.”

“That’s not what he’s trying to do,” Karl said. His voice sounded as in pain as George felt. Which one of them was going to break first and tell Dream?

He didn’t know how to use words that weren’t ‘Bugsy likes you, dipshit’, so he tried something else. “It might still be funny—”

Dream wasn't laughing. Nothing about this was funny to him. “George.” Frustration was evident in his sharp tone.

“I don't get what the big deal is—”

“They're-they’re reading fanfiction! It's just gonna be a bunch of, like, romantic stories about them and, what, I'm supposed to just watch?”

“You don't have to watch it if you don't want to. I'm sure Quackity won't mind losing one viewer—”

“George, I'm being serious.”

“Calm down,” he said gently. “It's just Quackity. We told you already, he doesn't like Bugsy like that.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m okay with this,” Dream mumbled.

George took a deep breath. He did understand how Dream was in an uncomfortable situation, and even if it wasn't a big deal to him, it was to Dream.

“Hey, Dream?” Karl started gently.

“What?” he spat. He sounded like he was seconds away from disconnecting and hiding in his bed or punching a wall or doing whatever it is Dream does when he’s upset.

Karl hesitated for way too long before saying, “We can do something else if you still want to hang out with us. I don’t want to force you to watch it if it really will upset you.”

Dream breathed deeply. “I’m being dramatic,” he admitted softly, reminding George of a little kid getting reprimanded by an adult. “We can… watch it, I guess.”

“You’re not being dramatic if that’s how you feel,” Karl reassured. When did he become a therapist? George sat back as he listened to them, biting his lips in order to not spill Y/n’s secret. “If it really does make you upset, then that’s that. You’re allowed to be jealous, I mean, I understand why you are. That was literally Quackity’s plan, we expected you to be.”

“I’m not allowed to be jealous, though,” Dream countered lightly. “She’s-she’s not my girlfriend. She’s allowed to do what she wants. I have no right feeling like… like…” he trailed off and sighed.

George raised his head to look at Dream’s Discord icon empathetically.

“I didn’t know you liked her this much,” Karl admitted. “I just thought… well, I don’t know what I thought.”

George agreed. They knew Dream was whipped for Bugsy and that watching a stream of Quackity and her read fanfiction together would piss him off a little, but this was different. He sounded utterly heartbroken.

“I really do,” Dream mumbled, his voice muffled by what George assumed was his hands on his face.

Internally screaming at himself to tell his best friend something that was guaranteed to make him feel better, George wrung his hands together. He looked at his second monitor, which still showed Quackity’s starting soon screen. “Dream?”

“What?”

“Tell her.”

“I can’t, it has to b—”

“It has to be perfect, I know,” George interrupted impatiently but gently. “Tell her soon.”

Dream’s next words came in a soft, embarrassed tone, no longer defensive and combative but rather nervous and contemplative. “What if she doesn’t believe me? Or she thinks I like her for the wrong reasons?”

“Do you mean because you haven’t seen her?” Karl asked sincerely. “Because of that idea her ex got stuck in her head?”

As if suddenly realizing he was in the presence of the person who knew Bugsy better than anyone, Dream’s voice perked up. “Karl,” he paused. “Can you promise me that you won’t tell her anything I tell you?”

“Yes,” Karl replied quickly. “I promise. I want to help you and if that means not telling her, I will.”

“You heard on Quackity’s stream that she and I were FaceTiming? Like, that I’ve seen her?”

“Yeah,” George and Karl replied together.

“I’m still bitter that I found that out from watching a stream instead of from my best friend,” Karl muttered, “but continue.”

George laughed through his nose at Karl’s comment before Dream explained his concern. “Since I didn’t tell Bug that I like her before I saw her, I’m worried she’ll think I only like her now because I know what she looks like. See my problem? If I told her before, she wouldn’t believe me but if I tell her now she might think it’s because of her looks.”

“Oh,” Karl said, his voice muffled behind his hand. “I see what you’re saying. Hm, that’s… I think... I could be wrong, but I’ve talked to Naomi and we both think she’s, like, realizing you don’t need to see someone to like them.”

“How do you figure?”

Karl hesitated. “Not important. But, I think it would be fine if you told her. I think you’ve proven that you like her for more than her looks and she’s blind if she couldn’t tell you liked her before.”

George nodded to himself. “Yeah, Naomi has mentioned that to me too. I think you guys are right. And yeah, Dream, you’ve clearly liked her before so she would understand.”

“What if it makes things weird between us?” Dream asked. “You know, telling her.”

“Trust us, it won’t make things weird.”

“How should I—”

Dream was interrupted abruptly by Quackity unmuting his stream and yelling, “CHAT! HOW ARE WE TODAY?” and laughing loudly.

George flinched at the sudden change in mood. Just as he and Karl were calming Dream down, Quackity went and made the air tense again. George could feel Dream’s anxiety slowly growing.

“Again, we don’t have to watch,” Karl offered but Dream made a noise in protest.

“Let’s watch.”

The atmosphere was tense to say the least, occasional comments trying to lighten the mood about Quackity or Bugsy being funny or stupid, but overall the voice call was quiet. George had no idea what to say to Dream and he could tell Karl didn’t either. Having the chat open wasn’t helping either.

user43: GEORGE IS HERE HE’S GONNA SNITCH TO DREAM libbbyyyyyyyyy: george george george he’s watching venus: bugsy simps getting FED today user13: wattpad writers watch out ItsRainingPastels: this is so funny!! Bugity interactions are amazing Chrimsss: foxtrot???? user71: READ. FOXTROT. cantaloupe: ajsdkfhj please the look on his face when bugsy said “that could be us” user92: FOXTROT NEXT FOXTROT NEXT user48: i'm surprised dream hasn't barged into chat or their call to yell at quackity yet noraimp: i’ve been saying bugity supremacy all along and no one believed me until now hungoverhellhound: stop saying foxtrot i WILL CRY user11: SUCK IT DREAM, BUGSY AND QUACKITY ARE BETTER FOR EACH OTHER bexwastaken: i miss dream :(

George took the liberty of closing the chat so Dream didn’t have to see it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled softly. Apparently that was a good choice on George’s part.

“Chat just gets in the way,” he excused, trying to place the decision on his own reasons rather than embarrass Dream by acknowledging that he knew seeing all the comments was bothering the younger

“This story is actually kinda funny,” Dream admitted. “Well, it’s super cringey but… it’s funny that Bug thinks it’s funny.”

Karl made a small whine in adoration. “That’s so cute.”

“Shut up,” Dream mumbled. “Or I won’t tell you anything ever again.”

“Were you going to?”

“Yeah, maybe, I guess,” Dream said. “If that’s okay with you. You know her better than anyone and… I obviously need advice or nothing is going to happen.”

“Dream,” Karl started formally, “I’d be honored to give you the best Bugsy advice I can offer. And to hear you say cute things like that about her because it’s adorable. I’m sure ranting about how cute she is to George is like talking to a brick wall.”

Dream hummed, a small laugh escaping him. “Yeah, that’s pretty accurate, actually. He’s not very responsive. He doesn’t get it.”

“I’m sure she’s pretty and all, I’m just not good at talking about people’s feelings,” George defended.

George tuned back into the stream as Quackity and Bugsy laughed loudly. “Oh my gosh, holy shit that was wild,” Quackity exclaimed.

“Yeah, what the heck? That was so funny,” Bugsy admitted, still laughing lightly.  

“Okay, okay, one down. Guys, stop spamming Foxtrot in my chat, what is that? Is that a fic? I said I already picked everything out, don’t suggest things.” Quackity looked at his phone and laughed. “Wait, I did pick that one out, actually.”

George assumed the chat was going wild and his curiosity got the best of him so he opened it.

user66: READ CHAPTER 10 hungoverhellhound: NOOO NO DON’T READ IT PLEASE I CAN’T HANDLE THIS TODAY venus: this isn’t going to go well libbbyyyyyyyyy: laksjdhjkh try not to fall in love with each other after this one ItsRainingPastels: ive heard things about this fic… everyone cries cantaloupe: YES YES noraimp: are they reading foxtr…. oh no user52: SKIP TO CHAP 10 bexwastaken: dream come get your girl smh Chrimsss: we’re about to watch bugity become real because of this fic user10: it starts slow, do chap 10 or 16!!!! user88: quack isnt in it until later lol

“They said it starts really slow though? I’m not in it until chapter 3?” Quackity scoffed. “Fine, we’ll skip ahead.”

“People are saying ‘Chapter 10’ so that one must be good?” Bugsy suggested and Quackity complied.

George closed the chat again when he registered Dream’s silence and apologized under his breath.

“Try not to fall in love because of this fic?” Quackity read. “Can’t happen because we already are in love, chat.”

Dream scoffed, mirroring Bugsy’s reaction. “In your dreams, duck boy.”

“You are, actually,” Quackity teased.

“Shut the fuck up, Quackity,” Dream grumbled to no one, and George couldn’t help but laugh a little at that.

Foxtrot — the fanfiction the chat was raving about — was really good. At least the chapter they read on the stream was. It was so well written and soft and George hadn’t heard Dream speak in a good 15 minutes. George didn’t dare look at chat after they finished reading that one, opening his phone to text Quackity instead.

“Hold on, one second, chat,” Quackity said, faking a British accent as he looked at his phone. “One second, chat.”

George looked up and saw Quackity smiling at his phone as he set it on his desk and returned to the stream. “Okay!”

George set his phone on his own desk before hearing Bugsy laugh. “Dream just texted me.”

“What did he say?” Quackity asked nervously.

“He’s…” she trailed off and laughed. “He wants to know if I’m leaving him for you. He said, ‘I understand if you have feelings for him after that’. Oh my gosh.” She giggled and George heard Dream laugh through his nose.

“Dream,” Karl laughed. “Why?”

“Do you realize how suspicious it would be if I didn’t make some sort of appearance during the stream after all the things I’ve said on Twitter and stuff? I had to joke around for the chat.”

“Fair…” George said.

“Is he watching?” Quackity asked Bugsy as if George hadn’t just told him they were. “Dream, go away. We aren’t letting you in VC. Just accept the truth,” he laughed loudly.

George shook his head to himself as he realized how much this wasn’t a joke just to mess with the fans. If it was, Quackity would have let Dream into their call so everyone could witness Dream be jealous but instead, he was almost banishing Dream to be jealous in private. The fans not seeing how Dream was actually feeling made it more real somehow. Quackity really wanted Dream and Bugsy to own up to their feelings.

“I want to strangle him,” Dream confessed jokingly. “At this point, I don’t even want to be in their call because I don’t have the energy to play up being sad. I’m just really sad.”

“I told him to stop reading actual cute ones, so it should be fine now,” George announced. “That last one was too much.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Quackity, I’m not falling in love with you,” Bugsy stood her ground with a laugh. “Not happening, bud.”

“We’ll just have to read more until you do,” Quackity cackled and George heard Dream huff.

The stream didn’t last too much longer, Quackity apparently not wanting to take the joke too far even though he already had.

“Thank god that’s over,” Dream mumbled as George unshared his screen and closed Twitch.

“It wasn’t too bad, right?” Karl asked slowly.

Dream hummed. “It was pretty bad, Karl.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed.

“But now it’s over and you can go back to talking to Bugsy and have her full attention,” George said positively.

“How am I supposed to talk to her after that?”

“Like normal?”

“What if she brings it up?”

“Then you say, ‘Bugsy, I don’t want to talk about this because I like you’,” Karl suggested. “Simple.”

“Okay, you are no help. No longer coming to you for advice.”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding. Just… tell her it was funny but don’t elaborate. She’s good at picking up on when people are uncomfortable, she’ll drop it.”

“Or tell her you like her,” George agreed and Karl laughed as Dream groaned.

“No. Not yet.”

“Not yet,” George mimed. “But soon.”

Dream took another deep breath. “Soon.”

__________

PREVIOUS | NEXT

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[julemmaes]

ahem... cassian taking nesta to that bookstore (fluff, don’t try making shit sad aight?)

Our First Non-Date

SURPRISE I GUESS!!

Nessian Archeron x Cassian

You can find the first part here.

A/N: this month has been really nice on me. I finally feel better, not crying every day for literally nothing and I wanna dedicate this to my fren Sim (@perseusannabeth) cause homegirl just finished the offcampus series and she's grieving. I know she is. So yep. Take some Nessian fluff

And Nina, I had to add some angsty parts, but they're not Irene Angst Level, okay?

Word count: 6,833

When Cassian had called her back the night after their outing with Amren and Varian, she'd stared at the phone for a full minute until it had stopped ringing and she could go back to reading the article on poisonous plants that Elain had sent her.

It hadn't even been five minutes before the words had been obscured from the call screen again and the name "Cassian Navarro" appeared.

When she had ignored the call for the second time as well, he had decided to change tactics.

Hi Nes, I was thinking about when you'd be free to go to the library. I need a couple of manuals because I'm building a little gazebo in Rhys and Feyre's garden and your sister is putting a lot of pressure on me, so I was wondering if you had the day off tomorrow.

Nesta was stunned at the amount of useless information he had given her, but managed to reply with a simple, Working tomorrow, day off on Wednesday. Sending you the address later.

She certainly hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to get up that day, her will to live must have been hiding somewhere under her bed and Nesta didn't know if it was directly related to their going out or just her stupid brain not being able to connect to real life.

The only other worst thing she'd been able to think of at that moment was having to explain to Cassian what was going on, so, pulled out of bed by the future embarrassment they'd feel in such a situation, she'd managed to dress, wash and style her hair so that she had a braid crowning her head.

She hadn't put too much effort into deciding what to wear, after all, it wasn't a date and Cassian had seen her many times before in far more outrageous and scruffy clothes than the comfortable black jeans and grey jumper she was wearing right now.

The silence had made her uncomfortable at first, only because Cassian seemed to be really stressed - about what, she certainly wouldn't ask - but after about ten minutes, he'd turned on the radio and popped a CD into the player and the melody of a Verve song had filled the cabin.

She'd started humming under her breath and he'd looked at her with a faint smile on his lips and his eyes sparkling. She hadn't mulled over that look too much, but she'd started eyeing him more closely and noticed the way he narrowed his eyes at every street sign and how he ran a hand over his face every time a strand of hair landed in front of his eyes.

When Cassian had to blow the hair out of his face for the millionth time, Nesta pulled a rubber band off her wrist and handed it to him abruptly.

Cassian looked surprised, but took it almost immediately, brushing her fingers. Nesta immediately withdrew her hand, feeling how warm and calloused his were.

"Thanks, my hair is killing me today," he finally spoke.

Nesta continued to look ahead, noticing that they were about to enter the highway. "Well, it wasn't very wise of you not to tie it up before you got in the car. I never drive with my hair down."

He nodded slowly, still with the band clutched between his fingers. And then, suddenly he let go of the steering wheel, "Hold that for me for a second." and Nesta's eyes went wide, launching herself at him to grab it and keep the car in their lane.

"Are you nuts?" she almost shrieked, keeping her gaze fixed on the road and feeling every nerve ending vibrate with anger.

"Relax." he said in a calm tone, shifting her hands and gently pushing her back into her seat one more time. "It wasn't even five seconds."

Nesta huffed out a laugh that lacked amusement, "You do something like that again without warning me first and I'm getting out of the car."

Cassian looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "A bit dramatic, but alright."

She sighed, shaking her head slightly and resting it on her hand propped against the window.

That awkward silence fell again and Nesta couldn't figure out what the problem was. She hadn't felt any kind of unease three days before, but after all, they'd been with friends and busy walking, not stuck in a car for two hours with no chance of walking away or splitting up.

And in that moment, the reality of their situation overwhelmed her.

She forced herself to steady her breathing, opening the window slightly so that more air could get in. She forced herself to think about all the things she would see today at the library and how beautiful and spectacular it had looked from mere pictures. She wasn't going to let her twisted mind stop her from having fun with someone who was desperately trying to be her friend.

She took a deep breath and a surprising calm enveloped her. She looked to her left to see if Cassian had noticed that temporal change in her behaviour, but it seemed to her that he was just as fidgety.

She was about to ask him if he was okay, because the knee that kept bouncing and the fingers opening and closing on the steering wheel were obvious nervous tics, when he did the eye thing again, this time leaning forward over the dashboard as well, and the sharp turn he took to the right caused her to shift in her seat so much that she bumped her shoulder against his.

Cassian grimaced, "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"What's wrong?" she asked, readjusting in her seat.

"Sorry?"

"What's the matter? With your eyes, I mean."

"Oh." he seemed surprised by the question, almost as if he hadn't realised she'd been observing him for the last twenty minutes. He cast her a curious glance immediately returning to the road. "I wear glasses when I drive, but I couldn't find them this morning and these contacts are the wrong shade and I can't see very well."

Nesta nodded thoughtfully, "Where do you normally keep them?"

"In the glove box. But I already checked," he replied, rolling his shoulders. Another nervous tic.

Nesta had to suppress a smile. There was no way he could be so worked up just because they were talking. She looked down at the phone in her hand to check the time, and a flash of light momentarily dazzled her. She blinked a couple of times and then scoffed, "Found them."

She reached a hand towards the hatch compartment and pulled out a pair of very plain black glasses, handing them to him. Cassian seemed to finally relax since she'd gotten into the car.

"Thank fuck." then he pulled into a lay-by and without turning off the car, slipped two fingers in his eye, removing one contact and then the other, leaving Nesta stunned. He put the glasses on his nose and flashed her a smile that went from ear to ear. And Nesta was stunned for other reasons.

She couldn't deny that Cassian was an attractive man. She wasn't stupid or blind, but the man next to her should have come with a warning sign or a bell.

Attention, hot stuff coming your way.

Nesta forgot the comment she had wanted to make about how antigenic and risky it had been to remove his contacts without first cleaning his hands and in such a dirty environment.

His hair tied back in a messy bun, with the hint of a beard he was letting grow, and now his glasses on, Cassian looked like a model on the cover of a newspaper about sexy carpenters. The short-sleeved black shirt he wore that pulled on his huge biceps every time he moved in the slightest was just one more point to add to the list of things that made him appealing.

"So," he began, getting back on the road, "what's your favourite colour?"

Nesta snorted, "Are you serious?"

Cassian seemed to blanch, "What?"

"Have you ever been out with a girl?" she asked him sarcastically, knowing full well what the answer would be.

He clenched his jaw so hard that a muscle popped out on his face, "Only on dates."

"And this isn't a date." pointed out Nesta, holding back a laugh at how tortured he sounded.

"It's not."

Nesta touched the tip of her nose, thoughtful, "Shouldn't this be easier for you then?"

Cassian released a breath through his nose, "I'm under a lot of pressure right now."

"Yeah?" she asked, looking away and smiling.

"Yeah, and stop looking like you're enjoying it." he retorted.

She feigned innocence, "Enjoying what?"

"My pain." he sheeted.

Nesta laughed, unable to contain herself any longer and when he glared at her, she covered her mouth with one hand, laughing harder. Only when he snapped his fingers against the steering wheel did she stop, laying a hand on his arm, just for a few seconds, "I'm so sorry." she wheezed, "I just don't understand. When you're hanging out with my sisters or Amren, or Mor, I don't know, you don't seem to be in this much discomfort."

Cassian sighed again and Nesta chuckled one last time, stopping when he smiled slightly. "I'm just trying not to make you uncomfortable. You accepted I take you on this non-date, and I'm doing my best not to flirt badly with you every chance I get." he confessed, nodding slowly, as if to convince himself that he was doing the right thing and not wasting their time.

Nesta was genuinely surprised at his answer and decided to offer him an olive branch.

"My favourite colour is blue."

"Nice." he smiled, showing a hint of a dimple, "Mine is red."

"It's too bright of a colour," she said lightheartedly.

Cassian chuckled, "I'm pretty sure it reflects my peppy personality."

Nesta nodded, "I read an article once about how a person's favourite colour says a lot about the person themselves," she said annoyed, "It sounded like one of those quizzes you find in gossip magazines, like it was written by a third grader. I hate those things, like horoscopes."

He grunted, "God, Mor's obsessed with horoscopes..."

The conversation continued without any more awkward silences for the remainder of the ride, and when Cassian turned onto a bumpy road, Nesta knew they were close. Of course, even if she hadn't looked at the directions from her house to the place, the myriad cars parked along the road would have been an indication.

They parked in the first vacant spot they could find and as soon as Nesta was out of the car, an icy gust of wind hit her face, making her shiver with cold. She looked over the bonnet at Cassian and found him staring at her with a half smile on his face. He'd left his glasses in the car and had let his hair down again, her hair band on his wrist, and he looked even prettier than before.

"Do you want my jacket?" he asked her, with a conflicted look on his face, as if he didn't want to. Nesta narrowed her brows and he hurried to add, "There's no hidden agenda to my offer, just a friend lending a jacket to another friend."

Nesta watched him for a moment, trying to really understand his intentions, but then remembered reading in one of the reviews that the library was heated inside and shook her head.

Cassian gave a small nod of assent and then pointed down the street, "Shall we?"

From where they had parked to the library it would have been about a ten minute walk and Nesta couldn't help but notice the way Cassian kept his distance between them as if he was afraid she would get scared and run away.

He was back to fidgeting nervously with his fingers and when he realised she was looking at him, he put them in his pockets, smiling tensely at her. He took a deep breath and then said, "So, what do you know about this library?"

Nesta looked ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the building, but the foliage of the trees was still too thick and they were still too far away for it to see anything. She brought her hands to her stomach, crossing her fingers, "I actually did a bit of research before I came. Did you know that the Peace Treaty between Prythian and Hybern of 1864 was signed here?" she asked in an excited voice.

Cassian smiled at her so naturally that she felt herself blush. He had an expression she couldn't decipher, but Nesta had never been good at cracking people in general, so she didn't venture to continue until he said, "Tell me more."

And Nesta launched into a detailed description of the events that had taken place inside the building, which only a hundred years before had become a bookstore. Only one wing of the building had been furnished in such a way as to become a real shop, the rest had been set up to be visited as a museum, one of the oldest libraries. She talked about the architecture and how it was obvious that the palace had been built long before it became an important meeting place for scholars and researchers.

"And in 1932 a fire destroyed the science wing, burning more than a hundred textbooks." Nesta sighed, thinking how devastating that loss had been. She lit up with happiness when she remembered what happened next. "But luckily, one of the most important literary clubs in the city got together and they managed to recover a small portion of the books. It took them years to rewrite every manual, but they got help from one of the local researchers, a certain Mr. Hawthorn, I can't remember the name or details of the research, only that he's mentioned often in the article I read."

When she paused to catch her breath, Nesta realised with immense horror what had just happened. Cassian had not spoken a word after asking her if she knew anything about the place and she had monopolised the conversation without even acknowledging him once. She felt herself flare up and knew in that moment that any hope they had of becoming real friends was gone.

Sometimes she would get lost in thought and ramble on about the things she was passionate about. Quite often people had stopped her, letting her know they weren't interested in the subject, but Cassian had never interrupted her and she was afraid to look at him, convinced she would only find boredom and disgust on his face.

That was why, when he spoke, she was struck dumb.

"I'm impressed." he breathed, chuckling immediately afterwards.

Nesta pushed herself to look at him and he stood admiring her with his mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't find the words. She felt her heart clench in her chest so tightly that she didn't know if she could survive the pain. Who knows how many times he'd tried to stop her and she'd gone on and on about windows and arches and treaties of peace.

But when she got a better look at him, stopping in front of him, Cassian looked... happy.

He let out a laugh, running a hand through his hair, and Nesta was distracted for a moment by the sway of his arms before she was brought violently back down to earth when he said, "You surprise me more and more every time, Nesta."

And the way he said her name - Ne-sta - made her toes curl.

"Why?" she managed to throw out in a weak voice.

Cassian laughed again, raising his eyebrows so high they ended under the hair on his forehead, locking his eyes to hers. "I have a degree in history and my final thesis happened to be on this very library." Nesta felt the ground open up beneath her feet and hoped it swallowed her alive. "I came out of university with top marks and various accolades for finishing my studies on time and you, dreadful creature that you are, have just taught me at least three new things about this place."

His gaze was so intense that Nesta had to lower her head to hide the satisfied and surprised smirk that popped up on her lips.

"You're amazing." huffed Cassian, "Perfect in every way."

She shrugged.

"Although," he clicked his tongue against his palate, "You made a mistake."

Nesta looked up at him, frowning, "Oh, yeah?"

Cassian nodded, smirking fiercely, "Why don't you turn around and admire the palace, and once we're inside, I'll explain what it is?"

She must have been so lost in her chatter that she hadn't noticed that they had arrived in the large entrance forecourt, because when she turned, her back to Cassian, the building stood among the forest trees, as imposing and splendid as ever. The photos had not done it justice in the slightest and Nesta was left speechless.

Living in a country with a history going back millennia, it wasn't hard to stumble upon historic streets with old buildings and monuments, but this was completely different.

She was still admiring the way the stone around the windows had been carved to look like trees trying to get into the building when she felt something settle on the small of her back. A hand.

Nesta stiffened slightly, before closing her eyes and relaxing.

Cassian must have noticed her discomfort because a moment later his hand was no longer touching her.

They entered the museum part of the building in silence and Nesta paid the entrance fees, reminding him of the tea he'd offered her last Sunday and Cassian hadn't been able to argue with that.

They had just passed the doors to the first room, the smallest in the entire palace, when he leaned towards her, to the point of touching her ear with his lips.

The fact that he was whispering as if they had been in a sacred place did things to her little icy heart, "Mr. Hawthorn was not a man."

Shocked by that information, Nesta's head snapped in his direction and she realised too late that she had miscalculated the space.

Her lips brushed against his cheek, the corner of his lips, before Cassian reacted so quickly he startled her, but avoiding them both an involuntary first kiss. His sudden movement caused him to lose his balance and he reached out his hands towards her, straightening as he held on to her shoulders.

Both of them were holding their breath.

Cassian cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to the wall of books, but returning to look at her soon after, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, you just surprised me," she said when she had recovered. "I must have read the article wrong."

He was still watching her and shook his head, "Oh no, I don't think it's that. They only found out a few months ago that it was Georgina and not George Hawthorn. They found letters in the house of what was thought to be Hawthorn's wife. Some people think they were just friends, but anyone who has read the letters they exchanged knows full well that they were lovers. Anyone who says otherwise is either homophobic or stupid."

Nesta realised that she could have listened to this for hours on end. And so it was.

The visit continued relatively quietly, Cassian explaining every detail to her, expanding on things she already knew and when he forgot something, she would step in and have her say, commenting on every little aspect.

She'd noticed how Cassian hadn't tried to touch her anymore and how whenever someone was about to bump into her, he'd vocally warn her instead of wrapping an arm around her shoulders to move her out of their way like he had on Sunday.

The visit to the museum lasted less than expected unfortunately, because Nesta hadn't had this much fun in too long. It was becoming easier to smile at him or tease him when he said dumb things and even he seemed to finally be more at ease when he had to make jokes that smacked of him.

When they finally got to the shop, Nesta couldn't stand on her feet anymore, she just wanted to buy all the books she saw and go home and arrange them on her shelves.

"Which section do you want to see first?" she asked him, even though she had started hopping impatiently about the place.

Cassian gave her a smug look, "Why don't you go wherever you want and I'll look for the manuals for the gazebo in the meantime? That way you don't waste time keeping up with me. I'll be right there."

Nesta let out an excited squeal and ran off, hearing only the echo of laughter that shook Cassian from head to toe.

***

As Cassian flipped through the various books to find a picture of a gazebo that looked similar to the one Feyre had requested, he kept casting glances at Nesta.

Her eyes sparkled as she grabbed book after book without even reading the synopses. She was in the romance novels section, from what he could see from where he stood, but soon ended up in the classics, where she grabbed just as many books. She moved to the mystery books section, this time stopping to read the plots and putting most of them back on the shelves.

Then, surprising Cassian, she walked over to where the historical novels were and turned to face him. He bent his head to the side, raising an eyebrow to ask her what she was doing there. Nesta seemed at a loss, trying to move all the books from one arm to the other to point him to join her, but Cassian was already halfway there and when she looked back up at him and found him standing in front of her, she gave him a bright smile.

"Hello." she exclaimed.

Cassian's breath caught for a second before he too sighed a greeting.

"I was thinking," Nesta began, running her eyes over the titles in front of them, "that you could recommend something about..." she wiggled her fingers as much as she could, trying to point to the shelf, and Cassian leaned forward, cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"Here," he removed the first stack of books from her arms and she sagged a little, giving him a thankful look. "I can go get a bag so you can put them all in there and you don't have to carry them like this," he said taking all the books and having her help him arrange them so they wouldn't fall out.

He smiled at her over all the books, looking down at her and she smiled back just as happily.

Hell, if she looked at him like that every time he took her to a bookstore he should do it more often.

He had just turned to go towards the entrance, where he had seen special bags for carrying books, but Nesta stopped him by putting a hand on his arm.

"Wait!" she exclaimed almost impishly.

Cassian turned his head, genuinely worried that something had happened to her in the mere seconds he had been shot. He must have moved too fast, because one of the smaller classics flew off the top of the stack and landed right in her face.

Nesta groaned at the impact and brought her hands to her face, rubbing her forehead where it hurt.

"Oh my God, are you okay?!" he asked with wide eyes. And then Nesta laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she stared at him and he visibly relaxed. "Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to throw a book at you."

She waved a hand in mid-air, to let him know it was nothing, and bent down to pick up what he realised was A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Of course Nesta was reading feminist classics.

She turned back to the books as if nothing had happened and Cassian had the urge to look for a list of all the bookstores in the world to take her to if it meant having her in such a good mood by his side, it didn't matter if she would never agree to go on a real date with him, he realised. As long as he could see her smile like that, he didn't need anything else.

"So, I was saying, before you battered me with a book-" she cast an amused glance over one shoulder at him.

He frowned, muttering, "I said sorry."

Nesta ignored him, "What do you recommend?"

Cassian blinked.

"You said you read historical novels right?" she asked, looking for confirmation, "You could recommend your favourites. But not the English or Russian classics. Or French ones. Chances are I've already read those."

Cassian was stunned. Nesta wanted advice on books. From him.

They were silent for too long as she turned around impatiently, "You lied?"

He looked surprised, "When?"

"When you said you were reading. Were you just doing it to impress me or were you serious?" she asked and maybe Cassian imagined it, but she looked disappointed.

He was quick to reply, "The Black Coat, by Neamat Imam. It's pretty recent, but set in the 1970s in Bangladesh. It's about a man who needs help and seeks it from a journalist he asks for work and one of the main themes is the famine that hit the country after it became independent. It's not my absolute favourite, but it certainly gives you something to think about."

Nesta nodded, searching through the titles and finding it almost immediately, "Anything else?"

Cassian felt his neck heat up and coughed a little before resuming speaking. "The Long Ships by Frans G. Bengtsson. Set in the tenth century, it's about a Viking who is called Red because of his hair and focuses on the European political outlook in the late Viking Age. Again, it's not as good as the historical classics, but it's nice and shows a way of life that we're definitely not used to. It's different."

After looking for a few minutes, Nesta gave up reading and turned to him, crossing her arms. She tilted her head to the side, watching him closely, "What's your favourite book?"

Cassian shrugged, settling the books against his chest, "I think at the moment it's The King Must Die by Mary Renault. But I change my mind every month when I find something more interesting or captivating."

She nodded thoughtfully, "I'll take that one then."

And Cassian wished he could change the title immediately because... what if she didn't like it? Or if she thought it was a stupid book? What would she think of him then?

But Nesta had already found a copy a few shelves down and there was no turning back.

He could counterattack, though, "What about yours? You're not going to give me any advice on feminist classics or blatantly trashy romance novels?"

Nesta opened her mouth wide, looking outraged as she placed the latest addition on the pile, settling the book under her chin, "How can you say they're trashy if you don't even know what they're about?"

Cassian chuckled, "On the cover of You Came," he said as he gave her a sly look, "there's something called a 'spicymeter'. How am I supposed to take you seriously?"

Nesta blushed, "I read erotic novels, so what? I have to keep myself busy in my spare time somehow."

And then he challenged her, "Get me the hottest book you've ever read," he said in a joking tone, "I'll go get the bag in the meantime."

She had already left for the section when he had an idea that would surely doom him depending on how Nesta would react.

He walked up to the cashier's desk, making sure she didn't notice, and begging the clerk behind the counter to be quick, paid for all her books, gently placing them back in the bags.

When he reached her again, she seemed not to have noticed anything.

"'So, what did you get me? Ride Me? Fucked You Good? Last Night I Gave You A Thousand Orgasms?" he teased her with an annoyed grin on his lips.

Nesta gave him a fiery glance before noticing the bags, quite different from those you put the things you wanna buy in, and closed her mouth tightly. She frowned and looked at them for so long before speaking that Cassian began to feel self-conscious.

"You paid for my books?" she whispered, looking at him.

He nodded.

"It's not a date, Cassian," she reminded him for the umpteenth time.

"I know, but-"

"So why would you pay for things that are mine?"

He couldn't read her. She wasn't hinting at anything.

She didn't look angry but she didn't look impressed or grateful either.

Cassian placed the bags on the ground between them and Nesta followed his every movement with her eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing, "My adoptive family is filthy rich. I have a trust fund that I never get to spend on things I really want to do, the only way I get to use it is by giving gifts to my friends, so just accept these as my first gift - friend to friend - and call it a day."

Nesta continued to be impassive as she kept her eyes fixed on the books.

Perhaps he had gone too far. After all, she had taken more than a hundred and fifty euros worth of stuff, but he really didn't mind.

He was about to apologise, tell her she could give the money back if it made her feel better. Cassian would find a way to spend it back on her at other times anyway.

Then she raised her head, handing him two books with hilarious covers to say the least, "These two have storylines full of plot twists. You won't be able to put them down, but don't expect big epic battles or Viking warriors. It's just two college kids trying to survive in the modern world while finding solace in each other."

He didn't even have time to thank her that she was already across the room and waiting in line so she could pay them.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

"I guess you'll be paying for these two," he said as he caught up with her.

Nesta didn't even look at him, pulling out her wallet, "A gift from a friend to a friend."

As they walked back to the car, Cassian offered to carry the bags, but she didn't want to hear one more word so they had managed to compromise and had split the load equally.

They'd been on the road for about thirty minutes now and Nesta had gone through every book he'd bought her, talking about all the previous works by the authors she was holding in her hand at the moment.

Cassian could have died like that. Happy, relaxed, listening to the plots of those dirty books with no moral lessons to teach the reader, just pure entertainment.

He wondered at that moment if he would make it through the first few chapters of the books she had offered him and let out a heavy breath through his nose as he turned right towards the coast.

Nesta looked at him wide-eyed, stopping her rant about the headmaster's son getting the occasional model student to fall in love with him. She brought a hand to her mouth, "Oh dear, sorry, I'm boring you. I'm sorry."

He gave her a confused look ready to tell her she didn't have to apologise, but she continued.

"Sometimes I do and I don't even realize it. And I realize they're not challenging plots where you have to apply some hidden lobe of the brain to understand them, but they distract me from everyday problems, you know? It's fun to be able to unplug a few hours after I get home from work and-"

"Jesus, Nesta, stop!" he laughed, placing a hand on her thigh. She sighed. "You don't have to apologise. Not when you're so excited about something." he looked at her slyly, offering her a reassuring smile, "In fact, I'm glad you're talking so much today. Normally I have to pull the words out of your mouth."

She blushed slightly and then grew sullen soon after, sitting up straighter, "This isn't the way to Velaris, where are we going?"

Cassian didn't answer.

"You're taking me into the woods aren't you?"

"We literally just came out of a forest."

She ignored him.

"I knew it. You're a serial killer."

"Nes-"

"You're a little dense though. Why would you spend so much on someone if you're going to murder them?"

He decided to ignore her, chuckling, "I'm taking you to the beach."

"Why?" she asked, somewhat unconvinced.

Cassian shrugged, "I wanted to see the sunset."

"You didn't ask."

He sighed, gripping the steering wheel, "Okay," he whispered, then louder, "You want to go to the beach and watch the sunset?"

She nodded in assent and then continued to read the plots aloud.

And Cassian could have sworn he was in heaven.

***

Nesta gathered more sand, making a small ball out of it and placing it on the top of one of the towers she had made so far.

"Where did you learn to make such good sandcastles?" asked Cassian suddenly from behind her, startling her.

She jumped in the air, turning to face him and noticing the satisfied smile on his face for having taken her by surprise.

Nesta didn't answer him immediately, but allowed herself to admire him a bit.

Since they had arrived at the beach, they had taken off their shoes and were now both barefoot and then Cassian had bent down and started to roll his trousers around his ankles, offering to do it to her jeans as well, but Nesta had refused. She had sat down, looking at the sea for a while, while he walked along the shore and collected stones and shells.

When he had come back to her and shown them to her, asking her to make a sandcastle, she had laughed at first, but faced with his serious expression, she had been unable to do anything but get up and roll up her sleeves, moving to where the sand was a little more workable.

She looked away from that heavenly vision and made another ball, placing it next to the one she had just made. "When I was little my mum never let me do these, she said I'd get too much sun and forced me and Elain to stay under the umbrella all day," she replied truthfully, remembering the cruel bite of jealousy watching the children on the shore.

"And Feyre?"

Cassian had joined her, kneeling beside her and had begun to place the shells so that they served as windows to the towers.

Nesta sighed, "Feyre was still too little when Mini Me wanted to build sandcastles, but as soon as I became 'too old to play like a kid'," she gave him a knowing look, mimicking her mother's voice, "and Feyre started to figure out she was an actual being, Mama let her do whatever she wanted. Even stand in the sun for hours on end." she shrugged. "Whether it was out of indifference or love, I never understood."

Cassian had been silent the whole time and now he watched her, hands on his thighs as he waited for her to give him more. For her to tell him another little piece of her soul.

So she offered him a forced smile, "So to answer your question, it's all pent-up creativity."

"Well, you're very good at it," he granted her. "I can imagine what you could have done if your mother hadn't been so strict."

Well, yeah.

"What about you?" she asked him.

"What about me?"

"Did you go to the beach a lot?"

Cassian smiled weakly, getting up and heading towards the water to collect more shells. He nodded a couple of times and then said, "My mum and I loved coming to the beach and she loved making castles. And she always put so many 'windows' on the towers-"

Nesta turned to look at their work, realising how many shells he had placed on the piles of sand. She smiled softly, covering her eyes from the sun and watching him walk towards her.

"We always came when she was free from work."

A charged silence settled between them until Cassian chuckled, drawing her attention, "What?"

"You said this wasn't a date. And that we're just friends. Right?"

Shifting her gaze to him, she noticed how he kept his hands hidden behind his back and the mischievous glint in his eyes didn't reassure her at all. Slowly she stood up, nodding.

"So, I must treat you as I would treat my friends. Correct?"

"Cassian, I swear to god that-"

She didn't have time to finish her sentence that something wet and sticky landed in her face with a resounding splash, making her jump back.

She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it when a strong smell of stale water and seaweed flooded her nostrils.

When she opened her eyes again, wiping the seaweed from her face, Cassian was doubled over in laughter.

She didn't even give him time to get up when she started to run towards him - to do what, she had no idea - but he started to run away too and soon they were chasing each other all around the beach, not noticing the sweet looks they were getting from the people around them.

At that moment, Nesta was running so fast that she could feel the wind in her hair and the smell and sound of the sea, together with the laughter of the man who was chasing her, mixed with her own and the continuous tapping of her feet on the sand, made her feel alive.

She felt Cassian come closer every few metres until two strong arms wrapped around her waist and she was pulled up and spun around in the air.

A surprised yelp escaped her as Cassian laughed in her ear, "Gotcha!"

It wasn't until he stopped spinning with her in his arms that they realised the position they were in and immediately broke away, laughing embarrassed.

Nesta turned to face him, her face red from running and her breathing laboured. He was in no better condition. His hair was pointing in all directions and his sculpted chest was rising and falling with haste under the black fabric of his shirt.

He looked away first, scratching the back of his neck and fixing his eyes on the sunset, and offered her his arm as they returned to where they had left theirs things unattended.

Nesta shook her head, laughing one last time and started to run, " Last to reach the castle is stupid!"

Cassian burst out laughing, but he caught up to her in the blink of an eye and they both knew that she had doomed herself to lose. That's why, when he fell tripping over his feet, Nesta knew he had done it on purpose.

She helped him up and they sat back as in silence they watched the sun go down, disappearing past the horizon and the blending lights of the sky created a breathtaking spectacle.

Nesta couldn't have noticed, too busy admiring the clouds, but Cassian had been watching her the whole time, trying to understand how something as sombre and secretive as her could look so bright just by being.

The journey back was silent, but this time the silence was not awkward. They both welcomed it with open arms, a new awareness that there was no need for it to be filled with chatter and that gave Nesta the opportunity to close her eyes for a moment and doze off.

When the car stopped outside her flat, Nesta was surprised to find that she didn't want to get out.

She turned to Cassian after she had gathered her things and nodded, "I had fun today."

He gave her a genuine smile, looking surprised, "Me too."

And then she permanently shocked him, adding, "I'm not working on Saturday, we could do it again. Changing location."

He blinked once. Twice. Then he nodded, "Sure."

He didn't seem to want to say anything more, so Nesta waved goodbye to him and then got out, not waiting for an answer from him.

Cassian stood motionless in the car park of her flat for another half hour, trying to figure out what had just happened, and when the reality of things finally dawned on him, he smiled, "Fuck yeah."

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[omiscurls]

hi!! could i request a diluc x fem!reader angst where they were childhood friends, and when reader gets a fiancé, diluc tries to confess his feelings but reader rejects him, gets married and moves from mondstat, and every now and then diluc sends reader letters (apologizing, asking how readers day was, hoping they come back). thanks!

unrequited

plot: reader rejects the character

contains: diluc

warnings: angsty and like one curse word, that’s all

diluc was a cute kid.

as the heir to one of the most wealthy and powerful families in mondstadt, he was polite not only to his senior, but also incredibly nice to his friends, as well. different that most boys his age, he didn’t go around yelling dumb, inappropriate jokes, and didn’t take pride in making girls feel bad.

he was always sweet to those doing worse than him in class, be it theory or sparring, and acted like an absolute saint to his adopted brother.

naturally, how could one not adore a kid like that? how could the mondstadt girls not line up to see him each time, how could the boys not want to play with him? how could anyone resist, when he had that charm to him that seemed to draw people near almost against their free will?

finally, how could you not take pride in the fact that out of all those over-the-top girls who fought over each other to talk to him, out of all those boys that never failed to bug him in each little scrap of his free time, he chose to try and get close to you?

you didn’t understand it at first, but it seemed like he genuinely wanted to know you, his eyes looking as though they were studying your expression at all times, a warm smile welcoming you each time you passed him by.

his words were careful and his sentences always strained, as if he struggled to talk, but a sense of honesty and genuine sympathy always seeped through his words, confusing your little childish brain, but also forming a warm and fuzzy feeling inside your chest. 

over the years, not only did you finally answer to his advances, but also befriend the kid. his rare smiles were reserved for your eyes only, and his mind opened up before you each and every time you talked, no restrain and limitations between you two. 

he’d sit behind you in class, sometimes passing you notes with an answer to questions you didn’t know, or a funny note about the teacher, or just simply asking if you want to hang out after school. 

you’d go to windrise and sit under the tree, talking for hours about the most useless of things, about what you thought the clouds looked like, but also your futures, your dreams and hopes. 

he’d explain math to you before every exam in the dark rooms of dawn winery, hair pulled up and tea made for the both of you, looking at your struggling with unmistakable patience and affection, but what could you know? you were kids, barely even teenagers. why would you think anything of the way he said he’ll “always be there for you” after some simple math tutoring? how could you analyze his kind stare that you never saw him wear for other people? 

and so you didn’t. 

he’d sit with you on the counter of his kitchen, carefully caressing your back as you wet his shirt with tears, quietly telling you that “they didn’t deserve you anyway” after your first ever heartbreak. to hell with the fact that his own heart was breaking a millimetre more with every word he spoke, if what he said calmed you in any way, he’d talk all night, going on and on about how you deserve the world, and nothing less. 

you held his hand at his fathers memorial service, letting him tighten his grip on your fingers harder every time, you wiped away the tears, you listen to his sobs and pleas when the two of you were alone. you offered solace to him over the next painful months, you justified every word he hurt kaeya with, only to make him feel better about himself. 

to him, you were like an angel sent from above. you restored the faith he had lost in the world, you stuck by his side and lighted up his days one after the other, how could he not adore you?

how could he not fall in love? 

and trust when i say, he did really try to avoid it. he tried pushing his thoughts away, he tried focusing on something else, tried avoiding you, tried everything. no matter what he did, his mind circled back to your smile, and unconsciously he smiled as well, even if the next second he’d look in the mirror and wipe it off his face as if it was a crime to smile. 

diluc was a cute kid, and he grew up to be a polite gentleman, whom you called a friend. and as any polite gentleman, he wouldn’t dare do anything to loose the honor you had given him, so he stayed silent. stayed silent since his in-class notes, through talks about the future, through your breakups, through all the times you had been there for him. in no universe would he ever mention how the weight was lifted off his shoulders every time you as much as looked his way, how all the clouds went away at the sound of your laugh, and how he was ready to do anything in the world to keep you happy. 

somewhere in his mind, perhaps he thought you had somehow known all along, and would reward his efforts to not complicate your life with his emotions with loving him back, but how could you know? how, if he kept it a secret that well? 

in the end, his own plan backfired on him, and he realized he had lost when you ran through his door, tears in your eyes, but a smile on your face, showing off a ring, shining in sunlight, resting on your finger.

if he ever thought “they didn’t deserve you” hurt him, “i’m so happy for you!” stabbed his soul a thousand times more painfully. 

to normal people of mondstadt, there was no change in behavior from the gloomy and serious owner of angel’s share, but a few noticed how heavy his presence was, how desperately he blinked back the sheen layer of tears, glistening in the candle light while he was serving drinks, and you were off somewhere in the back, laughing with your lover by your side. 

he had lost his chance, and now there was no way in which he could get you back. no way at all. all his life, he had built up a hope inside that one of these days, he’ll get a happy ever after, and lived with that thought through all the bad moments that came along the way, and now these years of carefully building this scenario came crushing down with the realization. 

in a desperate search of any relief, he came to the conclusion that the only thing to be even remotely at peace with himself was to... simply just tell you. 

so there he was, right outside your door, the watch on his wrist striking ten in the evening, stars shining brightly on your doorstep, as you appeared before him, merely a nightgown shielding you from the cold air of the night, a soft smile adoring your lips from the moment you realized it was him. 

“diluc? what’re you doing here this late?” you said, grabbing a coat from behind the door and closing it behind you. a foolish hope sprung inside him when you joined him outside, as he stared at you with a little grin, working up the courage to speak up. 

“there’s something i wish to tell you about” he merely whispered, gesturing you to come with him.

the walk to windrise was longer than the ones you remembered from your childhood days, and the sharp air nibbled on your skin mercilessly, to the point your legs hurt a bit when you reached the tree.

diluc turned your way and spoke for the first time in what felt like forever, but was thirty minutes.

“i hoped not to burden you with the secret i’ll share with you now, and i’m sorry for whatever bad outcome it might cause, but… truth is, i can’t keep it to myself anymore, and if i want to have some peace for myself, i have to trouble you with it.” he said quietly, settling worry in your gut.

“you can tell me anything” you assured calmly “your secrets are always safe with me”

he took one last look into your caring eyes, feeling a little better just having you smile at him, and took a breath before spilling.

“i might’ve been in love with you for the last ten years” he said calmly “and i know this is hardly the time, i really do, but i just-“

“what?”

you looked at him in surprise, blood audibly pumping through your veins as you tried to comprehend what he just said.

“i do understand that you’re engaged, but-“

“do you? do you, really?” you said bitterly, making his heart sink in regret. “because to me it seems like i waited for you all those years, i hoped, and i prayed, and i wished, and after i finally, finally gave up, you decide to mess with my emotions right when i thought i had them figured out?”

diluc was stunned. so you felt the same way about him, once? he could’ve had all he hoped for? he didn’t even comprehend the rest of your sentence fully, focusing on how you just admitted to having feelings for him somewhen in the past.

“no, i’m not trying to mess with you, I’m-“

“but you are! honestly, diluc, i knew you were somewhat insensitive, but this is blatantly cruel! what- i don’t- why didn’t you say this to me earlier?”

“i wish i did, but to me it seemed like you were always chasing someone else, and i didn’t want to-“

“bother me? is that it? you didn’t want to bother me so now you decided to try and mess with my relationship? god, i- i need to be alone right now. sorry.”

and with that you were out of your usual childhood spot, leaving him alone under the tree that shared both of your secrets and plans for so long.

a longing stare pierced through your back as you ran back to mondstadt, not going home right away, but trying to find a spot where nobody would find you.

“fuck” he muttered. he was familiar with the feeling of loss, but the fact that it was nobody’s fault but his own made it a hundred times worse.

diluc was a cute child, and grew up to be a polite gentleman. so he was there to apologize to you on countless occasions, ready to beg forgiveness for his recklessness and lack of thought, but you were never there to hear his pleas.

and so it went on, a huge wedding covered the streets of mondstadt in white while he stood in the sidelines, his friends said goodbye to you as he watched from a safe distance. you left, and so did every remaining proof of his embarrassment.

nevertheless, he sent countless letters, no address on the envelope, save for the name of the city, hoping that one of them would eventually reach you. sorrow and tears almost spilled from the words written in a tidy cursive, but he never had any certainty about wether they reached you or not.

and while he hoped you forgave him,

he knew you didn’t.

[oh-obrien]

AAAH THE ONE SHOT WITH THE STOVE WAS EVERYTHING! ✨✨Could I also request something? I did feel the duel scene was a bit underwhelming, I did want some more drama tbh (and I love Anthony as well). What about a one shot Anthony x reader, where the reader accompanies Daphne and lots of more drama? Perhaps reader gets hurt, Anthony in panic, angsty and stuff..feel free to adjust

I HOPE THIS ONE IS GOOD TOO!! I took a few creative liberties with this, adjusting the events on the show to fit the request and what not. 

I’m coming off of a little bit of a migraine hangover and tbh I’m not sure how I feel about this right now on top of getting back into the swing of school. This is the first day since Friday that looking at my computer for more than twenty minutes doesn’t hurt my head so sorry it took longer than expected. 

As always if you’re not happy with this, or if you want to request anything else feel free to slide into my inbox! These requests are SUPER fun.

After Daphne’s scandalous run in with Simon in the garden the night before, Anthony had taken it upon himself to challenge his long-time friend to a duel. The ball was supppsed to be your and Anthony’s grand debut as the newest couple of the season, however, you never got your dance with the Lord, and your dance card now laid empty and forgotten on the floor of the Bridgerton study.

Your dress also laid crumpled in a ball of fabric in the corner of the room. After hearing of your and Anthony’s intentions to begin properly courting, Violet had taken you to the seamstress to get one of your gown adjusted. Genevieve Delacroix had added stunning crystals to the delicate pale green fabric. Your had had been done perfectly by the Bridgerton family’s staff and you had even agreed to wearing a small amount of makeup. However, the night of your dreams abruptly ended when Anthony interrupted your conversation with Colin to inform you both he would be taking Daphne home for the evening as she was not feeling well.

The anger pouring off the eldest Bridgerton was like nothing you had ever seen before and you couldn’t help but wonder if she had rejected the Prince’s proposal, as you knew he had to intend to propose soon, and no night seemed better. However, as Anthony dragged his sister away you couldn’t catch his or Daphne’s eye, leaving your dreams of starting a whirlwind public relationship with Anthony crushed.

You now sat on the desk in the Bridgerton study, Colin pacing around the room in front of you, his boots rhythmically hitting the floor with every step he took. “What if he kills Simon?”

“Colin-”

“What if Simon kills him?”

“Colin I don’t think that-”

“Benedict surely doesn’t want to be bothered with the social scene, does that mean the responsibility to escort all of my sisters through their season falls on me?” The boy in front of you stopped pacing and pulled on the roots of his hair, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. “I’m supposed to be traveling soon! Anthony is supposed to be the mature one, he’s supposed to know how to run the family! Not me!”

“COLIN! STOP!” You finally cut the boy off, standing up and placing both of your hands firmly on his shoulders. “Nothing is going to happen to Simon or Anthony, no one saw Simon and Daphne in that garden other than your brother so there’s nothing to hide!” You dropped your hands from Colin’s shoulder. 

“But-” both you and Colin turned to face the door of the study, Daphne standing in the doorway, her tone sombre and her head bowed towards the ground. “What if someone did see?”

You stepped away from Colin to face the eldest Bridgerton daughter, your tone changing to one of concern. “What do you mean what if someone saw,” you felt panic starting to bubble up in your chest. “Did someone see you and Simon in the garden last night?” You thought Anthony had been overreacting when he pulled yourself and Colin into the study the night before after you had helped escort Lady Bridgerton home. But if Daphne was concerned someone saw her and Simon kiss, maybe he wasn’t overreacting.

Daphne opened her mouth, as if she wanted TJ speak, before closing it again. Silence fell across the three of you before you heard Daphne gasp. “Cressida Cowper,” Daphne blurted out. “When Anthony brought me inside she stopped me and and asked if I caught a chill in the garden.” You watched Daphne’s expression change to one of concern.

“Cressida Cowper,” Colin started running a frustrated hand over his face again, “saw you and Hastings in the garden last night and Anthony, nor Hastings, know?” He took in a long breath before leering the air out through his nose.

Daphne quickly shook her head. “Colin you need to tell me where they went,” Daphne demanded. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, not finding it proper to interrupt the conversation between the siblings.

“Daphne, Hasting has, he’s done you one of the greatest dishonors,” Colin quickly shook his head, giving his sister a clearly confused look. “I’m sure you want him to pay.”

“I don’t want him to pay with his life!” Daphne’s voice grew louder and you stepped towards the sibilants again, hoping you wouldn’t have to be the one to calm their tempers so no one else in the estate would be woken.

“Well, I’m sure both Anthony and the Duke will do as gentlemen should and shoot wide,” Colin supplemented with a shrug.

You stepped between the two siblings, “besides,” you supplemented, “everyone might just think that Cressida has a grudge against you. You did take the Prince’s attention off of her, even if you don’t want to admit it.” 

Daphne, however, seemed to refuse to take no for an answer. “Colin you need to tell me where they went.” She turned to her brother again, a desperate look on her face now, “you know Anthony’s pride won’t let him shoot wide.”

Colin puffed air into his cheek, letting it out slowly before speaking. “Fine, but we’re coming with you.” 

You had been lucky enough to be able to bring your own horse with you to London, and now, racing towards the site of the duel, you were glad you had. The Bridgerton’s horses clearly had not gotten used to speeding across the hills, as they lagged slightly behind you. Years of living out in the middle of the country had given you, and your horses, the ability to adapt to all different types of terrain. Be it flooded field, rolling hills or even shoulder high grasses, your horses were able to tackle it all.

You were glad your hair, still expertly tied up from the night before, had yet to be taken out as it kept the strands from flying into your face, distracting you from the task at hand. Still slightly ahead of both Colin and Daphne you were able to make out five figures standing in a plot of open land between two beautiful trees. Anthony and Simon were back to back in the clearing, both men clutching a handgun between their hands.

“You can go faster,” you urged your horse while he pushed himself to fly faster through the tall grass field, his breath coming out in heavy puffs. Anthony and Simon began to take slow, steady steps away from each other and you held your breath, knowing you were unable to push your horse to go any faster without him hurting himself. 

Both men paused briefly before turning to face each other. Anthony pointed his gun towards Simon, while the Duke aimed towards the sky. Now, within proper distance of the ongoing duel you started to slow your horse. “Anthony!” You swung both of your legs to one side of your horse, trying to keep your balance while you did so. “Anthony stop!” Your horse slowed to nearly a stop and you let yourself slide off your horse’s back, your feet not even hitting the ground before you were running towards the two men.

“What are you doing?” Benedict practically yelled while you ran in between Anthony and the Duke. “Anthony! Anthony stop!” Benedict called when he realized you had already made up your mind. However, his call for the eldest Bridgerton to hold his fire.

Before you knew what had hit you, in both a literal and figurative sense, you felt a searing pain cut across your cheek. The bang of the gun firing didn’t reach your ears until after you had hit the ground, your left hand clutched tightly over your right cheek. Anthony and Benedict calling your name didn’t register either, especially when you pulled your hand away from your cheek and noticed it had been covered in blood.

“(Y/N),” a warm, heavy hand was placed on your shoulder and another pulled your hand away from your cheek. “The doctor needs to make you’re you’re fine, (Y/N),” Anthony’s panicked eyes met your own. However, you couldn’t focus on them with the pain in your cheek and the blood still covering your hand.

An older man crouched down next to you, pulling a medical bag up next to him and opening it before he began expecting the wound on your cheek. “The bullet just grazed her,” the doctor spoke while he began cleaning the wound, “she’s lucky.”

“Thank the heavens,” Anthony breathed out while he pressed his forehead to your temple on your unharmed side, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” you could hear his voice break towards the end.

“She’s perfectly fine my lord, keep the wound clean and covered and it’ll heal in absolutely no time.” You winced when you felt the doctor wipe something across your cheek, the pain flaring up momentarily before subsiding again. “I’m sure you could tell Lady Bridgerton it was a riding accident and everything would be believed. “If that’s all, and you gentlemen don’t intend on trying the duel again,” the doctor looked between Anthony and the Duke, “I’ll be going.”

Hasting and Anthony both thanked the doctor before he departed, Daphne and Simon engaged in a seemingly heated conversation along with Colin and Benedict. “(Y/N).” Anthony started, both of your hands held in one of his large ones. “I don’t-”

“I can’t right now, Anthony,” you placed a hand across your covered cheek. “I just,” you let out a frustrated sigh, “I’m questioning if your mind and your heart and in two different places at the moment.” You felt tears begin to gather in the corners of your eyes.

“(Y/N), please,” Anthony seemed to be nearly begging, tears gathered in his own eyes while you stood up. Your hands felt from his grip and you cupped his cheek with one, running your thumb along his cheek bone.

You offered the man in front of you a sad smile before you removed your hand. “I’m going to ask one of your brothers to escort me home while you and the others decide the next steps between Daph and the Duke.” He opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t allow him to. “Once you reconsider priorities we can revisit our arrangement, but I will not be second to any other reckless endeavors you wish to engage in if we do get married.”

With that you turned from the Viscount, still on his knees in the damp morning grass, tears in his eyes and a frown on his face.

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 13

A/N: ayyyy, lucky number 13! a lot of stuff goes down in this chapter, but you guys will be getting part of the resolution!! this isn’t the end though, there are two chapters left in the story! Oh also my pal Jack made a spotify playlist for this series, and all the songs on it work so well and absolutely slap!!

Warnings: possession, manipulation, swordfight, self-worth issues, violence, choking (not in the *wink* way stop it it’s meant to be angsty), kissing, hugs

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost 

-

Scott didn’t know where he was. It was like he was standing in the Void, but there was something more off about the pitch black landscape than usual. It was tinted red, somehow. There was a deep crimson color that permeated the air, a thick fog that threatened to choke Scott- and then he saw him. It was- it was himself, sort of. The figure before him looked exactly like Scott, but something was definitely off. First was the color scheme of his clothing- red and black instead of the cyan and white of his empire. Then, most glaringly, was his eyes. Deep red, just like the corruption in Scott’s arm. And when he put a hand on the hilt of the dark blade strapped to his side and grinned, Scott saw far too sharp teeth.

“Who are you?!” Scott demanded, instinctively reaching for his sword and pleasantly surprised to find it sheathed at his side- he hadn’t remembered it being there before. The red version himself somehow managed to grin wider.

“A small part of a larger plan. He will be pleased to know I have you under my control,” the red Scott taunted. Scott’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“He? What plan, what are you talking about?” Scott asked, and the red version of himself laughed.

“So you don’t remember yet… that explains why you were so easy to defeat,” he taunted. Scott grit his teeth and drew his sword.

“You haven’t defeated me yet,” Scott growled. The red Scott only laughed, before lunging at Scott faster than he thought was possible. He blocked the incoming blow just in time, trying to push the red version of himself back.

“I won’t be as easy to defeat as your pathetic little fish boy,” the red Scott sneered.

“He isn’t mine,” Scott protested through gritted teeth before managing to push his other self back. He slashed at the red Scott, who easily sidestepped the attack.

“Oh you definitely made sure of that, didn’t you?” the red Scott scoffed. Scott’s attacks faltered, and his other self took the opening. Scott managed to evade most of the blow, but he was stumbling and unsteady now, and the edge of the red Scott’s blade ended up cutting his arm.

“This- this isn’t even about him,” Scott protested, but his voice came out weaker than he meant it to.

“But you can’t resist thinking about him anyway, can’t you? I’ve been in your head, Scott. No matter how hard you try, that fool in a cod head can’t escape your attention. But you ruined everything you could have had with him before it had barely begun,” the red Scott taunted, continuing to strike at Scott, and he could barely block the blows as he continued to speak.

“Stop,” Scott managed to get out, choking back a sob as he tried to continue fighting his other self.

“He was an Icarus, and you were his sun. He got too close and you burned him, Scott. Everything that you touch crashes and burns, so why not give in? Why not let me take the reins- certainly things would be better without you,” the red Scott crooned, and he didn’t even need to raise a sword to send Scott reeling. Before he knew what he was doing, he lowered his sword, and the red fog started closing in, becoming tangible and wrapping around Scott, pinning his arms to his sides.

“Wait- no!” Scott cried, trying to struggle against the strange red substance, but it was too late. It had Scott firmly in its clutches, and the red Scott grinned.

“Goodbye, Scott,” he said with a cackle, and the last thing Scott saw was a blade slashing towards him.

-

It had at most been a few hours since they had locked Jimmy away with Scott when he woke up. Scott sat bolt upright in bed, chest heaving as he accidentally dislodged Jimmy’s hand from his own. Jimmy reached out for his hand again, but froze when he saw Scott’s eyes. They were red. Jimmy knew what he had to do- he had to tell the others that Scott had lost to the corruption. But Jimmy still couldn’t find it in himself to give up on Scott. So he sat there, frozen as he watched Scott catch his breath, eyes blood red and the corruption visibly pulsing beneath his skin.

“Scott?” Jimmy asked softly, still foolishly clinging to hope. Scott’s head snapped to him, and with a growl he lunged at Jimmy. He successfully tackled him to the ground, hands around his throat. A horrible choked noise escaped Jimmy’s lips as he clawed at Scott’s hands, struggling to breathe. He couldn’t even call out to his friends if he wanted to, and he felt his vision already darkening at the edges. His friends had been right, and all Jimmy could think about was how he would never see Scott’s brilliant icy blue eyes again.

Suddenly there was a bright purple flash between them. Gem’s crystal! It seemed to have worked, causing Scott to scramble off of Jimmy and hiss in pain. Jimmy rubbed at his throat, his other hand up placatingly as he gave Scott a pleading expression. But there was no recognition in Scott’s now crimson eyes, just fiery anger. He lunged at Jimmy again, despite the crystal around his neck, and the two of them grappled for control. The crystal still glowed brightly, causing Scott to hiss in pain, but he still kept coming after Jimmy, trying to pin him down and get a grip on his throat again. Jimmy had to get away, he had to call for help. He managed to shove Scott off of him, and scramble to his feet- but Scott got up just as quickly. There was a brief moment of stillness, of both of them catching their breath. But the second Jimmy tried to make a break for the hidden door, Scott’s wings suddenly drew back and snapped closed on Jimmy’s head, causing his ears to ring and his vision to blur from the blow. He fell to his knees, blinking rapidly to try and get his vision to clear. He vaguely registered a blur of white and blue lunging at him and fully tackling him down to the ground. He tried to push Scott off of him again, but his wrists were snatched up and forcefully pinned on either side of his head.

The ringing in Jimmy’s ears finally ceased and his vision cleared to see Scott above him with a manic, victorious grin on his face. And well… Jimmy got an idea. Maybe it wasn't the smartest idea- but Scott had him pinned, and his face was inches away from Jimmy. He couldn’t help but think of the first time they fought like this- and that felt like centuries ago, now. Except that time Jimmy didn’t think either of them wanted the other to die. But here Scott was, trying to kill Jimmy… and there was only thing Jimmy could think of to maybe unbalance Scott. So he lunged up, eyes squeezed shut as he crushed his lips against Scott’s. If he had kept his eyes open, he would have seen the red in Scott’s eyes flicker before they fluttered shut, and the corruption slowly seep out of his skin. But Jimmy was too focused on the way Scott kissed him back, hands releasing his wrists to instead cup his face and run through his hair. Jimmy almost got lost in the kiss- in Scott's small gasp paired with a pleasant shiver as Jimmy’s hands brushed the base of his wings when his arms wrapped around him, in how Scott kissed him as desperate as a man fighting not to drown- but then Jimmy remembered the reason he had kissed Scott in the first place. He neatly flipped them over, breaking the kiss and grabbing Scott’s hands, intending to pin him like he had done to Jimmy- but then he saw Scott’s eyes. They were confused and disorientated, but were the icy blue shade that Jimmy knew so well.

"You could at least take me out to dinner first before you pin me like that," he joked weakly. Jimmy let out a mildly hysterical laugh. He scrambled off of Scott to instead pull him into his lap and hug him tightly.

"You're okay!" he said in a gasp. Scott slowly hugged him back, expression twisted with confusion and disbelief.

“I- you- did you- but I thought I was dead... so- what? How?” Scott asked, looking like his brain was going a million miles a minute.

“That corruption in your skin- we did everything to try and stop it or remove it, but nothing was working- and it was up to you to fight it off and you almost didn’t- but of course you did in the end, you’re- you’re you…” Jimmy trailed off, pausing for only a brief moment before gently cradling Scott’s jaw and pulling him into a kiss. Scott kissed him back for half a second, before pulling back with wide eyes. Jimmy’s stomach started turning nervously, and he drew his hand back from Scott’s face.

“Why are you- you kissed me? And still want to kiss me? Why?” he asked in disbelief. Jimmy laughed nervously.

“I uh. I got carried away, huh? I just- I was so relieved you were alive, and that you were… you. And the first time I was just trying to throw you off, but I guess that was the final push you needed to fight back,” Jimmy explained sheepishly. Scott still looked hopelessly lost.

“But- but I betrayed you. And I just tried to kill you!” he protested.

“You weren’t yourself,” Jimmy said softly.

“But I was when I was working with Fwhip! You- you shouldn’t want to do anything to do with me- you said so yourself!” he continued, tears gathering in his eyes. Jimmy took Scott’s hands, squeezing them gently as he looked at Scott right in the eyes.

“Scott. I should have listened to you when you tried to tell me that you cared, and I should have believed you when you told me that you were only trying to protect me. I’m sorry for pushing you away, Scott,” Jimmy said firmly. Scott still looked like he was on the verge of tears, but he didn’t pull away from Jimmy.

“But- but I wouldn’t have even gotten feelings for you if Fwhip hadn’t told me to keep an eye on you,” Scott protested weakly. Jimmy pondered this for a moment, gaze darting away before looking back to Scott with a softly determined expression.

“When did you first realize you had feelings for me?” he asked. Scott blinked in surprise at the question, and he swallowed nervously before answering.

“It was the day I had stolen the slimeball from you. You- you chased after me, grinning like an idiot and the scales on your stupid cod head were glinting like bronze in the sunlight… you- you were irrevocably radiant, and I realized I didn’t want a world without your smile or laugh in it,” Scott confessed softly. Jimmy grinned, heart soaring.

“That was when I realized it too. And if we’ve both cared about each other for that long… then what’s the point in getting fussed over the reason why?” Jimmy replied. Scott let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob as he abruptly leaned forward and hugged Jimmy tightly. Jimmy hugged him back, running a hand through rustled feathers and smoothing them out.

“I’m so sorry for everything, I know it wasn’t all my fault- but the explosion, everything before that…” Scott trailed off into sobs. Jimmy shifted, pressing a kiss to his hair.

“It’s alright, I promise you it’s alright- that you’re alright, and that we’re alright. I forgive you, it wasn’t your fault,” Jimmy murmured, holding Scott as he cried. Eventually the tears subsided, and Scott’s breathing evened out. Jimmy shifted slightly so that he could look Scott in the eyes- even if at first, that movement earned him a slight pout. Jimmy chuckled at the sight of it.

“Can we try that first kiss again? It keeps getting interrupted by silly things like trying to save each others’ lives and self-doubt,” he asked with a cocky grin. Scott laughed.

“I think I kind of like having you alive, Jimmy,” Scott said between laughs.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jimmy teased with a grin, easily falling back into their playful banter. Scott smirked, leaning in until he was a mere breath away from Jimmy. Jimmy’s heart rate spiked very quickly, and at this rate maybe Scott was still trying to kill him. Not that Jimmy was exactly complaining if this was the way he went out, a handsome winged elf in his lap looking at him like he was the world.

“Shut up and kiss me, you idiot,” Scott murmured.

“Gladly,” Jimmy breathed out, before closing the little distance between them. It was fireworks behind Jimmy’s eyes, flowers blooming in his chest, it was sunlight and glittering gold- but most importantly it was Scott, alive and himself, safe in Jimmy’s arms.

-

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[lailannajacobs]

Heart of the Night

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky finds you after a mission that didn’t quite go as planned. 

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: lil bit angsty 

A/N: This is my submission for @wkemeup​​ 9k challenge, it’s not quite as edited as I would have liked but the end of the school year is always super busy so here it is! Congrats Kas, you are such an incredible writer, your talent absolutely blows my mind, it’s just unbelievable and I hope one day to have a tenth of your skill! You deserve everything great and more! <3

The needle trembled, metal glinting off the fluorescent light in your bathroom as it hovered just above the skin of your abdomen. The air reeked of copper. The pristine sink was marred with the dark red streaks of failure. You tried to swallow, but it felt like you were choking on your own throat. 

The needle approached the bloody canyon made by a knife you’d been too careless to avoid, and hovered there, trying to find its mark. The world swayed. You’d lost too much blood already. The needle clattered into the sink, black thread trialing behind it like a broken tether. You were somehow conscious — delirious? — enough to think you were lucky it hadn’t gone down the drain because you didn’t have time to call a plumber. Wait no. You’d just have to get a new one from the cabinet. You tried to reach for the needle. Your body didn’t react. Instead, it swayed dangerously, only your fighting instincts keeping you from tumbling to the floor by gripping onto the edge of the sink. At least there were some things blood could wash off from.

“YN!” that familiar voice burst into your apartment, “pool table. Five minutes. I swore to Sam that this was the day we finically beat Vision and his perfect calculations.”

You swore at the joyful ness in his voice. You couldn’t match that tone right now if you tried. But you had to. The mission had gone well. You’d done what you’d set out to do. Only you, the ever-present failure, had gotten yourself stabbed along the way. The only mercy was that no one else had noticed and you’d disappeared to your apartment without drawing suspicion. That was, until now if you couldn’t pull yourself together. You willed your body to close the bathroom door, but it wouldn’t move. If anything, everything only spun even more.

“Where the hell are...”

You felt his presence in your doorway. Felt his gaze like a physical thing. You were always aware of him. Even now was no exception. Maybe if you pretended he wasn’t there, he’d go away. Right. And the three-inch gash in your stomach would stitch itself up. You turned your head, not realizing how many abdominal muscles it took to look over your shoulder. Your pride and the death grip your slick fingers held on the porcelain were the only reasons the spinning didn't send you tumbling to the ground.

When your bathroom came into focus again, the only thing you really saw was Bucky taking up most of the doorway. And he was seething. His normally cool eyes were raging hurricanes, framed between hard lines of frustration on his face. They scanned you from top to bottom with deathly calm, from the sports bar you had on that exposed all your skin and the bruises you garnered during the mission to the sweatpants you’d changed into. An X-ray would have been less intrusive. You shivered. It was probably the blood loss.

You wanted to make up some excuse for your failure, but his anger was justified. You were a liability on the field. They were bound to have figured it out eventually.

He said nothing as he stalked over in a few brisk strides, fury emanating from him in waves. He stopped beside you, the pleasant smell of his freshly showered body chasing away the tang in the air. You closed your eyes. It was a coward’s move, but you’d take any peace you could get before everything you’d worked so hard to keep got taken away from you.

“Sit,” he ordered in a low, almost growly voice, “now.”

You went to sit on the toilet but tipped backward before you could make it. His arms gathered around you, easing you onto the closed seat. Your head lolled back and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.” He decided, “I need an explanation. Talk to me.”

It seemed like too much work. All you wanted to do was go to sleep.

“No,” he ordered as if you’d spoken the words aloud. Maybe you had.

You opened your eyes, caught in the crossfire of his icy stare, “Hydra agent during the extraction.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

The extraction of the French Prime Minister had been more than an hour ago. You should have been stitched up a long time ago. You should not have been dripping on the pale bathroom tiles.

“Surface wound,” you continued as professionally as your body would allow, knowing that even though you’d live, your failure was the reason for his fury, “came here. Was in the process of fixing it.”

“We have medics,” he growled, “what were you thinking?”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t about to tell him how your presence was a poison that would likely get them all killed eventually. Or that your constant mistakes were your own consequences to deal with — to fix. He probably knew that all ready. His question had to be rhetorical.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he were trying to steady his anger. You stared at him, the winter soldier kneeling before you, his calloused hands still resting on your hips. He let out a sigh, his breath warm on your stomach.

“I should call for a medic,” he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, “I can take care of my own mistakes.”

His lids snapped open, piercing blue eyes pinning you to the spot with their ice cold intensity. He was obviously still pissed. But he didn’t call for a medic. Instead, he got up, warm hands leaving behind nothing more than goosebumps and shivers — from the blood loss, of course— and picked up the needle.

“This is going to hurt,” he murmured once he was kneeling in front of you again.

You tried to nod, but the motion sent your vision spinning again and you gripped onto his shoulder for support, the metal sturdy beneath your grip.

He looked up into your eyes, “are you sure you want me to do this? It’ll leave a scar and it won’t be pretty.”

“It’s only fitting,” you coughed a laugh, “at least the outside will start looking like the inside.”

His brows furrowed but he didn’t say anything. He knew what you were. You were a mutant who somehow got the ‘gift’ of being able to make anything stop functioning. You could make plans fall apart. Kill a software program. Stop a body’s functioning. Even ruin a functioning team like the Avengers. With skill, you should have been one of their greatest assets, ruining everything that threatened the world. But your ‘gift’ extended to yourself as well. You ruined everything you touched. Even the good. Especially, it always seemed, the good.

He pierced your skin without warning, but you were glad for the pain. It gave you something else to focus on than the echoing thoughts of your failure. But Bucky was gentle. Despite the anger you knew must still be there, his movements were delicate and focused, hesitating whenever you winced or sucked in a breath.

By the time he tied the knot, you were surprised you were still upright. He might have been efficient, but you couldn’t tell if it had taken seconds, minutes or even hours. His hands cupped your face and eyes you hadn’t realized you’d closed fluttered open. He was so close now, his expression pinched with worry. You couldn’t help but wonder how it could be for you.

“I’m almost done,” he said softly, “but you’ll probably need a transfusion.”

Adrenaline kicked in. You couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not when you could barely keep your eyes open.

“Please don’t take me there,” you begged, “I can’t hurt anyone else.”

Your abilities rarely activated while you were asleep, but you wouldn’t risk the lives of the other patients or the doctors by going down to the medical wing. Years ago, when you’d realized what your abilities were, you’d stopped sleeping anywhere near anyone else. Now, hurt, there was an even greater chance you might lose control.

If you hadn’t been working so hard for consciousness, you would have also told Bucky to leave. But it wouldn’t have mattered. For some reason, he always stayed. Even when he was within the radius of your power. Even when you told him to go. Especially then. He always stayed.

“I won’t hurt anyone else,” you choked out, “I always hurt someone else.”

His thumb brushed across your cheek, “and yet you saved me today.”

You looked away from his burning gaze, your tears threatening to spill.

He continued, mercifully ignoring your watery eyes, “even though you were hurt you dropped that Hydra agent before he could shoot me in the back. We didn’t lose a single agent today, YN. That’s because you were there.”

“No,” you tried to shake your head, but his hands held on tightly, “they — you — saved yourselves. I got stabbed.”

“You got stabbed because you were busy watching everyone else’s back,” he growled, that earlier anger returning.

“I ruin things,” you repeated for what felt like the millionth time.

But it didn’t matter. He never seemed to believe you. But he needed to. You desperately needed him to before you ruined him too.

“Please leave,” you whimpered.

His answer was simple, “No.”

He took his hands back, but it was only to find some gauze to place over your cut. Once he was done, he scooped you up so gently the movement only hurt a lot instead of blinding pain and brought you to bed.

You gripped his shirt, fist balling up at the hem with all the strength you had left, “you need to leave, Bucky. Now.”

For some reason, the bastard smirked, “Someone has to make sure you don’t die in your sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” you snapped, though it lacked any kind of force.

He didn’t look impressed, “If you were fine you wouldn’t be begging me to leave. You’d be downstairs with me and we’d be getting our asses handed to us by Vision and Sam like every other Thursday night.”

You wanted to protest. You wanted to protect him, but you had no fight left in you. And with the plush mattress calling you to sleep, the world went dark before you could figure out a way to get him to leave.

“All right Destructo, show me what you’ve got.”

You weren’t a fan of the nickname, but you weren’t about to tell the Tony Stark to shut up and use your real name. And anyways, as much as you hated using your abilities, and how you were always overcome by the tidal wave of fear that sent fear rolling like waves throughout your body, you always felt better — healthier even — after using them. And he was giving you free range now.

Eight suits surrounded you in a perfect octagon, hands out like they were ready to strike. Tony had somehow altered his suits so that they’d shoot bubbles — of all things — instead of small blasts and said you’d only be alive if you managed to take them all down before a single bubble came out.

A small grin unwittingly made its way onto your face.

“Glad to see you’re having fun,” Tony remarked, “it’ll come in handy for future testing. Ready?”

You nodded and ignored the bit about future testing. They might have thought they wanted you now but after they saw how much of a curse you really were, they weren’t going to keep you around long enough for future testing. You prayed that day wasn’t any time soon.

But you were ready now. That was until Tony’s voice crackled through the intercoms once more, “just make sure you don’t kill anyone of us in the process. I’d hate to miss Taco Tuesday.

You lifted your chin, “Give me thirty seconds with the enemies and you’ll have your taco.”

“Such confidence,” he remarked with a chuckle.

It was false bravado but you wanted this. You wanted out of your hell hole. So you weren’t about to let him see any of the very real fear that you actually might kill him. in the process.

You let out your power in a giant blast.

You bolted upright, gasping for breath. Black spots clouded your vision but you forced through the waves of dizziness, looking for the one person you couldn’t bear to hurt. He was supposed to have left. Your next breath never came. Bucky’s long limbs spilled over the edges of the chair in the opposite corner of the room, his phone resting on his chest. His eyes were closed, a peaceful look on his face but that didn’t mean anything. The dead often looked at peace.

Then his phone rose and fell with his chest. You held back a sob. Your relief would have sent you tumbling if you hadn’t been sitting. He was alive.

Without your blinding panic, the rest of your room came into focus. He’d left all the clothes you’d strewn over the chair in a neat, folded pile on your dresser. You glanced over at your alarm clock for the time, which was…off. Your dread clenched it’s fist around your stomach. It had been on. So had your air conditioning unit. And where was the constant hum of your ancient refrigerator?

“They’re all fried,” Bucky’s gruff voice came through the silence as if he’d actually been sleeping, “the phone gave a nice little shock when it died. Snapped me out of my sleep that’s for sure.”

Your heart was still trying to hammer its way out of your chest when you said, “You could have gotten hurt. I don’t know how you’re not.”

“I do,” he replied simply, eyes finding yours.

“No, you don’t,.” you shook your head more than you had to, “No, you can’t.”

“I can because I’ve trained with you almost every day since you got here. I know that your gift,” you scoffed at the word but he kept going, “your gift works differently depending on who and what you’re targeting. And I know you don’t target people. Not unless you have to and even then I see that it kills you to do it.”

You looked down at your sheets, hating the way his words resonated through your body, refusing to go away. But you could still ignore it.

“That might be true, but Tony has been making his suits to withstand me. In case I can’t control my powers and they hurt anyone on our side. He might say it’s in case we meet another mutant with powers like mine, but we all know that’s not true.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he huffed then took in a slow breath. It did nothing to hide the growl in his voice when he asked, “None of us are perfect, why do you have to be?”

Because, even as a full grown adult, you were afraid you’d somehow end up back in that orphanage, unloved and unwanted because all you did was ruin things. And you didn’t know what you’d do if you ruined the closest thing you’d ever had to family. Perfect kept you here. Perfect kept you safe.

He stood from the chair, and came to kneel beside your bed. He brushed aside the hair that had stuck to your forehead with sweat, calloused fingers resting gently on your cheek when he was done.

“You’re one of us now” he whispered as if he could read your mind, “and I — we — won’t let you go that easily not matter what you think of your abilities. Even if that means I have to inspect you for cuts and bruises myself after every mission. You are good, YN.”

You could only nod, taken aback by the ferocity in his voice. Still, it didn’t stop you from looking him over head to toe once more just to make sure he was okay. Then you noticed something off with him.

“Where’s your arm?”

He ran his hand through his hair, a sheepish look on his face, “it might have fallen off a few seconds before you woke up.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, “I hurt you.”

He shook his head fiercely, “you didn’t. I’m fine.”

“But I could have,” you protested.

“But you didn’t,” he said, “you never do. Because despite what you might think, you control this thing inside you and we all trust you with it.”

You were about to object but he stopped you by pressing a light kiss to your forehead, and when he pulled back there was that lopsided little grin on his face that made you realize how light headed you were feeling, “one day we’ll get to a place where you’ll find this funny. I promise.”

And somehow, you believed him.