#he’d die for them i know it in my heart he’d keep them safe from anything

[blue-eli]

Realised it’s @khoc-week so even though I don’t have the energy to do it daily have this I did a while ago but never posted.

Arxeht my beloved. They came to me in a dream where I was a replica (of multiple people but looked most like Vidar) made by apprentice Nort/Xemnas, who was the fifteenth member of the organisation and also had my knowledge of hit video games Kingdom Hearts and kept getting randomly thrown through space and time.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I liked your writing on reader having to get in between Wolverine and Deadpool all the time 😆 it made me think what it would be like if they were crushing on you and there is a rivalry between them. If you could write what they’d do to win your favor or what shenanigans that would come with it 😂 subtle or not

These two weren’t fond of sharing.

So when the other finds that they have similar feelings towards you, the outcome is never good.

They’re childish in a way where if either Logan or Wade was coincidentally standing too close to you, the other was bound to notice and make a scene out of it, all the while you wished you were anywhere else in that moment.

The pair couldn’t get along even if they bothered to try as sooner or later they’d end up stabbing each other just because the other one was breathing too loudly or just merely existing.

And yet their feelings towards you ends up causing Logan and Wade to butt heads more often, especially if you were constantly teaming up together, with you often being their meditator in all their conflicts.

Wade was more vocal and borderline flirty when it came to interacting with you, he would crack jokes, boop you on the nose or even playfully smack you on the ass just to hear your yelp in surprise and become all flustered.

‘Plush ass you’ve got there, babe! wouldn’t mind laying my head on it sometime and use it as a beautiful fluffy pillow.’ - Wade, skipping away.

Wade could be quite clingy at times so there would be moments where you can barely escape the guy as he hanging on your side like a koala bear.

You: Wade can you let go.

Wade: and let go of my emotional support person? *gasp* Do you want me to die?

You: well considering how fast you regenerate, you technically can’t die-

Wade: do you hate me? Do you think I’m clingy?

You: no- well yes but-

Wade: you hate me!

Wade can be dramatic and the only way to shut him up is to just let him be in close proximity of you and allow him to talk your ear off about how good a dog parents you’d be to Dogpool.

Dogpool is your weakness, you could never say no to Dogpool and Wade knows this like the back of his hand and will use this as leverage over wolverine.

After all It’s not like he has a version of himself that was an actual wolverine or maybe even a honey badger in yellow spandex. So Wade counts this as a win on his end.

Logan on the other hand would be more subtle with his approach, even though to Wade, Logan’s subtly was as an dopey cow standing in a field of grass with how the scruffier man tended to keep by your side protectively; so much so that he might as well start growling at every person who ever laid eyes on you in general.

He’s a guard dog of a man in every sense of the word but how that came to be was from a whole lot of trauma and loosing people he’s ever cared about, so needless to say he won’t act like he’s interested in you at first, his heart had been wounded about as much as his body has and even had the mental scars to prove it.

He’s lived a long life of pain, fighting, suffering and heartache. He’s not going to falter so easily until you did something that made him feel safe enough to fall for you.

Once he has however it was impossible to go about the mission without him always wanting to stand guard by your side when he sees someone he doesn’t fully trust, always using his body as a shield for your own as Logan knew he could handle much more punishment then you could. So he’d rather avoid you being grievously hurt by any means possible.

He’d probably scold you if you ever were hurt as he was afraid that he might loose you, yet his hands were gentle but firm as they worked to patch your wound so it’d heal properly.

Wolverine: you’re an idiot you know.

You: wow I really feel the love over here.

Wolverine: *huffs* you expect me to kiss your ass when what you did was reckless and could’ve killed you? *his hands linger on your own even long after he’s done patching you up as though committing your warmth to memory*

Logan is a secret softy who wouldn’t push you away if you were to ever fall asleep on him, he’d grumble but that’s about it.

He’d even toss you his jacket if you were to ever complain about being too cold or leave it somewhere for you to take yourself, again he’d act like he didn’t want you to but he actually did with how he almost smiled upon seeing you looking comfortable in his jacket.

Logan is evidently more subtle about his crush on you then Wade is, or so he’d likes to think but Wade can messily tell he’s smitten when he sees how Logan’s eyes were quick to follow you in a crowded room with protectiveness and adoration.

Wade: aww has our dear friend taken the stick out of your ass and you fell in love?

Logan: *growls* fuck off Wade.

Wade: *holds his hands to his lips and gasps* oh my gosh! You have! Me too!

Logan: *looks at him* you what?!

Wade: yeah cats out of the bag, I like them too wolvie. you’re not the only one to find them cute, how close minded of you seriously.

They can’t share to save their lives, I’ve mentioned this before but they genuinely can’t even if they tried because one is them was bound to get jealous and try to take you away from the other.

Wade: do you really want to be near me grumpy all the time? Yawn fest much.

You: stop riling him up, you’re making Logan mad. Why are you like this?

Wade: maybe because you deserve to be in the company of someone who isn’t still unhealthily hung up on his previous red headed lover.

Logan: you shut your fucking mouth.

Wade: see! He’s not denying it!

You: I’m going to go now. *leaves*

Logan: you should make full time fuck head your job.

Wade: and you should make full time teenage brooder in a full grown man’s body who still isn’t over his first breakup yours.

The shenanigans that would occur between these two would be headache inducing to say the least.

The constant fights that would break out between them that you’d have to break up.

The bickering over who gets to act like a couple with you on missions. They might even play rock, paper, scissors multiple times behind your back.

Wade probably tried to trip Logan up in front of you once but it backfired when Logan made Wade trip up instead as he puts a hand on your lower back and guided you away from the poor Merc with a mouthful of dirt.

[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978).

Pairing: Yandere!Carlisle Cullen x Reader (Twilight).

Word Count: 2.1k.

TW: Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Medical Malpractice, Blood, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Social Isolation, Misuse of Prescription Drugs, and Generalized Twilight. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

It might’ve just been the isolation getting to you, but you were starting to think that your doctor wasn’t completely human.

Not that you’d ever say so out loud. At best, it was awful thing to think about a man who’d only ever been kind to you and, at worst, it proved yet another symptom to your ever-developing, ever-worsening illness had cropped up and would need further treatment to correct. You knew better than to say things that would make you seem more sick than you already were, but it was hard to stop yourself from lingering on the idea – especially considering you only had books, sleep, and his company to pass the endless time. Admittedly, it’d been a while since you’d seen another person, but you could’ve sworn he was paler than he should’ve been, to the point of bloodlessness. He never ate or drank around you, but sometimes when he spoke, the light would catch on his teeth in a way that made them look too sharp, too prominent. You might’ve been dreaming, but once, after you took your medicine but just before you fell asleep, you swore you saw him taking the cap off of the blood sample he’d taken a few minutes prior, like he planned to do something aside from—

You heard a door open and instantly, your paranoia was dismissed in favor of more interesting stimuli. In this case, that came in the form of your doctor, Carlisle Cullen, stepping into your bedroom, an inhumanly perfect smile already painted across his inhumanly perfect lips.

…maybe you should tell somebody about your little conspiracy. If only to be absolutely sure that you were really losing your mind.

“Good morning,” he said, and it occurred to you that you hadn’t thought to check the time, yet. Your life existed in three states: alone, asleep, and with Carlisle. Only that last one really mattered – the other two could easily be lumped into the same category helpfully labeled ‘waiting for Carlisle’s next visit’. “Have you been keeping yourself busy?”

“I’ve only been awake for a couple hours,” you explained, shrugging as he took his usual seat in the chair left next to your bed. He was always polite enough to ask about the boring details of your day, and you were always embarrassed enough to skirt around just how little you had the energy for. Most of the time, it was all you could do to pull yourself out of bed and yourself to eat before retreating back into your little safe haven. On a good day, you’d be able to go for a walk, maybe respond to a few of the calls you were constantly missing, but most days weren’t very good. “Reading, mostly. Thanks again for the recommendation.”

The book he’d lent you – a dry historical drama with characters as bland as water and a plot as boring as sin – sat open on your lap, but you’d only gotten through half a chapter before giving up. It was hard to believe Carlisle was only a few years older than you, sometimes. You couldn’t imagine how someone who seemed so young could have such awful taste.

Still, he looked pleased, his pleasantly aloof expression taking on a defined note of satisfaction. “It’s important to keep your mind occupied while your body’s recovering. You wouldn’t want to waste all of my hard work by letting yourself die of boredom, now, would you?”

“No, doctor.” It was stupid to try, but he’d set himself up for it. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself, your heart beating just a little faster as you grasped blindly for the impossible. “You know, there’s this friend of mine who keeps asking when she’ll be able to visit, and I thought it might help pass the time if—”  

“You’ll have to find a way to let her down.” Carlisle’s voice was smooth, calm. You did your best not to sulk, but still, he let out a labored sigh, only a touch too professional to roll his eyes. “It’s for the best. It’s good that you stay active, but you know what’ll happen if you overexert yourself, don’t you?”

Vaguely. It was hard to remember the details of your condition, and you weren’t in the mood for another lecture. “I do, doctor.”

“And you’re going to behave your check-up, aren’t you?”

“I am, doctor.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite patient.” Your compliance was rewarded with a beaming smile, an appeased nod as he pulled his old-fashioned leather doctor’s bag into his lap. “We better make good on that promise before you change your mind, then.”

You didn’t protest. Honestly, you didn’t say much of anything. You never talked during your exam, preferring to let Carlisle go through the necessary motions with as little interference as possible. Instead, he filled the silence with mindless chatter about his children and how they were doing at the local public school, the hospital’s ongoings since you were unofficially discharged, and your favorite – Forks’ particularly colorful smalltown gossip, from the sheriff’s wayward daughter moving back into town to the spike in bear sightings on the local hiking paths. “It’ll be a busy week,” he mentioned, as he finished taking your blood pressure. “You might have some unexpected company, after all.”

At that, you perked up. You met nearly all of Carlisle’s assistants (medical students, you guessed, judging by their ages) by now, and even if you didn’t care for all of them, it was still nice to see someone other than him. Your least favorites were the dark haired twins – the wiry boy who always seemed to be biting back a smirk and the pixie-like girl who always acted like she knew something you didn’t – and you were particularly fond of the blonde girl… Rosemary, or maybe Rosaline. She was nice, compassionate, kind enough to keep you company even when Carlisle wasn’t in the room. More importantly, she brought interesting books – romance and horror, novels like Dracula and Carmilla and Interview with a Vampire, always handing over with a sweet smile and a hushed reminder not to let Carlisle know she was breaking his rules. Looking back on it, you probably shouldn’t have accepted anything she tried to give you. You would’ve hated for her to get in trouble just because she was trying to be nice.

Rather than voicing your overwhelming bias, you watched intently as he slipped the loose cuff off of your arm, tucking it back into his bag and removing something else, something long and silver and sharp. Immediately, your gaze shot back to your lap, your throat going dry in an instant. The next time you managed to spit something out, it was nearly too quiet to be audible. “…is there any chance we could, uh, I don’t know,” You paused, shrunk into yourself. “…skip the phlebotomy, this time?”

Carlisle’s answer was as swift as it was ruthless. An airy laugh, a jagged twist to this smile as he took up the needle properly and turned it over in his hand, looking for defects. It was already attached the glass syringe and, even worse, an empty vial; just a touch bigger than you remembered it being, the day before. “And take that kind of risk? How little do you think of me, (Y/n)?”

“It’s not you, it’s just—I already feel a little faint, and you take one every day, and—” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply. “I just don’t know if it’s really necessary. Considering how careful you are and everything.”

“You’re right, I am careful. Which is exactly why I have to do this each and every time I come to see you.” He sighed, shook his head – suddenly more of a patronizing, paternal figure than any kind of medical professional, let alone peer. “You understand, don’t you? Without regular testing, your condition may worsen, and if you get any sicker than you are now…” You stiffened as he trailed off, bracing yourself. You knew what came next, what always came next.

“You’ll have to go back to the hospital, angel.”

It was strange, how a voice as smooth and as beautiful as his could be so difficult to listen to.

You didn’t like Carlisle. You hated his condescending smile, his repetitive rambling, his terrible taste in books and his creepy little students. You hated how little he let you do, how he talked about your illness – always skirting around the details, never giving you enough information to know whether you were on the verge of dying or a few days away from making a full recovery. No, when you were honest with yourself, you didn’t like him. Hated him, even.

But you couldn’t go back to the hospital, with its blank white walls and sobbing patients and strange, mind-altering drugs that put your sleep and made you feel like someone was biting into your throat. It’d been a miracle when Carlisle first told you about his domestic services, when he offered to have you discharged in exchange for only the promise that you wouldn’t seek care that didn’t come from him. Arrangements were made, your rent and bills taken over by some nameless, faceless local charity, and for the first time in months, you got to go home. You could live with Carlisle and his once weekly, now daily check-ups. You could live with the fact that you didn’t remember the last time you’d gotten to make a decision for yourself.

And, if you had to, you could live with paying for your freedom in blood, too. As long as it meant you didn’t have to go back to that terrible place.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t resist as he sighed and ran a sterilizing pad over your forearm, the antibiotic strong enough to burn. You clenched your eyes shut, but that did nothing to block out the feeling of a thin elastic band being wrapped around the crook of your elbow, of his needle pushing through your skin and burrowing into the vein underneath it. There was a second of pressure, of knotted soreness, and then, the syringe was gone and you were left feeling just a little colder, just a little more empty than you had before.

Even after opening your eyes, you kept them trained on your lap. You easily could’ve spent the rest of his visit in silence, but metal clinked against glass as he rushed to cap his vial and suddenly, you needed to hear the sound of your own voice. “I think I might be getting paranoid,” you managed, with a breath of a laugh. “For a few minutes this morning, I was able to convince myself that you were… I don’t know, an alien studying humanity, or something.”

“If I was, I’m sure that I would still pick you as the best possible specimen for my examination.” It was hollow comfort, but you smiled anyway, nodding along. Your medication came next, in the form of a small, chalky white pill that you still struggled to swallow under Carlisle’s vigilant gaze. You managed to choke it down, though, and as always, the effects were instant; a sudden clearness, blankness, followed shortly by an exhaustion so thick and so heavy, you couldn’t remember what it’d ever felt like not to be tired. You tried to hold yourself up, but faltered – buckling under your own weight. Carlisle chuckled as he caught you, helping you lay down with a soft squeeze to your shoulder, a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Sleep, angel. It’s good for you.” And then, his grin still pressing into your scalp. “And try not to dream about vampires, this time.”

So he did know about Rosalie’s books. Pouting, you shrunk into yourself, letting him drag the comforter over your abruptly immobile body as your eyes eased shut, as he pulled away – a vial of your blood still warm in his hand. It would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from falling asleep, but you managed to stave off unconscious long enough to watch him remove the vial’s carefully applied seal, to unscrew the air-tight cap with the kind of tenderness you’d only seen him use while taking your temperature or petting his fingers through your hair after he thought you were already too far gone to remember. He did a lot of things when he thought you weren’t looking, didn’t he? You’d never really noticed that, before.

Through your eyelashes, you watched him bring the vial to his lips before everything went dark.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

The Rain is Always Gonna Come if You're Standing With Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends. This one took me approximately 100 years to finish because school is eating me alive. This one is based on Peace from folklore, which is an underrated song, in my opinion.

Word count: 12.3k

Warnings: Bucky's negative self image, harassment, slight reader injury, people being assholes

"But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm If your cascade ocean wave blues come All these people think love's for show But I would die for you in secret The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?"

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, doll-” Bucky said as you swiped the dirty dishes from the table. He made a grab for them, but his enhanced speed was no match for you. You expertly evaded his capture, slipping away from his grasp with almost no effort. You knew him too well, knew his movement patterns and habits. Anticipating his every move was easy. With a cocky laugh, you turned on your heel and headed for the sink. 

“Sweetheart, really,” he called after you, “I’ll clean up.”

“But you made breakfast.” You set the two bowls that once held yogurt, fruit, and granola in the sink and turned on the water. “It’s only fair that I do the dishes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave a laugh, “that wasn’t breakfast, baby. It was just a… a morning snack.” In only a few long strides, he met you at the sink. His large hands snatched yours and pulled them to his broad chest, halting your efforts to clean.

You cocked your head to the side, “A morning snack, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know we’re going out for breakfast, but I didn’t want you to be hungry.” He added a fraction of extra pressure to your hands, pulling them closer against his body. “I gotta take care of my girl.”

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you,” you placed a quick peck to his lips. “And because you are so thoughtful and sweet, let me do the dishes.” With a playful tug, you tried to free your hands from his grasp. But Bucky held firm. 

He shook his head, “Nope. Not gonna happen.” Suddenly, he released your hands, spun you around, and landed a light slap to your ass; it happened so fast it left you giggling. “You go get dressed, I’ll take care of it.”

Your giggly “sir, yes, sir” floated down the hall as you marched toward the bedroom. This was to be the perfect day. A trip to your favorite bookstore, followed by what you swore was the best chicken and waffles the city had to offer. After breakfast, the two of you were set to visit the new shark exhibit at the science museum, eat lunch in the park, and grab an ice cream from your favorite spot. 

Bucky planned it all out, ensuring a flawless blueprint. And while you appreciated his attention to detail, you would’ve been happy with a day at home. All you wanted- all you needed- was to spend time with him. 

And time with Bucky was lacking as of late.

He stood at the sink, drying the now clean dishes as emotion overcame him. He couldn’t believe he was here- home- with you. He waited for this day. He hungered and ached for a day without danger, without bloodshed. He waited for a day spent with you. And only you. 

He’d just been so busy lately- too busy. Over the past few months, he’d been dragged around the world more times than he could count. His missions only seemed to grow longer. And each time he got the call from Hill, she sent him farther and farther away. 

He found himself struggling under the weight of severe, mind-numbing exhaustion. Anxiety. His body threatened to give out with each new wound he received, each drop of blood he lost. But he didn’t mind the constant paint or fatigue. What upset him most was spending so much time away from you.

The two of you lived together now. You shared an address, a roof, a bedroom. The universe somehow allowed Bucky to have a home- a safe, comfortable home- with the person he loved most. But he’d spent so little time there lately that he feared it wasn’t his anymore. That he had no claim to the space. He always felt like a mere passerby upon arriving home, like more of a wanderer than a resident. He always had to stop himself from knocking, had to force himself to use his key. 

But who was he to waltz through the front door after being gone for so long? Who was he to act like he owned the place? He thought maybe he didn’t deserve it, this home you shared. And he knew he didn’t deserve you.  

Over the past few months, he spent only a handful of nights at home while you held down the fort. You kept things together. He missed out on so much of your life; what if you didn’t want him to be a part of it anymore?

When Bucky did come home, he always showed up in the middle of the night. Sore. Exhausted. He’d drag his body into the bed you shared and pass out before he even got the chance to pull you close. He’d sleep late, his body too fatigued to wake before the afternoon. When he finally stirred, the two of you did your best to catch up. He wanted to hear every detail of your life, and you his. But without fail, the emotion won. You’d cry together, wrapped in the other’s arms, whispering “I love yous” over and over. 

And without fail, some world ending threat would interrupt. Danger always found a way to force the two of you apart, isolating you from one another. And only twenty-four hours after arriving home, Bucky would leave. Again. 

But over the last few weeks, things started quieting down. It was slow at first. Subtle. But Bucky sensed a shift in the air. He could almost feel the world settling. At first, he thought he’d lost his mind. But Sam, too, felt the earth calming. As did Hill. Whatever sweeping, overwhelming chaos that sent the entire planet into disaster so many months ago seemed to finally lose steam. Fewer calls came in, fewer alerts woke Bucky in the middle of the night. 

And three nights ago, Bucky came home for good. 

The adrenaline that kept him going for so long evaporated as soon as he made it through the front door. The anxiety melted from his body. It was the only thing, he realized, that kept him upright. And with it gone, his body gave out. He crumbled and collapsed to the floor as sweet relief flooded his every cell. He didn’t care that he was hurt, that he was worn out; he was just happy to be home.

But a sharp shriek flooded his system with fear once again. 

You stood frozen in the doorway of your bedroom, just a few feet away, with your hands clasped over your mouth. Tears welled in your eyes. Your chest rose and fell as sharp breaths dragged into your lungs. The sight of his limp body sent you jumping to the worst, most tragic conclusions. 

“No, I’m- I’m okay, baby.”  With great effort, Bucky pulled himself to his feet. 

It was then that you snapped out of your horrified trance. You rushed to Bucky’s side, throwing your arms around his neck, and pressing your body to his. You needed to be as close to him as possible, needed your souls to touch. His arms wound around you and pulled you closer still, desperate for you.

“You’re okay…” you whispered against his neck. It wasn’t a question, but an affirmation.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m home.” 

That night, after he took a shower and let you clean his wounds, he planned this perfect day. And though you told him it wasn’t necessary, he wanted to make things up to you. He wanted to apologize for being gone so long. For breaking your heart over and over and over again. For disappearing. 

He knew how his absences affected you. Knew you worried about him constantly when he was gone. He noticed the way you bit your nails down to the quick. How you picked at your cuticles till they bled. Your tired eyes looked bloodshot, and your bottom lip chewed raw. He knew your anxiety gave you stomach pain and headaches. Knew that you could barely eat or sleep when he was away. 

His constant disappearing act put you through hell. And he hated himself for it. All he wanted- all he ever wanted- was to make you happy. To bring you calm and ease and tranquility. And now that he was home, he swore to himself that he’d give you peace. 

Bucky finished with the dishes and headed into the bedroom, hoping to soak up as much time with you as possible. But just as he made his way into the en suite bathroom, your grumbled, aggravated voice caught his attention.

“Oh, what the fuck?” You let out a deep huff, staring down at your phone with a sharp seriousness.

Bucky popped his head into the bathroom, “Everything okay?” 

A look of surprise splashed across your face; you hadn’t heard him come in. “Oh- hey. Yeah. Everything is-” you gestured to your phone, “everything’s fine. My friend just sent me a stupid gossip article.”

“Anything good?” Bucky shot you a wink, knowing damn well he was clueless about the latest reality tv drama. 

“No.” The word carried a hefty weight and fell to the ground with finality.

Bucky clocked your tone, your expression- both struck him as too serious for a gossip rag. His muscles stiffened ever so slightly at sight of your displeasure. 

“Just dumb shit. People writing whole articles over things they have no idea about.” You rolled your eyes and slipped your phone into your pocket. A deep breath acted as a reset to your system, clearing the fog of frustration from your mind. “And it doesn’t even matter, cause we have a perfect day planned.” 

Bucky, too, took a deep breath. He relaxed into a smile and leaned against the door jam. “We sure do, doll.”

He was too accustomed to disaster. Always prepared for the worst. The slightest change in your demeanor sent him hurdling toward the worst possible conclusion. His body was home, but his mind remained stuck in a never-ending battle. 

“I’m just gonna put my shoes on- I’ll be ready when you are.” Bucky stepped away and did his best to shake it off. ‘Everything’s fine, it’s all good’, he said to himself as he laced up his boots. ‘It was just an article about Vanderpump Rules or whatever.’ His palms dragged up and down his thighs, his chest rose and fell rhythmically. He learned how to self-regulate, to talk himself down, long ago- before he ever met you. It was his only option back then.

The sound of your footsteps bounding down the hall commanded Bucky’s attention. He snapped out his dimly lit world and stepped into your technicolor atmosphere. A comforting sigh of relief spread though his body as he noticed the bright smile on your face. Any evidence of the upset your gossip rag caused was long gone, replaced by an all-encompassing warmth. 

“Alright, Barnes,” you grabbed your purse from the hook by the door and slung it over your shoulder,  “let’s do this.” 

The warm summer air greeted the two of you as stepped out of your apartment building. The busy city pulsed with the possibilities of a perfect Saturday. People passed by with dogs in tow. Cars honked. Birds sang. And finally, things felt right. Everything fell off its axis when Bucky was gone. The world turned in the wrong direction, the sun set on the opposite side. And only his return could set things properly in motion.

“Okay, to the bookstore,” Bucky weaved his fingers with yours and gave you a gentle tug in the right direction, “here we go!” 

Bucky never had an affinity for going out in public. He didn’t particularly enjoy the crowded sidewalks or busy subways. Throngs of strangers surrounding him from every angle only ever served to put him on edge. But he’d improved. He’d worked through his anxiety and his fears- all to be with you. It seemed, though, that his paranoia threatened to creep in again. After so much time away, surrounded by danger, he found himself scanning every face on the street, assessing possible threats. 

He always experienced some level of recognition in public, sure, but today felt different. Every pair of eyes seemed to bore through him, every mouth whispered his name. His muscles tensed, his jaw locked. 

“You okay?” you pulled Bucky to the side, out of the flow of people, “you seem a little on edge.”

“Oh-” Bucky snaked his hand out of yours, realizing all at once the force of his grip. He watched you rub at the sore spots he created and silently cursed himself. “No, I’m good, I’m okay. I think I’m just-” He eyed the area once more, “I think I’m just being paranoid. Is it me or is everyone staring at me?”

Your heart stopped. “Um, no, I don’t think everyone’s staring,” A casual shrug and a shake of your head punctuated your thought. “I think you’ve got some residual adrenaline or something, you know?”

Bucky nodded. “Must be it. I’m sorry about your hand, baby.” He pressed his lips to the indentations his fingers left behind. 

“I’ll survive,” you threw him a wink, “but the kisses help.”

The two of you continued your journey with Bucky’s worries only slightly assuaged. It seemed to him that hundreds of eyes raked over him with each passing second, but he forced his anxiety behind a wall. He wasn’t going to mess up this day with you- he couldn’t. He didn’t know how many chances he had left, and if this was the last one, he couldn’t afford to ruin it.

Block after block passed as you and Bucky got closer to the bookstore. Sure, there was a similar shop only a few minutes from the apartment- but it wasn’t as cute or as special as the one in the village. And Bucky wanted this day perfect. He’d do anything to make you happy. And so, he sucked it up and vowed to make the trek with you, no matter how nervous the public made him. 

But with only a few blocks to go, you pulled him to the side once again.

“Hang on, shoe’s untied,” you attempted to bend down and tie your loose lace, but Bucky refused to let you. He, instead, knelt on the sidewalk and gave your shoe a proper double-knot. 

He stared up at you with adoration in his eyes and a warm smile on his face, “this is almost like a Cinderella moment,” he joked. “Except I-” 

Something caught his eye. 

And before you had the chance to intervene, he was gone. He forced his way past cyclists and families with children, his body seemingly drawn in by a magnet toward whatever grabbed his attention. He stood with his back to you, examining a newspaper box. 

“Come on, Buck, no one reads the paper anymore,” you laughed, attempting to sway his focus. But he didn’t move. 

His gaze remained on the grainy photo of the two of you holding hands outside your building. For the second time that day, you scanned the headline: ‘SERIAL KILLER’S PR RELATIONSHIP: The Winter Soldier’s Attempt to Win Over the American Public’.

“What- what is this?” Bucky looked to you for help, for context. “Why did someone wrote about us?”

A haunting sense of hopelessness filled his eyes, leaving you gutted. And though he wanted to look away, he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from the page. Each second spent examining the harsh headline caused him more pain, more anguish. 

He truly couldn’t believe what he saw. And he couldn’t believe he’d dragged you into the crossfire. 

“Hey, don’t pay it any mind, okay?” You fought to meet his eyeline, “It’s just stupid gossip-”

A realization flashed across his face, “is this what you were reading this morning?”

A slow nod confirmed his fears. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, I just-”

Bucky snatched a paper from the box and began reading at lightning speed. With each sentence, the dread filling his chest grew heavier. “Hydra’s deadliest weapon has a new victim,” Bucky read aloud. “though she hasn’t been bloodied or brutalized…yet. We’ll see just how long Barnes’s new PR ‘girlfriend’ survives.”

The words cut him deep. They wormed their way into his brain and unearthed the fears he’d long tried to put to rest. He knew he was wrong to be with you. He was wrong to indulge in his feelings for you. Dating you meant putting you in danger, and he’d known that all along. But you were never scared of him- and if you were, you didn’t show it. This article, however, cemented his belief: your relationship was a ticking time bomb; being Bucky’s girlfriend meant signing your I love you’s in blood. 

“Wait-” he dragged his eyes upward and met your anxious stare. “What does this mean- what’s a ‘PR relationship’?”

You rolled your eyes at the phrase, just like you had earlier that morning, “’public relations relationship’. It’s a fake relationship that’s been arranged by a PR firm. People usually do it to get publicity or fix their public image after a scandal.”

Bucky knew there was more to your answer, and he had enough questions to last till dinner. But the article was long- too long. He knew it had to be full to the brim with the most brutal, vile rhetoric possible. Reading it would hurt, yes. But he needed to know exactly what the article said about him, about you. 

He buried his face in the paper once more, only surfacing to share a line or two with you. “They think you’re being paid to date me? That we’ve been doing something called-” he double checked the article, “‘pap walks’? What’s a pap walk?”

Even in times of crisis, Bucky’s lack of modern knowledge still managed to pull a smile from you. “It’s where you call the paparazzi so they can take pictures of you, but you pretend it was spontaneous.”

Bucky looked stunned, “Why would anyone do that?”

You shrugged, “you’d be surprised.”

People took pictures of Bucky without his permission constantly- it happened all the time. They snapped photos at the grocery store and on the subway. And no matter how subtle they tried to be, Bucky always clocked it. He could almost feel the lenses on him. But he didn’t notice the person taking this picture on the front page. Maybe if he had, he could’ve stopped it. Maybe he could’ve saved you from being exposed like this.

He shook his head and disappeared once again into the disgusting story written about the two of you. He didn’t care much what they said about him. People hated him- that wasn’t knew information. And though he didn’t love being one of the most reviled men in history, he’d come to terms with it. But now that someone dragged you into the fray, the fire within him reignited.

“His new ‘girlfriend’ functions as a means of improving the public’s opinion of Barnes and humanizing the ex-Winter Soldier. It’s a PR strategy we’ve seen a million times- one that could possibly salvage Barnes’s reputation,” Bucky read aloud. He eyed the people who passed, waiting until they crossed the street to continue. 

“But what if she herself is no angel?” He rolled his eyes at the thought. “Surely, no one in their right mind would risk their life to date a proven serial killer. So, it’s entirely possible that she herself may not be in her right mind. Maybe she, too, is a criminal. Acting as Barnes’s new love interest could possibly knock time off her sentence or hours off her court mandated community service.” 

Bucky stared at you, aghast. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I- I can’t believe they’d say that about you…”

“Buck, it’s okay,” you shrugged. “We both know I’m actually in love with you for real. I don’t have a prison sentence to shorten or community service hours to perform. And the last time I checked, no one is paying me to date you.” You cut a glance to the newspaper box, full of papers with front page coverage about you and Bucky, “I’m not worried about their bullshit.”

Bucky’s grip on the paper tightened, crinkling the edges. “But why’d they have to drag you into it? You haven’t done anything wrong-”

“Neither have you,” your tone was insistent, steadfast.

“We both know that’s not true…” Bucky loved your support, your assertions that he was an innocent man. But he never believed them. He knew he had blood on his hands even if you couldn’t- or refused to- see it.

“We both know you had no choice,” your rebuttal didn’t waver. “But, speaking of things that aren’t true,” you gestured toward the paper, “they also dropped Sam’s name.”

Bucky scanned through the article until he found the paragraph in question. “Why put in the effort to clean the blood from Barnes’s tarnished reputation? Two words: Sam Wilson,” Bucky paused his reading and stared up at you with wide eyes. All you could do was nod. 

“Barnes and Wilson have been seen together on many occasions and have even been photographed on Wilson’s family boat in Louisiana. But Barnes’s association with Sam Wilson, AKA the New Captain America, only hurts the Captain America brand. Even if the two did take down the Flag Smashers as a team, Barnes is a bloodstain on the brilliant red, white, and blue of Wilson’s Cap.” 

Hearing the words aloud twisted the knife. Sure, skimming the article hurt, but listening to Bucky read every last disgusting word hurt you in ways you never imagined. He deserved better. He deserved a world that loved him. A world that welcomed him home and celebrated his life. He deserved a fucking medal of honor for simply surviving what Hydra put him through. But he didn’t get medals or high praise; he, instead, got spit on by people on the subway. 

“But if this new woman improves Barnes’s image in the public eye, his destruction of Wilson’s mantle may be mitigated.” 

Bucky balled up the paper and crushed it into the nearest garbage can. His hands shook with anger, with anxiety. 

“I hadn’t even- I didn’t even think of that…” he leaned against the newspaper box, dejected. “I didn’t realize I was ruining Sam's reputation just by being friends with him.” Despair darkened his expression. He knew getting close to people was selfish- he just never realized how selfish. And in one fell swoop, he ruined the lives of the two people he cared about most.

“You’re not- you’re not ruining anything,” you took Bucky’s face in your hands, cradling his cheeks. “These kinds of stories are all made up, baby. There’s no sources or actual information for them to work from, so they just write whatever will get them the most attention.”

Bucky’s gaze fell downward. “I don’t know, doll…”

“But I do. I know.” Your words came out desperate, pleading. Something inside of you shook with a frantic need to mend Bucky’s broken heart. You’d never seen him this despondent, this torn apart. “And I’m not gonna let you doubt yourself because of some low budget, piece of shit gossip article.” Regardless of the emotion holding you hostage, your voice didn’t waver. You stood firm in your conviction, determined to help Bucky find his way out of the spiral. “I love you. I love being with you. I missed you so much- I hate when you’re gone. And Sam- Sam loves you, too. I mean, not as much as me…” you shot him a wink. “But he is your best friend. He cares about you. And I can guarantee that he’s never- even for a second- thought that you were ruining his reputation.”

Bucky gave a shake of his head.

“Hey, you know Sam doesn’t care about that kind of stuff- he doesn’t give a shit what people think.” Sam knew Bucky as the ruthless assassin, the broken fugitive, and the rehabilitated man seeking amends. He’d seen the darkest, most twisted version of Bucky created by Hydra- even fought against him. But he didn’t see Bucky as a villain anymore. He saw only his friend, the tortured soul who tried his best every day.

Bucky lifted your hands from his face and held them to his chest instead. He gave a deep, heavy sigh that vibrated under your palms. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Part of him wished to go back into cryo and escape the stares of the world. 

You could see him crumbling, collapsing in on himself like a dying star. He was drowning in his own mind, and you offered him a life preserver. “Hey, I know it must feel fucking awful to see a story like this about yourself. And I know you hate that Sam and I are involved. But it’s not your fault.” You gripped his t-shirt in your fists, desperate to get your point across. “This whole thing is so predatory and evil- it’s killing me to see you hurting like this. But I swear to you that this does not matter to the rest of the world. they won’t even notice.” Bucky’s stare sliced through you. Something in his eyes appeared hopeful- but only for a moment. The brightness died suddenly, replaced by despair.

“Seriously, Buck, people these days don’t even have the attention span to read an article this long.” Bucky didn’t laugh at your attempted levity. You dropped your joking tone and grew serious. “I don’t want you to think that this changes anything- it doesn’t. This will not have any ramifications. It will all blow over. The news cycle moves so fast now- by tomorrow, this same shitty paper will publish something that’s, like, ‘Elton John is secretly an alien.’”

Bucky didn’t answer. He simply rested his shoulders against the cool, brick wall and let his head fall back. He wondered if the fear people held for him would ever subside, if he’d ever be seen as anything other than a monster. His legacy was soaked in blood. It hung over his head every day, dripping crimson onto his skin. No shower could undo the stains- no matter how hard he scrubbed, he’d always be the stuff of nightmares.

“Okay, hey, how about this,” you reeled Bucky back in, saving him from the dark recesses of his mind. “Let’s just go home, alright? We can hole up and hide out. Watch movies, order takeout. We’ll just stay out of the public eye until this bullshit blows over.”

The offer enticed him. Escaping the stares of strangers, their horrified expressions- it sounded idyllic. The thought of just the two of you snuggled together on the couch, marathoning all of What We Do in the Shadows with Chinese takeout in hand was tempting. Bucky could feel the ‘yes’ forming on his lips. But at the last second, he refused with a shake of his head.

Bucky made a promise to you. After being an absentee boyfriend for months, he planned out the perfect day and swore on his life to deliver. He couldn’t break any more promises- not after he was gone for so long. And he had so much to make up for. So many date nights and lazy weekends fell by the wayside while he was away. He racked up a stack of debt in your relationship, and if he didn’t start paying it off soon, he feared you’d cancel his account.

But he knew you- knew you didn’t care about these things. You didn’t consider him accountable for the time he missed or hold a grudge against him. You were gracious- too gracious- of him. And if he rattled off his reasons for refusing your offer, he knew you’d sweep them aside. He knew you’d lead him home without hesitation and stay cooped up inside until the world eased up on him. And you’d miss out on your perfect day. 

Bucky wasn’t going to let that happen.

“I think it’s actually better if…” he eyed the people passing, certain they were shooting the two of you dirty looks. “I think it’s better if I just go about my day. If we go home and hide, I’ll obsess, you know? I’ll get trapped in my own head.” He quickly tacked on an addendum, “but if you’re not okay being out in public right now, I understand. They involved you in this mess, too.”

You shrugged, “it doesn’t bother me. I know our relationship is real. That’s all that matters.” 

And for a split second, Bucky’s worries disappeared. You were so sure of your love for him. So unbothered by what everyone else had to say. You didn’t let the opinions of others get to you; you loved Bucky, end of story. You adapted to every hurdle and challenge brought on by dating the ex- Winter Soldier. And you did so with a smile.

“Okay, good. Then I guess our next stop is the bookstore,” he said with a small smile. You tried to turn and head in that direction, but Bucky caught your hand, stopping you. “And hey- if anyone on the way there gives you trouble, you just say the word, okay?” 

But no one gave you any trouble. The walk to the bookstore was quiet. Unremarkable. No one hollered close-minded comments at Bucky. No one gave either of you venomous glares. The calm shocked Bucky. He’d been so sure that this day would fall apart. That everyone who read that article would converge on the two of you all at once, harassing and degrading you until you retreated home. But no one said a word. The two of you simply strolled hand in hand, soaking in the warm summer sun. And Bucky’s hope for a perfect day renewed.

“I thought it would be in this section…” Bucky scanned the ‘fantasy’ section of the bookstore, searching for a specific novel. He took the high shelves, and you took the low, meeting in the middle after a fruitless search. 

“Yeah, I didn’t see it, babe,” you rose from your squatted position, two mystery novels under your arm. “Maybe you should ask an employee? I can stay here and keep looking, just in case we missed it.”

“Yeah…” Bucky gave the area another cursory glance, to no avail. “That’s a good idea. I’ll be right back.” He dotted a kiss to your forehead and set off in search of a clerk, leaving you behind to double check the shelves. 

The hundreds of books lined up in perfect rows put you at ease. This shop was the coziest place in the city, a peaceful paradise free from the noise. And spending a Saturday morning with Bucky, wandering amongst the many titles, felt like home. Your fingertips brushed over a few of the spines, tracing the ornate lettering in search of Bucky’s book. 

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice brought you back to reality, halting your hunt. 

“Oh, sorry,” you took a few steps out of the stranger’s way and continued your search, only for her to interrupt once again. 

“No, I want to talk to you!” her intense energy was out of place in the small, quiet bookshop. The eagerness in her voice rubbed you the wrong way. “Is it true?”

You stared at her, a blank expression on your face. “Is what true?”

“The whole PR relationship thing!” She pulled out her phone and shoved the article in your face, “I read about you two this morning.”

Your hands tightened into fists. Your jaw tensed. And though you wanted to wring this woman’s neck, you kept your cool; Bucky wouldn’t want you to get into a fight on his behalf. With a deep breath, you quelled the rage building inside you. You set down your books and relaxed your shoulders, forcing your breathing to steady.

This stranger had no right to ask invasive questions about your relationship, and no right to ruin your favorite bookstore. “Our relationship is none of your business,” you said, and turned back toward the bookshelves. This stranger didn’t deserve your eye contact, your attention, or your mental space. “Please, leave me alone.”

“Oh, duh! I bet they made you sign an NDA, didn’t they? I get it,” she threw an all too friendly chuckle in your direction. “Can you at least tell me what they’re paying you?”

With that, you brushed past her and attempted an escape. All you wanted was to find Bucky and put this whole interaction behind you. But she followed, phone in hand, recording the whole thing. 

“Are you a criminal, too? Are you getting time off your sentence or something?” she called after you. 

You let it go.

“How’d they get you to agree to this arrangement?”

You ignored her.

“Aren’t you scared? I could never do what you’re doing,” she said. “No amount of money could ever get me to be near that man- he’s a serial killer. He’s a monster!”

Something inside you snapped. You whipped around, rage burning behind your eyes. She crossed the line. She didn’t know anything about Bucky, only what the papers and tabloids said about him. And she

deserved to pay the price for speaking about him so harshly. But just as you opened your mouth to tear her to shreds, a large hand rested on your shoulder. 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky stared down at you, “What’s-”

Your harasser’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” pure terror rendered her white as a sheet. “It- it’s him…” Clumsy steps carried her backward as her phone slipped from her hand. She scrambled for it, desperate to run in the opposite direction. Breathless, horrified sounds fell from her lips. Her hands shook. You watched with a smile as she snatched her phone from the floor and tripped over herself as she high tailed it for the door.

Bucky eyed the woman as she knocked over displays and ran into other customers. “What was that about?”

You gave a shake of your head, “nothing. She was just hounding me about the article.” 

Bucky’s shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly. Hit brow grew furrowed. “Oh, baby…” he sighed, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t follow me around and ask me invasive questions.” You stretched up on your toes, planting a kiss to his cheek. “It’s not a big deal. I just hope I don’t end up on her Tik Tok.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open, “she was filming you?” 

You nodded. Bucky’s face fell. 

A rushed “Don’t worry about it, though” pushed its way past your lips. It had an over-the-top cheery tone and a thick affectation of reassurance. You could practically hear Bucky’s heart splintering and shattering with each passing second, and you had to stop it. “I’m sure she’s gonna watch it back later and delete it when she hears her own panicked panting,” you shot him a wink.

And you waited. Waited for the gears in Bucky’s mind to turn. To grind. The devil and angel on his shoulders fought one another, bare knuckled, to convince him of their arguments. The devil told him to spiral, to jump headfirst into a dark sea. He told Bucky this was all his fault, that you’d been harassed, followed, and filmed all because of him. The angel, however, urged him to listen to you. To take a deep breath. To hold your hand. To understand that the article wasn’t his fault- none of this was his fault. 

And after a long moment, he slipped his hand into yours. The gesture was a bit reluctant, sure, but you didn’t care. He’d resisted the urge to plummet into guilt and shame. And that’s all that mattered. 

You let loose a deep sigh as relief spread through your every cell. “Let’s get outta here, okay? We can head back home and-”

“What about breakfast?”

You eyed Bucky for a moment. “You still wanna go?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he gave you a small smile. “I know how excited you were about it.”

Of course, all he cared about was you. Your happiness. Your enjoyment. Your love for this diner’s chicken and waffles.

“We can just go another time,” you assured him. “It’s no big deal.”

Bucky sensed the disappointment, no matter how slight in your voice. He couldn’t ruin this day for you. He couldn’t let you down again.

But he thought about the walk to the diner, the hordes of people you’d encounter on the way. And just like that, he felt his manufactured mask of optimism slip.

A sudden rush of what if’s pummeled his psyche. He imagined more harassers filming you, more unhinged strangers following you. He heard them yelling the most despicable things in your direction, hurling insult after insult your way. The voices grew into a loud, almost violent cacophony that rattled inside Bucky’s skull. 

He couldn’t let you be exposed to the cruel world like this. He couldn’t take you to breakfast when an angry mob threatened you at every turn. You didn’t deserve to be yelled at, to be disrespected. And what if they turned violent? What if someone followed the two of you home? He couldn’t risk your safety like that.

But he still had to make up for all his time away. All the lonely nights you spent awake, wondering if he was still alive. All the weekends you spent alone, missing him until it hurt. And he’d made a promise- to himself and to you- that he’d rectify the pain his absence caused. 

Plus, he had to be over-reacting, right? Assuming the worst out of people he didn’t even know- it wasn’t fair. Sure, a stranger followed you around and gave you a hard time. But she didn’t hurt you. She didn’t even try to get violent. It was all in Bucky’s head- he was sure of it. He made a conscious effort to release his shoulders from their tension-locked position and forced a deep breath into his chest. 

“No, doll, really. It’s okay,” he gave your hand a squeeze. “I can tolerate a few dirty looks.”

The second the two of you stepped out of the bookstore and onto the busy sidewalk, you clocked the way hung his head. The way he hid from the eyes of the city. He tried to shrink himself, to protect himself. The confidence, the self-esteem he’d worked so hard to build came crumbling down in an instant. This wasn’t your Bucky, but the Bucky of years before. The Bucky who hated every fiber of his being. The Bucky who took every harsh word spoken about him as gospel. The Bucky who punished his innocent body to make up for his tortured mind. 

The reemergence of this Bucky twisted the knife with which the article stabbed you and rubbed salt in the wound.

The walk to the diner brought out your chatty side. Filling the air with lighthearted anecdotes and silly jokes seemed to you like the only way to keep Bucky afloat. If you could distract him from the pain, from the potentially hateful onlookers, maybe this day could be salvaged. But, much to your surprise, not one person harassed the two of you. No one asked questions or followed you around. Not a single errant camera flash dotted the street. Hope rose in Bucky’s chest. Maybe this perfect day could still go as planned. Maybe he could still keep his promise.

When you arrived at the diner without issue, Bucky found himself almost laughing at his own dramatics. He knew he worried too much, that he always considered the worst possible outcomes. He saw the world through a dark and stormy filter, always casting shadows over reality. But to his delight, he’d been wrong this time.

The bell atop the diner door gave a delicate jingle as the two of you made your way inside. The place had an old-timey feel that brought Bucky a sense of comfort, a sense of home. Large families sat packed like sardines in every booth. Tray after tray of French toast and eggs benedict passed by. The smell of bacon and golden-brown pancakes instantly pulled his lips into a smile. It seemed to Bucky that this joint was the real deal. He couldn’t wait to try the chicken and waffles you raved about. Couldn’t wait for a syrup-sweetened kiss. 

“For two?” the hostess asked when you made your way to the front of the line. You gave her a nod. 

She eyed the section to her left, appraising the area for an opening as a busboy waved in her direction. “Okay, this way,” she grabbed two menus from the host stand and gestured for you to follow. 

But just as you attempted to trail her through the sea of tables, a booming voice caught your attention. 

“Hey!” 

The restaurant quieted. Heads turned in the direction of the outcry.

A large, gray-haired man with a soiled apron stepped into the hostess’s path, blocking her way. A deep crease formed between his furrowed brows. Sweat dotted his bright pink cheeks. This was the face of a man who stood over a hot grill for twenty-five years. He was familiar, but only vaguely so. You could’ve sworn you’d heard that voice before- though with a kinder intonation. And then it hit you.

During your last visit to the diner, he stopped by your table to ask how you liked the food. He was so kind, so even tempered. He thanked you for choosing to spend your Sunday morning at what used to be his father’s restaurant. He was so proud of the old place. So compassionate for its time-worn booths and outdated wallpaper. He told you how he worked in the kitchen for so long that now, even as the new owner and manager, he couldn’t stay away from the griddles. 

But the kind-hearted man you met last time was long gone.

“Not in my restaurant!” He ripped the menus from the hostess and dismissed her with a sharp wave of his hand. He glared at Bucky, his eyes brimming with hate. “We don’t serve murderers here!” 

The lighthearted chatter died out altogether. Forks stopped clinking against plates. Children halted their laughter. Hundreds of eyes locked on Bucky as his cheeks burst into a red flush.

“Get out before I call the police!” The man took a step toward the two of you, “You’re not welcome here, you psycho.”

“You can’t talk to him like that!” you barked back. “He isn’t-” 

“Baby, don’t,” Bucky cupped a hand around your upper arm and tried to gently pull you toward the door. “Let’s just go.”

“No,” you cut your gaze back to the manage, “not until he apologizes.”

Bucky gave your arm another tug, “please.”

The desperation in his voice nearly made you crack. His eyes swept across the room and back again, taking in each and every horrified stare. With each taunt the manager threw his way, the weight of the public eye grew heavier. More suffocating. Their stares pushed Bucky’s shoulders forward and his head down. He was crumbling.

Not one person stood up for Bucky. No one- aside from you- called the manager out. No patron even gave a disapproving shake of their head. It sickened you.

With a small nod, you obliged Bucky’s request, and let him lead you out of the restaurant. The stares followed him the entire way.

Bucky wanted to disintegrate. He wished to, once again, turn to dust and evaporate into the breeze. If he ran, he could put a few miles between himself and this godforsaken diner in minutes. But he found his feet rooted into the ground. He was frozen. Trapped. Running wasn’t an option.

He leaned against the cool glass window of the diner and let himself process. He heard you talking a mile a minute, reassuring him until you ran out of breath. But he couldn’t pick out more than a few words. It wasn’t until a defeated apology fell from your lips that he snapped out of his trance.

“Wait- you’re sorry?” 

You nodded. “I’m so sorry, Buck. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” His gaze fell into a strange middle distance, landing on everything and nothing all at once. “I should apologize. That article… it ruined everything. I feel like I-” His eyes met yours, “your life is never gonna be the same after this.” 

You gave him a shrug, “who says I want it to be?”

His eyes met yours as an exasperated laugh left his chest, “You’re kidding, right? This is going to affect everything for you: jobs, housing, friendships. When people look you up online, all they’re gonna see is that article. They’re gonna see me.”

“Good. I want them to see you,” you said with a wink. “If I’m gonna date the hottest guy in the universe, I want everyone to know about it.” Bucky didn’t laugh. “Babe, I’m not worried about that kind of stuff right now. I’m worried about you.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze fall to the sidewalk below. “I’ve been through worse.” 

The worn-out, beaten down quality of his voice was enough to make you weep. Bucky didn’t deserve more pain. He didn’t deserve to be treated like a monster. But society cast him out and labelled him a vicious predator. They abandoned him, left him in a corner to rot and wither. All alone. 

And you weren’t going to let them do it again.

“Fuck that article and fuck all these people who wanna disrespect you.” You tilted his chin upward until his eyes met yours, “we’re gonna go home and order take out. We’re gonna watch some movies. And we’re gonna get through this bullshit together.”

Without another word, you slipped your hand into his and started off in the direction of home. But Bucky didn’t move. 

You turned back to him, an expectant look on your face. “You coming?”

“But…” he gave the diner another look, “You didn’t get your chicken and waffles.”

“What?”

“You should go back inside and eat,” Bucky pulled his hand from yours. “I’ll head home and-”

“Buck, I say this with love, but-” you cupped his face, “are you nuts?”

He let out a deep, genuine laugh. 

“I’m not gonna eat here ever again,” you spied the manager through the window, “fuck that guy.”

Bucky just wanted you to enjoy the breakfast you’d been dreaming of. He hated that you were willing to deprive yourself. That he’d ruined your special breakfast spot. But your fierce loyalty filled him with warmth. In that moment, he made a mental note. He planned to scour the internet and find the best chicken and waffles in the city to make up for today’s mess.  

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Bucky said. “You were ready to fist fight that guy.”

You put up your dukes and landed a few faux punches to Bucky’s chest, “hell yeah I was. No one is allowed to treat you like that.” Your hands fell to your sides. A sudden seriousness eclipsed your joking tone. “Ever.”

Bucky pulled you in for a hug, holding you close to his chest. He never thought he’d have someone like you in his life. Someone who loved him. Cared for him. Supported him. But, without fail, you had his back every time. You were his safe harbor, his soft place to land. 

Sometimes, he thought that maybe you were with him by accident. Maybe he was never meant to experience your gentle kind of love. Maybe he interrupted you on your path to someone else. Maybe he somehow got tangled in fate’s thread. But he didn’t care. 

You took Bucky’s hand once again, prepared to lead him in the direction of home, “Ready?” 

Bucky gave you a cheery nod, “let’s-”

“Fuck you, murderer!” a passerby shouted. He disappeared in a flash, bold enough to insult Bucky but cowardly enough not to hang around for the consequences. 

Bucky thought the man might’ve said something else as he bolted from the scene, but he didn’t quite catch it. He was too distracted by the vague sounds of discomfort grumbling out of your chest. 

“Doll? You alright?” 

Slowly, carefully, you turned to him. A look of shock yanked his features upward as he came face to face with the massive coffee stain covering your body. It splashed over the entirety of your chest, streaking down the front of your shirt. Steam still wafted from the drips running down your neck. Rogue droplets dotted your arms.  

“Oh my god…” Bucky didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help you. 

The boiling tidal wave seared through your skin, setting each nerve alight. You could’ve sworn it hit bone. The sudden rush of pain forced a trembling into your hands, an unsteadiness into your voice. A stinging rush of tears brimmed against your lash line, but you wouldn’t dare let them fall. Not when you could practically see Bucky choking on his guilt.

“Wow, I wish that asshole was more of a cold brew guy,” you joked. “And he ruined my favorite shirt with his shitty aim.”

Bucky’s chest seemed to fold in on itself. It shuddered and shrank, collapsing against his thundering heart. Each inhale was shallower, greedier than the last. Oxygen leeched from his lungs as the crushing panic set it. An ever-darkening shadow clouded the edges of his vision- but he couldn’t succumb. Not when you needed him. 

Before he knew what was happening, he used his body to form a protective shell around you. He ushered you toward the diner door, scanning the area for oncoming threats. No one else was going to get to you- not today, not ever. 

A deep sigh of relief left Bucky’s chest as he ushered you inside. Sure, it was only coffee. And you weren’t even the target. But every passing second brought a new, horrifying ‘what if’ to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. 

What if you’d been thrown to the ground? 

What if you’d been shot? 

What if vengeful people wanted to spill your blood as payment for Bucky’s crimes?

He thought he might throw up. 

But the second he made it to the hostess stand, his nausea dissipated. The fog clouding his mind cleared. You were his priority- everything else could wait. 

“Someone just threw hot coffee on her,” Bucky said to the hostess. His words came out quick, firm. “She needs ice now.”

The hostess’s features sunk with a heavy guilt. “Oh, shit. I-” She glanced across the room at the manager and watched him with narrowed eyes as he schmoozed with the regulars. “I’ll go grab some right now, give me one second.”

The seconds dragged. Anxiety coursed through Bucky, prickling at his every cell. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Bit down on the inside of his cheek. Anything to calm the worry. But he couldn’t help it; you were attacked- because of him. And he needed to remedy it as quickly as possible. 

“You doing okay?” He stared down at you, worry creasing his features.

You nodded, “yeah. Doesn’t hurt that bad anymore. I think all of my nerves have gone numb, ya know?” You attempt at humor sunk like lead. 

“Baby, I’m so-”

“What the fuck did I say?!” the manager stomped over to Bucky, his wrath on full display. “I’m calling the cops! I already kicked you out once-”

Bucky held up a hand in surrender, “We just need some ice- the hostess went to get it. As soon as she gets back, I’ll go.”

The manager rolled his eyes, “No- you don’t get anything from us. Leave! I’m calling the police!”

It was then that the hostess appeared with a large plastic bag full of ice. She looked at you with kind eyes, apologizing silently for her manager’s behavior. “Here you go. Is this enough? I can get more-”

“It’s plenty, really,” you hastily grabbed for the bag and pressed it to your scorched skin. The cool sensation flooded your senses, doing away with any remaining discomfort. “Thank you.”

“Great, you got your ice,” the manager spat, “now get out.”

Bucky thanked the hostess a hundred times over as guilt settled in his stomach. He knew she’d get in trouble for helping him. He knew the manager would scream at her- most likely in front of everyone. But she’d shown the two of you kindness. She did her best to help you in a moment of need, regardless of what others said. And it renewed Bucky’s faith in strangers- if only for a moment.

“How does that feel? Is it okay?” Bucky eyed the dripping bag of ice, the shivering in your fingers. “I can ask her for-”

“Hey! Do you speak English, or just Russian?” The manager yelled, “GET. THE FUCK. OUT. You understand?”

Part of Bucky wanted to disappear into a cave for a while. Wanted to hide from the ridicule. But he couldn’t check out. He couldn’t evaporate and leave you to fend for yourself. No, he’d made a promise to himself the day he met you; he swore he’d always protect you. And though he couldn’t stop the public from treating you with malice, he could at least get you home safely.

“Woah, hey- where are you going?” Bucky put a hand over yours, halting your attempt to open the diner door.

“Well, I don’t know if you heard the lovely manager of this fine establishment,” you said, “but he wants us to, and I quote, ‘get the fuck out’. So that’s what I’m doing.”

Bucky gave a fervent shake of his head, “No. You wait in here. I’m gonna get us a cab, and-”

“It’s okay, I’ll come with you.” You gave the door a tug, but Bucky kept it from budging.

“Don’t,” a dark seriousness clung to Bucky’s words. “I don’t want anything else happening to you.”

Bucky’s protective nature was always sweet. Always made you feel special. You couldn’t help the tiny grin that pulled at your features. “Babe, it was just coffee-” 

“This time,” a grave look ghosted over his face. “It was just coffee this time.”

Bucky let his eyes drift to the busy sidewalk outside. Every stranger, every passing face posed a threat to your safety. Anyone could have a knife. A gun. And while Bucky was certain that the hot coffee had been meant for him- that you were simply collateral damage, an unintended target- he feared how the city might treat you. You’d already been followed, harassed, filmed, attacked. People saw you as fair game, as a token of retribution. An eye for an eye that made the city blind with hate.

“Can you just-” He dragged his gaze back to you, “will you please wait inside?”

Bucky couldn’t remember ever being this scared. Not on the train, not at Hydra. This was different; this was your life at stake. Your vulnerabilities exposed to the world. It was as if a magnifying glass sat posed above you, giving anyone and everyone a detailed look into your life. Bucky knew there wasn’t much time before the rays of the sun burned you alive.

“Okay, yeah,” you released the door handle, “I’ll stay in here.” It was the least you could do. 

He was deathly pale, his hand shaking with anxiety. He worried about you so intensely that you sometimes feared he’d get sick. And though no part of you wanted to send Bucky out there alone, you agreed. 

His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly; the whisper of a smile crossed his face. “Thank you,” he dropped a kiss to your forehead and headed outside to the world that hated him.

And hate him they did. You watched from the diner window, the scene that played out filling you with anguish. Not a single cab even slowed down for him. Vacant taxis turned off their lights as they approached- only to turn them back on once they’d passed. Bucky’s shoulders grew more slumped with each unsuccessful attempt at hailing a cab. His head drooped; his expression grew pained. This wasn’t fair. After his pardon, he’d worked so hard to earn the public’s trust, to reenter their good graces. He made his amends, went to therapy, even did a few interviews at Sam’s suggestion. 

One poorly written article in a shit-rag paper, however, was enough to send him back to square one.

All Bucky wanted was to get you home safely, and he couldn’t. He couldn’t even provide something that basic, that simple. He cursed himself relentlessly as taxi after taxi flew by. He was supposed to protect you, to take care of you. And yet, he was the reason for your pain. Your peril. It made him nauseous.

After countless failed attempts at securing a ride, Bucky turned to face you. He stared at you through the dirty glass, shame and disappointment dragging his features downward. For a long moment, he just stood there. Completely still. Passersby bumped into him every now and again. People muttered under their breath about him being in the way. But he didn’t move. He just looked at you, the person he loved most. You, the person he cared for above all else. You, the person he couldn’t protect. Couldn’t provide for. 

Part of him thought it best to just walk away. His absence would make your life easier, less chaotic. Safer. If he left you alone, maybe you’d find someone else. Someone normal. Someone better. Someone who could take you out to breakfast without putting you in harm’s way. Someone whose mere existence didn’t prompt strangers to scream at you in public. 

But he couldn’t leave you- ever. He was bound to you from day one. 

One last fruitless attempt at catching a cab sent his heart sinking down, down, down to the soles of his feet. And as he approached the diner with his tail between his legs, he felt himself stepping on it with each pace. He was so embarrassed, so ashamed. With a quick wave of his hand, he beckoned you to the door and popped his head inside. 

“Baby, could you…” he was almost too downtrodden to speak. “Could you get us a cab? No one will-” he cleared his throat, “No one will stop for me.”

The look on his face hurt worse than your scorched skin.

“Of course, Buck. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

It wasn’t lost on Bucky how quickly a cab stopped for you. It took less than a minute, maybe less thirty seconds. He stood on the sidelines, as far away from you as he could possibly get without leaving you defenseless. You looked good out there on your own, free from his burden. 

The cab ride home was quiet. Uncomfortable. The driver eyed Bucky in the rearview as though appraising a threat. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles lost all color. You swore you heard the gas pedal hit the floorboards more than once. The car sliced through traffic and screeched to a halt outside your building, throwing you forward in your seat. The seatbelt tightened against your scalded skin, pulling a groan from your throat.

“Thanks. Um,” Bucky handed the driver a wad of cash, “keep the change.” He kept his focus trained on you but couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice the way the driver flinched. The way his muscles yanked his body in the opposite direction. The way his hands shook as he took the money. Bucky wished to evaporate.

But he couldn’t, not yet. Not when you needed him. And so, he walked you upstairs and ushered you into the small apartment you shared. He double and triple checked the deadbolt, even pulled on the door to ensure your safety. He couldn’t let anything else happen to you- he’d rather die. 

“Alright, well, I’m gonna go take a shower,” you broke the tense silence. “I reek of cinnamon soy latte.” The laugh that punctuated your sentence did nothing to brighten Bucky’s stormy expression. 

“Sounds good, doll,” he nodded. “You can just drop your clothes in the hall, I’ll throw them in the laundry for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you frowned down at your coffee-stained shirt, appraising the damage done. “I don’t think this thing can be saved.”

Bucky shrugged, “It couldn’t hurt. I’ll give it a try.” He dropped a kiss to the top of your head, “it’s the least I could do.” And with a light tap to your ass, he sent you off to shower. The gesture wasn’t as lighthearted as it was just a few hours earlier, but he was trying. Trying to appear less dejected. Less broken.

But you saw through the façade.

When you emerged, free from the smell of coffee, you found Bucky in the kitchen standing over the kettle. He stared down at it, his hands resting on either side of the stove top, his shoulders nearly reaching his ears. You knew that look- he was lost inside his own head. 

“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to watch that thing…” you said, snapping him out of his train of thought. “Otherwise, it’ll never boil.” 

His head snapped up. The darkness clouding his eyes parted. He smiled at your lame joke, letting your lighthearted tone lift his spirits. “I was just gonna make you a tea, I know you haven’t had the easiest day.” He just wanted to right the ship, to steer the two of you out of the dark, choppy waters in which you found yourselves. Maybe, this small, kind gesture could make up for your ruined Saturday. Maybe, it would keep you from leaving. 

“How was your shower?”

Just thinking about it made you wince. “It was fine, I guess. I had to use the coldest water possible- any warmth at all made my skin hurt.” 

Bucky’s eyes flicked from your face to the kettle and back. Worry creased his brow. “Should I not…” He sighed, “Are hot beverages out of the question?” He couldn’t believe how absentminded he’d been. 

“No! Definitely not,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “you know I’ll always take a tea. Thanks, babe.”

A small, proud smile spread across Bucky’s face. For once, he didn’t disappoint you. For once, he didn’t ruin the moment. After such a nightmarish day, he finally breathed easy, knowing that he’d done one thing right.

“I was thinking I could run out and grab us something to eat,” Bucky said when he got you settled on the couch with your tea and a fresh ice pack. “I know you’re probably starving. And I could-”

“Baby, no,” you shook your head. “I don’t want you out there- I don’t want you getting harassed or attacked. We’re in hermit mode for a few days until this whole thing blows over. Okay?”

Bucky barely mustered a nod. 

“Let’s just order some take out. What sounds good?” You dropped your ice pack to the side, grimacing at the loss of the cool sensation. But comfort could wait. You opened your laptop and sat up, poised to take Bucky’s order. But he didn’t answer. 

He remained silent for a long while, eyeing the floor with a blank stare. His nails dug into the palm of his hand; his jaw tensed. Something deep within him fought tooth and nail to claw its way out. It scratched at his insides, screaming for release. Bucky didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to even chance upsetting you. But the words slipped out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

“Do you ever regret this?”

You cocked your head to the side, “Regret what?”

“This-” Bucky gestured to himself, and then you. “Us.”

The words hurt worse than your scorched chest. “No. Why would you even say that?”

Bucky shrugged, “Because you’re covered in second degree burns and it’s my fault.” Never before had he ever sounded this broken, this hopeless. Not even after Steve left. 

“Buck, it’s not your fault,” you shut your computer and inched closer to him. “You’re not the one who threw hot coffee on me-”

“But the person who did was aiming for me, and you got caught in the crossfire,” he choked out. “That’s my fault.”

“It’s not-”

He stood suddenly, his anxiety forcing him to move. “Can you deal with this for the rest of your life? All the staring and the harassment? And the hiding at home because everyone hates me? Is that the kind of life you want?” He paced with a fervent drive, fearing that if he didn’t burn through the nervous energy, he’d suffocate under it.

But, even in the face of his frantic movements, you remained seated, remained calm. Talking to Bucky in this state was like coaxing an injured animal into your home. One wrong move, and he’d bolt. Every move, ever word, had to be slow, measured. With an even tone and soft words, you refuted his sentiments. “I want whatever kind of life lets me be with you-”

“You want people throwing coffee on you forever? You want-” He paused, only to place your icepack on your chest once again. “You want to be kicked out of restaurants and denied cabs? Just to be with me?”

One small nod. “Yes.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks. He turned to you, his expression blank. “People used to vandalize my apartment, you know…”

“What?”

He nodded. “After I finally came back to New York and tried to settle in…” The memories of those uncomfortable, disjointed days filled Bucky with dread. He’d never been so lonely, so lost. He pulled away from you, fearing he’d complicated your life. He forced himself into isolation. And to make matters worse, his community turned their back on him. They didn’t welcome him home or celebrate his survival. They made him wish he’d never made it back. “They broke my windows, filled my mailbox with pictures of my victims, used animal blood to write ‘KILLER’ across my front door-” He let out a heavy sigh, one that came from deep within his bones. “That’s why I moved so often. My landlords- no matter how sketchy they were, no matter how much illegal shit they did to their tenants- kept kicking me out. I was too much of a liability, even for those shithole places.”

It left you reeling. Images of Bucky coming home to find his place completely trashed hurt you in a way you didn’t know was possible. You could see him, covered in blood, scrubbing his front door in the middle of the night. Wiping tears from his eyes as he looked through piles of photos of the people he hurt. Taping pieces of cardboard over his broken windows in the hopes of keeping out the severe, violent winters. He didn’t deserve any of it.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself back to the present. “Buck, I don’t care about things like that. They can vandalize our place if they want. They can throw coffee at me.” Slowly, carefully, you rose from the couch. “As long as nothing happens to you, I’m happy.”

A rough scoff launched out of Bucky’s throat, “Come on-”

“No, you come on,” Your words came out too intense, too hard. But you couldn’t maintain your even keel anymore. Not when Bucky was moments from unraveling. “I have been in this with you since the day we met. I knew- almost immediately- that you were the person I wanted to be with. Even when you didn’t know where- or who- you were. Even when you went back into cryo. Even when you turned to dust and disappeared for five years.” Dredging up the past hurt. It sliced you open and tore your heart into pieces. But you didn’t dare fall apart- not yet. “Even when you pushed me away,” your voice wavered, “I have been with you- and I always will be. Because I know who you are. I know you’re a good person.” A few tears dripped down your cheeks, “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.“

“Why?” Bucky shook his head, “I don’t- I can’t understand that.”

“Because you’re just- you’re you, baby,” you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Bucky’s existence. “You’re kind. And you’re thoughtful. And you’re compassionate. You care about everything. Everyone. I’ve never met anyone with a heart like yours…” You shrugged, “I love you. So much.”

“I know you do. And I love you, but…” His eyes dropped to the floor, “I feel like being with me is a waste of your time. A waste of your love. You know? You should be with someone good. Someone with less baggage, whose hands aren’t stained with the blood of innocent people.” He dragged his gaze up to meet yours, desperation in his eyes. “I want to give you everything- I want to give you the world. But I can’t. I can’t give you what other people can. I can’t give you what you deserve.”

“I don’t want any of that- I don’t want the world,” you shrugged. “I want you.” To you, it was simple. Completely uncomplicated. But Bucky didn’t see it that way.

“Is that- am I enough, though? I mean, the quality of life I’ve given you so far has been…” He thought back on all the terrors and trials you’d face together. All the disasters to which he subjected you. He shuddered. “Everything I put you through is so fucking messed up. And scary. And painful. And-” 

He shook his head. Since the day he fell for you, he knew one simple truth. And for years, he did his best to deny it. Hide it. Run from it. But it came spilling forward all at once.

“There’s always gonna be something with me. Some problem, some mess. I’m either gone for weeks, fighting god knows who, completely unable to talk to you until I show up at home covered in blood,” he said. “Or I’m here with you while strangers to accost you on the street because they hate me.” He shook his head, disappointed in himself. Why did he allow you into his dumpster fire of a life? Why would he subject you to the heartache and the misery he knew lurked around every corner?

He fought the tears gathering in his eyes, the emotion that attempted to block his airway. “The waters are never going to be smooth. Not with me. And I don’t want you to have to deal with the fucking tidal wave of bullshit that is my life. You deserve better- you deserve better than me.”

“Buck-”

“I want your life to be safe. Peaceful. Comfortable. Not-” he gestured to the icepack on your chest, “whatever it is now.”

Without a word, you took him by the hand and led him to the couch. And for a long moment, he refused to sit with you. He didn’t want to give in, to lower his defenses and allow himself to get comfortable. But your red-rimmed eyes, glassy with tears, forced him to take a seat.

And when he finally rested beside you, you ditched your icepack and took his face in your hands. “Everything you said that you want for me? I already have it. I have all of that.”

He shook his head, “Doll-” 

“You make me feel safer and more comfortable than I ever have. Being with you is like being wrapped in a warm blanket made of bullet proof bubble wrap.”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from letting out a quiet laugh. 

“I’m serious. You can talk about how the life I lead with you isn’t enough and how you’re not enough, but this,” you gestured to yourself and then him, “is everything I’ve ever wanted. Being here with you in our home is… it’s the most peace I’ve ever known. Even when we’re just sitting in silence, it’s- it’s warm. It’s comforting.” You inched closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder, “It’s like we’re the only two people on the planet. And we can just exist in the other’s atmosphere without pressure or fear. We understand each other. And it’s perfect.”

A rush of pink colored Bucky’s cheeks. Sometimes, even after all the years he’d spent with you, he didn’t know how to handle such loving sentiments. But there was no pressure to perfectly articulate his thoughts or express himself without flaws. A simple “I love you” did the trick. He leaned into you, allowing your warmth to soothe his aching soul.

“All that shit that happened today didn’t even bother me much,” you told him. “The lady in the bookstore, and the staring, and the coffee thing- I can deal with that kind of stuff. I can take that every day as long as I get to be with you.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair and caught a vague whiff off coffee but didn’t bring it up. 

“The only part that really upset me,” you continued, “was seeing people be so mean to you. And watching you get so down on yourself.” Reliving Bucky’s heartbroken expression at the diner almost made you tear up. “I can handle a rogue Starbucks, but I’ll never accept anyone treating you like that. You're everything to me- you always will be.”

Bucky handed you your icepack, begging you to put it back on your scalded skin where it belonged. “Well, I appreciate your support," he smiled to himself, "and your fierce loyalty.”

A mischievous laugh rumbled out of your chest. “Good. Just remember than when I call you from the county jail after I get arrested for burning that fucking newspaper to the ground.”

---------------

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[casually-eat-my-soul]

I keep thinking about jealous pining desperate Stiles and Derek

But like specifically Stiles Seeing Derek kiss someone else.

Stiles goes to visit Derek at his loft and he walks into a scene from a hallmark movie. Derek is kissing some random women under fairy lights to the back drop of a sunset. Stiles feels like someone plunged their hand through his heart and infected with body with ice. He genuinely feels sick to his stomach.

Derek looks down at said person with a soft smile, thinking that this time he can be safe. Before turning and seeing Stiles. They lock eyes and stiles is so visibly distraught. Like in the “where’s my dad scene”. One tear sliding down his face, hands clenched, grasping at his chest as if to rip his heart out.

And Derek knows he fucked up, but he doesn’t know how. All he sees is Stiles in distress and he needs to fix it. Stiles base scent has changed in a split second, now deeply intertwined with misery. He immediately moves from his love interest towards Stiles. But Stiles won’t let Derek comfort him. When Derek grasps his wrists, He tries to pull away.

Stiles is inconsolable at this point, choking on his sobs, barely able to breathe, barely able to see. This only makes Derek more desperate, he’s trying to pull stiles into a hug but Stiles keeps fighting him. Derek’s mind is racing with an explain on why stiles is falling apart in front of him. He thinks of Scott and the sheriff, praying that they are both still alive. He’s now genuinely begging stiles to let him help, to tell him what’s wrong, but stiles keeps pushing Derek away.

Derek’s love interest moves to help but stiles screams when she touches him. In his shock Derek stumbles away from Stiles, but not before ripping her arm off of Stiles.

The room freezes as the both of them are just staring at each other, stiles still sobbing, Derek shaking with adrenaline or fear he doesn’t know. Before Stiles turns and runs out of his loft.

And then nothing is like it used to be. Not like the summer they spent together, not even like the days of when they first met. Stiles is so different with him. Derek can’t remember the last time he saw stiles smile, or his eyes. All he can see is the eyebags that match his own and bitten bloody lips. He barely speaks to Derek and when he does is tone is soft and flat. They no longer banter back and forth with each other exchanging friendly insults. He is a ghost of the stiles that Derek knew.

Stiles doesn’t reach out and touch him anymore, not in camaraderie or comfort. Derek’s skin is devoid of stiles scent. His scent hasn’t changed from that night, now overcome with depression, pain, and tears. But even so Derek would still prefer to carry it with him. Derek feels like he is watching stiles die.

And Derek is ripping his hair out of his skull. He going insane. He has tried to talk to stiles but at meetings Stiles wouldn’t even look at him, and the Stilinski house has been lined with wolfsbane.

He goes to Scott and Lydia for advice, or understanding, fuck at this point he’d even take a stupid riddle. But scott just twists his lips in disappointment while Lydia glares at him with more hatred than she does Peter. Which is really saying something.

Derek is getting more frantic as days pass and nothing changes. It’s starting to affect the pack. The betas are more snappy and uncomfortable. Derek, himself is having a had time keeping his shift under control. Anger isn’t helping, if only it’s making it worse, more feral.

This costs Derek.

One night when the pack is fighting the next big bad. Derek’s sleepless nights and being distracted nearly gets him killed. He only wishes he could go back to that day, he would spend it, from sunrise to sunset with Stiles. Just making him laugh and smile.

The last thing he sees before he collapses is Stiles eyes in the moonlight, glistening with tears, same as that night. Beautiful all the same. But still Derek smiles. He is at peace knowing that this will be the last thing he sees.

But he wakes up, and all he has of stiles is traces of his scent on his skin. Derek roars in anguish. He can feel his betas trying to hold him down, he can hear them screaming but it all fades to white noise. He understands nothing at this current moment but loss. His wolf won’t stop howling.

He doesn’t fight the pull of the wolf, as he falls under his instincts. At the back of his head he knows that the people he is fighting are his pack mate, his own betas. The smell of blood affronts his senses. But nothing can be felt but violent grief.

The wolves in his den are wary and hesitant to fight him, as they should be. He can hear more wolves coming, and the deafening heartbeat of prey. He snarls at the prey that moves closer to him, fulling intending the go for the kill. As he pounces on the prey pressing him to the ground, teeth reaching to sink into his neck, he feels Stiles hands on his chest and he stops. The scent of Stiles is all around him, and Derek presses his face to his neck. Keeping Stiles pinned to the ground.

Thus way stiles cannot escape, cannot leave Derek grappling with the thought of losing him. Another wolf tries to get closer, reaching for stiles but Derek snarls at him. Stiles talks to the wolf, —

“Don’t worry about it Scotty, I got it from here”

“You sure dude?”

“Yeah, take the wonder trio and get out of here. We’re good.”

— as Derek pulls him into his lap, face still pressed into the junction between neck and shoulder. Not even willing to miss even the vibrations of Stiles voice. The wolves leave and Derek can finally relax and enjoy the presence of Stiles.

Derek feels overwhelmed, after weeks of not interacting with Stiles he is now surrounded by him. His hands run through Derek’s hair, his voice floats in the air, his scent finally intermingling with his own. This idea of losing the heat of stiles body pressed against his, makes Derek pull stiles even closer.

He doesn’t know how long they sit together but when he comes out of the fog. Derek breaks. A complete reversal of the night he lost stiles. Derek is crying in ernest, pleading and apologizing over and over again. Stiles is hesitant when he places his hands on Derek cheek. But when Derek leans into it Stiles begins to wipe the tears from his face.

They both face each other with open expressions. Stiles struggles to finds words to explain to Derek but all he can get out is a broken repeat of Derek’s own apology.

Derek felt as if his heart couldn’t know anymore pain, but as Stiles choked out an apology he could feel another piece break. Derek was just relived that stiles was finally letting him comfort him. Derek pressed their foreheads together and took a deep breath. Waiting for stiles to following along with his breathing. When they both calmed down stiles Slumped exhausted into his chest. With a heavy limbs Derek picked him up and carried him to the bed. Derek’s bed.

Neither of them need to speak durning this time. Derek was reluctant to set Stiles down, to let go for even a second. Instead he settled for watching Stiles as they both undressed and fell into the bed. Finally after weeks of sleepless nights, unrest and nightmares, they both full asleep wrapped in each others arms.

Derek refuse to open his eyes when he awakes. Afraid that when he does, Stiles will be gone and this would be a cruel dream. So he keeps them closed even when he hear Stiles breathe hitch. Even as he hears his heartbeat pick up. Even as stiles trails his fingers over Derek’s face. But he does open them as stiles presses a kiss to his lips.

Derek kisses him back just as fiercely. And this leads to teary confessions — “Don’t fucking lie to me Derek please, I can’t take it, don’t fucking kiss me out of pity.”

“Never out of pity, Mi Vida, I never wish to part from you even again, I love you, Mieczyslaw, truly. I can finally breathe again.” — They spend the day in bed, only leaving to eat. Even then they are always touching the other in some way.

After this Scott and Lydia pull Derek aside and threaten him with extreme violence. Peter joyfully welcomes stiles to the family.

(Honestly this was a whole train wreck. I also had another idea/version where this was happening during the nogistune. Where Stiles goes over to Derek’s loft as the darkness around his heart fills heavier that day and he sees Derek kiss someone else. The this is what finally pushes stiles over and allows the nogistune to fully take over. And Derek is forced to listen to the fox gleefully tell him that this action nearly broke Stiles. That while turning feral Derek has to learn that his actions cost him another person he loves. That because of this stiles and Derek are turning into twisted version of themselves. But honestly a fox should have never underestimated how far a wolf would go for their mate)

My bad for the long post but if you made it to the end, welcome to the trenches and suffering in the misery with me.

[callsign-rogueone]

keep her safe - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Marked!Pacifist!Reader  This one is for my fellow tired, chronic pain girls who just want their suffering to serve some purpose, and those who trust everyone they meet, even if they shouldn’t. wc: 4.7k -- the longest work I've ever put on this blog! second chapter is here! 🏷: spoilers for both Fourth Wing books (I’m currently 500 pages into Iron Flame, and y’all... 😭) people refer to you with she/her pronouns, canon-typical violence and torture, mentions of canon character death / death of a family member, bad coping mechanisms, Dain and his memory reading (I tried to make him more tolerable), one (1) reference to sex, I gave you a last name (Avan) and Garrick calls you angel as a pet name, because I refuse to use y/n. Your dragon's name is Tab.

Your stomach drops as your name is called for a challenge. “No weapons today.” Emeterrio adds. “I want you to work on your hand-to-hand.”

The pair of you unsheath nearly a dozen knives apiece, you handing yours to Bodhi. Disarmed, you extend a hand to the boy, as is the Tyrrish tradition before a friendly spar, but he doesn’t take it. No unmarked ones ever have.

He charges first, tangles a hand in your hair and pulls, jerking your head back, and the crowd of freshmen gasp, but you plant your feet and move with him, twisting your spine with practiced ease.

That gives you enough distance to kick a leg out at his right knee, hitting him squarely in the back of it. He releases you. Another swift kick to his legs has them sweeping out from under him. You dig a thumb into his collarbone, finding just the right spot, and he crumples, giving you a split second to wrap your arm around his throat.

He claws at your elbow with blunt nails, wasting breath as he attempts to rise to his feet, but you keep him pinned with your body weight, bearing down as hard as you can. He bucks, and your left boot skids against the mat. 

You bend your knee to brace yourself in a lunge. Your arm is starting to falter, he can feel the muscle straining around his jaw, but he’s tiring too — running out of air. If neither of you moves, he’s going to die.

“Enough,” Emeterrio commands.

You release him, extending a hand to pull him up, but he smacks it away and dives straight at you, clearly not done. “I’m not letting you off that easily, traitor.” 

You squeak in surprise, your back hitting the mat with a thud, and he lands another blow to your jaw. You struggle to take control back, gasping for breath from how hard you’d hit the floor.

He gathers your wrists into one hand easily, the other closing around your throat.

“You are going to die on this mat if you don’t do something, now. Use the failsafe.” 

There’s one dagger you hadn’t removed, that you’d won from Garrick in combat your first year, that he’d let you win, really, and promptly ordered that you never remove it from your reach, for situations like this.

He doesn’t have your legs pinned, so you kick out, catching him in the thigh, and his grip falters. You manage to wiggle one arm free to pull the blade from the inside of your jacket, rolling onto your side and holding the point millimeters away from his chest. “Yield,” you order, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You won’t kill me,” He snarls. “Everyone knows you’re all bark and no bite. That’s why you keep him around.”

You drag it down, just enough to tear his shirt. “Yield, or you’ll meet Malek today and you can explain to him what a cheating coward you are.” The words surprise you, but you fight to maintain the hardened look on your face, trying to convince him you’re serious. 

“Fine,” he spits, “I yield.”

Heart still pounding, you move to lean against the wall with the other marked ones, Bodhi handing you back your arsenal blade by blade. 

“She cheated!” Jason protests as soon as he’s standing again.

“She did what was necessary after you defied a direct order from a superior officer,” Emeterrio says narrowly.

Jason glowers, but returns to his friends without further argument. The rest of the pack takes note of their faces; they’re likely as conniving as him, and as liable to try to kill you, too.

“I’m gonna end that motherfucker,” Garrick mutters, checking you over for injuries as subtly as he can. He hands you a scrap of cloth and you wipe the blood from your nose, wincing, but grateful it isn’t broken.

“He’s been at this for months. One of these days, he’s going to kill you.” Bodhi says quietly, his gaze not moving from the next sparring pair.

“Why not kill him first?” Imogen asks. “You had a knife to his gut, you should have used it.”

“No.” You say firmly. “To kill anyone unmarked, especially an officer’s son, would confirm what everyone else in this army believes about Tyrs; that we are bloodthirsty animals.”

“Let them believe that,” she scoffs. “They’ll never change their mind.”

You sigh. Maybe she’s right.

You don’t see your friends for the next ten hours, when you’re finally excused for dinner.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bodhi asks. 

“Medical wing,” you rasp, sliding into a seat at the end of the bench. “Mending infantry with Carr.” 

“You should eat,” Liam says softly, pushing a plate toward you, but you shake your head no, every muscle in your body screaming. 

You look like your head is going to hit the table, your neck no longer able to hold it up. Bodhi pulls you into his side and you slump against him, boneless. “Her signet isn’t fully developed yet,” you hear him explain to Violet and Liam. “She’ll be okay. She just needs to rest.”

When you wake, it’s dark out, the room nearly pitch black, but you can tell it’s not yours — the furniture is arranged differently.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, gentle one,” Tab greets as soon as you’re cognizant. He can only be this dry about it because he knew you’d pull through. “If he makes you do that again, I’ll eat him.”

You laugh, wincing at the pain in your ribs. Your entire body aches. There’s no way you got up the three flights of stairs here yourself — you didn’t even have it in you to chew food at dinner.

There’s a comforting scent to the room — all the soap and detergent everyone uses is standard issue, but something about the sheets smells like Garrick. Your theory is confirmed when he walks through the door, the hallway light illuminating the hilts of the two swords strapped to his back. “If you want me in your bed, Gare, you just need to ask,” you say in greeting.

He laughs dryly, waving a hand to activate a small mage light. “The damage can’t be too bad if you’re already cracking jokes.”

“I missed physics, didn’t I? Did you carry me up here?”

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about. You can copy Violet’s notes, they’re way better than mine.” He strips some of the weapons off, shedding his flight jacket along with them. It’s something you’ve seen many times before, but it never fails to make your heart flutter.

He sits on the edge of the bed, a gentle hand moving up to lay against your cheek. “And I did carry you. I’d do anything for you, angel. It scares me sometimes.”

He brushes a piece of hair from your face. You’d been freezing cold when you fell asleep, so he’d draped you with every blanket he owned before leaving, and it seems to have worked — your skin is pleasantly warm against his hand.

“Anything, hm?” You ask, a lazy smile on your face. 

His eyes sparkle at the mischief in your tone, but he’s responsible enough to think before he acts. “Not until you’ve recovered,” he says sternly. 

You yawn. “D’you have section leader stuff to do tonight?”

“That’s what executive officers are for.”

You crack an eye to look at him in disapproval. “Gare, you can’t skip duty. Melgren will have your head.”

He sighs. “Fine. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t. Your bed is more comfortable than mine anyway.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, tugging the jacket back on and strapping in the swords.

/////////

Someone is standing in front of your yoga mat. Dain. “No bodyguard today?” He asks.

You’re silent, your gaze flickering between him and the longsword by your side, the one Garrick had insisted you take with you everywhere when he wasn’t there to protect you.

“You may find this hard to believe, but I don’t want to kill you.” He says with a sigh. “I just need to-”

“Quit talking and join me, or leave.” You interrupt, settling into a deeper stretch, eyes closing as you gesture to the floor next to you with an open hand. By the grace of Amari, Carr had given you enough time off to recover, but he’ll likely be making you work another shift in the infirmary today. This will be your only pocket of calm for the next twelve hours. You aren’t going to skip it for Dain, of all people.

He chooses the first option, surprising you as he drags a mat over beside yours, attempting to copy your movements. “Do you really do this every day?” He asks, uncomfortable.

“Even a soldier must take time to be at peace. Clear your mind. Whatever you’re thinking about is so loud it’s distracting.”

He startles, his foot slipping on the mat.

“No, my signet is not mind-reading.” You say, eyes still closed, though there’s an amused look on your face. “Relax. You’re killing the air in here with that nervous energy.”

For the next five minutes, you both stretch in total silence. “Now,” you decide, bringing your arms back to your body, focusing on your breathing, “what was so important that you needed to find me here?”

He cuts straight to it. “Varrish wants me to… practice on you. He thinks you’re hiding something, that all of you are.” He doesn’t need to specify who he means by you. 

You don’t seem to react to the information, instead looking at him with curiosity. “How do you feel about your signet?” 

He blinks. Nobody’s ever asked him that before. “I don’t know.” He says quietly. You shift again, but he doesn’t follow you, folding his legs underneath him instead. Your silence presses him to speak, needing to fill the air. “I used to think it was cool, but now… now I’m wondering if it’s really a gift at all.”

“What do you see when you view a memory like that? Are you living it through their eyes, or from above, watching it unfold? How far back can you see?”

“Through their eyes.” He answers, throat dry. Why is he telling you this? “A day, maybe two. It depends. Varrish wants me to learn to push it farther.”

You weigh the consequences. If he’s being honest, he won’t see anything confidential — at worst, a gathering of more than three marked ones to exercise, but is he really petty enough to tell Varrish about that, when he’s giving you a warning in the first place?

“Okay.” You say, opening your eyes. Better it be you than one of the kids who can’t shield their memories yet, or Garrick or Bodhi, who would rip him limb from limb if he tried to touch them.

“What?”

“I’m going to go about my day now as if this conversation never happened,” you say, looking him in the eye, unflinching, “and you’re going to do what you have to do to satisfy Varrish’s demands — with me and only me. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” he stammers, shocked that you’re letting him do this.

“Good.” You pick up the longsword, strapping it back in along your spine. “Dain?” You call over your shoulder. “I won’t make it easy for you.” You say, and he knows that’s a promise.

“That was an incredibly stupid decision, gentle one. A noble decision, but stupid nonetheless.” Tab speaks into your mind on the way back up to your room. “You cannot always assume everyone has good intentions. It would have been your downfall by now, if not for your mate’s protection.”

“Stop calling Garrick my mate. That’s weird.” You deflect, not wanting to unpack his earlier words.

“Forgive me. Dragons do not have a word for a relationship as trivial as a boyfriend.”

You build up a mental wall like Xaden had taught you, ending the argument. 

When Varrish calls you into his office that afternoon, you already know what it’s for. “Take a seat,” he says with a smile that you know isn’t meant to be friendly.

He sees the way your eyes immediately narrow at the sight of Dain — everyone knows how the quadrant’s golden boy feels about marked ones, and how you feel about him. You’re going to be doing some very good acting today.

The door closes and locks behind you, and your stomach flips as you feel the sound shield form and press up against the office walls. There’s no escape, and no screaming for help, but you know what you’ve walked into. You signed up for it this morning.

“To what do I owe this meeting, Major?” You ask respectfully, lowering yourself into the chair beside Dain.

“Professor Carr has made me aware that both of your signets have been slow to develop. We’re going to spend your leisure time today practicing, in hopes that you will finally improve.” A very convincing lie, you’ll admit. If Dain hadn’t come to you this morning, you might have believed it. “No objections?” He asks, waiting for you to protest.

“No, sir.” You say calmly, Dain answering the same a beat behind you.

“Good. Aetos, you first.”

It takes every ounce of self control not to squirm as Dain stands, stepping toward you. You lift your chin, closing your eyes -- a gesture of consent small enough to fly under the Vice Commandant’s radar.

You may be letting him try, but you’d told him this wouldn’t be easy. You block him out completely, raising your mental shield and barring the gates.

“What do you see?” Varrish asks.

Dain doesn’t answer. He does not push, does not attempt to kick the door down or dig below the foundation. He stands outside, waiting for you to give him something. 

The crack of his nose breaking has your eyes flying open, the coppery scent of blood starting to fill the room immediately as he staggers back into his chair.

“Your turn, Avan."

You stand, laying a gentle hand on Dain’s jaw to tilt it up, stopping the blood from pouring down his shirt. 

He looks up at you, stunned, but lets you touch the broken cartilage with your fingertips, and moments later it feels like nothing ever happened. It’s mind-bending.

“Very good. Aetos, try again. What was she doing this morning?”

Dain stands, angling his body between yours and Varrish’s so that the Major can’t see the apology he mouths before his hands touch your forehead. Whether he can see his conversation with you in the gym is unclear. He lies through his teeth either way. “She was alone,” he answers, “on a run to the flight field and back.” 

“And then?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes not leaving yours. “A shower, breakfast. Eggs. An apple. Toast. She sat with Tavis and two other marked ones.” He leaves out Violet from the group, not wanting to implicate her. Interesting. 

That much is true, but it’s part of your everyday routine — he could have easily gleaned that from watching you across the mess hall. Is he still locked out?

Varrish stands, rounding the corner of his desk. “Let’s make this a little harder, shall we?”

Dain screams as a dagger pierces his arm, thrashing in his chair. Varrish twists the blade as he pulls it out, letting Dain’s blood drip to the floor. This is why he needed the sound shield.

Your eyes widen, and the adrenaline has you leaping to your feet to fix it. You press a hand into the wound, apologizing when he winces. It takes you longer than it should for the muscle to repair itself.

“You care more about him than I thought.” Varrish muses.

You turn to him, anger flickering in your chest. “It is my moral obligation to help the wounded.”

He tuts. “You would have made an excellent healer, had your parents not committed high treason. Aetos, again. Find something older.”

Dain trembles as he stands, and you take pity on him. You push an older memory forward, a happy one, remembering it as vividly as you can.

You watch together as you sprint through the forest, stopping dead in your tracks as you see two cadets fighting. The one losing is a smaller girl in your class whose name Dain can’t remember, a tall, muscled boy towering over her, sword ready to strike.

You spring forward, catching him by surprise and effectively disarming him, and he chooses to abandon the sword and run rather than fight the both of you. You extend a hand to pull the girl to her feet and her eyes widen further, staring up not at you, but behind you.

You feel a burst of heat against your back — not hot enough to be fire. Steam. You bow your head in deference, turning slowly to give the girl time to run… And the dragon bows back. What the fuck?

“You did not kill the boy.” It says directly into your mind.

“I did not.” You answer aloud, not sure if humans can do that.

“Have you ever killed before, gentle one?”

“I haven’t.” Should you be embarrassed? Dragons are violent, surely they would see this as a sign of weakness.

“Not all of us.”

“Holy shit, you can read my mind.”

The girl laughs in disbelief, and you realize you’ve just bonded a dragon.

“In time you’ll learn to control that. But your friend needs to get moving, and so do we.”

You wish her luck before scaling the leg of your dragon and taking a seat.

“Hold on.”

You shriek in happiness like a child as he jumps up, and seconds later you’re thousands of feet in the air, looking down at Basgiath and the valley below. When you return to the flight field, you find Garrick there with a giant brown Scorpiontail, bloodied but happy as he stands next to Xaden and the biggest blue daggertail you’ve ever seen. You pull them both into a hug, just grateful they’re alive.

“Careful, angel,” Garrick warns, grinning into your hair, “we just might make it out of here.”

You cut Dain off there, yanking back the memory before slamming your shields back up. He can have that moment, but only that moment.

“Threshing,” Dain says. Thank the gods. “She helped another cadet who was being attacked. That’s why Tab chose her, for her kindness.”

You both look at Varrish for further instruction. Your shields have been weakening with every injury you repair, but so have Dain’s abilities. You don’t know how many more rounds either of you can take. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” He says, sounding pleased. “I’ll see you again on Wednesday morning, to check your progress. You’re dismissed.”

The sound shield dissipates, the door unlocking. The only evidence is Dain’s blood, smeared across his face and arms, drying on the floor and under your nails. You commit the sight to memory, tucking it into the same folder that holds the death of your parents, and slam the drawer shut.

It takes you five minutes to scrub the blood out of the cracks in your palms and from under your nails. Your fingertips are wrinkled when you step into the gym.

“Why did Tab tell Chradh that you were called into Varrish’s office with Aetos?” Garrick asks, remarkably calm as he toys with one of his smaller daggers.

“Because he’s a meddling mother hen.” You answer, avoiding the question.

“Watch it.”  Tab warns. “Tell him the truth, or we will.”

You know he’s not bluffing. “He wanted us to practice our signets on each other.”

“Dain practiced his signet, his memory-reading signet, on you?” He asks, already simmering with anger.

“This morning, he came to me to warn me about Varrish’s plan, and I told him it was okay. I used my shields, and I only showed him what I wanted to. We’re supposed to do it again Wednesday.”

Your eyes communicate something else you won’t say aloud, not in front of everyone, and not when you know Dain might be able to see this conversation in two days. I did this to take the heat off of the others. You know I was the safest choice.

Garrick sighs. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I’d like to state for the record that I hate this plan. Literally everything about it. Except for Aetos being stabbed, maybe.” Of course Chradh told him about that. He’d have been delighted by the news, despising both him and Cath.

You give him a look.

“Okay, fine. I take that back.”

He doesn’t. 

By Wednesday, the pain in the bridge of your nose is gone, but your arm is still tender where Dain had been stabbed. Bodhi joins you in the gym, stretching with you for a few minutes before he settles into a plank at your side, his eyes never leaving the door.

Dain does not make an appearance at breakfast, notably absent from the leadership table.

Garrick excuses himself as soon as he sees you stand with your tray, catching you by the doors. “Remember that you’re stronger than both of them in all the ways that matter,” he says quietly. “I’ll find you as soon as you’re done.” You both tap your chest twice before parting ways, as has been your tradition for years -- a reminder that even though you’re leaving, you still hold the other in your heart.

Each step up to Varrish’s office is another reminder of what’s to come when you reach the top. “Cadet Avan,” he greets with another sickening smile. “Just in time. We were beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Your jaw drops at the sight of Dain slumped into the same chair as last time, bloodied and exhausted.

“Nothing fatal,” Varrish reassures. “Not if you act quickly. Go ahead, get started.”

The Vice Commandant’s words have you on edge as you assess him, looking for gaping wounds or broken bones. Dain winces as your hands move over his ribs, and you whisper an apology, pressing in deeper. When your chest starts to ache, you know it’s time to move on. You mend two broken ribs, dissolve a purple bruise on his arm, and fix a split lip, but Dain still hasn’t woken up.

You turn back to Varrish. “One left,” he says. “Use your head.”

Oh, gods. He’d given Dain a concussion, because he knows the migraine it’ll give you will make it harder to shield. You cradle the second-year’s head in your hands, breathing out deeply as you transfer the pain from his body to yours, healing the bruised tissue. Dain blinks himself awake as you stumble, the room suddenly spinning.

“Well done. Aetos?”

You fumble for the arms of your chair, vision blurring at the edges, but you manage to sit back down.

“Say the word, and I get your mate,” Tab offers. He can probably feel your disorientation, concerned you won’t be able to block Dain out in this state.

“No,” you rasp back. “If he shows up, Varrish will have us practice on him instead.”

 You need to pick another memory to satisfy Varrish, something older, but your brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. Dain gives you a moment to gather yourself, a small gesture of mercy.

“A moment of pure happiness,” Tab suggests. “Something with the wingleader and your mate.”

You flip back in the book of your life, nearly all the way to the beginning, opening it to the right page to give to Dain and slipping it under the gate with a nod of your head — you’re ready.

Dain’s hands are warm against your freezing cheeks. A boy no older than five that he recognizes as Garrick crouches under a desk across the room, holding a finger to his lips. 

“Wherever could those children possibly be?” Someone muses aloud, and you fight laughter as the voice grows closer, thinking it amusing that this adult has no idea you’re hiding in the curtains.

Footsteps retreat, and Garrick signals for you to move. You make it down the hallway before you see someone searching — presumably whatever parent you’d convinced to play with you. Small hands tug you both behind a plush velvet couch. Xaden. 

You press yourselves up against it, trying to be as quiet as possible, watching as a shadow forms on the wall in front of you, then a head peers over the back of the couch — that must be your father. He looks just like you, has the same warm smile.

“One more, and then I need to get back to work,” He says, already moving to cover his eyes and starting to count to one hundred. You each run off in a different direction, and the scene fades there.

“A childhood memory,” Dain says. “Playing hide and seek in her father’s office with Riorson and Tavis.”

Not good enough for Varrish. “Give me something I can use,” he snarls, a Freudian slip, but nothing either of you hadn’t known already. 

You flip forward in the book, settling on a page you never look at, that you can’t bear to, but that Varrish will revel in. You rip it out, sliding it under the gate. “Bad,” you whisper, the only warning you can manage.

Dain nods in permission, ready to watch whatever memory you’ve pushed forward.

Someone presses a small stone into your hand, an intricate overlap of shapes and lines engraved on one side, the other perfectly smooth.

“Do not put it down, even for a moment,” your father says. He’s aged between now and the last memory, starting to go gray at his temples. “Keep it in your hand until the end. It will protect you when we can’t.”

He looks next to Garrick. “She is everything good about the world.” He says quietly. “Take care of her.”

Garrick promises he will, and your father pulls you into one last embrace before he leaves. Tears blur your vision, Garrick pulling you close. “It’ll be okay,” he soothes. “They’ll come back.”

Hours pass that Dain can’t see, because you don’t remember them. 

There’s an ache in your palm from clutching the stone so hard, the rounded corners digging into your skin. Garrick takes your free hand in his, interlocking your fingers. Then there’s only screaming and fire and rage, heat burning up your arm as it’s marked with inky swirls. Until the end, your father had said. This must have been what he meant.

“Her parents’ execution,” Dain says, a note of genuine hurt in his voice. “They gave each child a runestone before they left, as protection.”

Varrish’s eyes rake over to you. He leans forward, yanking on the leather cord that disappears into the neck of your shirt hard enough to pull your body with it. “A runestone like this one?”

“Yes,” you answer before Dain can, saving him the lie. You shut your eyes, wincing as the cold edge of a knife brushes against your neck and the cord breaks, a single drop of warm blood running down your collarbone. You don’t protest, you can’t, your mind still hazy and eyes wet with tears from reliving the memory with Dain.

“That will be all.” Varrish dismisses. He doesn’t make an appointment for you to come back. He has what he needs.

You stand, relying on your knowledge of the office’s layout to navigate your way forward until the door closes behind you.

“I’m so sorry,” Dain breathes once you’re down the hall far enough to avoid being heard. “If I had known,”

“It’s okay. The rune is long dead, and he has no idea how to recreate it. I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you again.” You blink, trying to clear your head. How are you going to get down all these stairs? You can hardly see.

“Here,” he says quietly, extending a hand. You take it, letting him loop an arm over his shoulders — your right, the one that Varrish hadn’t bruised black and blue on Dain — and lead you one step at a time.

You’re halfway down when you hear heavy footsteps running up the stairs. Garrick. He’d promised he’d find you when you were done. He doesn’t spare a glance at Dain, gathering you into his arms and apologizing when he puts pressure on your not-broken ribs.

Dain watches as the older boy carries you down the rest of the stairs, murmuring reassurances to you all the while. Your father’s words echo in his mind. “Take care of her.”

Garrick Tavis is a man of his word.

[laangdonn]

not anymore

summary: the aftermath of glenn and abraham leaves carl and y/n’s relationship in shambles.

pairing: carl grimes x female reader

a/n: first carl grimes post yayy, i love him so much and in my mind he lives on.

*read part 2 here*

*************************

the house was quiet minus the occasional sniffle from carl and i. he was sat with his head in his hands on the leather sofa, his fingers lightly gripping his brown curls. i watched him carefully through blurry vision from behind the kitchen counter, supporting myself with my hands on the cold marble.

it was dark, the moon and a single saucer light in the kitchen shining as light.

it was so fucking quiet but my head had never been louder.

“so what are you saying?” i whispered, carefully watching my words.

he lifted his eyes for a moment until he brought his head back into his palms. he refused eye contact. “i don’t know what i’m saying.”

“you don’t love me anymore?” every word i spoke sent my stomach falling into my feet.

he didn’t answer. i didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

“jesus, carl, answer me-“

“i still love you,” he finally responded, his hand rubbing his face in stress. “of course i still love you.”

“then what’s wrong?” i pressed, a sudden urgency filling my veins. “why are we even having this conversation? why did you come home and suddenly act as if we’ve been fighting for weeks-“

“cause we have been, y/n!” his voice picked up now, throwing his hands in the air and standing up. he still hadn’t looked at me. “we have been fighting for weeks! we cant even look at each other without fighting! ever since glenn-“

“stop.” i cut him off, feeling my chest clench. “this wasn’t them, it wasn’t.”

but it was, and i knew it. the aftermath of glenn and abraham put a strain on the whole group, especially me and carl. we came home that morning, stumbling out of the RV and hadn’t been the same since. every time i looked at carl, all i saw were the tears streaming down his face and the reflection of glenn’s bloody skull in his eyes. i saw the black line drawn on carl’s left arm, and the axe raised in the air.

i looked at carl and i saw death.

i knew he felt the same.

“that day…” he started, taking a breath. “that day i had no other wish but to die. to keep you safe if that’s what it took. i couldn’t protect you from him and i don’t know if i can even try. i put you in danger by loving you.”

i shuddered a breath as the tears began to

clog my throat.

“that’s why i can’t love you, y/n. not anymore.”

“you act like that’s a choice you can make.” i choked out, a feeling of anger pushing forward. anger at the way he thought he could fool anyone who knew him.

“i can try.”

“BULLSHIT!” i snapped, slamming my hand against the cold counter and feeling it sting.

he buried his face in his hands and i could see his shoulders shaking. i felt my heart break then, knowing i wouldn’t be able to change his mind.

a sob broke its way through my throat, wet and rough, and i instantly regretted it because carl looked straight at my eyes and i felt myself sink deeper into the ground.

“don’t do this, carl…” i whispered, looking into his crystal blue eyes, a raging ocean encased in this beautiful human who i’d have to let go. i shook my head at him slowly.

“i’m going to get you killed,”

“then let me be killed knowing you loved me! isn’t that the best we can do?!”

“the best i can do is keep you alive.” he countered strongly. his voice was no longer broken or shaken, but determined.

i realized in that moment nothing could be done to change his mind, it had already been made up. carl was stubborn, too stubborn for his own good and he’d never be swayed by anyone, even me.

no words were spoken between us as we stared at the floor, drowning in the absence of each other. all i wanted in that moment was to touch him, to feel him under my skin and prove to me that he’s still real and he’s still here after everything that had happened. but he was taking that away from me and ripping my heart out along with it.

he inhaled a sharp breath, rubbing his hand on his face once more before he said, “it’d be best if you went to carol’s tonight.”

i swallowed harshly, nodding. at least he was right about one thing.

too tired to argue further, i walked past him and to the front door. he kept his head bowed, not looking at me. i could sense the tension as i barely grazed his shoulder, walking so fast i barely registered the soft material of his flannel on my skin. i paused in front of the door, gripping the handle and hoping he’d call out my name and beg me to stay.

but he didn’t. and i turned around to see his eyes were still trained on the floor, back turned. i felt the cold air envelop me and i slammed the door shut, reverberating and practically shaking the house. i sucked in a breath and pushed forward to the blue house a few doors down.

i knocked wearily, feeling my knees begin to wobble as the effects of what had just transpired hit me. suddenly i was a mess on the porch, breathing erratically as i tried to process what just happened. but, when i saw carols face when she opened the door, concerned at my state of being, i lost it.

she carried me into the house and let me sob my way through the story. she held me while i cried and laid me down once i had fallen asleep in her grasp, eyes crusted shut with tried tears, cheeks red, and lips swollen.

i dreamt that night of glenn.

———

in the morning i woke to the smell of toast and eggs. my stomach growled harshly and i realized i hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.

i gripped the banister on my way downstairs, being created with carol’s sympathetic smile. i sat down on the island counter as she pushed a plate of breakfast in front of me.

“i’m leaving for hilltop today.” i announced suddenly. her back was turned to me but i could sense the blank stare that must’ve washed over her. the sizzle of the pan of eggs on the stove top was the only sound heard for a moment.

then, she continued tussling the eggs in the pan, continuing on as if i hadn’t said anything. “it’s dangerous.”

“maggie needs me.” i answered simply.

“she’d feel much better if you stayed here. safe, with rick.”

i took a small bite of my toast, “she knows i can take care of myself. i should’ve gone with her and sasha right after…” i let my voice drift on, knowing i didn’t have to be specific. “i need to do this for her. for me. i cant stay here, carol, i can’t. not anymore.”

carol turned around at that, pouring her own eggs onto a plate. “well, i’m not going to stop you.” she said, taking a bite, “but i don’t think you should go alone.”

“i don’t need a babysitter,” i mumbled, beginning to lose my appetite. “im going by myself and that’s final.”

———

i opened the front door to the grimes’ home we shared cautiously. i anticipated to see carl in the front room with judith, as he always was, but to my surprise it was rick instead.

he was sat on the couch while judith babbled and played on the floor. his eyes were tired and lost, his face sunken with grief. he turned to look at me walking in and gave me the same, sympathetic smile i had gotten from carol.

i stood awkwardly in front of the door, looking anywhere but his eyes.

“he told you didn’t he.” i mumbled, not even being able to bring myself to say his name.

“no,” his voice was rough as he spoke, “i heard him last night crying in his room, after you’d left. and i knew.”

i felt my heart clench and my nose begin to sting. i nodded slowly, knowing i wouldn’t be able to choke out words i so desperately wanted to say.

“im going to hilltop today. only carol knows. i came to grab my stuff.”

his eyebrows furrowed at me and once i saw the disapproving look i spoke fast.

“i can make it there.” i promised, “we need each other.”

rick knew exactly who i was referring to and suddenly the look of disapproval vanished from his face. he nodded at me slowly, accepting the fact that this battle would be one he lost in trying to keep me here. he turned to judith and i took that as my cue to head upstairs.

“carl is at the armory, but he should be back soon,” i heard rick say, “i suggest you leave before he gets back, for both of your sakes.”

i didn’t answer, only continued up the steps. i didn’t want to see carl because i knew if he begged me to stay i would. it hurts knowing i perhaps don’t have that same control over him.

pushing open his door and revealing his room, our room was harder than i had imagined. i wanted to be out quickly, without hassle. i went through drawers, grabbing my things, stuffing them into the two duffel bags i had underneath our bed.

my heart dropped when i heard the front door open and close. i hadn’t been quick enough.

“where is she?” i heard his voice from downstairs and it motivated me to work quicker.

i managed to close the zipper on the second duffle bag but when i turned to the door i almost fainted. carl stood there with his arms hanging limp at his side, a blank stare on his face as he watched me pack my life away.

we stood facing each other for a long time. i stressed another fight, perhaps a bigger blowout than the last, but i looked into his sad, tired eyes and realized there wouldn’t be any fighting between us.

“how did you know i was here,” i mumbled.

“i went to carol’s looking for you. she told me you were leaving for hilltop.” his face scrunched up in disgust at his own words, as if just the thought of me leaving left a sour taste in his mouth.

“i am.” i said, voice feeble in an attempt to remain confident.

he shook his head slowly as tears began to rise up in his eyes. “don’t, y/n.”

“why not?” i pushed, crossing my arms over my chest. “why wouldn’t i leave? what’s left for me here?”

he didn’t answer.

“you let me go last night.” i stabilized my voice a bit, straightening my back to make myself look stronger as i spoke the words. “you can let me go again.”

“is that what this is?” he questioned, “is this reckless stupidity to punish me for last night?”

i scoffed, rolling his eyes at his narcissism. “no,” i chuckled in disbelief.

“then why? because this is the first time i’ve heard about this from you. not once have you said you’ve wanted to go to hilltop.”

“why wouldn’t i go?” i asked rhetorically, “maggie’s there and i want to help her. i feel so… so useless here! like, nothing is going right in this godforsaken place and last night was the last thing i needed to set me off.”

his face suddenly paled, his eyes softening. words were stuck on the edge of his tongue and i could see in his expression he contemplated letting them spill over. “i wanted to talk about last night.”

i turned around at that, beginning to rustle with my bag to occupy my hands. to do something other than hear him talk. especially about last night.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to hurt you, you have no idea how hard it was for me, letting you go like that.”

i scoffed again, “you don’t even have a clue how i feel, carl, so don’t even try to sympathize with me.”

“i-“

“save it.” i spat, anger beginning to rise up my veins at the idea that he was about to pity me. “nothing you can say, nothing you think you can do to make it okay won’t keep me from-“

a loud bang on the front door shook me from finishing my sentence, both our eyes widening as carl ran out of the room and to the stairs.

“anyone home?” a booming voice spoke. i knew that voice.

carl, eyes still wide, turned to me in shock. i stood frozen, my hand still clutching the strap of my duffel bag filled with things.

“aww, you are a cutie-pie aren’t you! where’s your mommy, huh?”

at that, my blood ran cold.

judith was downstairs, by herself, with him.

without another moment of hesitation, carl was booking it down the stairs. i closely followed; forgetting our fued and any other reason why i would be angry in the first place. judith came first.

when i got to the bottom of the stairs carl was already in a staring match with negan as he held judith in his burly arms. the sight almost made me vomit. if he was capable of all he did that night, what was stopping him from harming a baby?

“well would you look what we have here,” he smiled his wicked smile. “i remember you,” he said, pointing at me.

“give me the baby,” carl demanded, his eye narrow. i wouldn’t have wanted to be on the receiving end of his glare.

negan chuckled, “and why would i do that? she’s so precious, i don’t think i’ll ever let her go.”

i felt my eyes sting when he lifted her up higher, examining her small, angelic face with devil eyes.

“i’m not asking,” carl said confidently, his voice didn’t shake or tremble. surprisingly, he was calmer than me, and it was his sister. he kept his eyes trained on negan, never once allowing him to leave his hard gaze. “give her to me.”

negan looked between the two of us before letting out a large gasp, his eyes widening, “no fucking shit, pardon my french but, aren’t you two a little young…”

my cheeks flushed once i realized what he was implying. i slowly shook my head, staring at carl out of the corner of my eye. his eye narrowed further.

“that’s my sister.” he spat.

“this is rick’s baby girl?” negan bounced judith in his arms again, eliciting a small giggle from her. “wow! now it’s a grimes’ party!”

he eyed me up and down, “sweetheart,” he beckoned me to take the baby, and without question i stepped up, carefully taking her out of his grasp and into the safety of my arms. i let out a sigh of relief, smoothing her golden hair back.

i backed up to carl’s side again, keeping my arms strongly around judith’s small body. she twirled a strand of my brown hair around her stubby finger, giggling again.

ever so slightly, carl stepped in front of me, shielding judith and i from whatever this man could do.

“so, where’s rick?” negan asked as he began trodding around the room, picking up trinkets left in the house by the previous owners.

“not here,” carl answered stiffly. out of the corner of my eye, i saw his hand lightly graze over the top of his jeans. my heart pounded a little faster.

negan sighed disappointedly, “well, im gonna go look for him! in the meantime, a few of my men will be by here to collect half your shit for me to take! kapeesh?”

he walked over to me and patted judith’s back, getting sickenly close. i held my breath, attempting to shield my fear. “i’ll be back for you, sweetheart.”

a chill ran down my spine when judith giggled at the man’s words. it felt like i was holding that breath in all the way until the front door closed and i could breathe again.

suddenly, carl gripped my shoulders and forced me to face him. “take judith upstairs and stay there.”

boots crunching against gravel outside made my stomach drop, the sound getting closer as each second passed. i shook my head violently. “i’m not leaving you down here by yourself.”

“i’ll be fine, go upstairs. now!” he pushed me in the direction of the stairs, judith cooing. i suddenly felt the urge to tell him i loved him, to hold him and make sure he’s safe. i never wanted to leave his side.

i had barely made it up the stairs and out of sight by the time the men had opened the door and i heard carl already start with the spiteful comments. he’s gonna get himself killed.

i placed judith in her crib, cooing to her softly to make sure she was settled. i locked her door from the inside, stuffing the key in my back jean pocket and headed for the stairs. i peeked through the railings, watching carl argue with one of negan’s men while the other ransacked the kitchen.

“you said half!” carl growled, watching the men stuff cabinet after cabinet of food into a large bag.

“we’ll take as much as we want.” one of the men replied, his tone snark and condescending.

my eyes bulged when i saw carl turn around and raise his gun to the man in the kitchen. he cocked it, his finger edging the trigger. “put it back.”

at this, i ran downstairs to carl’s side, just in time for the man behind him to cock his gun, right at my head.

carl’s head turned, his face pale when he saw the cold metal pressed up against my head, and the man’s strong arm around my torso.

“put the gun down, kid.” the man with the gun to me demanded. carl didn’t budge.

“carl…” i whispered carefully, my heart thumping in my ears loud enough to the point where i could barely hear myself talk aloud. “put it down…”

he stood there for a moment, his hand holding the gun beginning to shake as his pupil turned into a devilish slit to the man threatening my life. after what felt like hours, he finally lowered the gun, and i let out a sigh of relief when the metal left my hair.

we watched in distraught as they picked apart every inch of our home. luckily, we were able to keep him from going upstairs, and they left without another word to either of us. as the front door slammed shut i was pulled harshly into carl’s arms, his whole body shaking in rage.

his grip was tight and constricting, as if the anger was flowing into the hug. i could barely get a breath out, and i felt him shakily let out a few of his own into my ear, his chin digging into the crevice between my neck and my shoulder.

i could feel his rage. it coursed through him like the blood in his veins. his brain pumped more thoughts of negan, his saviors, their wrath, and i felt him slip into his emotions.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice harsh, embrace still solid.

a tear dropped onto the warm skin of my shoulder, and by then i knew, everything he had said to me last night was nothing but a mistake.

i nodded against him, “i know.”

———

the rest of the day he didn’t let go of me, refused to. we laid in bed and i realized he was still thinking of this mornings’ events.

rick had come back an hour after the saviors left and panicked, asking about judith and if we were okay. he saw carl practically in tears from anger on the couch and me coddling his fragile ego.

he told us to stay in the house the rest of the day, and he’d be back to salvage whatever food he could find for dinner after our kitchen became nothing but a hollow, empty shell.

laying on carl’s chest, i drew patterns onto the grey of his shirt. we laid in silence, comfortable yet uncomfortable silence, until he broke it.

“today,” he started, his voice low, “when he had his gun up to your head, i realized something.”

i lifted my head slightly to look at him, his eye trained on the wall in front of us.

“you were about to die without me saying i love you today.” he sucked in a sharp breath, “and- and i realized i couldn’t live with myself if that happened.”

he finally looked down to me, his eye glazed over, staring at my with a heartbreakingly beautiful gaze that told me everything i needed to know.

“carl-“

“if you still want to go to hilltop i wont stop you.” he continued, cutting me off, “but if they come there-“ his voice hitched, his chest tightening under me. “remember that even after what i said, i cant ever stop loving you, y/n.”

the tears that had been building in my eyes finally spilled over. i realized the extent of what we were all going through, what our reality is. that we don’t know if today is promised, more so than before we met the saviors. that humans are far more dangerous than any walker we’d ever come across.

we were all living on borrowed time, and at some point, we’d have to return it.

i buried my head in his warm chest and sobbed. sobbed for glenn, for abraham, for maggie, for judith, for me, for carl, for us together. i sobbed for what we’d never have again as far as it seemed.

safety.

“what are we gonna do,” the words tumbled out of my mouth deliriously, through snot and sobs.

he didn’t answer, but carl’s grip around me tightening, and the way his chest stuttered, answered for him when his throat had nothing to offer.

but then he spoke. low and menacing. he acquired a sort of vendetta he didn’t have the night prior. he wasn’t about to let me go for them. not anymore.

“we’re gonna make them pay.”

[nadvs]

　　🐚　⊹　❀　︵　∘　 breaking point ⟢

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

summary withdrawal is worse than rafe ever could have imagined. thankfully, he has you.

content warning substance abuse

this is a blurb in the home before dark universe, inspired by this ask!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It’s been four nights without coke. Rafe keeps hoping it’ll get even just a shred easier, but it’s not.

You told him it’d be best to skip parties for the next while so he’s not tempted while he tries to quit. What he didn’t expect was that you’d be skipping them with him. He should have known, though, considering how much you care about him.

Moments like these, he’s not sure why you chose him.

He’s been curt all day, responding to you with short, sharp sentences. Still, you’ve stayed by his side, making sure he’s resting, pretending not to notice how much he’s shaking.

The moon is in the sky, signalling the end of a long day. It’s obvious your boyfriend doesn’t want to talk, so you step out onto the balcony that leads out of his bedroom as he sits in bed, scrolling on his phone.

You look out at the massive property under the night sky, hoping it’ll get easier for him soon.

According to the research you’ve done, it’s different for every addict. There’s no timeline to follow, no day you can look forward to things turning around for him. Some symptoms last months.

After a few minutes of silence, you hear sluggish footsteps padding behind you.

Rafe rubs his mouth, his ring gleaming in the moonlight, as he stands beside you at the railing.

“I’m an asshole,” he mutters. “Sorry.”

“A real asshole wouldn’t worry about being an asshole,” you reply. You look over at him, his face downturned in shame. “It’s hard. Feeling angry or irritable is expected.”

Rafe nods, gazing down.

“How do you know?” he asks.

“I read up on it,” you say. “You can’t control how your body is reacting. It’s okay.”

“It didn’t even feel good to do it anymore by the end,” he admits. “It just made me feel like… I don’t know, nervous. But I still want...”

Rafe can’t finish his sentence, disappointed in himself.

“You’re doing great,” you say, resting a hand on his trembling back. “It’s not easy.”

“I shoulda never fucking started,” he says with a scoff. You try to steer the conversation away from the past, so not to remind him why he so desperately chases an escape.

“Are you hungrier than usual?” you ask. Increased appetite was a symptom you read about.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Wanna go for a late night food run?” you ask. “Or you can stay here and I go make something or pick something up?”

Rafe stares at you through heavy lidded eyes, lips parted.

“What?” you ask.

“This might sound…” he says, unable to find the word. He takes a deep breath. “I think I’d die without you.”

Your eyes deepen with sorrow, compassion, and gratitude all at once.

“Remember everything you did for me?” you ask softly.

When Rafe’s eyes sweep over your face, he does. He wouldn’t leave your side when you were trying to escape your ex. He beat him within an inch of his life. He stared down the end of a gun, risking everything, ready to kill someone who was tormenting you.

He’d do it all again.

“You saved my life,” you say, tears pricking at your eyes. Even when it was so painful being around you, Rafe wouldn’t leave you. You still carry the trauma from what happened, but being with the man who protected you, even when he’s being abrupt, reminds you of how safe you are.

“This won’t beat you, okay?” you tell him. “I won’t let it.”

You curl into him, wrapping your arms around his torso, inhaling the smell of his cologne and his natural musk.

Rafe kisses the top of your head, hugging you tightly. You stand like this for a few minutes, and when you pull back, he kisses your lips, asking where you want to go to eat.

You gaze up at him with all the love in your heart, a hopeful smile growing on your face.

You don’t think anything you could do for him could even the score and make up for what he’s done for you.

He’s thinking the same thing about you.

After you eat together, you hold his trembling body in bed, kissing his forehead, hearing his breaths fall deeper once he falls asleep.

You tell yourself every bad night is one step closer to the first good night. You’ll weather this with him. All of it.

[tteokdoroki]

𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — yakuza!bakugou + katsuki bakugou.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — angst, fluff, sfw. bakugou leaves the yakuza for you and it hurts for him to realise how much he loves you. gn!reader.

katsuki bakugou never grovels. he never cries.

he can’t remember the last time he felt tears in his eyes. it must’ve been back when he was a kid, when his parents kicked him out and put him on the street— when the adults in his life failed him time and time again or when he’d gone so long without food he could barely lift a finger let alone keep his eyes open.

“i need an out, boss.” bakugou fights back a sob, head bowed so low that his chest feels tight and blood rushes to the top of his skull. his blood red eyes sting like they’ve been doused with acid rain, his lips quiver faster than he can keep up with— katsuki can’t remember the last time he cried and begged for mercy like this. “can’t go on like this.”

he feels pathetic, more than he ever has in his entire life. much worse than when his boss had taken him into the family, beaten some sense into him and taken a chance on a ruthless kid that ruled the streets with nothing but murder on his mind.

“and why’s that, first lieutenant?” jeanist, the head of the family and the closest thing the blonde has to an old man, asks— seated across from him on the tatami flooring, swaddled in his robes.

katsuki hates this feeling of pain that lodges itself in his chest and blossoms like the sakura trees representing his yakuza family crest. the pain of having to choose what he knows and loves and the love that the future holds for him. he’s not felt pain like this in a long time— emotional, mental pain. physically…he’s been through a lot worse, taken had metal pipes to the head and ribs, stab wounds and bullet wounds galore too. heck, even the yakuza tattoos bound to his wrists ( that seem more like shackles more and more each day ) hurt a fuck tonne.

but nothing is more agonising than seeing the emotional pain katsuki’s inflicted on you.

his knuckles turn white as he grips the fabric covering his knees— grinding his teeth, holding his breath, willing himself not to fucking cry. “i finally got somethin’— someone— damn worth livin’ for,” katsuki spits out, shifting the words around underneath his tongue. bitter and thick as if he’s swallowed a cap full of bleach. “they need me. beg me to come home in one piece. cry when ‘m cut up and bruised, harder when my knuckles bleed.”

“you’re in love,” the old man whispers from in front of him, wistful and wise. katsuki doesn’t speak for a while, he doesn’t have the strength to deny it.

because it’s true, he loves you more than he loves the thrill— the rush of being alive, being a part of this family where no tomorrow is guaranteed. he loves you more and hates the part of him that came home to you beaten and bruised, a bloody pulp so selfishly asking for your help because your hands were soft and you spoke to him softer. katsuki hadn’t seen the tears in your eyes back then, he hadn’t known how much he was hurting you. but when you ask him to make a choice between his family, the yakuza and yourself…

well, the answer is simple. the answer is always you.

“i’m in love,” katsuki repeats, admitting the truth. to his boss and to himself. he’s always known that he loved you, as clear as day, as true as fact— you make cherry blossoms bloom in his chest when his heart stops just from seeing you. you make his world come to a stop just by looking at him— is if you’ve stopped it’s rotation just so he could spend a little extra time with you. katsuki would die for you, but you’d want him to live for you instead.

and he wants to live for you too, wants to live to see you smile.

“i need an out, boss, please just give me a way out,” bakugou sucks back a sob, breathing uneven and shaky. “i need ya to let me go so i can protect ‘em better, be there for them. put a ring on their finger and keep them safe.”

best jeanist let’s a hand fall to straw blonde locks, patting the lieutenant on the head affectionately. “you’ve done a lot for this family, katsuki. i can’t ask you to stay when all you’ve done is put your life on the line for us.” he says, fond of the boy he raised and the man that he’s become. “be free, look after them. they’re your family now.”

katsuki lets out a relieved, strangled breath of thanks and best jeanist hums.

katsuki bakugou never grovels, he never cries but tonight he does. because when it comes to you his emotions are uncontrollable, strewn all about the place.

even the strongest, most dangerous men fall— and it just so happens that katsuki bakugou, a member of the yakuza, had fallen for you.

[crazylittlejester]

Fireworks

Summary: Wars doesn’t like fireworks very much at all

(A little writing exercise I wrote as I try to slowly come back from my break from writing. My apologies for spelling mistakes or oddly autocorrected works, I’m dyslexic 💔)

lmao *yeets this into the void*

Warriors’s hands were clamped tightly over his ears and he struggled to keep his breathing steady as he sat tucked away in some tight alley corner, eyes squeezed shut and knees brought up close to his chest. He shouldn’t have run away from the others, he’d left them in the busy streets of HIS own Castle Town with no idea where they were going, but the moment the first explosion of colors lit up the night sky his heart had frozen in his chest and he’d bolted.

He wasn’t going to cry, he was NOT. It was just fireworks. It was just fireworks because of course they’d managed to land in his fucking era the night of the anniversary of the end of the fucking war. It had officially been a full eight years, he shouldn’t be reacting this… this STUPIDLY to the loud explosions all around him. It had been eight years since the worst time of his life, he’d gotten better, he HAD. He just needed a minute to pull himself together before he’d head back to the others and beg for their forgiveness for having abandoned them.

Another round of fireworks shot into the sky and Warriors had to bite his lip to keep from crying out, but nothing could stop the frustrated tears from rolling down his cheeks. He couldn’t seem to stop shaking and he could feel his heart beating so fast in his chest he swore he could feel it against his ribs. Thinking was becoming harder by the second, he was so scared out of his mind that his thoughts stopped being rational and were just yelling at him to take cover and to hide, and to get somewhere safe.

Mask… Mask had to get somewhere safe too. Where was he?

Warriors’s head shot up and his eyes opened wide in panic as he frantically searched around him in the alley for his little brother.

No. He forced himself to take in a deep breath to clear his thoughts, ignoring the way he could smell the thick smoke in the air. Mask wasn’t here. Mask was fine because he wasn’t here. The kid had gone home after the end of the war.

Except, no, he WAS there. Older, sure, but Mask WAS with him again. And he wasn’t taking cover and Warriors couldn’t see him. He wasn’t safe.

Warriors tried to push himself up off the ground but the alley spun around him and his legs gave out from underneath him, sending the captain crashing back down to the stone ground with a small whine.

More explosions rang above him and he pressed his hands into his ears again as he curled up as much as he could on the ground. Some war hero he was, cowering in an alley and crying because he didn’t know where his brother was, when HE was the one who’d bolted. HE was the one who left Time and all the others behind. And there was nothing he could do but wait it out because he couldn’t even pick himself up off the jagged stones pressing into his body.

Some evil little voice in his head told him he was incredibly vulnerable here like this without his armor, that anyone could come up behind him and hurt him, and all he could do was curl up tighter and bang his head into the ground a couple times.

A hand slipping itself between his head and the stone street scared him half to death and Warriors let out a strangled scream. He twisted himself around and did his best to scramble away, but the explosions kept firing off and it was so loud and it was so overwhelming and he couldn’t breathe.

He fell flat on his back. And he stayed there, staring up at the sky, ignoring the ash that rained down around him because surely he was about to die.

The person said something he couldn’t understand, they repeated it a few times, but the captain couldn’t hear a thing other than the blood rushing in his ears and the explosions all around. He couldn’t breathe and his limbs felt like lead.

Warriors’s vision was swimming in front of him and he felt too exhausted and worn out to fight the gentle hands that carefully scooped him off the ground, pulling him close to a warm person. He was still shaking in fear and fighting for every gasp of air, but he felt something in him relax when his head was pressed right against a steady heart beat and the person’s other hand covered his other ear, cautious of putting too much pressure over where his earrings hung. There was only one person alive who’d dare to hold him so gently.

He wasn’t alone anymore. He’d been alone for so many long years, but he wasn’t alone anymore.

Warriors reached out and tightly gripped Time’s tunic with a trembling hand, and his little brother pulled him impossibly closer.

“I got you, Captain.” Time must’ve been shouting for Warriors to have been able to hear his voice through Time’s own hands and the fireworks going off above them. “You’re safe.”

[alisonwritesimagines]

You'll Be Mine and I'll Be Yours ~LA!Mihawk Imagine~

Summary: Mihawk finally asks you to be his.

Author’s Note: Now that the live action One Piece officially announced who Crocodile and Robin is and I'm in the Skypiea arc on the anime, I am posting my drafts with my Enchanted series.

Based in my Enchanted Series

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none, fluff

Do not repost this anywhere!

“Is it bad to say that I don’t want to go home yet? Or at least not sleep just yet?” You asked Mihawk one night.

He had come back to you from being gone for so long. You hated to admit that you missed him a lot. After a dinner together, you felt like you couldn't sleep or had the feeling of wanting to go to bed. For once, you wanted to stay up.

“Why’s that?”

“Don’t know. Just not feeling sleepy right now,” you tell him.

“Then how about we take a stroll?” Mihawk asked you.

“A stroll?”

“If you’re worried about it being dangerous, don’t. I will be joining you to make sure you don’t get hurt,” Mihawk tells you.

“I wasn’t worried. I knew you’d join me even if I said no. I know you follow me to make sure I’m safe.”

“I see you finally noticed.”

“Yeah. But I’m okay with a stroll. Come on,” you tell him.

You both walked along a path side by side. The stars glowed beautifully in the sky.

“So, what does a warlord like yourself have to gain?” You asked him. The full moon shined so brightly, you didn’t need a lantern to guide your way.

“Gain from what?”

“This small village. There’s nothing really here,” you pointed out.

“You’re here aren’t you?”

You looked at him, the blood rushing to your cheeks. It began to feel a little hot to you. Damn his words always somehow got to you.

“I guess.”

“What about you? You said you were alone. What do you have to gain staying here?” Mihawk asked you.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I just keep hoping my boys will come back to me.”

“Tell me about them,” Mihawk said.

“Well they’re both pirates now. One of them is just a boy who is determined to become King of the Pirates. I used to take care of him since he was a kid along with two others. And the other one is around our age. He is a captain of a pirate crew.”

“Was he your lover?”

“Yeah. He told me he’d come back but he hasn’t," you sighed softly.

“This ex lover of yours sounds like a fool,” Mihawk said.

“Why say that?”

“Because if I had a woman like you, I could never leave her and not come back,” Mihawk tells you. You stopped walking as you stared up at him.

“You don’t mean that,” you softly spoke. You didn't want your heart broken again by another pirate.

“I do. I could never leave a woman like you alone,” Mihawk said as he held your hand. You looked down at your hands before looking away.

“Maybe we should go back,” you tell him.

“If that’s what you want.”

You nodded before letting go of his hand and heading back to your home. The walk was silent besides your footsteps on the graveled path.

When you got back to your home, you felt Mihawk take your hand into his.

“Will you be mine?” Mihawk asked. You turned to face him. Mihawk got closer to you, caging you in between him and the front door.

“What?”

“Be mine? I've fallen for you Y/n. I know you have fallen for me as well. And I swear to you, I would never let anything happen to you,” Mihawk tells you.

"I don't want my heart broken again," you tell him.

"I will never hurt you. I'd die first before hurting you," Mihawk tells you.

“Alright. I’ll be yours,” you nodded at him.

“May I kiss you?” Mihawk asked you.

“Yes please,” You nodded. Mihawk cupped your cheek before leaning in to kiss you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you kissed him back. You felt Mihawk pull his hand away from your cheek and move down to your waist. He pulled you in closer as he kissed you.

You pulled away from the kiss for air. Mihawk gently pressed his forehead against yours, taking in a couple of deep breaths as well.

“Do you want to stay the night?” You asked him.

“If you’d have me,” Mihawk tells you. You nodded before turning around to open the door. You pulled Mihawk inside before shutting the door and locking it.

When you woke up, you smelled food. You noticed Mihawk wasn’t next to you, making you sit up. You got out of bed and walked to the front to see him cooking in your kitchen.

“Nice to see you awake,” you tell him.

“Morning. Breakfast will be ready in a moment,” Mihawk tells you.

“So we sleep in the same bed together for the first time and you make breakfast? Any other secrets I should know about you?” You teased.

“It’s not really a secret. You’re mine now remember? I have every intention to spoil you,” Mihawk tells you. You smiled before walking over to him and kiss his cheek.

“Aren’t you romantic,” you tell him.

"Only for you my love," Mihawk says to you before kissing your cheek.

"So what do you want to do today?" You asked him.

"I was hoping to help you get over your fear of the ocean," Mihawk asked.

"Why's that?" You asked unsure.

"You've been cooped up in here for too long my love. I'd like to show you the world if you let me," Mihawk said.

"Okay. You're gonna have to be patient with me though," you warned.

"Of course," Mihawk said, giving you a quick kiss.

[livwritesstuff]

uh so i was feeling like writing something angsty and ever since i wrote this a little bit ago i can’t stop thinking about the idea of what the upside down coming back decades later would look like, however it’s a bummer and not the vibe i want for my steddie!dads verse so consider this an au for an au or whatever idk

It’s a normal, average, mundane, regular Wednesday when Dustin calls.

They don’t talk as much as they used to, but that’s adult life, Steve supposes. 

They both have entire lives now, spouses and children and jobs that consume pretty much every waking hour. The near-1000 miles that separates Steve and Eddie in Massachusetts from Dustin in Indiana doesn’t help things either, and seeing as how Dustin had long-since inherited the Hawkins Lab research from Owens when he retired back in the mid-2000s, that won’t be changing any time soon.

Steve is home when Dustin calls, and between counseling clients, so when the phone rings and lights up with his name, Steve picks it up with a grin.

“Hey man, what’s goin’ on!”

Nothing but silence comes through Dustin’s end for a while – such a long time that Steve checks to make sure that the call didn’t drop or his phone didn’t die or something (and neither had happened, so it’s definitely a Dustin thing).

“Dustin?” he asks, “You there?”

Silence, still.

Then –

“Steve.”

Dustin sounds…not normal, and Steve feels the grin slide off his face.

“What?”

“Steve,” he chokes, “It’s…it’s back.”

Steve feels his heart stop for a second, feels it like all the blood in his veins came to an abrupt halt for just a moment.

“The Upside Down,” Dustin continues, “It…all of…it’s back.”

He sounds like he’s underwater, or maybe Steve’s the one sinking beneath the surface, just like he’d done forty years ago when he’d taken Dustin’s place on that boat and got dragged into hell through the depths of Lover’s Lake.

Steve hangs up the phone, his hands shaking.

His knees feel shaky too, like they can’t support his weight anymore despite doing so for nearly sixty years.

They’ve been giving him problems lately – his knees. Nothing too crazy; he can still go on his runs and putter around the yard and all that. It’s just a part of aging, he supposes, and he hadn’t minded aging before – liked it, even. Liked his greying hair and the crow’s feet around his eyes and his achy knees, because there’d been a period of time many years ago when he wasn’t sure he’d make it long enough to experience that inevitability of life.

Right this second though, he hates it, hates the way it makes him realize he’s not as nimble as he used to be, the way his reaction time isn’t the same anymore, because he knows that’s what had gotten him through those horrible years back in the mid-eighties.

He lowers himself down, and as his ass hits the tile floor of the bathroom – his daughters’ bathroom, the one they’ve shared practically their whole lives, the one Moe lost her first tooth in, the one Robbie pierced her own ears in, the one Hazel will be getting ready for prom in soon – Dustin calls him again.Steve doesn’t pick up, too busy kicking himself for not considering sooner the possibility of this sooner, for not having a plan ready to execute to keep their daughters safe the way no adult had done for him.

He can feel an old instinct – the urge to gather his loved ones close – starting to kick in, his mind starting to race as he catalogs the people who make up his small corner of the world. 

Hazel is easy – she’s at the high school just down the road. He can have her back home, back within arm’s reach, in a matter of minutes.

Robin and Nancy are next closest, still living in Boston after all these years. Steve would wager a guess that they’ll be hearing from Dustin soon if they haven’t already, and then they’ll probably head Steve and Eddie’s way, and then they’ll all regroup. 

They’ll figure out what their next moves are.

Moe and Robbie are trickier with both of them living in New York City and likely unwilling to leave their school and their jobs and their friends without any warning whatsoever. Moe is getting more and more reasonable the older she gets, so Steve may have to start with her and hope that Robbie follows.

Moe is twenty-two now. 

Moe is older than both of her dads had been when Eddie had nearly died, when Steve had carried him out of hell and made sure he didn’t. All three of their daughters – even seventeen-year-old Hazel – are older than Steve had been when he got sucked into that horrible mess, and they’re still so damn young. 

With two decades of parenting under his belt, he finds it kind of unbelievable that anybody had looked at his sixteen-year-old face and seen anything but a child, nevermind actually asked him to do the things that he’d done.

Dustin calls him two more times before he gives up. Only a moment later, Steve hears Eddie’s phone ring downstairs, and then he hears Eddie’s jovial tone as he answers the call. 

He goes quiet real quick after that.

Just as Steve is deciding who to call first – Hazel’s school or Moe – his phone vibrates, two quick buzzes that can only indicate a text from Robin.

He opens it.

did dustin call you?

Steve lets out a heavy breath because, fuck, it’s real.

Yeah, he texts back, then adds –

This fucking sucks

40 years

As Steve watches the bubbles of Robin’s incoming response, he can vaguely hear Eddie’s ascent of the stairs, still on the phone with Dustin. 

The bubbles disappear.

“Fuck you, Dustin,” he hears Eddie snarl, “This is on you.” There’s silence for a while, and Eddie seems to pause in the hallway just in front of their bedroom door. Then, “Yeah, I’ll talk to him…I know…later, man. Love you. Be safe.”

Steve looks down at his phone to see that Robin is still typing, only for the bubbles to disappear again a second later.

Finally –

nance is going back

i’m going with her

Steve could throw up.

He almost does, he’s pretty sure, although he’s not positive because he might be having an out of body experience, or maybe he’s dissociating, or maybe it’s a fucking PTSD flashback or something. He doesn’t know.

He should know, or so his handful of psych degrees would suggest, and he probably would know if it was happening to someone else, but then again, he’s always worn blinders when it comes to himself.

That was true about him when all this shit started in 1983, and it’s still true now, almost forty years later.

Forty fucking years.

He doesn’t look up when Eddie comes into the bathroom, joining him on the floor with his back against the bathtub.

“Dustin took offense to you hanging up on him,” he says, and Steve can hear the way he’s forcing humor into his tone.

As if any of this shit is funny.

“Erica and the kids left with Claudia,” Eddie continues, answering a question Steve probably would’ve gotten around to asking Dustin himself if it weren’t for the whole hanging up on him thing, “Erica went kicking and screaming, obviously. I offered up our house, but they’re still deciding where they want to camp out. And everyone has agreed not to say a word to Jim and Joyce.”

Yeah, that makes sense, seeing as they’re both in their eighties and perpetually acting like they’re thirty years younger – at a minimum.

Not that Steve would know anything about that.

Definitely not.

“He said he’s one-hundred percent positive that it’s all still contained to Hawkins, so…” Eddie pauses, “We don’t have to, like, track down the girls or anything. Just make sure they don’t go anywhere near Indiana.”

And that, at least, is an actual relief.

“Robin’s going back,” Steve tells him, because there’s no point waiting to address that particular issue in this whole fucking mess.

The so I’m going too is implied, because that has never needed to be said when it came to Steve and Robin.

The way Eddie’s face changes evades Steve’s ability to describe. It makes him regret saying anything – that’s for fucking sure. Makes him wish he’d just snuck away in the dead of night.

“C’mon man, we’ve picked up a whole fuckin’ litter over the years,” Eddie says, and he’s still forcing humor into his tone, “You can’t leave me to fend off the masses alone – the years have made me weak-willed, I’ll surrender immediately.”

Steve manages a snort, but he still looks down at the floor all the same.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else for a while, but his hand wraps around Steve’s ankle as if there was enough brute strength in the one appendage to keep him rooted to the bathroom floor.

(Strangely enough, it feels like there might be).

“Steve,” Eddie finally says, his voice stiff and hard in a way Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, “We are way too old for this shit – Robin and Nance too.”

Eddie pauses.

“Steve,” he says again, “I know how important Robin is. I know, but our children would be fucking devastated if anything happened to you. Don’t think they wouldn’t – and something would most certainly happen to you.”

“Eddie.” 

He’s still avoiding his husband’s eyes.

“Steve,” he pleads, something desperate in his voice, “We talked about this. Remember? Last spring, when we watched that stupid zombie show with Hazel? And there was the episode with the old gay guys? We talked about this. You told me not to let you go if this shit came back.”

Steve makes no response. Ed lets out a heavy breath, looking to the ceiling.

They have this conversation every now and then – one of those conversations that always teeters on the edge of an argument – in which Eddie insists that Steve could be fine if their relationship ended in a way that Eddie himself would not. It’s a conversation that Steve hates, because he hates the idea that Eddie – his husband of twenty years and the love of his whole entire life – could still be thinking so low of himself, that there’s any part of him that doesn’t think Steve would be fucking wrecked by losing him.

Still, it had always been a hypothetical. It had never been real.

Suddenly, Steve feels claustrophobic sitting on the floor of his daughters’ bathroom. He gets to his feet and, as he heads for the door, Eddie scrambles up after him.

Halfway down the hall, Eddie lunges for him and catches his arm, wheeling him back around to face him.

“Steve,” Eddie says one more time. 

Then, because he apparently has no words ready to follow with, he stops.

“Steve,” Eddie starts again, “Please. You’re everything. I love the girls and I love our life, but Christ, Steve, you’re my entire world. You changed everything for me. You showed me how life could be worth living, and you keep showing me, and I’m not ready to let go of you yet – not even fucking close. Please don’t let this be the way we leave each other.”

Steve finally lets himself look at Eddie’s face, the face he’d fallen in love with decades ago, the face he’s still in love with decades later. He looks at his big eyes and the hint of grey at his hairline and his crows feet and the scarring that creeps up his neck from underneath the collar of his shirt (it’s a shirt he’s had for ages – since before even Moe was born by the looks of it, but so is the rest of his half of their closet).

And he finds himself nodding.

Eddie’s exhale is all desperate relief as he tugs Steve into his arms and wraps them around his shoulders. Steve immediately reciprocates the hug, pulling him in even closer, surprised to feel tears pin-pricking his eyes

“I love you so much, Steve,” Eddie tells him, gripping the back of his t-shirt so tight he feels the collar pulling taut against his throat, “I don’t say that to you enough.”

“You say it all the time,” Steve replies with a wet laugh.

“Not enough,” he shakes his head, and Steve decides there’s no point in arguing.

A minute goes by.

“Fuck,” Steve half-laughs, half-chokes as he lifts his head to meet Eddie’s eyes, “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” he says. 

Again, he reels Steve in, and again, Steve lets him, holding onto his husband like a lifeline, like they’re standing somewhere far more perilous than the carpeted floor of their upstairs hallway.

“I know,” Eddie repeats, “And we’ll…we’ll talk about it but for now, just – can I just hold you for a bit, okay?”

Steve nods again.

“Okay.”

read the extended version on AO3 (i.e. feat. added “flashbacks” so it fits the formatting of the rest of the series)

[roseameilatempest]

Sanemi’s delusion, and how it affects his relationships.

or a sanemi analysis 🙏

manga spoilers

This is mainly focused on kanae and masachika, tanjiro, giyuu, and of course genya. If you ship sanekana and are uncomfortable with them being portrayed as mildly unhealthy then feel free to scroll, this is no way meant to hate on sanekana in itself, this is just my personal analysis of their relationship. Keep in mind that nearly all of this is coming from the ‘signs from the wind’ light novel about sanemi, since we didn’t get many interactions of them in the main series.

To start this off, i’m not actually going to be saying sanemi is a good person, he’s a morally grey character, he’s done bad things while having good intentions. (attempting to blind genya, neglecting him, etc) To say he is a perfectly good person would be taking away a lot of his story. Something i feel gets overlooked a lot, is the fact sanemi had a mass amount of trauma before he even had his first encounter with a demon, yes this is to do with his father. Sanemi grew up in an abusive household which definitely changed his morals and understanding of how things work. After his father passed, he was really experiencing being in a safe environment for the first time in his life. He had a lot of responsibility that he shared with genya at the time too.

Throughout his life the only person he could look up too was his mother, the fact she protected his siblings even though she was so small physically. Then all of a sudden he was met with having to kill her to protect genya. Sanemi was absolutely not okay, he was hit with another load of trauma. To cope with this sanemi made up an entire life plan in his mind, so nothing could spiral out of control. This was of course making sure genya had a family and did not join the corps and die. Which is why sanemi tried everything in his power to make genya leave. This coping mechanism is a delusion.

Because of this delusion he fails to see the trauma that genya went through as well. Sanemi himself thinks he’s too far gone, he’s too burdened with the trauma. So instead he wants genya to grow old and have a good life, and he will do everything in his power to make sure that happens and genya is safe. While this delusion is mainly focused around genya, it affects his other relationships too. The people sanemi was comfortable around reminded him of his family (masachika and kanae, masachika being his brother and kanae being his mother) the people that sanemi hated, (tanjiro and giyuu) reminded sanemi of himself.

let’s start with tanjiro, when sanemi first met tanjiro it’s about nezuko, a female family member that’s turned into a demon. Something they both have in common. As well tanjiro was actively fighting to save his sister, Even though she’s a demon, it clearly reminded sanemi of himself. Giyuu is also an interesting one, sanemi misunderstood giyuu, because giyuu always distanced himself, we know this was because he thought he didn’t deserve to be a hashira, while sanemi thought it was because giyuu was stuck up. He misunderstood giyuu because he’d rather die then show that much vulnerability openly, giyuu is unintentionally wearing his pain, and that’s pissing sanemi off, he’s a reflection of sanemi’s pain. Something sanemi doesn’t want to admit.

Now let’s contrast that with masachika and kanae, masachika was the boy who recruited sanemi into the demon slayer corps. He had to try a little but eventually he did get into sanemi’s heart, and became sanemis brother figure. Sanemi ended up losing masachika as well, he was so kind, like genya. Sanemi knew he couldn’t let genya die in the corps like masachika did. Which again just fueled his delusion, wanting to keep genya out of the corps even more. Now with kanae, people do often say their relationship is romantic, because of gyomeis view on sanemi, though, i do think they’re very plausible as platonic. with what we are given.

Every parallel between kanae and sanemi are about sanemi’s mother, her hands, the fact kanae wanted to be kind to demons, just like how his mother was kind to their father, it’s the reason sanemi was so comfortable around her because of how similar to his mother she was. He also acknowledged that she was an older sibling too, but so very different from him, she trained her younger sister (shinobu) and let her join the corps. Not only just after that sanemi talked about how he wasn’t interested in women thirsting over him if he became a hashira, and in the fanbook it was also stated he was dense to romance. At most it was a crush, if it was sanemi didn’t realize it himself.

what we know about sanemi and kanae, i don’t think it would’ve been particularly healthy ether, the reason sanemi was only so calm with kanae in the first place was because she reminded him of his mother. Which wouldn’t be getting him out of his delusion, it would be temporary pacifying him IN his delusion, sanemi did indeed need a slap to the face. He needed actual tough love, something to pull him out of that delusion, kanae was shown to be kind and not being able to speak up for him when he was acting out, in the long run sanemi’s mental health would probably end up hurting kanae too.

it’s also worth pointing out that kanae gets watered down to sanemi’s love interest, while she doesn’t have many moments she’s clearly more then just a love interest to sanemi, she’s the reason for shinobus character development. I don’t think she should be watered down to a love interest when we barely got that in the main story.

overall, this is my analysis and isn’t meant to make you stop shipping sanekana, it’s just personally why i don’t ship it and an explanation of sanemi’s character.

[small-z24]

One-Shot: Shadows of Confession

Summary: 

What happens when Azriel tells Cassian that Cassian’s little sister Y/N is his mate?

Word Count: 1798

Warnings: None aside from an over protective Cassian 

The training grounds of the Night Court were eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of the city below. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field where Cassian and Azriel stood, sweat gleaming on their brows from an intense sparring session.

Cassian was the first to break the silence, his voice gruff yet concerned. “You’ve been distracted lately, Az. What’s going on?”

Azriel hesitated, his heart pounding. This was the moment he’d been dreading, but he couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. He sheathed his sword and turned to face his brother. “Cassian, we need to talk.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed, sensing the seriousness in Azriel’s tone. “What is it?”

Azriel took a deep breath, his shadows swirling around him nervously. “It’s about your sister. About Y/N.”

Cassian’s eyes darkened, suspicion creeping into his expression. “What about Y/N?”

Azriel met Cassian’s gaze, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “She’s my mate.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, like a storm breaking, Cassian’s face contorted with anger. “What did you just say?”

“Y/N is my mate,” Azriel repeated, trying to remain calm. “I’ve known for a while now, but I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”

Cassian’s fists clenched, his wings flaring out behind him. “My sister? You think you can just... claim her?”

“It’s not about claiming,” Azriel said, his own shadows agitated by Cassian’s reaction. “It’s a bond, something neither of us can control.”

Cassian took a step forward, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m going to let you, with your shadows and your darkness, anywhere near her? She’s too innocent, too pure for someone like you.”

Azriel’s heart ached at the words, but he held his ground. “I know you want to protect her, Cassian. I do too. I would never hurt her.”

Cassian’s eyes flashed with fury. “You already have! By being who you are, by being in her life, you’re putting her in danger.”

“I love her,” Azriel said quietly, the confession hanging in the air between them. “I love her more than anything. I would die to keep her safe.”

Cassian’s anger seemed to waver, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Do you think that makes it any easier for me to accept? She’s my little sister, Az. I’ve watched over her all her life. I can’t just... let go.”

Azriel stepped closer, his voice earnest. “I’m not asking you to let go, Cassian. I’m asking you to trust me. To trust that I will do everything in my power to protect her, to make her happy.”

Cassian’s shoulders sagged, the weight of his emotions pulling him down. “She deserves better than this, better than a life filled with shadows.”

Azriel nodded, understanding the depth of Cassian’s concern. “She does. But she’s my light in the darkness, Cassian. She’s the reason I can face my shadows.”

Cassian looked away, struggling with his conflicting emotions. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh. “Does she know?”

Azriel shook his head. “Not yet. I wanted to tell you first. I owe you that much.”

Cassian was silent for a long moment, the tension between them palpable. Then he looked back at Azriel, his expression softening just a fraction. “If you hurt her, Az... if you let her down in any way, I will never forgive you.”

“I won’t,” Azriel vowed, his voice unwavering. “I swear to you, Cassian. I will cherish her, protect her, and love her with everything I have.”

Cassian nodded slowly, the anger in his eyes replaced by a weary acceptance. “You better. For both your sakes.”

Azriel reached out, placing a hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “Thank you. It means more than you know.”

Cassian gripped Azriel’s shoulder in return, his expression still tense but less hostile. “Just... be good to her, Az. She deserves the best.”

“I will,” Azriel promised, feeling a surge of relief and hope. “I promise.”

As they stood there, the last light of day fading into night, Azriel knew that the hardest part was yet to come—telling Y/N the truth. But with Cassian’s reluctant blessing, he felt ready to face whatever came next, determined to build a future with the woman who had brought light into his shadows.

That evening, Azriel found himself standing outside Rhysand’s study, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He needed advice on how to approach Y/N, and there was no one better to turn to than Rhysand.

He knocked softly, and a moment later, Rhysand’s voice called out, “Come in.”

Azriel entered the room, closing the door behind him. Rhysand looked up from his desk, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Azriel. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Azriel took a seat, his shadows restless around him. “I need your advice, Rhys.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his expression serious. “What’s on your mind?”

Azriel took a deep breath. “It’s about Y/N. She’s my mate.”

Rhysand’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Y/N? Cassian’s sister?”

Azriel nodded. “Yes. And I told Cassian today. He... didn’t take it well.”

Rhysand chuckled softly. “I can imagine. Cassian can be a bit overprotective when it comes to his sister.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s an understatement. But he gave me his reluctant blessing. Now, I need to figure out how to tell Y/N.”

Rhysand’s gaze softened. “You’re worried about how she’ll react?”

Azriel nodded. “Yes. She’s always been a bit wary of me, of my shadows. I’m afraid that the bond won’t snap into place for her, that she’ll always be a little afraid of me.”

Rhysand leaned forward, his eyes filled with empathy. “Azriel, you’ve always been good at reading people. Trust that. You know Y/N better than you think. Just be honest with her. Tell her how you feel, and let her see the real you.”

Azriel’s shadows seemed to calm at Rhysand’s words. “You’re right. I need to trust in the bond, and in her.”

Rhysand smiled. “Exactly. And remember, you’re not alone in this. We’re all here to support you, and Y/N too.”

Azriel stood, feeling a renewed sense of determination. “Thank you, Rhys. I appreciate it.”

Rhysand nodded, his smile widening. “Anytime, Az. Now go, and tell her how you feel.”

The House of Wind was alive with laughter and conversation as the Night Court gathered for dinner. The long table was filled with the Court's closest members, including Rhysand, Feyre, Mor, Amren, Cassian, Azriel, and Y/N. The warmth of camaraderie and the delicious scent of food filled the air, creating a comforting atmosphere.

Azriel, seated next to Y/N, could barely focus on the meal. His mind was preoccupied with the conversation he had with Cassian earlier that day and the advice he received from Rhysand. He glanced at Y/N, who seemed to be enjoying herself, chatting animatedly with Mor.

Cassian, seated across the table, kept a watchful eye on Azriel. His earlier anger simmered beneath the surface, and he struggled to keep his emotions in check. The knowledge that his sister and Azriel were mates weighed heavily on him.

As the meal progressed, Azriel leaned closer to Y/N, his voice low. "Y/N, can we talk after dinner? There’s something important I need to discuss with you."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and something else—something Azriel couldn't quite place. "Of course, Azriel. I’d like that."

Cassian’s sharp eyes caught the intimate exchange, and he felt his control slipping. His protective instincts over Y/N surged, and before he could stop himself, he slammed his fist on the table, causing everyone to jump.

“Enough!” Cassian roared, his voice echoing through the dining hall. “You think you can just whisper sweet nothings to my sister under my nose, Azriel?”

Everyone turned to look at Cassian in shock, their expressions ranging from surprise to confusion.

“What are you talking about, Cassian?” Rhysand asked, his tone calm but curious.

Cassian pointed a shaking finger at Azriel, his eyes blazing with fury. “He’s been keeping a secret from all of us. From Y/N. He’s her mate!”

Gasps filled the room, and all eyes turned to Azriel and Y/N. Azriel stood, his expression a mixture of anger and determination. “Cassian, this isn’t the way—”

Y/N rose to her feet, her face a mask of shock and dismay. “Cassian, stop! This isn’t your decision to make.”

Cassian turned to her, his voice filled with anguish. “You’re my little sister, Y/N. You don’t understand what you’re getting into. Azriel’s shadows—”

Y/N stepped closer to Cassian, her eyes flashing with determination. “I’ve known, Cassian. I’ve known for a while.”

Silence fell over the room as everyone processed Y/N’s words. Azriel looked at her in surprise. “You knew?”

She nodded, her gaze softening as she met his eyes. “Yes, Azriel. I knew. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to scare you off. I know how much your shadows mean to you, and I wanted to give you time.”

Cassian looked between Azriel and Y/N, his anger dissipating into confusion. “You knew?”

Y/N reached out to take Cassian’s hand, her voice gentle. “Yes, and I appreciate your concern. But this is my decision. Azriel is my mate, and I trust him.”

Rhysand cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Well, this certainly explains a lot. But Cassian, you need to trust your sister. She’s capable of making her own choices.”

Feyre nodded in agreement, her eyes warm with understanding. “And Azriel is one of the most honorable men I know. He would never hurt Y/N.”

Cassian’s shoulders sagged, the weight of his emotions finally catching up to him. “I just want her to be safe.”

Azriel stepped forward, his voice steady and sincere. “I swear to you, Cassian, I will protect her with my life. She is everything to me.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with love for both her brother and Azriel. “And I love him, Cassian. Please, trust us.”

Cassian sighed, finally relenting. “Alright. But if you ever hurt her, Azriel—”

“I won’t,” Azriel promised, his eyes locking with Y/N’s. “I swear.”

As the tension eased, Rhysand raised his glass, a smile playing on his lips. “To new beginnings, and to the bonds that make us stronger.”

Everyone raised their glasses, the mood lightening once more. Y/N took her seat next to Azriel, their hands entwined under the table. They shared a private smile, knowing that despite the challenges ahead, they would face them together.

Cassian watched them, his protective instincts still strong but tempered by the knowledge that his sister was happy. And in the end, that was all that mattered.

[argisthebulwark]

'I'd Kill For You' vs 'I'd Die For You'

summary: who would fight and who would lay down their life in place of yours? gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Farkas, Cicero, Rune, Mercer, Miraak, Teldryn, Erik warnings: canon typical non-graphic blood/injury/death

Brynjolf would die for you. He can’t bring himself to take a life - Gallus never mixed words when teaching Brynjolf that lesson. But he would gladly die in your place. He begs you to leave him and save yourself, to get as far away as you can before Mercer’s Frenzy spell. His knuckles are white as he struggles to keep the blade pointed away from you despite the magicka taking hold of his mind. "Please, you have to get away. Let me handle this traitor. If there is love for me in your heart then you need to run and not look back."

Farkas would kill for you. He would lay waste to an entire camp if you asked. Silver Hand or run of the mill bandits it makes no difference to Farkas - he’d cut down anyone threatening your life.  "You're not getting away from me that easy. I'm not burying you 'til I drink you under the table one more time."

Cicero would kill for you in a heartbeat. He’s been waiting. Please ask him to kill for you. Daggers are in hand awaiting your word. He’s already mapping out the order in which he’ll take down anyone who looks at you wrong. You are his Listener, after all. It is his duty to keep you safe from harm.  "Loyal Cicero strikes at your command, dearest Listener. Just say the word."

Rune would die for you without thinking. He’d jump in front of the killing blow meant for you. He would let you cry into his armor, would wipe your tears when you demand to know why he would do such a thing. He would tell you that you still have so much work to do, the rest of the Guild relies on you too much to let you die. "The rest of them, they need you. Go on and make me proud, yeah?"

Mercer would begrudgingly kill for you. He’d try to spin it so you don’t think it has anything to do with you but there’s no mistaking it - he saved you. He’d grumble something about you being more useful alive than dead but you both know. Even if he refuses to admit it he’d kill almost anyone to keep you safe.  "Don't let it go to your head. The moment you stop bein' useful I'm tossing you back to the wolves."

Miraak would only die for you. When it comes down to it, when his sole hope for survival is ending your life he can’t bring himself to do it. He lets you kill him because he knows what you mean to the rest of the world. He’s realized that even if his life stretched on for another millennia it would be worthless without you. "I cannot face it without you, Mal Dov. I have wasted enough lifetimes to mourn the one I might have lived with you."

Teldryn would kill for you. The moment he spots you in trouble, surrounded on all sides and outnumbered by bandits all the memories would come flooding back. The grief of losing a close friend and patron. He couldn’t lose you. He’d rush in without a thought, fending off swords and arrows at your side. "Can't have you dying and ruining my fine reputation. I am Morrowind's finest bladesman, you're not dying on my watch."

Erik would die for you. He’d do anything for you. After all you’ve done for him - reigniting his dreams of becoming an adventurer, helping him escape the family farm, seeing the world at his side, he will not allow you to die. Laying in your arms he reminds you that he’s loved every moment spent in your company. "I wanted to grow old with you. I wanted to see everything with you."

[doeeyeseddie]

Hello Pia, my darling, as promised here's 4 prompts for you to choose from as little or as many as you want: 1 (constant physical touch to feel safe -yes I am that predictable), 17 (holding hands when sitting next to each other -again, no comment please 😂), 29 (doing something silly to cheer them up) and/or 38 (craving their company after a stressful day).

Love you, mwah 💕

manon my love, thank you!! i tried to fit all four prompts in here, i hope you enjoy it 💕 (sorry i let a hamster die in here for dramatic purposes only)

[read on ao3]

“Come home with me?” Eddie asked, brushing a hand through Buck’s hair where he was sitting slumped on the bench in the locker room. 

Buck nodded under his hand, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment. “If that’s okay.”

“I asked you, Buck,” Eddie said gently. “I want you there with me.”

Buck blinked up at him, a half smile building on his face. “Okay.”

Eddie drove them home – they could get Buck’s jeep tomorrow, or maybe he’d want to stay at Eddie’s until their next shift, which would be more than fine with Eddie – and kept sneaking looks at Buck.

It had been a stressful shift, call after call with barely any downtime, and Buck had taken one of the calls hard, harder than the rest of them. They’d rescued a family from their burning home, all of them making it out with nothing worse than smoke inhalation – except for the daughter’s hamster.

Later, the mother had explained to them that he’d been old, slow, mostly blind, and probably hadn’t ever noticed that anything was wrong. But in the moment, there had only been a little girl, crying and screaming for her pet, and Buck hadn’t even hesitated to run back inside.

The look on his face when he’d come back out with the motionless rodent cradled in his hand and the little girl's cries had broken Eddie’s heart, and he knew that it had stayed on Buck’s mind for the rest of the shift.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a lot less tragic than many of the other calls they responded to on the daily, but Eddie knew that it wasn’t always that simple.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling to a stop at a red light and nudging Buck’s thigh with his knuckles. “You’re quiet.”

“I keep hearing her cry,” Buck said, a far away look in his eyes. “Maybe if I’d–”

“You did what you could,” Eddie interrupted him. “Buck. There was nothing any of us could have done. It was sad, but we saved that family, they’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Buck mumbled.

The light turned green and Eddie turned his main focus back to the road ahead of them. From the corner of his eye, he could see Buck fidgeting with his hands, pulling on a hangnail, and reached over to take his hand and pull it away. He just kept holding on, slotting their fingers together and driving one-handed. If the way Buck’s shoulders loosened and he stopped fidgeting was anything to go by, he didn’t mind.

“I guess I’m just sad,” Buck said quietly, his head leaning against the headrest but turned towards Eddie. “A– a little bit guilty, too, even though in my head I know that I didn’t do anything wrong. I just really wanted to find that hamster alive.”

“I know you did.” Eddie squeezed his hand. “One of my sister’s friends had, like, five hamsters in a row when we were kids. They never got very old. Not that that makes this okay, just– it’s not the end of the world, even for that little girl. Even if she probably felt like it today.”

Buck sighed. “Yeah. I’m just being dramatic.”

“You’re not being dramatic,” Eddie admonished him gently. “You care, you care really deeply, and I love that about you.”

Buck tightened his grip on his hand, and when Eddie glanced over at him, his eyes were big and shining. “I really love you, you know that?”

“I really love you, too,” Eddie said, trying to tamp down the undoubtedly goofy smile trying to spread across his face. It still thrilled him, hearing it, saying it, even weeks after the first time.

He pulled Buck’s hand towards him to press a kiss to his knuckles, then dropped his hand so he could pull into his street and then his driveway.

Once he’d parked, they both got out of the truck, but Buck waited for him by the hood, hand outstretched. Eddie took it and stepped close enough to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Come on, let’s go in,” he said, tugging Buck gently along with him to the front door. “Do you want to sleep immediately?”

“Soon,” Buck said, and he wasn’t letting go of Eddie’s hand, so Eddie did his best to unlock the door one-handed. “But I don’t think I’m ready to sleep yet.”

Eddie figured, because he could tell that Buck was still feeling a little down, and he knew that Buck preferred going to sleep after some distraction.

“So I don’t cry myself to sleep,” he’d told Eddie years ago, and it had been a joke, but Eddie knew that there was some truth in it.

So he was going to provide the distraction.

Buck was already in the clingy stage of tired, so it was easy to herd him into the kitchen, where Eddie made them both a cup of sleepytime tea, then turned the radio on at a low volume, all while Buck was staying close to him, their shoulders brushing with every movement.

The outro of a song he didn’t know was playing, but he immediately recognized the next song as it started, and smiled to himself.

“Hey,” he murmured, nudging Buck’s hand with his. “Dance with me?”

Buck tilted his head at him, adorably confused. “Now?”

“Yeah, why not?” Eddie asked, wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him close.

The corner of Buck’s mouth tilted up in a small smile and he placed one hand in Eddie’s, turning Eddie’s hold into a traditional dancing pose. “Sure, I’ll dance with you.”

Eddie grinned and spun them away from the counter slowly, humming along to the song as they started swaying in the low kitchen light.

The song wasn’t a waltz but that was fine, because Eddie wasn’t even sure they could waltz if they wanted to, and he was happy enough to just hold Buck in his arms and turn in slow circles.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea,” Elvis crooned, “Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be.”

“You are such a sap,” Buck murmured, but his eyes were sparkling.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too,” Eddie sang along in a low voice, “for I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Buck pressed his face into Eddie’s neck and Eddie could feel his smile against the skin there, followed by a soft kiss.

They swayed until the song faded into a new one, and Buck snorted against Eddie’s neck before lifting his head. Earth, Wind & Fire asked them if they remembered the 21st night of September, and Buck and Eddie grinned at each other.

“Which station is this? Is it oldies day?”

Eddie laughed and loosened his hold so he could lead Buck into a spin. Since neither of them had any idea what they were doing, their arms tangled above Buck’s head, and Buck snorted again, letting it turn into a laugh this time.

“Wait, let’s try that again,” Eddie said, dropping his hands and holding them out for Buck to take. “How does this look so easy when other people do it?”

Buck was still giggling and took both of Eddie’s hands this time, lifting them in the air and trying to turn, with the same result as the first time.

“Oh, I give up,” he said, dropping their joined hands. “Maybe Bobby can show us.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said and tugged him closer again. Buck’s entire body had relaxed, and there was still a smile in the corner of his mouth and the crinkles by his eyes. He brushed the tip of his nose against Buck’s. “But for now – tea and then bed?”

Buck slung both of his arms around his neck and stepped close enough his toes met Eddie’s on the kitchen floor. His nose nudged back. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were doing.”

Eddie grinned and pushed one hand under Buck’s shirt at his back. “Did it work?”

“You know it did.” His lips were featherlight against Eddie’s, barely a kiss, curved up in a smile.

“Good,” Eddie said, muffled against his mouth, and pressed even closer.

They could reheat their tea later.