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treatbuckywkisses · 7 days ago

Text

not even a little

it's reread time:(

Trouble is that Bucky Barnes is the type of guy that makes it very, very difficult not to fall for him. - sooooooo true bestie :(

Natasha glanced between the two of you with that smug look of hers, and you shot her a warning glare because she knew. She knew from the moment you awkwardly shook Bucky’s hand that he was gonna mean trouble for you, with his leather jacket and his blue eyes and his fucking horrible tendency to be both suave and sheepish within the same sentence. - #detailsofbucky he's everything to me idc

“Gotta keep my bones strong.” There’s a glint in his eye as he says it, too, because at this point he already knows exactly how to rile you up. He loves seeing you explode. - hes so cheeky !!!! get him out of here bc id put this in my list too

Because the truth is, Bucky Barnes absolutely aggravates you sometimes, and it’s good to remind yourself of those times when he’s once again wandering around the apartment in nothing but his sweatpants. - soo slutty of him actually !!!!

reading a book bc he heard it was good :( I'm so soft for him (I don't care how he's holding it if he can hold me too)

You pull out your phone as you wait for Nat to get upstairs, hesitating for a moment before you open your notes app. The feeling in your stomach uncoils. - the hesitation:((( knowing what I know makes me SICK but I fear it's an unfortunate canon event

Your stare remains fixed on the table. Your favorite mug is filled to the brim with tea, placed delicately on the previously empty coaster next to your pile of books. - the fact that it's her favorite mug is not unnoticed by me and I'm YELLING (also he used the coaster !!!!)

You do laugh, then, short and loud. When you meet his eyes again, they’re the color of the darkest parts of the sky, and the look on his face is indescribable. Almost like surprise. It sends a chill through you. - he is so in love I'm mush :(

Your breath hitches when you feel his weight on you, closer to him than you’ve ever dared before. There’s something in the depths of his eyes that makes it very hard to have a single coherent thought. “Maybe,” Bucky says, and there’s a tiny crack in his voice as if he knows it, too, “I was sick of pretending.” - FUCK ALL THE WAY OFF MY GOD THEY WANT EACH OTHER SO BAD WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME ALWAYS :(

Time seems to freeze. He doesn’t move, and his face doesn’t change as he looks at you, not really. It’s just Bucky. Just … everything. - YEAH:((((( HE IS EVERYTHING DAMNIT

Going down that line of thought is a dangerous game, especially now that you’ve seen the freckle next to his mouth up close, delicately placed there like a dimple, like it was painted with the softest brush. It begs to be kissed. - you are sick and twisted i need a restraining order

“Come on, sweets,” he whispers and you swear you feel all the hairs in your neck stand up. You don’t turn your head or move your arms. He leans over until his head is basically on your shoulder, his knee nudging yours, his hand sneaking for the bucket in your lap. “You said you’d share,” Bucky says into your ear. His entire arm is pressed against yours now, and it takes everything in you not to tremble. “Just let me have what’s mine.” - why do you have me ......... Feeling..... a type of way....... reading about.... Popcorn..................... Anyways I'll give him everything he's so hot so slutty so stupid

You don’t expect it all to fall apart so soon after that. - FUCK IM NOT READY IM SO NOT READY I WAS JUST GETTING HOT OVER POPCORN IM NOT READY TO CRY TAKE IT AWAY :(

You have never seen this kind of look on his face, that coldness skewing his beautiful features into an ugly mask. In his eyes, there’s nothing, not even a trace of the fondness that swirled in them less than a minute ago. Your heart drops. -, Nika I'm fucking sick

running after him in the pouring rain im so sick :(

Maybe he’d come home. Maybe there’s still a chance to clear this thing up. - I am sick to my stomach you are fucking twisted

the cup :((((

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and the words explode into a million butterflies in your stomach. “You did get stuck in my head.” - this is my FAVORITE line :( at least this time around:(( I'm so emotional for them and thankful you gave me a happy ending!!!!

roomie bucky is so everything to me:( i love this fic so much (happy ending)

not even a little

summary: The problem of living with Bucky is that he makes it impossible not to fall in love with him. Even though you could list several hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea. And you have.

pairing: roommate!bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.7k

warnings: pining idiots in love, slightly questionable roomie behaviour, simultaneously the softest and cockiest bucky i've written so far, blink and you miss it throwing shade at iron fist

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: this is my very late submission for kathie's (@pellucid-constellations) love letters writing challenge <3 thank you for this lovely idea, writing this was a challenge indeed but that is, as they say, a me problem. also huge shoutout to @barnesafterglow and @sweetascanbee, this really and truly would still not be done without you. love you both 💛

masterlist | read on ao3

You’re screwed. You know that you’re screwed.

Surely, there’s a rule book for these kinds of situations, and rule number one tells you in big, blinking neon letters that you should absolutely, under no circumstances, not ever fall in love with your roommate. Especially not if he also happens to be your best friend.

And yet.

Trouble is that Bucky Barnes is the type of guy that makes it very, very difficult not to fall for him.

Honestly, you should have known better when Nat had suggested the two of you move in together, that night at the bar right after college, “since you’re both new in town and all”. You’d almost spat your drink in her face when she waved him over to where you were sitting, because there was no way in hell a man called James looked like that.

“Friends call me Bucky, actually,” he’d said, a smirk on his lips that went straight to your core.

So how are you supposed to say no after that?

It’s so easy to grow close to him, too. Way too easy. You fall into a routine with such effortlessness it has you wonder how you've ever managed without him at all. Grocery runs after work and movie nights on tired Friday evenings, conversations that would be nonsensical to anyone eavesdropping, dreary-eyed breakfast at 2 p.m. Quickly, it becomes difficult to remember a time in your life that didn’t include Bucky.

Needless to say, it’s a struggle.

Thankfully, you come up with a brilliant plan about a month into your new living arrangement. Or rather, your friends do.

“You should kill him.”

“Darcy!”

“What?” Darcy tucks into her mozzarella sticks. “We’d claim temporary insanity in court, if he’s that hot, there’s no way the jury wouldn’t understand.”

“You’d make an awful lawyer,” Colleen says drily, continuing to pat your head awkwardly.

Darcy raises one impeccable eyebrow. “Got some better idea to save Y/N from Barnes’ death grip, buzzkill?”

“Remember before I broke up with Danny?”

You snort at the visceral shudder that goes through Darcy. “Those were the dark days.”

“Hah.” Colleen rolls her eyes. “Anyway. I wrote down every single time he did something that pissed me off, and whenever I felt myself falling into old habits, I went over the list. Worked like a charm. I was over him like that.” She snaps her fingers.

“And thus, another national holiday was born,” Darcy says, clinking her bottle against Colleen’s. “May we always commemorate Independrandce Day to remind ourselves that bad times don’t last.”

“All the things that piss me off?” you ask doubtfully. “I want my crush to go away, not make my apartment unbearable to live in.”

“Just try it for a while, then,” Colleen shrugs. “If it doesn’t work, you can still resort to physical violence. There’s an open spot in my Thursday class.”

You’re busy Thursdays.

It’s almost surprising how little time passes until you need to take your friend’s advice. You’re just headed into the kitchen to grab a snack before you leave for work when you screech to a halt.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Bucky turns around slowly, having the audacity to look confused even as he’s still holding the bottle. “Having a drink?”

“Of milk?” you say, trying not to actually gag. He’s lucky you’re not a milk-sharing household or you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from going off.

“Gotta keep my bones strong.” There’s a glint in his eye as he says it, too, because at this point he already knows exactly how to rile you up. He loves seeing you explode.

This time, though, you won’t give him the satisfaction.

Slowly, an empty smile on your face, you pull out your phone. Bucky, you are an actual horrible disgusting psychopath, you type with a forced sense of serenity. who tf drinks milk straight from the bottle.

You feel strangely better after that and another deep breath.

“I’m gonna go now,” you tell him a bit too sharply and turn on your heels. You’ll get food on your way.

It quickly turns into a habit. Every time he does something small that would normally set you off, you open your notes app and write it out, instead. It helps at least somewhat to stop romanticizing your situation. Level things out a little.

“Jesus, Buck,” you say, slumping down on the couch a few feet away from him. “Would it kill you to wear a shirt every once in a while?”

“It’s like a hundred degrees in here,” Bucky whines, not moving from where he’s reading.

“So? You don’t see me strip naked.”

His smile is lazy, but his eyes sparkle with amusement as he turns his page. “I know, and it’s a shame.”

“Fuck off, Barnes.” Your cheeks are on fire and you can only hope he can’t tell. “Nat’s gonna be here in five minutes.”

“Okay,” he says, not moving an inch.

You stare at him incredulously. “Can you please put some clothes on?”

“I am wearing clothes,” Bucky states dryly. “Besides, Nat won’t mind.”

“Dot might,” you mumble, but he ignores you. Not that you expected him to; his on-again, off-again relationship has been a topic of contention for a while now, and not because of you.

Truly, you’ve been doing a lot better lately, keeping a lid on your feelings. Which is why you’re able to look at him and his naked torso and his arms and be completely fine. Really. You pull your gaze to the book he’s holding and frown.

“Is that mine?”

Bucky finally glances at you, looking almost bashful. “You said it was good.”

You blink in surprise. You did say that, but not to him. You remember telling Colleen how much you loved it the last time you were facetiming in the living room while Bucky was perched at the kitchen counter with a bored, absent expression on his face as he silently scrolled through something on his phone.

The fact that he listened makes you choose to ignore that he’s definitely going to ruin the spine if he keeps holding the book like that.

“How do you like it?” you ask, voice slightly higher than usual.

“It’s great.” His smile returns, and you will never be sick of him looking like that, looking at you like that. So content.

The doorbell wakes you from your trance with a start.

Bucky sighs quietly as he carefully places a bookmark between the pages and gets up from the couch, rolling his shoulders. You watch him as he shuffles away to his room without another word, sweat making the hair stick to his neck. It takes you another moment to stand up yourself.

You pull out your phone as you wait for Nat to get upstairs, hesitating for a moment before you open your notes app. The feeling in your stomach uncoils.

***

There are days, despite your best efforts, that you still let yourself hope. Like when Bucky makes enough pancakes for dinner to feed an entire football team and you talk about the book he’s borrowed over maple syrup and jam until it’s eleven at night. Or when you’re out with your mutual group of friends and his gaze always finds yours after he’s made a joke, as if to gage your reaction, as if to make sure to catch a spark of amusement in your eyes.

Other times, like right now, you simply don’t have the time to question your relationship too much.

While the prospect of your upcoming promotion is great, it leaves you with an almost insurmountable pile of work that’s to be done as soon as possible, and the long hours make you putter around the apartment like a zombie. Thankfully, Bucky’s been avoiding you while you’re in this state, spending his days at Dot’s, or at Steve’s. You’re sure he’s told you at some point, but you don’t really remember.

You’ve set up your little work space in the living room, because it’s the only room with proper light in it. Most of your time is spent on the couch, noise-canceling headphones on and trying to focus on what feels like seven different projects at once. You miss feeling the sun on your skin.

As you’re trying to get your eyes to focus on the numbers and nonsensical reports flickering over your laptop screen, you notice movement in your peripheral vision. You flinch, pulling off your headphones, and then blink.

Bucky freezes mid turn, clearly not having expected you to notice him. “Sorry,” he says. “I just got home.”

Your stare remains fixed on the table. Your favorite mug is filled to the brim with tea, placed delicately on the previously empty coaster next to your pile of books.

“You looked like you needed it,” he continues, and your heart swells.

“Thank you,” you mumble and he shrugs.

“Dinner should be here in twenty, if you want some.”

You nod, watching the steam curl when he leaves you to your reports again. Strange, how easy it is to suddenly overthink a cup of tea.

You wait a couple of minutes for it to cool, then take a tentative sip. Your nose scrunches up.

He’s oversteeped it to the point of no return.

Still, you find yourself drinking most of it, because for some reason you can’t bring yourself to just pour it down the drain. It’s like you can’t quite let go of the gesture.

When the week is finally over, you both sit on the fire escape with a drink in your hands and breathe in the cool early night air. There’s undone dishes and at least three machines’ worth of laundry and a thousand other things demanding your attention, but for now, for this one evening, you’re finally content to do absolutely nothing and do it guilt-free.

It’s nice to just sit next to each other in utter silence as you watch the people below hurry along home through the traffic. The streets smell like spilled gasoline and the very last fringes of summer. The sun is setting at a deliciously lazy pace.

Bucky nudges you and points to the other side of the street. You coo as you watch the corgi waddle around the corner, almost itching for your phone to take a picture. Instead, you look up.

The sky looks beautiful, as if someone had softly smudged the deepest blue ink while it was still drying and dabbed the most glorious shades of pink and orange at the edges. A plane goes by overhead, blinking and leaving a trail of gray across the vast firmament.

“You know,” you say, leaning your head against the wall. “When I was little, I used to think these clouds were made of cotton candy.”

Bucky doesn’t laugh, but you feel the smile radiating from him without even turning. It’s like that, between you. Random thoughts are never weird. Only there to be outweirded.

“I used to think the moon was made of cheese,” he offers tonight.

“What?” you say, and he shakes his head.

A car alarm goes off in the distance, and you avert your gaze again, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Bucky’s phone vibrates with a message, but he doesn’t duck inside like you expect him to. Instead, you both sit there until the sun has fully disappeared, and something seems to settle.

It’s a setback that follows you well into the next year.

“I vote arsen or arsenic,” Darcy says. “You have insurance, right?”

She reaches over to grab your phone, swiftly entering the pincode with that set frown of hers as if she’s trying to hack into the pentagon again.

“I doubt they cover homicide,” you deadpan.

“Manslaughter, actually” she reads from your phone. “In the first degree. Ow!” She rubs her shin.

“Who are we getting rid of?” Natasha asks, sliding back into the booth next to you.

“No one,” you say at the same time as Darcy says, “Barnes, duh.” You give her a sharp look. She sticks her tongue out at you.

Nat bumps her shoulder against yours. “How long has it been, coming up two years in June?”

“Shut up,” you murmur, taking another sip of your milkshake. “Darce, what are you doing with my phone?”

“Well, I’m done googling, I wanna see if you actually made that list.”

“What list?” Natasha asks.

“Okay, give me that.” You try to grab your phone back, but Darcy snatches it out of your reach quickly.

“Come on, you never tell me these things anymore,” Darcy complains and continues scrolling. “We used to have so much fun! Does he snore? Does he leave his socks all over the floor? I have a need to know!”

“And it’s making you rhyme, too.”

She’s still dodging your efforts to get your phone back while she’s talking. Natasha watches both of you in amusement, eating her cheesy fries.

“Hah!” Darcy exclaims and your heart drops. “I knew it, he seems like the type to break a spine. I can always tell.”

“Darcy,” you say warningly.

She gasps theatrically. “He killed Fernadette? You said it was an accident!”

“Plants die, Darce, it’s not a big deal.”

In the moment of her outraged distraction, Nat plucks your phone from her hands. She scrolls down once, smirks, and finally hands it back to you. “Change your passcode, WikiLeaks.”

You throw the phone back in your bag resolutely, cheeks burning.

Darcy pouts. “I didn’t even get to the good stuff.”

“You know,” Natasha says, dipping her fry into the melting whipped cream on your shake. “Some of this stuff you should probably tell him.”

“It’s fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “I’m fine. We’re both still alive, aren’t we?”

“Only because you’re boring,” Darcy rolls her eyes.

Natasha lifts her glass. “To two years’ survival in June,” she grins innocently at you.

As you clink your glasses together, there’s something in her eyes that makes you feel like you’re toasting an ultimatum.

***

It’s irrevocably over with Dot when Bucky officially breaks up with her the day before Valentine’s, which is a bit extreme even by your standards, and you’ve never liked Dot.

Matter of fact, it would have made the list anyway, but all the more so when he decides to wreck your following evening as well in the process.

Being eternally single, you’d planned a nice, relaxing night home alone with a movie and some takeout to keep you from obsessively refreshing Instagram as a way to torture yourself. Cozy, quiet, totally not alone forever.

Instead, you now have a sullen-faced Bucky to contend with.

“If you’re gonna be moping all night, you can do it in your room,” you finally snap after he’s complained about your choice of food, the candle you wanted to burn in the living room, and how you decided to eat the giant box of chocolates you’d treated yourself to.

“I’m not,” Bucky says mopingly.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously, you couldn’t have chosen literally any other day of the year to break things off with her? There are a lot of them, you know.”

Bucky throws a pile of chocolate wrappers at you. You retaliate with a pillow to his face.

There’s a second for you to laugh at his expression, when he’s still too stunned to react, before the pillow comes flying back to hit you in the temple and you almost fall off the couch with a shriek.

“Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?” Bucky asks, grabbing a pillow in each hand to use as defense.

“Pretty sure that’s a dumpee privilege,” you say, mimicking what he’s doing.

You stare at each other for a second, then Bucky throws one of the pillows he’s holding at your head. It lands on the floor as you block it with your own, taking the unlit candle down with it. You smack another of your pillows at his face.

Finally, there’s a little glint in his eye again. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

“Doesn’t mean she deserves to be dumped on February thirteenth,” you say. The second pillow misses and Bucky’s grin turns feline. Shit.

Slowly, you put one foot on the floor, Bucky watching your every move. You can see the pillow on the floor out of the corner of your eye.

You dart towards it and Bucky throws his second pillow. You duck. Your chocolates go flying to the ground, scattering everywhere. Both of you grab the floor pillow at the same time, struggling for it.

“Dickhead,” you gasp, thinking of your nice ruined chocolates. You twist to wrangle the pillow out of his grasp, but in doing so stumble. Bucky, to his credit, tries to stop your fall, but you only take him down with you, landing uncomfortably on top of each other on the couch.

“Maybe,” Bucky says, and there’s a tiny crack in his voice as if he knows it, too, “I was sick of pretending.”

Time seems to freeze. He doesn’t move, and his face doesn’t change as he looks at you, not really. It’s just Bucky. Just … everything.

You can feel heat rising.

The doorbell saves you from embarrassing yourself further. You can hear Bucky cursing under his breath as you gently shove him off you and hurry to the door, your heart still thundering.

It’s a moment you keep replaying in your mind obsessively even weeks later, as if remembering it as often as possible would change the outcome at all. Would stop your food from arriving at that exact moment, and instead …

Sam’s voice calling your name snaps you back to the present and you lock your phone, sharply turning on your heel and almost spilling the buckets of popcorn you’re precariously holding in one arm while attempting to balance the nachos with the other.

“Isn’t that a lot of snacks for four people?” Bucky asks, taking some of the stuff off you.

You don’t meet his eye and frown instead. “Why four people?”

“Nat just sent a text,” Sam says, his arm still around Misty’s waist. “Apparently Steve’s got a cold and they’re staying home.”

And with Joaquín still in Mexico and Darcy running so late at work she’d meet you at the bar later, your group of eight had just been reduced to a date with a plus two. Wonderful.

“Did you only get salty?” Bucky asks, already eating as you make your way to your seats.

“Of course not,” you say, keeping the second bucket out of his reach. “But we’re sharing these. Every time I trust you with the popcorn they’re mysteriously gone ten minutes into the movie.”

“Ain’t no mystery about it,” Bucky says. “Gimme some.”

“No!” You sit down between him and Sam. “You can wait until the trailer show at least.”

“That might be hours! I could starve by then!” He looks at you with his saddest puppy dog eyes, and it might have worked on you, too, had you not had this exact discussion several times before. “Please?”

You cross your arms over the bucket so that he won’t just reach over. “Nope.”

Sam grins. “You got a ruthless one there, Buck.”

The lights go down before anyone can notice the slight twitch in your expression.

Bucky does make it all the way through the trailer show before he starts shifting in his seat, softly tugging at your sleeve. You keep staring at the screen.

“The popcorn. Stays. With me,” you hiss. You’re tempted to slap his fingers away, but you find yourself completely immobilized.

“You said you’d share,” Bucky says into your ear. His entire arm is pressed against yours now, and it takes everything in you not to tremble. “Just let me have what’s mine.”

You can only hope no one will ask you about any particulars of the movie later on.

***

You don’t expect it all to fall apart so soon after that.

“Well,” Darcy says as the five of you huddle underneath the tiny awning in front of the bar. “I sure am glad I still came out tonight.”

It’s pouring down in buckets, the wind tearing at your jackets, the sky pitch black. The nearest subway station is a seven minute walk away, and you share a total of two umbrellas between you, one of them snatched from the lost and found box at Luke’s.

“Any of us going in the same direction?” Misty asks, opening her own umbrella. Sam takes it out of her hand to cover them both.

“Not really,” you answer, looking at Bucky. “Uber?”

He nods. “My phone’s empty, though.”

“Jesus, why isn’t this working?”

You snort, unlocking your phone without looking and pressing it into Bucky’s hand before hurrying to assist Darcy in her fight with the lent umbrella. “You need to hold it against the wind. Seriously, for someone with two PhDs—”

It finally snaps open, cutting off Darcy’s cussing. Her glasses are already blurred with raindrops.

“Well,” Sam says. “We’d offer to wait with you, but I don’t think this is gonna get better any time soon, so …”

“Just go,” you reassure him. “I’m sure we won’t be long, either. Right, Buck?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and the unexpected iciness in his tone makes you turn around slowly.

“Are you alright?” you ask softly.

“Great,” he says brusquely, shoving your phone back in your hand. “In fact, I think I might go on a walk.”

And without a word of goodbye, without a second glance, Bucky walks out into the opened floodgates.

For a moment, none of you can do anything but gape after him in disbelief. He doesn’t turn when you call his name, doesn’t seem to hear it at all. His hair is wet through immediately, sticking heavily to his neck, but it’s like he doesn’t notice the rain, his hands shoved into his pockets as he turns a corner and disappears out of your sight.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asks, and even though you understand why the question is directed at you, it feels like an accusation.

“I don’t know, I—”

It’s then that you glance at your phone, still opened to your notes app, and your stomach plummets again as you read your own angry, frustrated words. I actually hate you, you know that? Hells even wrong with you.

Your vision blurs.

You want to vomit, vomit or cry or both, but there’s no time.

“Take this,” you say to Darcy, pushing your phone and bag into her startled hands before you run. The wind and rain whip in your face, but you don’t care.

You have to find Bucky. You have to tell him that this is all a misunderstanding, a terrible, terrible error.

Youre such a fucking idiot.

Your boots splash water in all directions as they hit the pavement. Slow. You’re too slow. “Bucky!”

This was a mistake. I shouldve never moved in with you.

When you reach the corner of the street, Bucky is long gone.

***

You’re not sure how long you stand there in the rain before they catch up with you, huddling you between them and their two umbrellas until you stop crying long enough to get into the car they’ve called for you.

Darcy climbs into the seat beside you, and by the look on her face you can tell that this time, she’s read the entire thing.

She doesn’t say anything about it, for once keeping her mouth shut as she fishes for your keys and lets you both into the empty apartment. She’s offered to take you to her place for the night, but you shook your head so vehemently at the thought you got dizzy with it.

Maybe he’d come home. Maybe there’s still a chance to clear this thing up.

But his shoes aren’t there when you stumble through the door, and it’s cold in here. As cold as the look in Bucky’s eyes had been.

Darcy forces you into the shower, and when you get back out, there’s a steaming cup of tea waiting in your favorite mug. Of course, she still doesn’t quite understand why that only makes you cry again.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” you whisper as she wraps her arms around you.

There’s a long pause before Darcy says, “He’s got no clue what he’s walking away from.”

You don’t plan on moving from the couch, so you get Darcy to agree to use your bed for the night. She seems hesitant to leave you, even if it’s just down the hall. You stay where you are, half-seated and huddled in the patchwork blanket Bucky’s mom had sent from Shelbyville. It smells like dust and homemade cookies.

The hours seem to tick by ever so slowly, and the only noises you hear are those of the city. You doze off every now and then, for no more than a couple of minutes at a time, your head turned towards the hall.

It’s very, very early in the morning when the soft click of the front door wakes you. The rain has reduced to a drizzle, the first hesitant rays of sunshine glimmering through.

“Bucky?” you call out quietly. His steps halt for a moment, as if he’s not expected you to be here, but he comes in anyway.

He looks terrible. The rain has molten off the terrible cold mask, but his expression underneath is even worse. He doesn’t meet your eye, doesn’t even acknowledge you sitting there as he walks past you, his dark circles not quite hiding the shattered, matted blue of his eyes.

He doesn’t react to your saying his name again, and the bathroom door closes behind him before you can get up.

You stand there, unsure what to do next, how to make him look at you, talk to you again. You’re still standing there, twisting your phone between your hands, when he comes out of the bathroom again only to vanish into his bedroom without so much as a glance at you.

Two minutes, you decide. You’d give him two minutes to get dressed and sit down.

The eternity of that time span seemingly flies by, and you make yourself move.

“Bucky?” you say quietly, putting your palm against his door.

Of course, he doesn’t answer. He’s not pacing, either, like he usually does when he’s upset, but in this case, you’re not sure if that’s better or worse. Swallowing hard, you open the door.

Bucky’s sitting on the edge of the bed, as if he’s been waiting for you, his head leaning heavy against his arms. He looks terribly small like this.

“Hi,” you whisper, awkwardly. Your face feels like it’s about to melt off. “Can we talk?”

He lifts his head slowly, as if each degree it takes costs too much energy. When he finally looks at you, it almost makes you flinch.

There’s a sadness inside them, mixed with tiredness, that you’ve only caught in your own reflection.

For a long moment, you just stare at each other, before Bucky finally says, “Do you want me to move out?”

Of all the things you expected, this is not one of them. Particularly not with this hoarseness in his voice.

“I want to explain,” you say, taking a tentative step closer.

Bucky huffs a dry breath, pressing the palm of his hand to his eye. “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory that you think I’m the ‘biggest pain in the ass the world has ever seen’.”

You cross your arms in front of your chest to keep them from shaking. “I know I wrote that, but I—Colleen said I should—that it would help.”

“Help what?”

“Make it easier,” you say, so, so quietly, but he still hears you.

“And did it?”

You shake your head slowly, uncrossing your arms. “It pretty much backfired.” You unlock your phone again. “You see, I was supposed to write down all the things you did that made me crazy, but at some point … at some point I started adding the things that made me crazy about you.”

Nothing but confusion in Bucky’s eyes as he stares at you, then at your phone. “What are you saying?” he asks softly.

You close your eyes. “You should continue reading.”

Your hands are trembling so hard now he has to take the phone from your hands to make out any of the words. The silence that follows is unbearable, but you don’t dare look at him. So you talk.

“Like, remember when you went to IKEA with Steve and I couldn’t come with you, so you got me one of those shark plushies and a whole almond cake?” You can’t help but chuckle, even though you don’t feel like it. “I tried reading into that for so long, if it was his idea or if I just got stuck in your mind.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, so you continue, still not opening your eyes.

“Or when Dot used to stay over and you’d make me an extra batch of waffles to make sure I wouldn’t feel left out. Or when we stayed up until 4 to make those Christmas cookies, even though it was September?”

He huffs again. “I broke up with her that day.”

You do look at him, then. “No, you didn’t.”

Bucky’s still staring at the list on your phone. “I brought her the last of her stuff before Valentine’s Day. I don’t think it’d hit her before then, that she could be nasty about it all now.”

His eyes are very blue again when he turns them towards you, clear and focused entirely on you. It’s hard to keep your knees from buckling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

And there it is. The question that’s been haunting you for almost two years now, that’s been unspoken in Natasha’s gaze and in Darcy’s hug, even though they knew the answer.

Because you’re a coward.

“You’re my best friend, Buck,” you say quietly, your eyes burning. “I just didn’t … I don’t want to lose that.”

“Hey.” He stands in front of you before you even notice him moving, his hands cupping your face and turning it towards his. A shuddering breath falls from your lips. “You,” Bucky continues, “could never, ever do anything to lose me.”

“I almost did today,” you whisper and his face falls.

“I’m sorry I ran away.”

You shake your head and he pulls you into an embrace. His hair is still damp, but soft from his shower. He doesn’t smell like city rain, only the way he always does. As if it all had never happened.

And when he finally draws back to look at you with that glint in his eye, hands still loosely gripping your waist, it almost feels like a bad dream.

“So,” he says, and the cadence in his voice makes your heart stutter. You inadvertently move backwards, out of his grasp, and a wicked grin appears on Bucky’s lips. It’s impossible to look away. “She ‘didn’t deserve me’, huh?”

“She didn’t,” you say warily, watching him. He takes a step closer and you retreat.

“At least she never ‘wanted to burn all my shirts’.”

“And how would you know?” He’s still coming closer. “Just because no one’s done it …” You trail off.

Bucky hums. “No one’s ever told me my eyes ‘look criminal in this light’, either. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Bad,” you say, wincing as you bump into his dresser. “So bad.”

He’s very close to you now, his arms trapping you on both sides, towering over you. Your eyes flit between his own and his lips. That freckle.

The look on his face reminds you of late evenings on a fire escape.

Bucky’s nose bumps against yours, once, twice, as if testing the waters. You don’t think you can breathe. His eyes are so dark when he looks at you, the longing suddenly bursting through the surface, and you realize you’ve both been pretending for far too long.

His brows are knitted slightly, contemplative, as if he’s trying to commit you to memory. If he weren’t standing so close, you’d be shaking.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and the words explode into a million butterflies in your stomach. “You did get stuck in my head.”

And then he kisses you.

The rain stops.

thank you so much for reading!! please don't forget to leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed this 💛 if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

#not even a little #one of my faves #forever and ever

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interact-if · 3 years ago

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Day 6 of our Asian and Pacific Islander Heritage Month Featured Author Interviews, continuing with Shan!

Shan, author of Deliverance

You are the Messenger. Your job is to deliver messages. Get in, get out. Simple, really. Now, it’s time to put your life on the line to deliver the most important and dangerous message yet. A bad omen has driven the lands into a frenzy, and the Prophecy foretells that the Chosen One needs to be found and awoken to bring peace back to the lands. Embark on a quest to seek the Chosen One to help restore balance to the world, or witness the world succumb to chaos and catastrophe.

Read more about Deliverance here. Play the Demo Here. Tags: Fantasy.

[INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!]

Q1. Hello! Could you tell us a little bit about to yourself and your project?

Thank you for having me! I’m Shan. Writer, cat lover, and fan of all things black sesame.

Deliverance is an Asian-inspired fantasy tale of prophecies, adventures, and possible peril. But more importantly, it’s about coming together despite our differences and finding love in all forms in the people around us. It was also created for a game jam last year. I learnt how to code an IF from scratch, came up with the plot, and churned out the prologue in two weeks as my entry.

Q2. What inspired your current project?

One word - everything. I can’t pinpoint one single source of inspiration because it’s just a mix of works - shows, games, my past writings - sparked by my itch to create and find meaning in the things I do.

I lost the inspiration after Chapter One, actually. Had a writer’s block and everything. I was ready to set this story aside, but then one fine day, my Tumblr suddenly exploded with notifications. People were reading my story. People liked reading my story.

My love for my IF got rekindled. I wanted to write again. But my head was still a big blank void. My heart was willing, my mind was not. Then D&D all but tumbled onto my figurative lap. It was a treasure trove that I dove headfirst into. Inspiration came flooding back in and I picked up my pen once more. And now I am already working on Chapter Five! Never would have thought, but I'm glad things turned out the way they did.

Q3. Do you pull from your own identity for inspiration? How has that been reflected in your work?

I think so. Having lived in Southeast Asia and East Asia, I draw inspiration from shared values and ideals in Southeast Asian cultures (which may also overlap with those in East Asian cultures). The community and collective spirit in times of calamity, for example. Especially since in my story, the threat of a world-ending apocalypse looms over the

characters from the start. The MC is, well, the Main Character, but I’ve always seen all the companions as the main characters too. Which is why I end up making some of the important in-game choices a collective effort.

In terms of sexuality, my identity also shapes how I write the relationships with the MC and the companions. I want to give the MC and the readers choices, both romantic and platonic, with neither being more important than the other. It’s a conscious line of thought.

Q4. What are you most excited about your project?

Whatever that is in the works. Whatever that is waiting for me to manifest my thoughts into existence. Usually it is the next chapter, sometimes it’s a particularly good ask. It’s satisfying and wonderful to see my brainstorm scribbles stretch into coherent sentences on the website. That’s the joy of writing - the power of creation, in the palm of my hand.

Seeing my readers excited also fuels this excitement. That’s the thing about Interactive Fiction. It is not only the fiction that readers interact with, it’s the author too. I’ve not had this experience with my other writing projects. Ultimately, I want to write something I love. But to know that there are people out there who also love something I love? It brings me indescribable joy.

Q5. What has your experience writing an IF and with the IF community been like?

An absolute delight. I would not have been so devoted to writing this IF if it weren’t for a supportive IF community. I think asks are my favourite form of interaction. The fact that they enjoy my story enough to not only take time to share their thoughts, but also come up with questions or little scenarios for the characters is so incredibly lovely. I read their tags too! Some of them are quite funny and I actually do scroll back down to read the memorable ones sometimes.

I also appreciate feedback on coding oopsies. I jumped into this knowing practically nothing about coding, so I am learning as I go along. All in good fun, of course.

Q6. What changes in the IF community would you like to see?

I’m not very up to date with the IF scene so my two-cents might not be that relevant. So my concerns would probably be more technical? I had a tough time looking for codes that I need sometimes, even with the wiki and forums, especially since I’m not proficient at coding. Maybe a more intuitive and consolidated guide would be helpful?

Q7. What piece of advice would you give to fellow creators?

The most important reader is yourself. Write something you love and enjoy. I repeat it like a mantra whenever I find myself in a slump while writing or reading. The moment I force myself to do something about my IF, I have taken the ‘passion’ out of this passion project. Then it’s just a project. Don’t let anyone take your love for your creation away from you, not even yourself.Of course, it’s good to take in feedback and suggestions from others, but at the end of the day it is your story. A piece of your heart and soul that you have shared to the world. So cherish it like so.

#if: events #Asian and Pacific Islander Heritage Month #API 2022

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m1zu · 4 years ago

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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*Sugawara*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Suga’s Special Day ~ Sugawara x Reader ~

Short Stories

a/n: Sugawara is by far my favourite boy in Haikyuu!

I felt like trying something different this time! Besides, Suga deserves more than just the usual for his special day <3

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

Birthday scenarios with Suga! Which one will you choose?

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⊂ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ⊃❤️← More Than You’ll Ever Know

⊂ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ⊃🎇← Light Up My World

⊂ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ⊃🎁← An Unexpected Gift

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

‘More Than You’ll Ever Know’

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

w/c: 682 - - - Reading time: 2:05min (roughly)

Today is June 12th, and everyone on the Karasuno Boys Volleyball team knows what that means…

“SUGAWARA-SANNNNN!!!” Hinata and Noya scream while running towards the setter. With that speed, anyone would think they're about to trample over the poor guy.

“Woah there, slow down you two.” Suga chuckles lightly. “You never stop, do you?”

“TOMORROW! IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY RIGHT?” Hinata jumps and practically flies over Sugawara’s head.

“Yeah! Your gettin’ pretty old now aren’t ya? Noya jokes, a large grin painted on his face.

“That’s right” Suga replies. “It’s the last I get to spend with you guys, so I guess it’s pretty special!”

“Y/N-SANNN!!!” Hinata yells, running towards you even faster than he did with Suga.

You were close by, and heard two familiar voices screaming your boyfriend’s name. So, naturally you wanted to see what the fuss was all about. Suga looks up to see you running towards them in the distance and immediately brightens up. “Hey y/n!” He calls out to you. “Whatcha been up to bab-”

“SHOYOUUUU! HAHAHA” Noya calls out and runs to catch up to the orange flash.

“Oi!” Suga calls running after the two of them “Don’t run her over!”

You abruptly stop at the sight of them all running towards you, a worried look on your face hoping they would take it as a sign to slow down.

Thankfully, they did.

The two bullet trains stopped just before hitting you and began springing up and down, as if they hadn’t just been running.

“y/n? Are you okay?” Suga pants, having caught up just moments later.

You manage to slip out a few sentences despite your heart still racing. “Yeah, i’m fine babe” you smile, “How have you bee-”

“yy/nnn!! You know what tomorrow is, right?” Hinata interrupts “It’s your boyfriend's birthday!” he jumps up even higher than before, seemingly having endless amounts of energy.

“Hinata, don’t interrupt y/n please…” Suga huffs.

“You’re gonna get him a cool gift right?! Or maybe even something else..?” Nishinoya jokes again.

A blush immediately comes over your face,”I have a few things planned…” you reply shyly, turning your head away embarrassed. Suga blushes slightly at your words before snapping himself back to reality. “Alright guys, that’s enough… Shouldn't you be using your energy for practice?”

“Oh yeah” says Hinata. “Suga-san, can you throw me some tosses?”

“Sure thing” Suga reaches out for your hand.

“You know I play better when you're watching.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After Practice

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Hinata, nice kill!” praises Suga while high-fiving the tiny giant.

“That was a good one Hinata! You really will fly high” you smile running towards the two of them.

Hinata beams at you, eyes shimmering like the sun “One more!”

“That was the last one Hinata, I gotta take y/n home now.” says Suga sounding rather worn out.

“But-”

“I wouldn’t mind if you continued, but Suga looks tired, Hinata. Wouldn't want him to be tired on his special day.” you press, winking at Hinata.

“Ohhhh! Gotcha. Well, see ya tmrw!” He replies, waving you two off.

You both wave back before grabbing your belongings, ready to set off home.

“Thanks for that, y/n.” Suga says gratefully, a small yawn escapes his mouth.

You can’t help but giggle at how adorable he is. “You know, you don’t always have to tough everything out you know. It’s okay to take a break sometimes! You put a lot of pressure on yourself when you don’t need to.” you stop walking and look up at him, his beautiful hazel eyes giving you their full attention. “Because you’re amazing, Koushi!”

The setter’s eyes widen and it’s hard to see, but a heavy blush covers his face. His heart pounds in his chests and before he has time to think about his actions, he puts a hand on your cheek, another on your waist, bends down, and kisses you passionately. Your hands reach up to hold him as his other hand drops to your waist. He pulls back for a minute and holds your chin up so your eyes meet. “I love you, y/n. More than you’ll ever know.”

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

‘Light Up My World’

Genre: Fluffy fluff

Warnings: none ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

w/c: 528 - - - Reading time: 1:58min (roughly)

“Make sure your eyes are closed babe!” your call out to Sugawara from the kitchen.

“I’m closin’ em” he calls back, seated eagerly on the living room sofa.

You smile at his words and begin to walk towards him, birthday cake in hand and vocal chords ready! This wasn’t just any birthday cake, it was Koushi’s favourite. About a week ago, he treated you to an expensive cafe that specializes in desserts, knowing full well how much of a sweet tooth you had. Ironically, it seemed like he ended up enjoying himself more than you were. It’s not that you were ungrateful or didn't like the food, no, it wasn’t anything like that.

He just happened to try this cake, your cake, and it was ‘superb’.

“Babe, You have to try this! This cake is delicious!” you squeal to your bf.

“Yeah? It’s really that good huh? Then I guess I gotta try.” You placed some on your fork and gestured him to open his mouth so you could feed him. His eyes widen at the taste, “Wow! This cake is superb y/n!” he beams at you, bringing a smile to your face.

You can tell he wants more, but he wouldn’t dare ask. So you offered for him. “You want some more?”

Suga shakes his head. “It’s for you y/n, I can’t just take your cake…”

“But you do want some more?” you tease. He nods shyly, making you chuckle. “Looks like someone has a new favourite cake.” you add.

So thanks to that new discovery, you knew the perfect cake to get him for his special day.

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Koushiii, Happy Birthday to youuuu!!!” you positioned yourself in front of him, “open your eyes!” Sugawara gasps, switching his gaze from the cake to you for a few seconds before finally being able to speak.

“y/n… You didn’t…” he says breathily, still in shock.

“I did…” you tease.

“I can’t believe it!” he looks up at you, face slightly switching. “You forgot the candles!”

What? (whadidhesayyyyy) you stood there frozen, the look on your face was indescribable.

Sugawara bursts out laughing at your reaction and stands up, bringing both of his hands to cup your face. “That was a joke y/n” he giggles “you should see your face right now.”

“You’re hilarious Koushi..” you sigh and look up at him, trying to fight off the smirk appearing on your face.

“Thank you for the cake, love. That was really sweet of you.” he smiles down at you, placing the cake down on the coffee table before scooping you up into his arms, giggles escaping your lips.

“Did you want some candles? We do have some in the cupboard.” you joke looking up at him.

“Hmm.. Now that you mention it, they would be a nice touch.” He turns away from you dramatically, “but who needs em’ - - -"

then looks back "- - - when I have you to light up my world.” he pulls you back in and nuzzles his head at the base of your neck.

“That was really cringy Kou..” you giggled. “But you light up mine too.”

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

‘An Unexpected Gift’

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

w/c: 443 - - - Reading time: 1:33min (roughly)

Pov. Karasuno’s manager

“Daichi? Have you been getting enough sleep lately? Your eyes look heavy.” you rush over to the captain, who looks like he’s at death’s door.

He looks over at you and smiles, ”I appreciate the concern but there’s no need to worry. I'm just fine y/n, I promise.”

“Those eyebags are probably from dealing with Hinata and Kageyama” Suga says sarcastically while entering the gym. “Honestly, I don’t know how he does it.”

“Suga-san!” You jog over to greet the setter, water bottle in hand, jumping up and down. “Happy Birthday!!”

“Hey y/n! Wow, you remembered huh? That makes me feel pretty special.” He laughs, one hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“You are special Suga!” you state before your mind can process the words that left your lips.

Then they hit you.

You see, being Karasuno’s manager meant you took care of all the guys! And honestly you loved it. The team felt like a family! Being able to witness Karasuno in their bubble was something you were forever grateful for.

Along with this, It was clear (to everyone except you that is), that you and Sugawara liked each other. You were a scholar student, not dense in the slightest. Yet somehow, his feelings and your own had evaded you leaving you completely oblivious.

At least up until recently…

Sugawara wasn’t so much shy with his feelings, he just wanted to make sure things were mutual, in fear of scaring you off and losing the friendship you had built up. If he was confident in that, he would have no problem making the first move.

Naturally, he told Daichi about his feelings for you. So this interaction you were currently having was rather amusing.

Although over the past few weeks, you've started to become more conscious of your feelings too… (took you long enough,, thinks Daichi. ft the entire team)

“Wait- that came out wrong- im sorry!” you splutter, choaking with embarrassment.

Sugawara laughs and hands you back the water bottle you gave him. “Did you really mean it though?” he inquires.

Of course you meant it. He is special. Does he not know this? You thought.

You look up at the setter to see his confused eyes searching your face for an answer. So he really doesn’t know?

“Of course I did, Koushi” you reply, scanning his face in an equal manner. Then you add “especially to me.” and watch the setter’s eyes pop out of his head. You could practically hear how loud his heart was beating.

There's a moment of silence. Suga decides to break it.

“y/n?”

“Yes, Koushi?”

“C-can I kiss you?”

Another moment of silence. Which is now your job to sever.

No words leave your lips, instead you nod slowly while being pulled into his embrace.

You feel his warm smile greet you as he says, “What an unexpected gift.”

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

~The End~

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a/n: hope you enjoyed! once again, Happy bday to our favorite Haikyuu mom ;) sorry if there were any mistakes and that the stories progressively got shorter haha I do continue to check on my stories post being uploaded so I'll edit anything I spot.

#hq fluff #haikyu x reader #dailyhaikyuu #hq!!edit #haikyuu!!#haikyuu! x reader #haikyū!!#haikyu sugawara #sugawara koushi #sugawara koshi imagine #suga #sugawara icons #koushihaikyuu #koushi sugawara #fanfic #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu fanfiction #happy birthday

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vifilms · 5 months ago

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this, plu, oh my god. this beautiful story you have woven together is just absolutely breathtaking. the best way i can describe it as someone who embroiders, each piece of thread needled with precision. just like each word and line created by your wonderful mind. each better than the last. honestly, each time i'm in awe. not to mention the love i have for greek mythology just increases my love for this by a mile. in my brain, it’s like you choose everything so carefully, every word perfectly placed to convey exactly what you want. there’s something so incredibly creative and just mind blowing about it to me. leaves me out of sorts in an incredibly addicting way.

i was so excited for this one and you certainly did not disappoint in anyway shape or form. fully, i stand by this — angels cheer when plu posts. i’m definitely gonna read this many, many, many more times. the way you’ve gotten me, a loyal and faithful abby stan to be fully obsessed and enamored with ellie fics is beyond me but when it’s this good i can’t help but let my brain sink into it.

also, the way you wrote the action, the imagery in this is actually insane. itching my brain in the most delicious way possible. impossible for me not to love anything you write. and enjoy more of my plu praising yaps …. impossible for me not to divulge in this masterpiece you have created and blessed us with.

okay, let me talk about this for a second. i’m such a lover girl to my core. i love love. and this? punched me in the heart with full force. there’s just something so intimate about crying to the one you love about how much you care for them. and ‘i need to rip it out of the sky myself’ oh. i’m unwell. gutted my soul to the point i’m not sure there’s anything left there.

PURE GOLD. convinced the gods themselves wrote this bc it’s too perfect for us mere mortals. don’t ever tell me your dialogue isn’t anything but perfection because … lies !!! in just a few lines, you conveyed everything that’s needed and it makes me feel absolutely feral with love. knowing it shall all be ripped away shortly makes it even more just ….. scrumptious.

hope. ugh i am a hopewhore, if you will. when the odds are stacked against you, it’s all you have sometimes. yet again, displayed perfectly because what is more hopeful than a love you want to believe is forever and long lasting? maybe you were going for something else but this is what i picked up on, personally. sometimes it’s all we have, the thing we have to cling onto. the one person who makes us feel it, the safest and most frightening feeling. hope and love. we’ll do anything to keep it for ourselves but sometimes it has a a way of slipping. this fic did such a good job in representing it. such a kick to the fucking gut, knowing what’s to come. knowing it will be fleeting, winding you until there’s so air left to breathe. okay now i’m just yapping away but seriously this is just wonderful, plu. your writing provokes such an emotional side of me, i don’t know how you do it. every sentence is like you know the inner markings of my heart. INSANITYYYYYYYYYY. THE TALENT. INCREDIBLE.

The pain was indescribable, so painful she couldn't even scream, but it was thankfully short-lived—she lost consciousness almost immediately after coughing up some blood. It splattered all over the mulberry tree, dyeing the previously white fruits to a shade mimicking that of wine. What followed was never ending blackness, but finally peace, and she left the world with a smile on her face, her last thought was that of you.

okay okay okAY OKAY. THATS ENOUGH ANGST. HEAVY WITH THE ANGSTSHSHSYS. okay meme brain shut up this instant, actually i love angst, to my core. such a lover of crippling, soul-crushing endings that make me question my existence. give to me, all of it. in this you certainly did bc HELP?????? need some god go save me now bc this is such a merciless serve.

and the added thought of dying for the one you love, thinking of them as you wither away, the last piece you have is the love you have before becoming, well, nothing but that. all of it so meaningless too, because they are still there and could be tangible if only she had waited and not jumped to conclusions. but alas, love is never logical and ensues the dramatics of greek mythology. you’ve really represent it in such an exceptional manner.

okay, i’m done, for now. i love u and your magnificent brain. #1 plu stan for life. sorry if some of this makes no sense my mind is jumbled with my love for this inside and out. the mythology loving beast has been awoke within me and SHE IS LOUDUUDUDDDDD. yeah, anyways love you and your writing. always.

Where the Mulberry Tree Stands

before you read ▪︎ my masterlist

☆: my rewrite of the myth of pyramus and thisbe. ♡ but with ellie as pyramus, & reader as thisbe. i realize this is very niche, but i wanted to try something new! absolutely adore mythology of all kinds, so basically wrote this for myself. if you do read, hope you enjoy! well, as much as you're able to...photomode creds—astralnymphh on pinterest.

◇: reader discretion is advised!! please do not read if sensitive to heavy angst with a tragic end, descriptions of suicide & brief mentions of parental abuse. also contains flowery writing and references to figures/things in ancient greece (which i pray are accurate...) ++ 4k wc

“The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed.” — Homer, The Iliad.

Tap tap tap, three raps on the plaster wall in double time signaled to her on the other side that your meeting time had arrived. Tap tap tap, and she returned it with a flourish at the end, a new arrangement every day, so you knew to escape into the night.

Ellie—who was named after and nothing short of the embodiment of light itself—your lover, your soulmate, your other half lived just there. But generations upon generations of family tension forbade you two from living your dreams. Decades of battles for who had better quality fruit, sweeter honey, more drachmae, which family was favored by the citizens in the area—it all felt trivial, and frankly silly, when you thought about how much she meant to you in comparison to all that.

You had memories of early childhood, kneeling on the scratchy straw of the floor, while your mother berated you for spending time with the girl. “What were you thinking? I will not have my child associating with dishonorable likes such as them, you have disappointed me greatly. If I catch you over there one more time, by gods I will feed you to the wolves with my own two hands. Try it, one more time and you'll see what will fall upon you.” The way her voice shook with emotion was harrowing, you've never seen your mother in such a rageful, infuriated state, you could have sworn she was emulating the anger of a gorgon, and you remember the slap across your face that quickly followed her outburst, how it burned.

Yet through all the lectures and beatings, you never understood where she was coming from. Shouldn't bonds—strong and robust as if they were forged on Hephaestus’ anvil—come above all material things? You thought so at least. And she agreed. When you matured, you pitied your family for missing out on such experiences. “They will never know how lucky we are.” You would whisper in your lover's ear, whenever she fell asleep on you during your beloved nightly outings.

Every time you laid eyes on her, it was like you fell in love all over again. Her olive eyes shining, grin lighting up her entire face, husky giggles filling the air as she bolted to tackle you in a tight embrace. You two spun in each other's arms, nearly tripping over the low wooden fence marking your shared property. It only earned a laugh—when you were with her, any negativity was completely erased, as if it never existed in the first place. All stresses, worries, cares in the world simply vaporized into the air, and the only emotion you knew was adoration.

You two skipped hand-in-hand to your favorite spot by the river, where the air cooled and the grass was dotted with baby blue flowers. You toppled over, falling to a heap on the ground. Moist smacks of her lips all over your face while she cradled your jaw tenderly, every reunion with her felt like it was multiple lifetimes apart. Your breathing synced as you sat together in silence, enjoying each other's company.

Soon after you sat down though, unexpectedly, Ellie began with a wobbly voice, tears welling up in her eyes, “I love you so much, can't stand to be apart from you. This is torture, sometimes I can’t bear to wait for the sun to set, I need to rip it out of the sky myself. What did we even do to deserve this?” You pulled her in and cuddled her close to your chest, letting her listen to the rhythm of your heart and wrap her arms around you to rub your back. You felt the way her hands trembled, you couldn't remember the last time you saw the tough Ellie break down like this, it was tearing you apart.

Kissing the top of her head, you interjected, “But observe it positively, at least we are able to see each other at all, and we live so close, only separated by one thin wall.” Her shoulders began to shake, sticky tears quickly soaking through the linens you were wearing. Feeling your own heart shatter into countless pieces, you just stroked her hair and let her cry as much as she needed.

She clutched you tighter and wailed, “I just wish to spend every hour by your side, every hour awake and every hour asleep, without any separation. I wish I could cook for you in our house, with vegetables grown from our soil, bring you flowers from our garden, and tend to the animals you and I named, instead of waiting until sunset after a day of listening to my father talk badly of you. When I hear him spout all that nonsense, it hurts me so deeply, because all he's saying are lies…this is so unfair.”

You tried your best to console her, “Shh, my love, don't cry. That is the most beautiful dream and I wish it all the same, but don't despair.” You moved her face so she looked up at you, sparkly tears streaming down her sun-kissed cheeks, her beauty was blinding—even when she was sad. “Don't lament, for I am right here, look!” You tried to cheer her up, “I'm holding you now while we rest, while we breathe in the crisp air and feel the soft blades of grass beneath us, all will be well. Don't dwell on those thoughts, let them go.”

Swaying gently from side to side and humming a calming melody, you succeeded in soothing her, feeling her relax in your arms and her shudders slow to a stop. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. You continued the sweet reassurances, kissing away her tears. “One day, whether it be soon, or when we're old and fragile, struggling to stand or wipe our own asses,” you pause to share a chuckle with her, “We won't have to meet like this. Just trust, there is a plan for us in the stars, trust in our gods.”

She nodded, turning to gaze off in the distance, and watch a white crane drink from the water. She snapped to look at you with surprise blazing in her eyes, more round than your mother's prized ceramic dishes. “I have a thought, what if we wed? In secret, with our families never knowing a thing. Or even better we go to the spot over there,” she stopped to point across the river, at the large mulberry tree standing tall in the middle of a yellow-green field. She continues, “And we run away together. We could hitch a ride on a ship and sail over to Lesbos, perhaps we can meet Sappho herself! I've always wanted to. But first we must profess our love for each other, properly, tomorrow night's time, under the tree, to ensure we're blessed. What do you think?”

She was holding your hands gingerly, ghosting the pads of her fingers over your knuckles. For the first time in so many years, you felt a strange warmth brew in your chest, what was it, you had forgotten. Could it be hope? You felt your mouth stretch into a smile so wide it ached, and you burst forward to throw your arms around her neck again, mumbling into the side of her neck, “Yes, yes, Ellie, a thousand times, yes. Oh, I can't wait, I will swipe one of my mother’s silk veils, cook us a celebratory meal, it will be so wonderful.”

Mellow belly laughs, delightful as those spilling from a leader being crowned, tore themselves from her chapped lips, and she squeezed you so tight against her, like she was never planning to let go. “And I will bring my spear, gifted by my grandfather, so I have it to protect my wife from anything that dares harm her.” Hearing her refer to you as her wife, it was a feeling like none other. The butterflies in your stomach swarmed like they became a flock of swallows, their excited tittering heard all the way across the ocean.

You squealed, “Ah I love you, I love you, I love you, my dearest, we will have such a wondrous life together.”

“Yes, that we will, but let's rest until then, I look forward to it. I will write a song just for you as well, bring my lyre and sing to you so we dance from evening until dawn arrives. As soon as night falls, I will be by the spot waiting, that is a promise. Now rest, we have big plans ahead of us, have the sweetest dreams, love.”

The next day spent waiting was as torturous as Ellie describes, only worse. Because all you could think about was her. Running away with her, never looking back at your old lives, getting joyously joined in matrimony—albeit informally—your mind was plagued. After your mother left for her daily errands in the town, you dug through her things, practically overturned her whole space to find the veil. You put it on, feeling so exquisite. It appeared as if it was weaved on an angel's loom, the fibers soft and vibrant.

When all that was over, you resorted solely to watching the sun move in the sky. You were feeling impatient and antsy, and briskly grew tired of waiting so you decided to get started on the trek. You have not been over to that spot in some time, but were interested to see how the tree had grown, and if it had reared fruit. You observed the clouds and the sky during your stroll—the sun had not set fully, the sky still as orange as freshly pressed juice.

Luckily the river was shallow, so you just hiked up your clothes to your waist and crossed without a hitch. You scurried through the tall grass and made it to the tree, sitting down underneath it. You took a deep breath in, smelling the clean air and observing the lively nature around you, still bored but glad to be away from your house—nothing good ever occurred there.

Looking up, you're pleasantly shocked to see the tree is full of fruits, clusters of pale baubles brightly contrasting the green leaves. You reached up and took one from the stem, biting into it, but you recoiled at the taste—tart and bitter, it was horrendous. Like you were eating something utterly inedible. You threw it on the ground, grinding it to a pulp with the bottom of your sandal, that's how offended you were at the assault it performed in your mouth. “Ugh, gross, these are meant to be ripe…do we really eat them like this? What a waste of a fruit.” You muttered to yourself, resuming a cross-legged sitting position by the tree's roots.

After some more time of uneventful waiting, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, at attention, primal alarm bells going off inside you—something wasn't right.

You scan your surroundings with haste, noticing movement in the tall grass in front of you, you're transfixed and stay staring at it, ripping a branch off of the tree to use as a weapon, because your warrior wasn't here yet to protect you from harm.

You heard her before you saw her, a low guttural rumbling rang through the air that could only belong to one thing. Out of the grass emerged a golden lioness, slinking towards you with hushed aggression, her teeth bared and dripping with the remains of a kill.

Your instincts to run away kicked in with full force, and you screamed out for help, running as fast as your legs would carry you. Unfortunately, the speed at which you sat up caused the veil to fall from your head and to the ground—but you didn't care, you didn't think it was possible for your mother to hate you more than she already does. You ran as far as you could, briefly glancing behind you to see what the situation was, what the lioness was doing.

You were able to make out her tearing the fabric apart so voraciously, bloodstained jaws ripping it into shreds, bits of dyed fabric flying to all sides. You still ran as far away as you could, you did not want to be the next victim of those canines, that would be anything but pleasant.

Once the adrenaline wore off you collapsed, panting heavily, trying to catch your breath with difficulty. The tall plants hid you well from any threats, so you laid down, and closed your eyes to recuperate before it was time to meet with Ellie.

When night fell, Ellie made her way to the spot, spear and lyre in hand. She was so excited, and had spent the whole day practicing her act happily, making sure every note she played was perfect. She wanted to make this the best one-woman show you've ever seen.

She couldn't contain her glee, and resorted to sprinting to the designated meeting place, calling out to you, her voice light as a birdsong, “Lovely! I've arrived!” But she stopped short in her tracks when she didn't see you jogging over to greet her with a hug, or really anywhere at all.

“Where could you be?” She asked the world in bewilderment, casting glances all around her to see if you were playing a trick on her. She didn't think you were, but didn't wish to jump to worst case scenarios right away.

Her heartbeat sped up slightly, suffocating fear bubbling up in her throat at your absence. Scampering closer to where she thought you were going to be, she still saw you were nowhere to be found. That is, until something colorful caught her eye.

Hanging from a branch, a piece of torn fabric, stained with dark, still-wet blood. Her line of sight dropped, and she saw more pieces strewn across the dirt, next to glaring claw marks in the soil, and decorating the tree's bark.

She suddenly felt winded, as if somebody had thrown her from a height and she landed flat on her back, full panic setting in. “Oh gods, oh no, what-” She gasped, teetering backwards, overwhelmed by the realization that had taken hold of her. “No, no, no, no, she's right over there. This is from before…” she muttered under her breath, her inhales labored, head pounding as if she was struck by a hammer, and hands shaking so intensely the pieces of fabric she was still holding slipped from her fingers.

“Love! Come out!” She yelled again, her voice cracking, her vision tunneling and chest seizing—this couldn't be happening.

The blood roared in her ears, tears pouring out of her eyes while she pawed at her hair and fell to her knees, hyperventilating. Her spear and lyre clattered noisily as they fell, lyre shattering to bits. She yanked on her locks, unable to believe what was happening to her—where was her love?

She picked up the pieces of the veil, frantically trying to rejoin them, the blood coating her uncontrolled fingers and staining her skin, the hideous color making her stomach turn.

Then the sobs came, she had never cried harder in her life, her whole body heaving with each quake, the pain in her soul worsening as seconds flew by. She kneeled before the tree, pleading to the sky, “Someone…anyone…please. I need her with me.” She felt light-headed, consumed by otherworldly anguish as if it was bestowed by Hades’ hand. It began to morph into numb hopelessness the longer she stayed there, praying, weeping into the ground.

She had to do something, escape from her body, thoughts were swarming her mind, the idea that you were dead ridding her of balance, taking everything from her.

She pleaded until her throat hurt, until crows had perched at the top of the tree to watch her exhibition. They cawed mockery at her, as if they were saying, measly human!

She howled, “What is this life, just give her back to me! Give me back my love, give her back to me, I can't be without her. I can't, no I couldn't. It's too—no—uh. Gods, anyone? Why, why, why?”

Cacophonous, animalistic, cries fell from her lips until she couldn't produce a croak—voice dry and hoarse, waves of grief clawing their way out of her, eating her from the inside out. Her tone barely above a whisper, she was still mumbling, “Give her back, give her back to me. I haven't done any wrong in my life, we can't help where we come from! Just give her back.” In the furthest recesses of her mind there remained a glimpse of hope that she could bring you back, if she willed it hard enough.

She was flooded with memories, memories of your scent, your warmth in her arms, your sing-song voice and the love-filled looks and caresses she was so blessed to be the recipient of. All of that, was she never to experience it again?

She attempted to stand up, but her legs could not hold her, she fell on the hard ground with a grunt, even having cried out all her tears. Every passing moment made it more difficult to breathe, made her chest hurt worse—she needed to do something to ease it.

Her spear. The glint of the metal alloy caught her eye from where it was, any sense of judgment she had before was gone, replaced by pure darkness, the wish to leave the world.

She picked it up, and almost couldn't hold it, the handle feeling twenty times heavier than usual, the blade shaking in her unsteady hands. Was she doing this? She had to, there was nothing else left for her, she thought.

She found her voice, slowly angling the glimmering edge of the blade towards her heart, and said a word. “My love, we'll meet again. We'll meet in the flowering fields of Elysium, where I will get to hold your hand once more, and we'll have our own house, attached to a garden full of vegetables to cook delicious meals with. We'll play with the animals we named, and spend every hour together—awake and asleep. I must do this, for life isn't possible without you.”

She took a deep breath and stabilized her hands, bringing the spear tip to touch her sternum. Her voice steadying, she said three words for the very last time, “I love you.” Before plunging the blade in her heart with all the strength she had left.

Over in the grass, the breeze flying through the tall stalks lulled you to a sleep, and you awoke with a start, confused as to what had happened and where you were.

You blinked the bleariness away and sat up, remembering the lioness that tried to attack you. What a story you had to tell Ellie. She wouldn't believe you, in your mind's eye you could see the way she'd nod, the teasing tone to her voice, “Yes, that happened. No, no, of course I believe you, when have I not?”

At the thought of her, you remembered why you were out here in the first place—to meet with your future wife and profess your love, then run away to live the life you dreamed of. Oh how you couldn't wait.

You jumped up and dusted yourself off, then ran to the tree, eager to tell Ellie about the encounter you had.

But the sight that befell you was the worst thing you could've ever imagined to see. Something only written in the most famous tragedies, something no one ever wished on another person, even their worst enemies.

Ellie, your love, laying on the ground in a pool of maroon blood, with no color in her features, and her spear sticking out of her chest.

You gasped in horror and rushed to her side, madly shaking her body, patting her cheeks, pressing on her arms—but alas, she was completely limp.

“Ellie! No! Wake up!” Thunderous shrieks, begs and pleads for her to wake up shook the Earth, you stroked her face, the ugly feel of her cold skin only adding to the devastation.

When she wasn't moving, you held her body protectively, didn't ever wish to let go, tried to find any signs of life, tears of mourning streaming down your face in bucketfuls.

You stayed there by her as long as you could, silently praying to whatever was out there for her to move a muscle, to open her eyes and assure you everything was alright—she was just joking around, the blood was juice she nabbed, thickened with starch she got from the kitchen, the spear tip was broken and actually just resting against her skin, held in place by a base she crafted and secured under her robe, her lifeless complexion produced by powder—likely flour—to give the chalky effect.

But no, this was reality. Your love had left you. She left you the worst way, by taking her life herself. But why? After all you had planned together?

Thinking like that pained you, the wretched feeling of grief spreading throughout your whole being, thinking of anything at all felt impossible. Did she do it because of you? That thought sent a wave of nausea through you, there was no way that was true.

There was only one thing left to do, you thought. You made up your mind, pulled the spear from her chest, wincing at the sight of her wound, and held it in your hand. You leaned forward and pressed one more kiss to the middle of her forehead, forced a smile against her, and whispered, “It's okay, I'll be with you soon, my love. We'll meet again.”

You took a few breaths in and out, braced yourself for the piercing pain, lined up the sharp tip with your own heart, and thrust with all your might.

Sweet mulberries, succulent and luscious—ended up ripening to a deep mauve hue, similar to that of blood and wine, and became the most adored fruit of them all. A plentiful treat for the masses, deemed compensation for the sacrifice of two love-sick mortals. It was the least the gods could do after all they witnessed before them today. As they watched the spectacle, their understanding of the human species only increased in wonder, in curiosity about their motivations. “That was so strange, they did not know the other was alright—merely jumping to conclusions. Fascinating. Humans are so emotional, where's the rationale?” They debated amongst themselves until the sun rose once more, the only agreement they came to was increased sympathy for humanity, even going as far as to pity.

“Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight. For the greatest tragedy of them all is never to feel the burning light.” — Oscar Wilde

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#so how am i doing in our reblogging war ……#IGNORE SLL MY ERRORS IM TOO LAZYYYYY TO FIXJXJX #BUT PLUBEAR?????????? THIS. FUCKS. HARD.#YALL BETTER RESD THIS.#A FUCKING MUST!#okay now time for my crying session bc HELPPPPPP #when pluto writes the most amazing things ever … sorry guys they are slowly converting me into an ellie lover #𖥔 ࣪ 𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐲’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐬 ⋆｡˚

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