#its a piece that always brings comfort and solace

[glitterghost]

Lord of the Rings is just so healing.

[larrylimericks]

19Oct24

No matter how mad the word made us, It always held hope — a “hiatus.”

I’m sad for so many reasons — the fundamental sadness of death, and at such a young age; having to process the mortality of someone so extraordinary it seems they should transcend a fate as ordinary as dying; aching for his family and friends; angry that he had to navigate such a cruel world, one that continues to disrespect him in death. Yes, Liam was damaged and in turn damaged others; he had demons to face and amends to make — I like to think he would have, given a chance. His talent was so immense, and there was so much more to come. I believe he would have found a way to redemption, and then had such a beautiful renaissance.

The joy of being a 1D fan has always been policed and mocked. We’ve so frequently been laughed at, dismissed for the intensity of our love for the band. And now, the world wants to do the same with our grief, questioning its legitimacy, trivializing our feelings. But this loss is real. And this grief is valid.

And the grief of losing Liam is compounded by the grief of losing so much else. He wasn’t just a celebrity. They weren’t just a boyband. He was an integral part of an integral part of our formative years — no matter how old we were when we found them. So many of us are the people we are in part because of the people they are. Were. We’ve lost a beloved one, we’ve lost innocence, we’ve lost inspiration, we’ve lost a piece of our foundation.

We’ve lost hope.

It used to frustrate me, in retrospect, that they called it a “hiatus.” It felt dishonest — like a gentle lie to let us down easy. Why couldn’t they just say it was over? That being a boy band has a built-in shelf life, and it was time to explore solo careers. But now I understand the kindness in that word. For hope springs eternal, and it didn’t matter if it never came. All that matters was that it might. And “hiatus” wasn’t just for us; it held their optimism too. Especially Liam’s. It left the door open, even if only a crack, for the possibility of something more.

It’s been a remarkable gift to watch each one find his own path and his own voice. But when they announced a hiatus in 2015, they planted a seed of hope that someday we’d see the unrivaled magic of those boys on stage together again — the greatest team the world has ever seen. Maybe Zayn would join, probably not. Maybe it would’ve been a one-off thing for charity or a special anniversary. Maybe it would be in their 50s when the allure of easy money from a reunion tour was too tempting to resist. But surely, eventually, 1D would reunite in some capacity. I was excited to see how their once frenetic energy and youthful antics would meld with the mature solo artists they’ve become.

That hope sustained us through 18 months and eventually eight years, but now the hiatus is over. I would have happily clowned for every remaining day of my life than know this new certainty brought by the finality of Liam’s death. Maybe, someday, there will be a memorial performance. Maybe we’ll see three or four out of five come together to honor him — and what a poignant testament it will be that Liam was what could bring them together. Or maybe it will never feel right to them to take the stage without him, and that, too, will make all the sense in the world.

I wish I had an uplifting ending for this post. I don’t. I wake up and my first thought is “Liam isn’t here anymore,” and then I go about my day with that relentless realization lurking around the corner of every mundane task I do.

I haven’t been able to listen to their music yet. It’s a cruel trick that the thing that always brought comfort is now a trigger for grief. But I hope that will soon change. That, at some point, I’ll put on WMYB, get choked up at “You’re insecure” and second-guess my readiness. But then jump to History, and find solace in the lyrics that are currently rattling around my brain but aren’t ready to be heard yet: “This is not the end, this is not the end” … “We can live forever.”

❯❯❯❯

[nouvxllev]

Request!!

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: Jenna and R are like on ldr cuz of her work, after mooonthhss, J surprises R by going back home early to her. J gets so worried cuz R isn't in the house, and she can't contact her. R gets home wasted, J confronts her, R breaks down, rambling about how she just misses Jenna, not knowing it is actually Jenna who she was speaking to... she mistakes her to be Emma..😭🙏🏻

unbearable uncertainty

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Summary: request! ^^

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: slight angst? maybe? bittersweet??

a/n: wrote tara carpenter smut then dipped. oh my god, i truly apologize for going on an unknowingly and unbearable hiatus from writing. but on the bright side, i met someone whos truly so special and i cherish the most on here :] thank you for the request and im sorry if ive been holding it back for months!

(ps. ive forgotten how to write entirely, please be patient with me)

Long goodbyes were never easy.

How could Jenna ever forget the last piece of comfort she felt in your arms as you held her for the final time before she boarded the plane? The warmth and security she found when you whispered "I love you" was something she couldn't find elsewhere.

You hugged her so tightly, Jenna felt as if you were trying to fold her into your very being.

You always did that, always have.

But you held her a little longer. Closer, tighter. As if it'll be the last time Jenna falls in love with you. It felt too surreal when she heard your voice started breaking in tears like there was a cloud over your heart Jenna used to bring life in.

She tried to memorize every detail of your face, every line and shadow, every crease and every feature like you were a past lover she's been searching for, she wanted to hold onto each imperfection and perfection as if capturing this moment in her heart could somehow lessen the pain of parting.

When you reached out, gently brushing a stray tear from her cheek, and she leaned into your touch, savoring the warmth that would soon be gone. It was a gesture so tender, so full of love, that it made her heart ache even more.

Would she have done something differently? Perhaps tell you she got it all wrong, tell the producers and chosen to live in peace with you and frolic in some field of flowers like a coming of age movie.

No, she could only swallow the lump in her throat and urge her heart to stop grieving for something that wasn't even dead but merely distant.

Vermont proved to be a cold comfort, like winter for a thousand nights without somebody to hold on, stark contrast to the warmth she'd known for all these months.

The first night was the hardest—cruel, even. As she unpacked her bags in the apartment paid for b the producers, it was a far cry from the home you had shared. Despite its charm for space, it felt emptier than it should've been. A shell.

Jenna remembers lying awake that night, unable to find solace even in the darkness. Each thought weighed heavier than the last, fearing you would grow to resent the fame she would have declined in a heartbeat if given the choice, that loving her had become more of a chore than a joy.

The frequent overseas flights and constant altering of time zones only added to the strain, affecting even how her heart would beat. Conversations became shorter while days grew longer, and only letters and distant updates from you brought reassurance. She missed the moments of quiet intimacy, the laughter shared, and the smile she could reach up and kiss, the comfort of knowing she was always there for you.

It was a constant routine of staring at the ceiling, desperate to imagine your arounds around her and your warm breath against the neck. The loneliness was a crushing weight, far more realistic than a mere idea it was. Unbearable.

She found herself wanting for the familiar warmth and solace that only your presence could provide her. She would watch herself listening for your voice, remembering how you would tell her if she's been overworking, half-expecting to hear your laughter or even a slight tone or maybe even the sound of your footsteps.

She always found small ways to feel connected to you.

The letters you sent were her lifeline. She would read them over and over as if it were new ink, tracing the words with her fingers that carried your thoughts and reassurances, imagining your voice speaking them. Each letter was a piece of you, a reminder that you were thinking of her, missing her just as much.

The voice calls were both a blessing and a curse.

Hearing your voice brought her comfort, but it also made the distance between you feel even more unbearable. She would stay up late into the night, talking to you, laughing with you, sharing her day and listening to yours. But when the call ended, silence would descend, and the emptiness would return with a vengeance. She would lie in bed, clutching the pillow, trying to replay the sound of your voice.

So it was a huge, pain-in-the-ass problem for her, the amount of calls and thousands of sleepless nights with her arms wrapped around a pillow instead of the love of her life was a step away from insanity. It seemed dramatic, but can you blame a girl!? Love always had a way of making seem things insignificant in comparison.

Another grueling month without the love of your life? She couldn't and wouldn't even bear it, you would have to finally cut the two parts of her brain in half and throw away the other one to endure that kind of torture.

So what started as a joke with her finger hovering over the "book flight" button while on the phone with you turned out to be, surprise surprise, not even close to a silly little joke.

She clicked it impulsively, without a second thought or even a first one.

Her heart raced faster than ever with the thought of seeing you again. Feeling your arms around her, hearing you laugh, smile, and talk was all the motivation she needed. It was like a recurring dream you’d betray another day for to live in.

And here she is now, at your place, luggage in hand in the dead of night, looking like she fled the country, with that familiar airport scent still clinging to her clothes and hair. She smelled like whatever hit-terminal coffee it was that day and recycled air.

Jenna's been muttering to herself all evening, "Pick up, pick up, pick up, oh my God, who leaves their house unlocked!?"

Her phone, balanced on her shoulder, was one slip away from hitting the ground, and she was one missed call away from losing it. She imagine the look on your face when you saw her standing there, unannounced yet so desperately wanted, not like wanting to send out a search party for you!

It was voicemail after voicemail, a ring before a cruel tone that mocked her for seconds, the unknowing certainty that something had happened to you.

You’ve been M.I.A ever since she arrived, and the last text she received from you was a breezy, "I’m going out tonight with co-workers" followed by a thousand kisses. The gesture was sweet, but it’s not helping now that it’s 12 fucking a.m. and you’re nowhere to be found.

She paced back and forth in your living room, the anxiety gnawing at her insides and the sharp pain from her palm to her heart had never been so severe.

Every creak of the floorboards made her thoughts race, hoping it was you finally coming home. The silence of the house was deafening, broken only by her thoughts replaying your voice. She glanced at the clock on the wall that displayed digits she seriously did not want to see.

She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep until she saw you with her own eyes, until she could touch you and confirm that you were truly safe.

Her hands immediately went back to her phone, wondering if your co-workers would even answer a distress actress concerned about her girlfriend if there was a high and 100% chance they were wasted with you. Obviously, each call went straight to voicemail.

Why is being sent on delivered the most humiliating ever!?

"Fuck," Jenna cursed under her breath, her head lowered in defeat as she stared at the countless of messages she sent to your friends, co-workers, shit even your family!

The only thought going through her head is "thank you for birthing Emma Myers."

emma

just said goodbye shes round the corner

sent one attachment

going back to her place

Even light couldn't travel as fast compared to how quickly Jenna reacted when that attachment processed in her brain. It was a photo of you (thank fuck), looking a bit tipsy, sure, maybe knocked in the head, but you were unharmed, waving goodbye to Emma.

The wave of relief that washed over Jenna felt like an overall baptism—a splash of water to commemorate coming back to a harsher reality than she didn't expect, but reality nonetheless.

She almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but she shoved the thought aside. Her focus was on you, and getting to you as fast as possible.

If you weren't going to come back home sooner or later, she'd come to you. Geared up and mentally preparing everything to combat the cold weather, plants of how she would take care of you, and a surprise. Aka, her.

Is what she would've followed through if she didn’t hear the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.

The sound was so abrupt. Too sudden and swift it nearly made her jump out of her skin unlike any scare people tried on her.

Her heart pounded as she turned towards the door, hoping, begging, and nearly willing the universe to grant her at least one moment of sanity. She watched the door creak open, and there you were—alive. You stumbled in, eyes bleary but safe, and Jenna felt the tension drain from her body as if it had never been there.

"Y/n—!" Jenna's sudden movement was a blur, barely having time to embrace yourself before she collided with you, the force of her embrace nearly knocking out the ragged breath you had left.

You could've noticed the slight tremble in her frame, heart pounding against your chest, and a hand clinging onto your shirt that pulled you closer if you weren't drunk.

“Daaamn, girl, you walk faast! I swear we dropped you at your street?? Why are you in—shit—in my house??” Your voice slurred and you stumbled as if the very act required more effort than you could muster, mind sluggish and your sense dulled, voice thick and unsteady.

You were undeniably and completely fucked. To say the least.

Drunk, Intoxicated. Mentally impaired. Right, how could Jenna even forget that?

You barely managed to step inside when your legs gave out, sending you tumbling to the floor.

The world tilted and spun around you as if you were a sun blinded by its own solar system. Your vision blurred and you struggled to make sense of the swirling images and a familiar blobby brunette girl in your home.

To no surprise, Jenna was at your side in an instant, crouching down with her face filled with concern as she looked you over, her arms reaching out to steady you. "Y/n… Why on earth do you have a huge straight bump on your forehead?"

"I…" you mumbled, blinking up at her. Her face looked like one of those spiky and blobbed images you see through a rain-streaked window. "I was—I was watching one of those 'how to be a good girlfriend in an LDR relationship' videos on the way home. And—and well, there was a pole."

Jenna's expression shifted, concern to curiosity. "What… What? What do you mean? Why? Why are you searching those—"

You felt like your chest was closing in on you, your throat mimicked those of a barren wasteland, and embarrassment washed over you like a tidal wave. You wanted to shrug it off, to laugh and tell her you were just curious, that it was nothing. But you couldn't.

"Because!" you burst out, voice trembling as you looked away from her eyes, "How else am I supposed to believe that I'm good enough when Jenna's halfway across the world? When every time she touches me, it's like she thinks I'm everything you've ever wished for in a star, and I—"

You faltered, your breath catching, the words threatened to slip away from you, but the emotions, doubt and fear—they had been building up for too long. You couldn’t stop now, even if you wanted to.

"I don't deserve it, I'm not enough for her. There's something more that i should be doing, something more I could be, because how can I be enough when she's there and I'm here? I can't hold her, I can't comfort her when she's stressed, I cant show her how much I care every day like I want to. How am I supposed to truly feel that I'm doing fine and she's feeling loved? Every time she tells me that I'm enough, I try to believe her, but—but there's this voice in my head that keeps saying, 'What if she's just saying it? What if one day, she realized she was wrong? That I'm not great, that she's just loving a version of me she created in her head, that she finds a fatal flaw in me that keeps her away from loving me? What if I'm not who she thought I was?"

You can't speak anymore, but your mouth persists in words like a machine. Your eyes already welled up, you bit your lip to stop it from trembling and forming a frown.

"I want to be perfect for her. I want her to feel like she's never missing anything from me or feel like she's falling short from the love she gives me and I give her. But I don't know how to do that. I don't know anything. So I watch those stupid videos to hope I'll find a way to be enough, to finally feel like I am. But no matter what I do, it feels like it'll never be. How can I be it when I'm not with her? How can I be enough from so far away?"

Tears blurred your vision as you tried to reach out, "I just miss her, Emma. I just miss her so damn much. I thought I could handle it, you know? That I could be strong, that I could keep it together until the next time I saw her. But it's been too long, I keep feeling like I'm falling apart. That my relationship is falling apart for her. I thought maybe if I just stepped back, she'd find what she needed without me getting in the way."

"I try to keep things feeling normal. I try to tell myself that the distance is temporary, that we’re strong enough to make it through, but what if we’re not? What if the longer this goes on, the more we rip apart? I don’t want to lose her, but I feel like I’m losing pieces of us every day."

"I'm scared, Emma," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared that one day, she'll take all her words back, she'll realize it's not enough. That every text she sends me is in complete dread, that she's just staying for the hell of it. That she finds a better relationship than what we have now."

Your gaze was locked on the floor, but Jenna's eyes were on you, wide and creased with confusion. The words you've thrown at her just echoed in her mind, looping relentlessly until they became the only thing she could hear along with the race of her heart thudding so loudly. She had been silent the whole time, listening to you pour out your fears, insecurities, on how much you've missed her.

She shouldn't have. She wasn't Emma.

Jenna's eyes flickered to you, your eyes was stuck on the floor, your shoulders slumped as if you were carrying the weight of the world. And in that moment, despite the ache in her chest, all she wanted was to hold you. It's the only thing that felt natural for her.

She closed the gap between you two, close enough that her knees brushed yours, and slowly enough as if she were afraid that you might pull away. The contact felt like a connection, barely there, yet it grounded you and your worries. It felt familiar.

Jenna's breath as she looked at you, her eyes searching your face for any sign that you were uncomfortable, that you were still here with her.

Without a word, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around you at last. Her touch was tentative, she was unsure you wanted her there, but as her hand rested on your back, she felt the subtle rise and fall of your breathing. You were relaxed in her arms, you became yourself underneath her hands. She pulled you in closer like she was trying to shield you from the weight of whatever thought you had put on yourself.

"Y/n," she spoke, you knew that voice. it wasn't distant or abstract, it was real, present, and undeniably her. You knew this. The fact that you didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. In fact, the moment her presence reached you, it was as if a piece of you had been anchored to the ground again.

You knew her.

The warmth of her skin, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as you let yourself pull in her, it was familiar, comforting. You hadn't even realized how tightly you've been holding onto your fears and worries. But now, with her, they're no longe the loud and consuming force they had been before.

"Jenna?" you whispered, your voice was barely audible, trembling as it left your lips and hope it gets through with her.

It was the first time you had said her name aloud in her presence. You could feel her heartbeat against her chest, the steady rhythm that took both of you off. You pulled away from her embrace, looking at her as if you saw a ghost.

"I'm back home," she whispered back, her voice soft like it never changed.

Her words settled into your bones, offering a comfort that you didn't realize you've been craving so desperately. And for the first time in what felt like a long time, you allowed yourself to believe them. She wasn’t just saying it—she meant it. Jenna was here, she wasn’t going to leave.

You didn’t care what she had to say; it felt impolite, selfish even, but all you wanted was to crash into her arms like you had before. You were no longer standing at a distance. You didn’t think, you didn’t hesitate, you just moved.

With a sudden rush, you wrapped your arms around her as if she were the only lifeline you had in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control.

You clung to her as you murmured her name over and over again as if it was a prayer the heavens needed to hear. Your fingers gripped the fabric of her shirt and every part of you was aware of her. How her body felt against yours, the way she held you felt like a promise saying she wouldn't let you go in her life.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out, your voice shaking as you pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, your tears blurring your vision. "I'm sorry for everything. For doubting you, for pushing you away when you clearly didn't want to.

"You’re finally here," you murmured, as you looked up at her, "You’re back with me."

Jenna's grip around you tightened, and you could feel her smile that always made you float in the air, even though you couldn't see it. "I missed you," she said softly, "I was so worried about you and I kept thinking about all the things we used to do together. I missed the way you laugh, the way you always know how to make me feel better. I just wanted to hear your voice again, to feel close to you. Don't worry about falling short, I'm already standing on a mountain of love that you've given me."

It was her, she was the same Jenna you've always loved. How she held you in your arms, how she kissed you after apologizing countless of times, how she feels in your arms, how she moves, how she laughs, how she makes you feel like you're safe and secured. Uncertainty washed away from you.

[starshipsofstarlord]

lap girl (2)

summary. daryl needs comfort at the greene farm after he fails to find sophia again. luckily his girl is willing to give him exactly what he needs; her in his lap

warnings. fluff, angst mentions of daryl’s childhood abuse, mentions of death, swearing

divider credits. @cafekitsune

greene farm

It was a new place, and they didn’t belong, and were only welcome due to the miss-aim of Otis. If he had hadn’t ricocheted a bullet into Carl, then their group that had travelled from Atalanta to the CDC and then some, would never have found this little piece of solace. Daryl’s eyes squinted beneath the glaring sun as he sought out the figure that had brazen themself to be absorbed in the daylight, feeling safe since there were barbed fences separating them from the wilderness in which the dead freely roamed. Y/n was enjoying the quiet that surrounded her, sitting upon the blades of grass that handed no threat in her direction.

It was pleasant to see her so peaceful, she wasn’t running for her life, or scavenging for scraps to replenish her hunger, she was instead still, and content in being so. But feeling secure wasn’t enough; it wouldn’t last, it never did. They’d eventually be sent on their way back to the trailing lands that had lead them here in the first place. The road was cruel, and it would only get worse when winter devoured them with the hardships of its crisp air.

And Daryl resented the foreshadowed thought, as they would need more supplies and warm food, and a fire big enough to bring heat to them all. The embers would only attract the undead and threaten them with even more loss, and whilst Daryl wasn’t particularly fond of many people in the group, he had somehow integrated within its ties after Merle’s absence.

Merle had left him before, in the worst possible way - alone with their father William Dixon. He understood that his elder brother had wanted to escape from the abusive entrapment, and thus he had allowed Daryl to be single-handedly foreseen by their parent as a punching bag; and worse. He still had the scars that were far too prominent over his body, they were askew like lines in a map, permanent and hadn’t faded since the sharp indents that had once been bloody had healed.

He resonated in a ying and yang parallel with Carol, the mother of Carol. She was distraught with Sophia’s fleet, already grieving her loss when there was nothing sufficed to state that she was either dead or alive, and Daryl felt responsible to uncover the reality that encased the child, to bring comfort to not only her mourning mother, but the rest of the group. It was an unsure journey that he had already been scathed from, a bullet that only with luck grazed his temple, and an arrow that was plunged from the long fall into his side, but he needed to do this.

Daryl knew what it felt like to be alone when he had been of the same age as Sophia, however he had discovered a loophole through the tormenting years prior to the contagion that infected the human vessel; there was a girl. He had been instantaneously drawn to her, although at first he had wanted to keep his distance, he’d never allowed anyone close. But she made him see the sun shine in every smile that composed itself upon her face and each glimmer that reflected in her eyes.

She made him feel safe. And so here he was, seeking her out as the gauze remained attached to his head, and if anyone saw him he was sure he would look like a fool. The normally obscure and grouchy Daryl appeared giddy as he stepped towards his human lifeline, his footsteps uncoordinated as he felt the ache in his side brew.

At the sound of shuffling fabric behind her, y/n’s head whipped around, she knew better than to just assume that there was no danger that could appear out of nowhere. Even with the serene tranquility that was deranging her viewpoint from the world that had began feasting on itself, there was always the risk that getting too comfortable would end in death. And Daryl smirked at the sight of the blade that shone from the sun in her hand.

“Thought you were a walker you ass!” She exclaimed, her mouth widening in a teeth baring smile. Her blade was placed back in its hiding spot as she felt the need to aid Daryl in seating himself next to her, her palm remaining against his bare arm. “I kicked Andrea’s ass after her shit shot, told her to get Herschel check her eyesight.” Daryl shook his head lightly as to not cause any more disturbance to his injury, promptly nudging her with his shoulder as he allowed himself to laugh at her protective demeanour towards the blonde.

“Yer real funny sunshine.” His rare smile was prominent as he endearingly looked at his girl, wrapping his arm around the back of her relaxed shoulder blades as he brought her closer. But close was still not close enough. “C’mere.” Daryl agilely helped her climb onto his lap, the place he reserved solely for her, his rough yet tender hands remaining on her hips as he brought his face near to y/n’s, rubbing their noses together in a sweet eskimo kiss.

He was exhausted, and he felt like a failure, but she was the only comfort that he needed. Her form was facing his own, and she brushed her featherlight fingertips against his cheekbones, sparing a glare to the dressing. “We’ll find her.” She whispered gently, shutting her eyelids as she melted into him. “But for now you need to rest honey, I’m not having you wear yourself into the ground.” His head rested against her collarbone, inhaling her presence as he tried not to be frustrated with himself.

It wasn’t his fault that Sophia had ran for her life off of the highway, and he wasn’t guilt for being unable to find anything other than her stuffed toy. His hands ran up and down y/n’s back as he buried his head in the crook of her neck, finally taking a break from his daily searching. He just needed his girl planted in his lap, and all his qualms and insecurities became minor.

[alygator77]

✩ echoes of time, a love unspoken ✩

✩ pairing. satoru gojo x fem! reader

✩ summary. overwhelmed with grief and regret, you are desperate to reconnect with your closest friend and secret love, satoru gojo. when you discover an ancient relic that allows you to travel back in time, you are given the opportunity to finally share your true feelings

✩ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, spoilers for manga chapters 222 - 236, angst with comfort, friends to lovers, mostly smut (if you squint you can maybe find a hint of plot lol), dry humping, oral (f receiving), penetration, unprotected sex

✩ words: 4k

✩ a/n. writing short stuff like this makes me feel weird lol...but eh, felt like giving it a shot. i blame my whoremones. also if you know the artist let me know 🫶🏻 i found this pic on pinterest

"Satoru is dead," Shoko says, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words any louder would shatter the fragile reality you were clinging to.

“W-What?”

You blink at her, your mind struggling to process the information. Did you mishear?

The usually unflappable Shoko is visibly shaken, eyes red-rimmed and filled with sorrow.

"It was Sukuna," she continues, voice cracking. "The battle... it was too much, even for him."

Your heart felt like it had been ripped from your chest. Satoru Gojo, your closest friend and the man you had secretly loved for years, was gone. Memories of him flash before your eyes��his brilliant smile, his teasing remarks, the way he always seemed to be there when you needed him.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head in denial. "No, that can't be true."

Shoko reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she murmurs, her own voice breaking. "I know how much he meant to you."

Her words break the dam inside you, and you feel the tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

Your knees buckle as you slump against the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the burning pain inside you. Your grief wraps around you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping.

“He was... he was everything," your voice trembles. "I never told him, Shoko. I never told him how I felt."

Shoko's hand squeezes yours, offering what little comfort she can.

"He knew, y/n. Satoru always knew. He was just waiting for you to be ready."

The thought brings a fresh wave of tears, carving a river of sorrow down your face.

How could he have known?

For years, you had hidden your feelings—you had been so careful, so afraid of ruining the friendship that meant the world to you.

The pain of your regret is a sharp, gnawing ache in your chest.

How many times had you almost told him? How many moments had you let slip by, too afraid of what his reaction might be?

And now, it was too late.

He was gone, and you were left with a heart full of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams.

Days pass in a fog. You go through the motions, but the world has lost its meaning, its color, its light. Without Satoru, everything feels hollow.

Every corner of the school is a memory of him—a reminder of what you’ve lost you. The training grounds where you would spar with him, the library where you shared quiet moments of study, even the halls where his laughter once rang out, bright and infectious. Pieces of him are everywhere, each one a dagger to your heart.

The weight of your sorrow presses down on you, and you seek solace in the school's ancient library—hoping to find a distraction, something to numb the pain.

Drowning in grief, your eyes fall upon a dusty, leather-bound book on a nearby shelf. The title catches your eye: "Chronomancy: The Art of Time Travel."

What if you could go back?

What if you could see Satoru one last time—tell him what you've always been too afraid to say?

Or perhaps, change the future?

The thought is intoxicating, a flicker of hope in your darkness.

Desperation fuels you as you delve into the book, your hands trembling as you turn the pages. The instructions are complex, but your mind is sharp, honed by years of sorcery and study. The book speaks of an ancient relic, used in tandem with cursed energy.

You vaguely remember the old stories, the legends of such a relic hidden deep within the archives of Jujutsu High, said to be from a bygone era, a powerful artifact capable of altering the very fabric of time.

You know it's risky, dangerous even—time travel was absolutely forbidden, but the pain of your unspoken love and your need to see Satoru drives you forward.

With renewed determination, you make your way to the restricted archives, a labyrinth of ancient texts and forgotten artifacts deep within the bowels of Jujutsu High. The air grows cooler and musty as you descend, the weight of history pressing down on you.

Searching through the dimly lit corridors, your hands brush over countless relics and tomes, each one whispering secrets of a long-forgotten past. Finally, you find it—the relic described in the book. It’s a small, ornate device, deceptively simple in appearance but thrumming with a powerful, ancient energy.

Carefully, you take the relic and make your way back to your room. The instructions in the book replay in your mind as you prepare the ritual. Every detail has to be perfect—there’s no room for error.

As you channel your cursed energy into the device, chanting the incantation, the air around you starts to hum and vibrate. The relic glows brighter and brighter, the light almost blinding until suddenly, the world around you dissolves into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations—you feel yourself being pulled through time.

When the light fades and the world comes back into focus, you find yourself standing in your bedroom yet again.

Did it work?

Without a thought, you instantly run, sprinting to Satoru’s home. The familiar path is a blur as you push your body to its limits, your heart pounding with a mixture of hope and desperation. You reach his door, breathless and trembling, and knock frantically.

The door swings open, and there he is, eyes lighten up with surprise and a hint of confusion as he sees you.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?"

Seeing him, standing there alive and well, almost undoes you. Your legs feel weak, and your eyes well up with tears of relief. Without any thought, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him towards you, crashing your lips against his with a desperate fervor.

His eyes widen in shock for a moment, but then he starts to melt into the kiss, returning your passion with his own. A soft moan escapes as his arms instinctively wrap around your waist, pulling you closer while his lips move hungrily against yours.

He guides you backwards into his house, closing the door behind you as he leans you against it, returning the kiss like a man starved of touch, of you, for years. His fingers grip the fabric of your clothes, pulling you closer.

You feel his heartbeat against your chest, a steady rhythm that grounds you in the reality of his presence. Every touch, every movement, is a reassurance that he's here, alive, and with you.

"I… missed you… so much," you mutter between breaths, a fragile confession between each fervent kiss.

Satoru’s grip tightens, his hands move to cradle your face, a touch gentle yet urgent. He lets out a soft hum and reluctantly pulls away from your lips, quirking a brow with a crooked grin.

"That was unexpected. Missed me? Y/n, we saw each other earlier today."

You shake your head, tears flowing freely now.

"No, you don't understand. I missed you... so much."

His grin fades as he notices the depth of your sorrow—concern etched in his features as his gaze softens, eyes searching you with confusion and worry. He gently wipes away a tear with his thumb.

"Why are you crying?"

With a shaky breath you struggle to find the words. The weight of everything you know and everything you've felt threatens to overwhelm you. But now, in this moment, you don't want to burden him with the truth.

Not yet.

Shaking your head, you manage to whisper—

"Later... please, just let me savor you right now."

Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he nods slowly, pulling you closer once more. His touch is tender, his embrace warm and reassuring. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then to each of your tear-streaked cheeks, as if trying to kiss away your pain.

"Okay," he murmurs against your skin. "I'm here. Not going anywhere."

Satoru's lips find yours again, and this time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. He pours all his feelings into it—his reassurance, his comfort, his unspoken promises. As you lose yourself in the kiss, your hands move to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you pull him even closer, not wanting to let go.

The kiss deepens, a mingling of desperation and relief—his hands slide from your face to your waist, pulling you closer, before traveling down to your legs. With effortless strength, he lifts you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

For a moment, everything is perfect. The pain, the sorrow, the regret—all of it is swept away in the embrace of the man you love.

Between breaths, you manage to whisper again, "I missed you," each word filled with all the longing and desperation you've held inside.

Satoru responds not with words but with action. His kiss grows more fervent, his grip on you tightening as he presses your hips down on his. Your core is met with the growing pressure of his erection, causing you to mewl into his mouth.

He swallows your sounds as his kiss grows more intense, more needy, his tongue continuing to explore your mouth, tasting, claiming. You roll your hips against him, causing a low groan to rumble from his chest. His hips instinctively buckle from the friction and he presses you further against the door.

Breaking the kiss, his lips slowly make their way down your neck. He murmurs your name against your skin as his hips grind up against yours, sending a shiver through you as his fingers leave a trail of warmth in their wake, exploring every inch of your body.

With a gentle urgency, his hands find the buttons of your shirt, deft fingers undoing them one by one. As the fabric parts under his touch, his lips follow, leaving a trail of heated kisses down your exposed frame, tongue and teeth marking you with gentle nips.

As his lips find the curve of your breast, he gently bites down on it, causing a soft gasp to escape from your mouth.

“Satoru,” his name escapes you breathily as a ripple of pleasure courses through you, pooling straight between your legs.

Satoru's response is a low, guttural sound that vibrates against your skin. His hand comes up to cup your breast, his thumb stroking over your nipple as he continues to grind against you.

"I want you," he murmurs, voice hoarse with an aching need, coming out as both a statement and a request.

You meet his gaze, your breath hitching at the intensity of his desire.

"I'm yours to take," you whisper. "Take me, Satoru. I'm yours."

The words seem to ignite something deep within him—eyes darkening with a mixture of passion and determination. He immediately captures your lips in a fierce, demanding kiss.

With a swift and almost forceful movement, he lifts you from the door, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom, opening it with a nudge of his foot. His body presses against yours and he pins your wrists above your head, lowering you onto the mattress with eager vehemence.

The sensation of being held in place, of being at his mercy, sends a shiver of anticipation through you—feeling the heat between your legs intensify.

His eyes lock onto yours between loose tousles of his snowy hair, a silent question and an unspoken promise in their depths. The outline of his erection is evident through his taut clothing, a physical manifestation of his aching desire that burns for you. The heat of his body sears into you as he settles between your legs.

"I've wanted you for so long," he murmurs, voice low and ragged. "I can't get you out of my head."

He rocks his hips gently against yours as his hands move from your wrists, tracing a path down your arms. He reaches the hem of your shirt and guides it off your shoulders.

His hands then slide beneath your back, lifting you slightly as he unclasps your bra, discarding it to the side. The cool air against your bare skin is quickly replaced by the warmth of his mouth.

You gasp and writhe beneath him as his tongue grazes over your sensitive peak. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you as his hips continue their slow, deliberate rhythm, rolling against your core and creating a delicious friction through the layers of clothing that still separate you.

You arch your back in pleasure, and with a groan, Satoru allows himself to sink deeper into the sensation of your breasts against his mouth. Every lick, every suck has him growing harder, his member straining against his pants.

“Fuck..” he mutters, pulling away from your chest just long enough to tear off his own shirt and discard it carelessly.

He leans down to lavish attention on your other breast, his free hand hooking into the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your legs.

Once you remain only in your underwear, he abandons your breasts momentarily, trailing kisses down your stomach. As he reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, looking up at you with a gaze so intense it makes your breath hitch—a raw need that sends a shiver of excitement throughout you.

"Satoru," you moan, your voice a plea and a promise, urging him on. "Please."

He holds your gaze for a moment, searching for any hesitation. Finding none, he moves his hand across the fabric of your panties, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles around your clothed core. The friction is maddening, each touch making your body hum in pleasure.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers, voice a husky murmur.

"I want you," you reply, voice trembling with need. "I need you, Satoru."

His eyes darken further at your words, a low groan escaping his lips as he slides your panties down your legs, discarding them with the rest of your clothes. The sensation of the cool air against your exposed skin is quickly replaced by the heat of his breath as he leans in closer.

He takes a moment to savor the sight before him, your body laid out beneath him like an offering. Then, without warning, his tongue slips between your wet folds, lapping at your juices in long, languid strokes.

Satoru groans in approval of your taste, the sound vibrating against your heated flesh as he delves deeper. His hands part your thighs, holding you open as his tongue explores every crevice and fold, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. The intensity of his ministrations has your hands fisting the sheets, your back arching as you struggle to remain grounded under his relentless assault.

"Oh my god, Satoru..." you gasp, your voice a breathless plea as you arch into him deeper, relishing in every skillful flick of his tongue. Each stroke, each swirl, drives you closer to the edge, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.

He works with a practiced precision, knowing exactly how to push you to the brink and pull you back, teasing you with the promise of release—alternating between gentle, teasing licks and deep, intense strokes.

Your hands move from the sheets to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you hold him close, your body trembling with force as you chase your release.

Feeling your impending orgasm building, Satoru pulls away from your quivering folds, causing you to groan. He locks eyes with you as he slowly drags his tongue from your swollen clit to your dripping entrance, a grin upon his lips.

He can see your resolve cracking, your composure slipping away as you teeter on the edge of bliss. He relishes watching your face contort with pleasure as you writhe beneath him, desperate to climax.

His movements are deliberate, torturous even, each lick and suck designed to prolong your pleasure. He can taste your arousal, your desperation, and it only fuels his own hunger.

His grip is firm and possessive as he tightens his hold on your thighs, devouring every part of your womanhood. The sound of his groans, the feeling of his tongue against you, it's all too much. The tension within you coils tighter and tighter.

You gasp as he slides two fingers inside you, feeling your walls clench around him as he curls them upwards, seeking that spot that would send you over the edge.

"Satoru, please..." you beg, your voice a desperate whisper. "I can't... I'm so close..."

He suddenly pulls away, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal, causing a whine to escape your lips. The sudden loss of contact leaving you aching.

He looks up at you, a wicked glint in his eyes as his lips curl into a grin.

"Not yet," he murmurs, voice low and seductive. "Want to feel you cum around me."

He moves back up your body, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. With a groan of pure need, his hands move with a purpose as he reaches for the button of his pants.

Rising to his knees, his eyes lock with yours as he sheds the last of his clothes, freeing his throbbing cock from the confines. It springs forth, thick and rigid, the tip glistening with precum.

You watch as he gives it a few slow strokes before settling back between your legs, his erection pressing against your core, tip brushing between the folds that are coated in your essence. The teasing sensation sends another wave of desire through you.

Slowly, deliberately, he pushes forward, sheathing himself inch by tantalizing inch inside you. A low growl escapes him as he feels your warmth enveloping him, your walls squeezing him delightfully. You gasp, your back arching, your body welcoming his with a need that borders on desperation.

He pauses once fully immersed, giving you a moment to adjust to his size as he revels in the feeling of your inner muscles clenching his length. Then, with a slow, sensual thrust, he begins to move, withdrawing until just the head remains before plunging back in to the hilt.

“Ah, fuck,” he breathes out, his hips snapping forward with more urgency, his head falling back as he loses himself in the sensation. The sight of him, eyes closed in bliss, his mouth slightly open as he gasps for breath, is almost enough to send you over the edge.

The pace he sets is slow and deliberate at first, each thrust deep and measured, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction, the heat, it all combines to create a symphony of pleasure that has you gasping and moaning his name. Your hands move to grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you cling to him, body moving in perfect harmony with his.

"Satoru," you moan, voice trembling with need and desire. "More, please..."

He responds with a growl, his movements becoming more urgent—thrusting harder and faster as his hands move to grip your hips, anchoring you to the bed as he fucks you with a raw, primal energy. The slap of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by your moans and his growls of pleasure.

His name escapes your lips in breathless moans, each sound driving him further, pushing him to give you everything you need.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this, feel so good,” he groans, his voice rough with passion. “So tight, so perfect.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, tongue mimicking the rhythm of his thrusts. Your hands move from his shoulders to his back, your nails raking down his flesh as you cling to him.

Your body responds instinctively, your hips lifting to meet his, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. The deeper angle sends jolts of pleasure through you, each thrust hitting just the right spot. The heat between you builds, the pressure mounting with every movement.

"Satoru," you gasp, your voice a mix of pleasure and urgency. "Don't stop... please..."

His response is a deep, guttural moan, his hips snapping forward with renewed intensity. The sensation of him filling you so completely, kissing your cervix with each thrust—the way his body moves against yours, it's all-consuming. The pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak, your body arching into his as you chase your release.

He feels the change in you, the way your body tightens around him, and it drives him to push harder, to give you everything. "Cum for me, princess," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a rough whisper. "I want to feel you cum around me."

His words create a tension within you, coiling tighter and tighter. With each powerful thrust, you feel yourself getting closer and closer, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.

"Satoru... I... I'm going to..." you moan, your voice trembling with the force of your impending climax.

"That's it," he growls, his hips snapping forward in powerful thrusts. "Be a good girl and let go. Cum for me."

His command is the final push you need. With a cry of his name, you shatter, the pleasure washing over you in profound, overwhelming waves as your inner muscles clench around him, coating him with your essence.

Feeling your climax hit, Satoru's own control snaps like a brittle twig, sending him spiraling into blissful release. With a guttural roar, he spills himself deep inside you, hips jerking violently as his hot seed fills you, painting your insides white. He keeps thrusting, prolonging your orgasm and milking his own, his cock twitching as he empties himself completely dry.

Suddenly drained and spent, Satoru collapses atop you; his chest rising and falling against your own as he buries himself into the crook of your neck. The weight and warmth of his body against yours is comforting, grounding you in the aftermath of your shared passion. Not wanting to dislodge himself just yet, he drapes one arm across your stomach, holding you close, while his other hand gently caresses your cheek, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin.

You look into his eyes, now softened with a deep satisfaction and affection. The intensity of the moment lingers between you, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you've always shared but never fully expressed.

"I love you," you whisper, your voice barely audible but filled with all the emotion you've held inside. The words you've desperately been wanting to say for years now finally roll off your tongue, carrying with them the weight of your unspoken feelings. Each word is a release, a freeing of the heart that has longed for this moment.

Satoru's eyes widen slightly at your confession, and then a tender, loving smile spreads across his face. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to seal the promise of his affection.

"I love you too," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, comforting rumble. "I always have." The sincerity in his words resonates through you, filling the spaces that have long been empty with warmth and joy.

He shifts slightly, allowing you to nestle more comfortably against him. The rhythm of his breathing begins to slow, his body relaxing into a state of contented fatigue. You match his breaths, finding a perfect synchronicity that lulls you into a sense of peace.

In this moment, everything is perfect. You are his, and he is yours, and together, you can face whatever comes next.

Maybe, just maybe, this future will be different.

You can only hope.

[ttulipwritezz]

This Is Our Place.~ S.Black

Ootp! Sirius Black x gn! Reader

Synopsis: After azkaban, Sirius falls for his best friend's colleague, who just so happens to return his feelings. They find their place within the confines of a war. Perhaps they'll leave the Christmas lights up till January.

Wc: 2k

Warnings: lots of italics, probably grammatical mistakes, inconsistency, mentions of presents, Christmas, bad family (s.b), kiss(es), might be ooc idk.

The clouds began to form in delicate shapes, and the roar of thunder echoed through the gloomy room. The light from a candle illuminated the kitchen, in which you sat, your mind preoccupied with the thought of the incoming rain.

Preoccupied with the thought of having to take the clothes off the drying rack anytime soon or bringing all your potted plants indoors to avoid them drowning.

It was not an odd thing—rain—being that it was the end of August.

"Knock, knock."

You looked up from where a blank piece of parchment lay in front of you, curious to know the source of the words.

"You could just, you know, knock? Like a normal person,  Sirius."

You found yourself speaking before you could collect your thoughts. The said man glanced at the parchment once and looked back at your face, his lips curving up the tiniest bit at your attempt to lighten the mood.

"Who am I, if normal, love?" He chuckles with a crooked smile.

You let your eyes roam around his face, his hollowed-out cheeks, and his half-lidded eyes. He looks tired. You conclude.

"Do you want some tea? I was just about to make some.."

You weren't really, about to make tea, that is. Still, you found yourself speaking, wanting to comfort the man, even if just a little.

Sirius was, by no means, your friend. He was just a friend of your colleague, Remus. You'd joined Hogwarts the same year Remus did; being new, the two of you hit it off immediately.

It always amazed you how well of a grasp Remus had on DADA. And he returned the favor by complimenting your herbology. You were a couple years younger than Remus, at best, and had known of him and the infamous marauders during your time at Hogwarts. Sirius Black did intrigue you the most.

You knew he came from a wealthy family, a bad one—of course, by no means did you want to intrude on his family life, but the heart does what the heart wants—and that he found solace in the friends he called brothers.

When Remus introduced you to his falsely convicted friend, Sirius Black, You damn near fainted on the spot, not because of his (undeniable) handsomeness but because of the sheer fear of standing in front of a possible murderer.

Now, years later (two to be exact), you find yourself enamored by the faded gray of his eyes and the curved bridge of his nose, which, you reckon, has been broken at least once during his time at Hogwarts, noting the sudden halt in the curve that then sharply turns to the other side and resumes its path.

Maybe it is a little peculiar to be noting such details of his appearance that you can paint a picture of his past. Strange, they'd call it. But it's routine for you. A routine you find comfort in.

"Thank you, Love," he replies.

A mumbled "'course" leaves your lips as you put the kettle to boil on the stove.

Sure, you could use magic, but these mundane tasks that don't require it seem to bring a sort of normalcy to your life. Even if just for a moment, it stops feeling like you're in the midst of a war and that people aren't dying left and right.

You were only nineteen when the first wizarding war came to an end, when your friends lost their lives, and when the dark lord seemingly disappeared forever.

He hadn't; that much was evident from the current situation.

The tea was set in front of Sirius almost unknowingly. You had been a little into your head and had been going about the task with practiced ease.

"Thanks again, Love. When do you reckon the others will return?"

Remus, along with the other order members, had gone on yet another mission. They left Sirius, concluding he was too weak to fight right now, and you, as you'd offered to stay back.

"Any time now, and really, it's no problem,"

you replied, sort of bashful at both his gratitude and the endearment.

As if on cue, the door opened with a jingle of the keys, and numerous voices rang through the empty corridors of Grimmauld Place.

Remus stalked into the kitchen and put his left hand up, leaning against the doorway with his right for some sort of support, revealing a gash running from his middle finger to his wrist and a sheepish smile on his face as he looked at you. Immediately, wordlessly, you walked forward with your wand and began healing the wound.

Removing a tin of herbal paste from the drawer beside and handing it to Remus.

"How'd that happen? I thought this was a 'harmless' mission," you asked, quoting his reassuring words from earlier.

"I nicked myself on a broken shelf." As confident as he sounded, his lie didn't escape you.

All it needed was a 'really?' look on your face to get the truth out.

"Death eaters," he stated, defeated.

"You really ought to be more careful, Rem. It worries me."

You said that and guided him out of the kitchen to assess his other wounds, which included one on his arm and a twisted ankle.

Unaware that a certain raven head was watching you from the table, envious and defeated at failing at his attempts to talk to you. The rain began pouring down, and the clothes and plants still outside ran through your mind.

The rain mirrored the heart of the black, sitting at the table, gloomy as ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You'd last seen Sirius when Harry and the kids stumbled through the door of Grimmauld Place, bringing an unconscious, but thankfully alive, Sirius with them.

Harry had told you that he was leaving to retrieve his godfather from the ministry, mentioning something about a dream, but you weren't paying much attention after you'd heard the news. With Dumbledore's permission and assistance, you'd returned to Grimmauld's place to help in case they ever needed it. Praying that Sirius made it back alive.

The kids, along with Remus and a few other order members, laid the unconscious Sirius on the couch and went to clean themselves up as you offered to take care of Sirius in the meantime.

Once conscious, you dragged Sirius to the bathroom on the ground floor of the house, squeezing through the thin hallways and sitting him on the counter as you retrieved a first-aid kit from the cupboard.

"Couldn't you use magic to fix my wounds?" came his distraught voice, cutting your thoughts short.

"Do you want me to inflict pain on them? Just sit still. Besides, it's not like I'm a healer."

As you cleaned each wound with precision, one thought roamed your head.

It's not like they don't have wands—the death eaters, that is—they injured him in a way that seems almost muggle.

"If you're wondering how, it was Bellatrix," Sirius said, trying to suppress a hiss at the particularly deep wound on his arm, as if reading your mind.

"Your cousin?" you answered, or rather, asked, continuing and moving onto the smaller cuts that littered his face.

Humming, he let you get the rest of the wound cleaned.

You glanced up at his face when opening the packet of cotton, only then realizing how close you had been. His breath was fanning your nose as he stared deep into your eyes, no trace of guilt or shame in them, as if he trusted you wholeheartedly.

You could have sworn you saw him glance at your lips in anticipation. The thought alone swarmed your stomach with butterflies.

Only now had you realized how intimate your shared moments were and how he had always tried to enlighten your mood with his jokes. You thought it was his defense, his coping mechanism.

Though now it seemed amidst the war, all he tried to do was hear you laugh. By pausing your movements as if in a trance, you maintained eye contact with him. He looked so stern and so soft all at once.

In his mind swam thoughts of the previous night, when you cradled Remus's hand with such grace and concern.

His lips parted, and you wanted to kiss him. You don't know why, but you did. All you had to do was move your face half an inch forward, and his lips would crash into yours. You wanted to do it so badly.

And so you did.

His eyes fluttered close, and the arm that wasn't injured came up to grip your neck, light as a feather.

His hands caressed the tiny hairs on your neck and sent a tingle down your spine. The kiss was phenomenal.

You didn't sleep that night; the thoughts were fluttering in your mind even hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I kissed him."

As soon as those words left your mouth, Remus choked on his tea and had to take a moment to steady himself.

"You kissed whom exactly!?" came his exasperated voice.

"Sirius," you said sheepishly, suddenly feeling small under his wide gaze.

"I didn't even know you liked him," Lupin said as he went to dry his clothes from the tea.

"It just…sort of happened..you know-"

"no, I don't know y/n..what were you thinking!?" Remus was confused, and a part of him felt betrayed.

You liked his best friend, but he had no clue.

The patter of the rain outside added to the deafening silence that you left. The sound brought you back to the first night in the house, the night when you shared tea with Sirius.

Your eyes flitted to the scar running along the Lycanthropes hand, and you grimaced at the angry red surrounding it as it healed.

"Did you put the balm on it today? your hand, I mean " Your words cut through the silence like a knife, and you moved your hand toward one of the many drawers housing your herbal balms.

"You're deflecting, love... If it's any help, Sirius would much rather pretend nothing happened than act on his own; you're best off confronting him first."

Remus's words were assuring, but the tone in which he said them made you scrunch up your brows and tilt your lip downward.

"Umm, I'll see what I can do." Your hesitance was evident in your voice.

You walked back to your room after handing Remus the green and silver tin, silently reminding him of his wound.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the other side of the house, Sirius lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the kiss.

His mind wandered to the feeling of your lips, his hands on on nape, and your gaze before it all.

Your lips. My lips.

"A Rubber Duck!" A shout came from the room beside him. Harry's room. They were playing a round of charades, he remembered.

Harry! Yes!

He should ask Harry. So he made his way towards their room.

"Harry, could I talk to you for a moment?" Just as Harry was getting up and ready to join his godfather,

"actually hold that-"

He turns to Hermione

"-Hermione!! You're a muggle. You'd know! of course" The hopeful tone of his voice sends Ron into a laughing fit, and Harry's mouth twitches into a grin as Hermione sits confused with a frown.

After discussing the matter with the kids, Sirius decides he's done with his stupid old ways. He wants to say something; make the first move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It happened on christmas eve.

Everyone had taken to opening presents under the large tree at the living room.

After watching Ron fawn over his new wizard chess set, you decided it was time for a much needed break.

"I think i'm going to go make some hot chocolate...anyone want some?" You asked, already getting up to yout feet.

Most of them nodded no and you only just realised all their mugs were rather full.

Making your way into the rather small kitchen of grimmauld place, you got out your wand to help make your hot chocolate.

"Knock knock" a familiar raspy voice came from the doorway.

An odd sense of deja vu enveloped you and you turned around to look at the source.

"you could just knock. Like a normal person" you repeated your words from the previous day.

The relationship between you and sirius had strained quite a bit after that shared kiss.

"sorry love, how's your day going so far?" He asked, seemingly trying to dissipate the awkwardness from the air.

"Alright...i suppose, what about you?" You replied with just as much hesitation.

"Good." And it stopped at that, the conversation.

Only now did you realise just how close he had gotten. You backed yourself away slightly, only to find your leg hitting the back of the counter.

The world seemed to be silent as the sound of your breaths mingled with one another, accompanied by the ticking clock.

The noises in the living room had become nothing but a blur and muffled by your thoughts.

"I really like you y/n. I truly do" Sirius spoke first, drawing your attention from the planes of his face

"Huh?" Your reply came meek and unsure.

You weren't even sure you'd heard it right.

"i like you." He reiterated.

You did hear it right.

Your knees felt weak but at the same time you were on cloud nine.

Before getting the chance to gather your thoughts you found yourself speaking..

"I really like you too sirius"

your voice came out just louder than a whisper, you're sure he wouldn't even have heard it.

His next words sent a flurry of butterfiles to your stomach.

"May i..?" You noticed him glancing down at your lips and back at your eyes.

You couldn't stop the smile that bloomed on your face as you nodded yes.

The kiss was diferent than the last, less desperate yet more passionate. It was slow, steady and loving.

You could feel his smile against your lips before you pulled apart.

"I've waited so long to do that" his voice came a mere whisper

Your eyes followed the movement of his lips, which were on yours moments ago.

" I...umm got you a gift" he continued, his hesitation surprising you.

Forcing your eyes to look back at the grey irises you managed to let out a breathless

"what?"

Sirius pulled out a box, a small one of velvet, the kind that would normally house a ring, now held a singular locket that was shaped as a star.

"A star...for my star" he said

You couldn't stop the heat from spreading to your cheeks, eyes widening a touch and lips quirking up the slightest.

Two voices giggling could be heard from the kitchen that night.

The whole night.

A/n: I spent WAYY too long on this- and the ending is super rushed lmao i hope you enjoyed it and all reblogs help me reach more ppl! I had sm fun writing this. i'm v proud of this ❤️❤️

[cemeteryspider]

Disco Inferno

Alastor x Hippie! Reader

Summary: Your carefree soul learns how to navigate your friendships and a budding relationship in the Hazbin Hotel

Trigger Warnings: Drug use, mature themes, violence, party atmosphere, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 1699

Maybe the years of drugs, protests, and sexual acts were what did you in. After all, good people don't end up in Hell you suppose. You lived as a relative nobody in Hell, except for the people you raised hell with.

Your best friend Cherri Bomb, adorned with fiery hair and exuding leather-clad confidence, sported a rebellious flair. Her devil-may-care attitude made her the perfect partner in crime.

You were casually talking it up with some big shot when out of nowhere a pink bomb landed on the table in front of you. Quickly, you jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding the blast. However, the shrapnel struck the Overlord you were engaged in conversation with, sealing Cherri Bomb's claim to his territory.

In addition, you encountered Angel Dust, revealing a shared passion for drugs that strengthened your connection. While you may not have the same drug of choice it doesn't mean getting high together was any less fun.

You navigated a niche between Angel's popularity and Cherri's intimidation, finding your place as their intriguing and adventurous companion.

This is how you ended up being the Happy Hotel's second patron.

~~~

Although smoking became off limits, in the hotel at least, you were still swaying around to music and dancing through the day.

You almost felt better when you weren't smoking but that wasn't something you wanted to admit to Angel or especially Charlie. You knew there would be a party thrown as soon as you said it.

The now Hazbin Hotel, was home to quite a few demons, not all there to rehabilitate but it made it feel more at home. The more people around the more you felt reminded of your friends topside, now they were almost certainly dead or "double dead" as Angel might say.

Charlie and Vaggie were stern but friendly towards you. They told you to stay sober if you wanted to stay at the hotel and you happily obliged. Although sometimes you still snuck a blunt, why did they have to know?

Husk was always able to talk you down and put a drink in your hand. He heard your troubles with Cherri and how she didn't want to talk to you anymore, and heard you talk about your worries with Angel. You and Husker, bonded by shared experiences and unspoken understanding, found solace in each other's company. Often, you sat around doing absolutely nothing, reveling in the comfort of a companion who needed no words.

Sir Pentious, Hazbin's third rehabilitant, was just the sweetest. Again you two often sat around talking, usually about his inventions and sometimes about Cherri. You gave him subtle hints about what she liked and how to win her over, but usually he got too nervous to act on these. This never stopped you from trying to help, and frequently having sleep-over with him and his sweet Egg Bois.

Alastor's enigmatic presence left you with a lingering curiosity, a puzzle you were determined to put together with every passing day. However, this didn't stop you from trying to become his friend. You listened to his radio show to try to find out things he liked and often accompanied him to Cannibal Town, not for its namesake but for amazing chats with Rosie. Alastor was the one piece of the puzzle you just couldn't figure out, and the more time you spent with him the more about him you wanted to know.

~~~

So when Charlie and Vaggie went on their trip to Heaven, you decided to invite Alastor out. You decided not to call it a date, but hoped the message would get across well to him. You and Alastor left shortly after everyone else when to a club nearby.

Wanting to bridge the gap between your worlds, you chose to bring him to your favorite disco joint, even if the music wasn't his usual taste. If you wanted him to like you, he did have to get to know you.

Studio 666, with pulsating neon lights casting an otherworldly glow and a bass so deep it reverberated through your very soul, stood as Hell's most renowned disco club. Though Alastor's smile didn't fade, a twitch betrayed his discomfort amidst the crowd and physical contact. The music was nothing like what he was used to and so far away from his favorite dance tunes.

Alastor was well aware of hippie culture as he had talked with many people who died and how they lived on his radio show. He had been to a club like this once with Rosie and he did not think that he would ever be back to one. Let alone with a beautiful dame like yourself.

He stood frozen for a moment and felt very out of place in his coat and slacks. You were dressed impeccably for the occasion wearing a halter top jumpsuit adorned with red rhinestones and sparkles. Platform boots make you just a hair taller than your usual height.

You had decided to match Alastor on your night out, trying to make others notice you were with him and maybe have them be more friendly. Well as friendly as some sinners were willing to be.

Gently you took his hand and led him to the bar.

"Yo, Y/n, where have you been? The Studio's been missin' you"

"Oh you know Flower, I've just been truckin' on"

"Wearin' some groovy threads"

"When am I not, ya goof"

Alastor noticed you fall into a rhythm with the bartender, Flower you called them. Again he felt sorely out of place, even though before this, you had always made him feel right at home.

"Anyways, what can I get you and Casanova here?"

A small chuckle escaped your lips.

"You know me," you grinned, "a tequila sunrise, and Alastor will have a-"

"I'll have a Greyhound"

With that, a playful grin graced your lips as you looked up at him. For you, he would try to embrace this night of loud disco festivities with a drink he normally would never try.

Once Flower had served the two drinks Alastor saw them whisper in your ear. Despite the attempt at secrecy he heard exactly what was said.

"I got primo grass and mushrooms if you're interested, foxy"

Alastor saw the glance you gave him and quirked his eyebrow. You moved away from Flower.

"Nah, we best keep on steppin', peace, Flower"

With a smile and a nod of their head they went to serve the next customer.

~~~

You were able to find a table a little ways away from the ruckus to talk with Alastor about anything and everything that came to your mind. The hotel and its apparent success, things Alastor spoke about on his last radio broadcast, and your favorite color.

However, the smooth flow of the night was interrupted when a small group of demons approached the table where you were chatting.

"My my, here's a brick house I'd never I'd see again"

Your smile instantly turned into a scowl. You turned toward the short stubby man who seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"Psych, the bug I thought I squished a long time ago", you practically snarled at them.

"Hold up, Dollface, no need to freak out. We just wanna talk. Why don't you take a chill pill and come boogie with us. We sure do have lots to catch up on"

Alastor appeared between the two of them before Psych could make a move to grab her.

"Why gentlemen, that is no way to treat a lady, now scurry along, u̵̪̓n̶̲̋l̶̑͜e̷͉̊s̶̜̽š̸̙ ̷̞̑y̵̪̅ơ̵̞ṳ̴̕ ̶̪̓n̴͇͂o̷̮͑ ̵͎̆l̵̫͒o̶̥̕ň̵̗g̸̠̓e̶͍̊r̴͓̉ ̵̹̋ẅ̴̳ḭ̵͠s̸̮̅h̶̛̩ ̷͈̈t̴̬͒o̶̜̔ ̴͔̿u̴͍͝s̵̗͂ē̸͎ ̴͓͝y̴̻̕o̴̮͊u̵̟͒r̵̗̈ ̸̥͂h̵a̸n̴d̶s̴"

"Snaps man, were goin'"

They stalked off, and Alastor returned to his seat.

"So, Cher, do you wish to, how did they say it, boogie?"

"Al, we don't have to dance if it's not to your liking," you suggested tentatively, concerned about Alastor's comfort.

"Nonsense, I did not learn to disco for nothing." Alastor's response carried a hint of excitement. In an instant, you found yourself on the dance floor, the disco ball casting a dazzling display of lights above your heads.

The dance floor pulsed with neon lights, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The infectious rhythm reverberated through the air, prompting everyone to move in synchronized harmony. Happily you take Alastor's hand and his overcoat disappears leaving him in his black button-up.

The bassline kicks in and you synchronize your movements, letting the music guide you.

The dance floor ignited with a playful series of twirls and spins. Your sequined jumpsuit scattered sparks across its surface, catching the neon lights in a dazzling display. Your bodies moving in harmony.

The tempo rises and soon a transition into sensual and intricate dance moves. Your fluidity contrasts Alastors strong and controlled movements. You playfully tease him with every step. The crowd soon had all of their eyes on the two of you.

A continued show of trust and chemistry flowed through every dip, lift, and spin. The disco lights danced in their eyes, mirroring the euphoria of the music that surrounded them showcasing laughter and glances, you were completely lost in the magic of the moment,

The music reaches its peak, and you lock eyes with Alastor. His usual smile was replaced with a lovesick grin.

As the song concluded, your heart still pounding with the rhythm, the world slowly came back into focus. The applause of the entertained crowd echoed, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and joy. Alastor's expression, a lovesick grin, reveals a side you hadn't seen before, deepening the connection between you two.

Leading the way, Alastor guided you from the dance floor to the exit. As you stepped outside, his coat materialized on your shoulders, a protective gesture in the crisp night air.

"Wow, Alastor, I didn't know you could dance like that" The revelation left you pleasantly surprised and craving more insights into this mysterious demon.

"Mon Cherie, next time we'll go to a jazz club and you'll see how well I can dance"

Still breathless from the dance, you sighed contentedly as you continued the walk back to the hotel, the night filled with the echoes of joy and music.

[astraystayyh]

A sun and a moon

pairing: minho x reader, pre-established relationship.

genre: hurt/comfort. reader is going through a rough patch.

On days when the mere thought of breathing gets tiring, Minho makes it feel a bit easier.

Please let me know if you enjoyed reading, it means a lot to me <3

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

It was one of those weeks when you woke up every day feeling out of place. In your home, in your mind, in your body.

You never really understood why you'd start feeling this way. It would happen out of the blue, and you'd be forced to carry the heavy weight of your insecurities with you throughout the day.

On days like these, you'd wish you'd be able to crawl out of your skin, float in the air, and not feel anything. You'd give everything to quiet the thoughts in your head that criticize your every move- the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you breathe.

Minho would always notice- how you wither down like a flower that was left to fend for itself, rootless. You'd become quiet, afraid that if you ever spoke, you'd break down and he'd be forced to pick up your shattered pieces. You didn't want to be a burden for him, you wanted to be easy to love.

And when Minho noticed, he didn't comment. Because he knew that part of being human is feeling down, and that it can't always be sunshine and roses. But what he didn't convey in words, he did in actions. He would kiss your forehead randomly, his fingers threading gently through your hair. He'd make you lunch, drawing a smiley face on the rice with sauce. He'd bring you water, making sure you drank it all, patting your head when you are done.

He wouldn't talk, but his gestures spoke for him- they were telling you, 'I know, I know you are not feeling like yourself and I still love you'.

But you couldn't voice your gratitude or your love for him. And it made you resent yourself more. You'd spiral down, and you'd start to think that he deserves someone else, someone better. Someone who doesn't sit on a couch unmoving; selfishly hoping that the universe would pass on their insecurities to somebody else.

"I'm sorry", you mutter on a particularly draining night, and he frowns, placing his chopsticks down.

"I'm sorry you are stuck with me. You deserve better", you slip out, angry tears welling up in your eyes. You don't even know why you spoke. Maybe it was the sight of the dinner he made you left untouched, because you couldn't bring yourself to eat it.

He's quick to your side, kneeling in front of you and holding your hand in his. "There is no one better, sweetheart. There is only you", he reassures, his tone so soft it makes you cry even more.

His warm hand in yours doesn't make the insecurities go away, but for a minute, your mind forgets. It allows you a moment of solace- like a rainbow that comes once in a while to remind you that the sun will shine again.

That night in bed, Minho pulls your body toward his, your back snug against his chest.

"You know, they say that the moon and the sun are lovers", he starts off, tone hushed. "And they say that one day, the sun started to notice how soft the moon's light is, compared to its own warm rays. And how lovers always write poems about the moon, when no one can look at the sun for too long", he pauses, and you nod to show him you are listening.

"And the sun thinks, maybe... maybe the moon deserves a better star to love". He's talking about you, you realize. You are the sun and he is the moon.

"But... what the sun doesn't know is that the moon only shines because it reflects the sun's light. The moon wouldn't be the moon without the sun. Just like I would be nothing without you, my love".

Minho kisses the back of your head, and you shake in his arms, your sobs resounding loudly in the room. "I am who I am because of you", he whispers right in your ear, hugging you even tighter to him.

Right now, you aren't okay, and Minho's words don't fix everything. But they are the light at the end of the tunnel, so you clutch onto them. You store them in a sacred cabinet in your mind, in the wait of the day where you'll wholeheartedly believe them.

It will happen soon, you think to yourself. Soon, you'll be okay again, and Minho will still be by your side.

[kiki-smith21]

The Comfort of Quiet Companionship

Wednesday Addams x autistic fem reader

A/N: This is my first fanfic, and any feedback would be appreciated. Let me know if you want a part 4. (I am actually autistic, so this is mostly based off the symptoms I show, but if you have any typical symptoms of autism you wish for me to add to the story later let me know and I'll try my best. Please be respectful to all, and remember to drink water and look after yourself, cuties❤️)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: You and Wednesday get into a comforting routine, and quiet moments together bring you closer and closer.

The routine began seamlessly—an unspoken agreement that formed as naturally as the setting sun casting shadows across the hallowed halls of Nevermore Academy. Each evening, as the day gave way to twilight, you and Wednesday would find your way to the library, the sanctuary of your shared solitude.

The library, with its towering shelves and dim, cozy lighting, became your haven. There, amidst the ancient tomes and quiet corners, you both found a unique comfort in each other’s presence.

One evening, you entered the library to find Wednesday already seated at your usual table, a large, dusty volume open before her. Her concentration was absolute, but she looked up as you approached, offering a rare, understated smile.

"Evening," you said softly, setting down your bag and taking your seat. You pulled out your sketchbook, a familiar sense of calm washing over you as you began to sketch.

Wednesday’s eyes briefly flickered to your work before returning to her book. The silence between you was comfortable, a testament to how your bond had evolved. It was not the silence of strangers, but of two people who found solace in each other’s presence.

Over the next few nights, your routine solidified. You would often bring along a puzzle to work on, and Wednesday would occasionally join you, her sharp mind making quick work of the more challenging pieces. The way she would lean in, her concentration evident, always made the moments feel intimate and special.

Sometimes, instead of puzzles, you would both simply read—Wednesday with her usual dark literature and you with whatever book you happened to be engrossed in. Occasionally, the conversation would flow as easily as the turning pages. You’d share insights about the books you were reading, debating characters, plots, or even the occasional morose detail that Wednesday found particularly intriguing.

One night, as you sat reading beside her, the subject of conversation drifted from books to more personal topics. "Have you ever thought about how much comfort there is in these quiet moments?" you asked, breaking the silence.

Wednesday glanced up, her eyes meeting yours with a hint of curiosity. "Comfort is not something I often seek, but I find this—our time here—somewhat... reassuring. It is a different kind of connection."

You nodded, your gaze drifting to the cozy dimness of the library. "I feel the same. It's strange how just being here, with you, makes everything feel... right. It’s like we’ve created our own little refuge."

Wednesday’s fingers traced absentmindedly along the edge of her book, and as if guided by an unspoken agreement, her hand brushed against yours. The contact was gentle, and you both allowed the moment to linger. Your fingers intertwined briefly, a simple yet profound gesture of support and affection.

As the nights passed, the library visits became a cherished ritual. You would often find yourselves sitting side by side, content in your separate activities but always close enough to feel connected. The occasional hand-holding or shared glance was a reminder of the growing bond between you.

The act of simply spending time together, without the need for grand gestures or constant conversation, became a source of immense comfort. For both of you, it was a refuge from the complexities of the outside world, a space where you could be yourselves without pretense.

In these quiet evenings, surrounded by the soft glow of the library lamps and the comforting hush of old books, you found a mutual support that was both profound and reassuring. The gentle act of sharing space and time became a pillar of strength for both girls, solidifying a bond that was both subtle and deeply meaningful.

And so, with each passing night, the library became more than just a place of learning—it became a testament to the simple, quiet comfort of true companionship, one that neither of you had realized you needed but now cherished deeply.

[ezekielbhandarivalleros]

A Surprise at the Café

Paring: Benoftheweek (Youtuber) x Reader (Mainly Female)

Summary: One special day at your favourite coffee shop fate brings you closer to someone you couldn't imagine meeting

This story is a response to the post made 3 years ago - Here's the link to that post

After a grueling day of college classes, I sought solace in the familiar routine of grabbing a warm drink from the nearby coffee shop. As I waited for my latte, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my subscriptions, eager to unwind with a Benoftheweek video.

The latest upload caught my eye, and I eagerly tapped on it. Ben's videos always brought me a sense of comfort, like catching up with an old friend. Lost in his latest adventure, I barely noticed the bustling crowd around me until I collided with someone while reaching for my drink.

Startled, I looked up to apologize, only to find myself face to face with none other than Ben himself. My heart raced with disbelief as I realized who he was. I'd been a fan of his videos for years, and now here he was, standing right in front of me.

Ben's kind eyes softened as he noticed the coffee stains on my jeans and sweater. Without hesitation, he offered me his hockey hoodie to cover up the mess. As I slipped into the oversized hoodie, a wave of joy and warmth washed over me. It was like wearing a piece of his world.

Feeling giddy with excitement, I asked Ben for a selfie to capture the unexpected moment. He chuckled warmly and obliged, his arm wrapping around me in a friendly embrace.

Ben insisted on buying me another coffee and a muffin to make up for the mishap, even though I knew it was my fault. We found a cozy spot to sit and chat, the conversation flowing effortlessly between us.

Curious about the hoodie, I asked Ben about his interest in hockey. Surprisingly, he admitted that he wasn't much into the sport but collected jerseys because he liked the way they looked.

Ben's eyes fell on my bag, noticing the array of books and a laptop peeking out from within. "So, what major are you taking?" he asked, genuine curiosity shining in his eyes.

"I'm studying Journalism," I replied with a smile, feeling a spark of pride at sharing my chosen field of study. "It's actually my first year here."

"Ah, journalism! That's awesome," Ben exclaimed, nodding appreciatively. "Gotta love the power of words. You'll do great, I'm sure."

I thanked him, feeling a rush of encouragement from his words.

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Ben leaned in closer and quipped, "Well, at least the coffee didn't decide to make your books and laptop its next victims. That would've been a real headline: 'Coffee Spill Disaster Strikes New Journalism Student!'"

We both chuckled at his joke, the tension from the accidental collision melting away into shared laughter. It was moments like these that made unexpected encounters truly memorable.

As we continued talking, I glanced out the coffee shop window that had the reflection the clock and realized how quickly time had flown. I needed to get back to my apartment soon.

Sensing my dilemma, Ben offered to drive me home. Grateful for the gesture, I accepted, and we chatted animatedly during the short drive.

During the drive, I couldn't help but notice the pom-poms dangling from the car's ceiling. I remembered the video where Ben decorated them, feeling like I was right there with him during that moment.

"Those pom-poms are adorable," I remarked, unable to contain my smile as I touched one lightly.

Ben laughed, a warm sound that filled the car. "Thanks! I thought they added a fun touch to the car."

"They definitely do," I replied, feeling a rush of gratitude for the shared connection, however small.

As we pulled up to my building I gathered my belongings, preparing to step out of the car, Ben turned to me with a hesitant expression. "Hey, before you go, I was wondering if… would you be interested in going out for dinner sometime? I had a really great time talking to you, and I'd love to get to know you better."

My heart skipped a beat at his unexpected invitation. "I would love to," I replied, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through me. "Here, let me give you my number."

We exchanged phones, inputting our contact information, before reluctantly parting ways. Before I closed the door, Ben reached into the backseat and handed me one of his favorite caps as a parting gift.

"Consider it a token of our unexpected meeting," he said with a charming grin.

I thanked him profusely, feeling incredibly grateful for the unexpected gesture.

As I watched him drive off into the night, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. One of my biggest dreams had just come true, all thanks to a chance encounter at a coffee shop. As I settled in for the night, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement for the future date with Ben and the endless possibilities it held.

[tmpestuous]

the phoenix project

summary: bucky finds out more about your past with hydra.

pairing: bucky x avenger!reader

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, canon-level violence, mentions of Hydra + Hydra torture (mainly reader and other unnamed characters; not Bucky), 

word count: 6.2k (i got carried away…)

a/n: welcome to my comeback era… this concept came to me in a dream and i know i said i’d stop with the hurt reader fics but i’m sort of fixated on the trope… (someone send help)

phoenix & the winter soldier masterlist

Waking up in Bucky’s arms was your favorite part of the day (only before going to sleep in his arms as well). His musky scent brought you comfort, the cool and warm contrast in his arms and hands bringing you solace. His embrace felt like home, a place you wouldn’t trade for anything else.

When Bucky was away on missions without you (or vice versa), it was always difficult readjusting to sleeping alone. A part of you felt like it was missing, and this time would be no different. Bucky was going on a mission with Steve and Natasha to gain important SHIELD intel and information on Hydra tactics, new and old, to try and track down their current bases and hideouts. 

Steve had warned Bucky that there might be information on the Winter Soldier and new attempts to revive the program, though that was no surprise to anyone on the team. Bucky was more concerned about whether or not there’d be information on you. 

Things were a lot better during your time with the Avengers recently. You got off to a good start, hit some bumps along the road that landed you on probation (thanks, Steve), but you still came out on the other side. You finally felt at home. You felt like you had a family. There was nothing that could get in the way of your place here. 

Although you still had your fears and triggers to get over, as anyone would after being forcefully succumbed to Hydra’s authority, there had never been a moment where you felt better than you do now. And you knew that it was only up from here.

You didn’t remember much from your time with Hydra, a result of both their tactics and your subconscious suppression. Nonetheless, you struggled with deciphering whether your lack of memory was a good or bad thing.

No one on the team knew enough about your past with Hydra. They definitely did a number on your memories, far worse than what they’d done with Bucky’s. Bucky slowly but surely remembered things, both about himself and his time with Hydra. He was grateful enough to keep his memories with Steve and his life before his capture. You, on the other hand, didn’t really remember anything. You held bits and pieces of your childhood, but nothing of substance. Not to mention you weren’t nearly as crucified as Bucky; once you arrived on the team, the public was a lot more educated on Hydra and its ploys. 

On past missions recovering more intel, there’d been little to nothing about you. You usually felt a tinge of relief, not sure if you were ready to uncover everything just yet. Nonetheless, the anticipation of an eventual find didn’t curb your anxiety, and the curiosity was eating you alive. 

The Phoenix Project, they called it. It wasn’t too far off from the Winter Soldier program but centralized its focus on a small group of young women. Some were just girls. You were one of the older ones, though not the oldest, and often found yourself sacrificing your own well-being to protect the younger ones who were still only teenagers. It was also somewhat reminiscent of Natasha’s time in the Red Room, creating the Black Widows. 

Your experience with Hydra often gave you survivor’s guilt, especially when you first started interacting with Bucky. His unsolicited time as the Winter Soldier wasn’t unbeknownst to anyone, not even you. In fact, one of the few things you remembered was how everyone in Hydra spoke about him. 

It took you a moment to warm up to him, and him to you. In the beginning, you couldn’t help but hate yourself for feeling so low about what Hydra did to you when Bucky Barnes was right there and had gone through so much more. Bucky never knew about how you felt, a result of your own decision not to tell him, and he never would. To this day, you tried not to complain about it. The Hydra operatives in control of the Phoenix Project were ruthless, though you couldn’t remember enough to know if they were any more or less cynical than the ones who watched over Bucky. Given the fact that you weren’t forced under them for over 70 years, however, you didn’t dare to compare experiences. You figured Hydra wasn’t anywhere near close to carrying out their plan for you, especially since the Avengers cut their plans short. 

You and Bucky have yet to talk about either of your times with Hydra. The two of you had crossed each others’ paths romantically after moving past it, and you had told yourself that the last thing you wanted to do was ruin your relationship with an unnecessary trauma bond.

Hydra didn’t define you or Bucky. You were both better than them; you had just fallen into their cage, and that wasn’t either of your faults. Your time with them didn’t make or break you as a person.

Bucky knew that, and even better, he believed it. He’d never think of you any differently because of it. But he needed to know if he’d find out information on you during this mission. For his sake and yours.

The Avengers never really sought out information on the Phoenix Project, but intel was looming that Hydra was plotting on restarting it. Intel also alluded to Hydra’s inevitable search for you, knowing about your involvement with the Avengers and the ultimate ability to make you even stronger a weapon for them. 

Steve had pulled Bucky aside to talk to him about everything, especially since they both knew you wouldn’t be going on this mission. He alerted him of the possibility of the information they’d yet to find, stronger than that of finding information on the Winter Soldier program. He had also told Bucky not to tell you, stressing that it was important not to induce any unnecessary anxiety for a mission you wouldn’t be going on. He wanted to tell you, so badly, but he knew Steve was right.

“What are you thinking about, Sergeant?” You asked, your voice soft yet still enough to snap Bucky out of his thoughts given how close you were to each other.

“The idea of having to sleep without you for the next two days,” Bucky said, his voice raspy from waking up. It wasn’t a lie, but merely half the truth.

“At least it’s only two days this time,” you said, as optimistic as always. Bucky adored that you always tried your best to find the silver lining in things, something he didn’t do often.

“I wish you were coming on this mission,” he voiced in a whisper, rubbing the knuckles on his right hand against your cheek back and forth. “But maybe it’s for the better.”

“You still don’t want me on Hydra missions, huh?” 

“Just looking out for you, honey,” he kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger before kissing it again. “Never know what you might run into that’ll bring up rough memories.”

“What about you?” You asked sincerely, once again avoiding thinking about your time with Hydra and the fact that Bucky was protecting you from something he also should be shielded from. Maybe even more than you did, in your opinion.

“I’ll be okay,” he reassured. “I told you, I’m free from them. They’re not getting me anytime soon.”

Nodding, you shifted your gaze away from Bucky’s, trying to mentally run from the thoughts clouding your mind.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, noticing the shift in your demeanor. “Did I say something wrong?”

Looking back up at him immediately, you shook your head. “No, no, you didn’t. I promise. I’m just gonna miss you, is all.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, baby,” he smiled down at you before giving you a prolonged kiss, lasting a few moments before he pulled away and looked back into your eyes as you both caught your breaths. “We still have some time before I have to go, honey.”

“I had a feeling that was coming,” you teased, pushing him back so he was laying down on his back as you crossed one of your legs over to straddle him, spending the time he had left tangled inbetween the sheets.

Two Days Later

Bucky being away on a mission never entirely fazed you, and vice versa. You both trusted each other enough to know you’d come home at the end of it all, but for some reason, this felt different. 

Bucky was on edge. So far, everything had gone smoothly, which was never good news to him. He was keeping watch on the door while Natasha retrieved any and all files they needed. 

It was too quiet for Bucky’s liking, the silence two seconds from giving him a migraine. Hydra had been at the opposite end of the Avengers plenty of times, but they weren’t stupid. They were calculated, they knew what they were doing, and they often knew when to let the Avengers play right into their hand. 

“Still not done, Romanoff?” Bucky asked impatiently, his anxiety creeping up by the minute.

“Working as fast as I can, Barnes,” she retorted. 

Bucky heard her typing stop, as did Steve, who turned his attention toward her. 

Natasha sighed. “Guess we found what we were missing.” Steve took a glance at Bucky before they both approached the screen behind the redhead. Tons and tons of files upon files regarding this project, their plans, and the subjects. Bucky’s gaze couldn’t divert from the one Natasha clicked with your name on it. “You sure you wanna see this?”

“Open it,” Bucky said without hesitation, his tone completely void of emotion.

“Buck—”

“I said open it.” 

Natasha and Steve shared a look before she clicked on the file. It was over 500 pages long, probably the most in-depth file Bucky had ever seen from Hydra aside from maybe his own. Pictures of you battered and bruised, information on your home life, how they captured you, the different tests they’d run, the serum they injected into you; everything was in here. 

Bucky felt his chest constrict at the pictures. He was somewhat grateful you couldn’t remember any of it, though it pained him that he was now aware of it and you weren’t. 

Natasha scrolled to the end, finding a list of names that had nothing to do with you, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. “What’s this?”

“They look like death certificates,” Steve noted. “What’s this got to do with Y/n?”

“Says she killed them,” Natasha read.

“That’s impossible,” Bucky interjected. “She didn’t kill anyone. They didn’t get that far, right?”

“I don’t know, Barnes,” Natasha shook her head while she downloaded all of the files. “But these don’t look like civilians or Hydra enemies.”

“They look like Hydra operatives,” Steve added. “I mean, look at the names and the pictures on file. They have separate files of their own.”

Natasha proceeded to find the name of one of the men you had supposedly killed, and Steve’s suspicions were right. A full detailing of a man’s time with Hydra, also a subject of their tests through another program. His death was pronounced at the bottom of the file.

Date of death: X/XX/XXXX. Terminated by Y/n Y/l/n.

Bucky couldn’t believe his eyes. He knew you weren’t capable of doing such a thing unless you needed to. He had seen it on that mission you got separated from Steve. Twenty men killed on your own while you were injured. 

“We have to go.” Bucky looked up at Steve heading towards the door as Natasha shot the computers and file drives, following suit behind both of them towards the jet. He felt sick the entire ride back to the Compound.

Something was off. He couldn’t put his finger on it. 

Upon landing in the hangar, Bucky felt like he was going to implode. Nat and Steve had tried to talk to him, but he couldn’t get the image of you out of his head. 

The truth was that he felt guilty. He let his curiosity get the best of him and invaded the secrecy of something not even you remembered. He held your history in his memory, while you were completely clueless. Bucky didn’t even know what he was going to tell you the moment he saw you.

The girl he left behind with a smile on her face and a ‘good luck’ on her lips after he snuck a taste of them. She wasn’t even aware of the details of the mission. She had no idea he could have discovered everything.

And that he did.

Opening the door to his room to shower before a debrief—Steve telling him to cool off a bit—Bucky expected to see you waiting for him, but you were nowhere to be found. He hadn’t passed by the kitchen or the living room, but you knew he was coming back today.

He was already on edge and he needed to get everything off his chest. Stepping back out to the common area, it was vacant. Spotting Fury talking to Steve and Natasha in the debriefing room didn’t settle his anxiety either. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Fury greeted in his usual monotonous yet sarcastic voice. “Thought you’d be joining us afterward.”

“Where’s Y/n?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “She’s not in your room?”

Bucky shook his head, his gaze not breaking from Fury’s. Steve and Natasha looked at the Director with the same confusion sprawled on their faces.

“She’s on a recon mission in Siberia. Just left today.”

“Recon mission to observe who?” Bucky bit back without hesitation. 

The Avengers were focused on Hydra for weeks. There haven’t been any other threats and Bucky was aware of that. He knew you weren’t ready for Hydra, not because you couldn’t handle them, but because they were looking for you.

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

“Fucking hell, Fury,” Natasha muttered, rubbing a hand across her face.

“She’s not even cleared—”

“She was cleared this morning. She wanted the mission, Barnes. I was gonna send Wilson before she stopped me.”

Bucky felt his heart drop to his stomach. He should’ve known something like this would happen, and suddenly he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Storming out of the room, he heard an explosion outside. 

Rushing out to the hangar, with Steve, Natasha, and Fury not far behind, the quinjet was up in flames, with workers everywhere wounded or trying to now fix the problem. 

“The drive, Nat,” Bucky muttered, not ripping his eyes off of the now-destroyed jet. 

“What?” Natasha asked.

“The drive.”

Natasha pulled the drive out. Burnt. To a complete crisp and she didn’t even feel it.

“What the hell is going on?!” Sam rushed out with Wanda, Vision, and Tony. 

Fury crossed his arms, exhaling deeply. “We’ve gotta find Agent Y/l/n. Now.”

—

You knew it was probably a bad idea to get involved in a Hydra recon mission so quickly after your probation, but you told yourself surveillance couldn’t be that bad, right?

Yeah, right.

Fury only asked you to identify the base and make note of its activity, location, and how often it was frequented throughout the next five days. Your location was pretty secure. That was until you saw the girls. 

It wouldn’t be your first time going against Fury’s orders, but it would definitely be the first time you did it alone. You had all the tools necessary, and you were never afraid of Hydra. You killed 20 of them on your own with a grueling stab wound that took 8 weeks to completely heal. You would be fine.

That’s what you thought 10 hours ago. 

Now you were strapped to this god-forsaken chair listening to this insolent asshole go on some rant about how he was the first one to find you. You still didn’t understand Russian fluently, but Bucky and Natasha had taught you enough to hold your own. 

Rolling your eyes at the man in front of you, you shortly felt a sharp strike to your cheek. 

“Все еще такой непокорный.” Insubordinate. 

You scoffed. “Alright, you’ve got me. What now?”

“What now?” he repeated your question with a chuckle. “You come back to where you belong, Феникс.” Phoenix. You hadn’t been called that in so long, but you’d recognize the word anywhere. Even before you knew a lick of Russian. 

The man pulled a syringe from a freezer, and your brain suddenly wired to recognize the serum, making you pull at the restraints on your wrist.

“Silly, silly, Phoenix,” he drawled in his thick, Russian accent. “Let’s see what the Avengers do when they find the real you.”

—

After some calls to King T’Challa, a jet was secured. Fury asked for Shuri to come as well as the jet, in case Dr. Cho needed some help with whatever state you’d be in when they found you.

Bucky was tired of saving you. Well, he wasn’t tired of the saving. He’d save you every single time until his last breath. But he knew how exhausting it must’ve been to constantly be in the position to be saved. 

He didn’t say a word to anyone while on the jet. Bucky’s thoughts were clear, and he just needed to know you were safe.

Stepping into the Hydra base, everything was (once again) running too smoothly for Bucky’s liking. There was a lot more resistance than the mission they’d just returned from, including finding some hostages to extract. 

“I spotted—” Natasha said before she grunted. “She’s not herself, I’m gonna need some backup here.”

“On my way to you now,” Bucky said as he ran up the stairs, meeting up with Sam and Steve halfway. Opening the staircase door, the three of them saw you with Natasha pinned down. You immediately looked towards them given the noise, your eyes blurred off. 

You weren’t you.

Steve and Sam ripped you off Natasha, though Bucky was frozen.

“Buck!” Sam said as he dodged another one of your swings, a lot more fast-paced than your usual combat. “A little help here!”

You dodged Steve’s shield, swinging it back at him at full force before knocking both Sam and Natasha down. Bucky picked up your combat moves, which hadn’t changed much. They were just faster. He managed to pin you to the wall, your back against his front as you wrestled with his grip before he pinned you to the ground below him. 

You were staring completely through him, not a single hint of recognition in your eyes of who he was. Natasha handed Bucky the restraints while Steve injected you with the sedative. Soon your struggles had calmed down and your eyelids got heavy. You stared up at Bucky with a haze before your eyes closed. 

Everyone was silent. The entire trip back. Placing your sleeping body on the gurney, Bucky wasn’t satisfied. There was no certainty that Hydra didn’t completely wipe you again, or even tested something new. But regardless of the circumstances, Bucky couldn’t breathe properly. He couldn’t think properly. He wanted to smash every wall in the building and then fight everyone that was in it.

You shouldn’t have been there. You wouldn’t have been there. And somehow, Bucky Barnes blamed himself for letting you out of his sight again.

—

You had woken up fairly quickly once the sedation wore off, eyes wandering in confusion to your location. A man walked in, noticing your consciousness, and his eyes widened immediately.

He looked like Captain America, but you couldn’t possibly be with the Avengers… right?

“Shit,” he muttered to himself though you clearly heard him. “You’re awake– um, are you okay? Do you need anything? I should get Cho and Shuri, I’ll– I’ll go do that.”

He exited the room just as fast as he entered. You looked around again, knowing you were in some sort of hospital, but if Captain America was here, you assumed it wasn’t just any hospital.

The man returned with two women, one in all white and one in all black.

“Hi, Y/n,” one of them greeted. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, is that okay?”

You nodded, still a bit disoriented. 

“Good, do you know where you are?”

You looked back at the man who stared at you nervously. You shook your head.

“Do you know who I am?”

You shook your head again.

“Okay, well I’m Dr. Cho,” she introduced, her face indicating she realized something. Probably that you had no idea what was going on and were probably freaking out. “This is Shuri,” she pointed to the other girl next to her. “Do you know who this is?”

She pointed at the man again. You hesitated, but you nodded.

“Could you tell me his name?”

“He’s—” you stopped yourself before sighing and looking back at Dr. Cho. “He’s Captain America.” 

She nodded before someone else entered the room. Someone you definitely recognized.

“I heard she was awake, I’m sorry,” he said before he locked eyes with you. 

The Winter Soldier. The man Hydra had been so adamant about finding.  They wanted you to bring him back to them, and that they’d kill you both if you betrayed them. Your eyes watered before you started sobbing and looked back at Dr. Cho.

“Are— are they gonna kill me? They said they were gonna kill me if I didn’t find him, I—”

They all looked at you with pained eyes. 

“You’re safe here, Y/n,” Dr. Cho reassured as Shuri ushered the men outside. “I promise. We’re going to take good care of you. Rest up for a bit, you have a lot to process. I’ll be back.”

— 

Bucky couldn’t stop the tears from falling down his face.

“She’s terrified of me,” he said as Dr. Cho stepped outside.

“This confirms what we tested when we drew her blood,” Shuri tried to instill some hope in him. She’d seen Bucky through traumatic moments while removing the triggers from his head, and somewhat considered him a friend. An ally, at least. “The serum they injected into her bloodstream somehow removed the memories up until before she came here.”

“And the antidote is in progress,” Dr. Cho added. “She’s going to be okay, Sergeant.”

Bucky felt like he was drowning. “All of this could have been avoided.”

“Buck—”

“No, Steve,” Bucky interrupted. “She wasn’t ready. She didn’t even know what they were doing, this could have been avoided—”

“We have to focus on the now, Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri stepped in. “We cannot undo the past 24 hours, but we can give her all of our effort to bring her back.”

Thirteen Days Later

You’d adjusted to being in the hospital room by the time they told you they had to put you under again. The past two weeks had been somewhat okay.

The entire Avengers team came to tell you stories about your time with them. Natasha brought pictures. Sam did, too. Tony told you about all your late-night lab visits while he worked on new tech, and Steve told you about the times you discovered new music together. Everyone else brought you your favorite snacks, games, everything. 

The only one really missing was Bucky. Everyone decided it was best for them not to be the ones to recount your relationship, but they assured you he was your favorite.

It was nice not feeling as alone as you did before; some of the pictures and stories felt familiar, but you couldn’t remember them much. You were kind of used to not remembering things, Hydra never really gave you the chance to. But now it was all you longed for.

“This antidote was made fairly quicker than the last one, but I indeed haven’t slept for three days just for you, Y/n,” Shuri joked, the corner of your lip tugging up.

The last serum had apparently brought some of your memories back, but the side effects were a lot more prominent than Shuri had anticipated. You felt excruciatingly sick and even tried to fight your way out of the med bay before eventually passing out. They hadn’t even gotten the chance to sedate you.

So Shuri went back to the drawing board.

“And you’re sure this one will work? Bring my memories back?”

“If it doesn’t, it’ll be back to the lab again,” she answered, though not definitive. “Not to worry, though, you are still in good hands. Dr. Cho and I have worked very thoroughly on this. I even asked for help from a friend in Boston.”

She wiped the inside of your arm with an alcohol pad, finding your vein to direct the antidote right into your bloodstream.

“You should fall asleep in a few minutes,” she informed you as the darkness eventually pulled you in. 

Four Days Later

Your eyelids felt pretty heavy, so forcing them open was a task you fought hard to complete. Looking over at your surroundings, you could tell you were in the med bay. The last thing you remembered was trying to fight off that Hydra guard, but he eventually won that battle. 

You looked over at the side of your bed, Bucky sleeping in a cot that was way too small for him, making you smile to yourself.

You wondered what had happened since you’d been knocked out, though you were sure it wasn’t anything pretty. Stirring in the bed, Bucky shot his eyes open.

“Y/n?” He said, his voice raspy with a hesitancy you didn’t recognize.

“Hey,” you pushed a smile in his direction. “I feel like we keep ending up in this predicament.”

“Y-you remember me? Remember us?”

Then realization struck you. The serum. It was that serum. The one that always ripped everything away from you in an instant. Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded, Bucky sighing in relief as he made his way toward you.

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said as he kissed your head, but you couldn’t stop the lump in your throat from pushing the sob out. Bucky enveloped you in his arms, shushing you and rubbing your back as you let everything out.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you sobbed into his chest. “I shouldn’t have gone, you were right, I wasn’t ready for a Hydra mission—“

“Hey, hey, no,” he grabbed your face in his hands. “You’re ready, okay? You didn’t know, you had no idea they were waiting for you. That isn’t your fault.”

“But I didn’t need to go, I could have just waited for you—“

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he cut you off again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I only care that you’re okay and that you’re you. That you’re here and you know me and I can love you as I always have. That’s what’s important to me right now. Not Hydra.”

You nodded as he pulled you in again. The pit in your stomach was something you couldn’t shake, but being back in Bucky’s arms always made everything feel better.

“I should get Dr. Cho,” he said after a few minutes. You gripped him tighter as he started to pull away, prompting him to kiss the crown of your head. “I’ll be right back, doll. I’m not going anywhere.”

Reluctantly letting him go after a few breaths, he looked back at you before stepping outside, returning momentarily with Dr. Cho and Shuri.

They asked you the same questions they did when your memory was gone, though you didn’t remember that, of course.

“Your vitals are outstanding and you seem to be in good shape,” Dr. Cho assured as she reviewed your chart. “Shuri will stay in the compound for a few days in case you have any adverse reactions to the antidote again. But for now, we’re putting you on bed rest, Agent Y/l/n. It’s good to have you back.”

You nodded in appreciation at the both of them, knowing they were probably exhausted.

Going back to Bucky’s room was a relief for both you and him. You were happy to be back in his arms again, and he was happy that you were back to being yourself.

Bucky felt a little selfish for not going to see you as often while your memory was still gone, but he didn’t want his sadness clouding your recovery. If he had to make you fall in love with him all over again, he would. No matter how much it’d hurt him to know you didn’t remember your time together.

Your body was still pretty exhausted so falling asleep as soon as you showered and hit the bed was no difficult task. Bucky watched you intently, not knowing what could follow the antidote working.

The truth of the matter was that Dr. Cho and Shuri were doing their best to reverse the effects of the serum Hydra gave you to suppress your memories, but they weren’t entirely too sure how far it’d go back.

It could be up until the moment you first became an Avenger. It could be up until you were captured by Hydra. It could be all of your memories at once.

Bucky was nervous. He had dealt with those Hydra nightmares for years; hell, he still got them sometimes even now. He was always grateful you didn’t have to constantly relive those experiences, but now, you might have to.

Any stir or change in your expression as you slept left Bucky waiting. He wasn’t sure what to anticipate, but he wanted to be there when it happened.

Only he wasn’t prepared at all. 

You started to stir a bit, murmuring incoherently but Bucky’s attempts to slowly wake you weren’t working. You got more impatient in your sleep, sweating bullets to the point that your pajamas had gotten soaked. 

Bucky ripped the covers off of you as he cradled you in his arms, stroking your face softly to try and wake you up.

“Y/n, please,” he spoke softly yet sternly. “Wake up, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you, open those eyes for me, please.”

Steve and Natasha heard your screams as they progressed, rushing into your room as Bucky was watching you with intense eyes, anxious that he couldn’t pull you out. He didn’t even notice Natasha rushing to get Shuri, who came in and asked Bucky what was going on.

“She won’t wake up, she’s trapped in whatever nightmare she’s having, I—“

“It’s okay,” Shuri reassured. “Lay her on her back.” Bucky followed Shuri’s directions as she uses her Kimoyo beads to scan your heart. “Her heart is beating very rapidly, we’ve got to wake her up soon or she could go into cardiac arrest from whatever it is that she is dreaming about.”

Bucky was trying not to completely lose his composure, picking you up in his arms as they all rushed to the med bay. By the time they had settled you in a bed, your nightmare had gotten even worse. Tossing and thrashing so much in the bed that even the sedatives weren’t working, Bucky couldn’t even feel Steve’s hand on his shoulder. You were sobbing uncontrollably, pleading for help as they restrained you against the bed, Shuri injecting something else into you that eventually calmed you down. 

Your breaths were still coming in at a fast pace and you still hadn’t woken up. As your heart rate settled into normal territory, Shuri looked over at Bucky and gave him a nod. 

Walking into the room, Bucky saw your face still contorted, a few groans coming from your lips as your breathing evened out. He pushed your hair away from your face, covered in sweat, noticing your eyes start to flutter open.

“Y/n?” 

Tears immediately crowded your vision as you started sobbing again, Bucky’s heart breaking in two. 

“Y/n, sweetheart, look at me,” Bucky pleaded with you, caressing your face softly. “You’re safe, you’re okay, I’m here.”

“I- I killed them,” you choked out. “I killed them, I killed them.” You repeated the sentence about a dozen times, looking Bucky in the eyes. “Thirty-six.”

Bucky looked at you confused, Shuri’s eyes held the same emotion. 

“What’s thirty-six?” Bucky asked though he assumed he knew what you meant.

“People, Bucky. Thirty-six people. I killed thirty-six people.”

Two Days Later

You hadn’t gotten a nightmare since the one that confirmed your worst fear. Bucky couldn’t sleep as you slept, not knowing if you’d ever get another one. 

He’d watch you the whole night, not that he ever minded.

Thirty-six. All the kills were volunteer Hydra agents, so Bucky didn’t mind all that much, though you were forced to kill them for their ‘betrayal’ to Hydra. But with the twenty from your rescue mission, that was fifty-six people you’d killed. When you hated the idea of killing even one.

Part of him was relieved they never got far enough to make you kill anyone that would land you in the same position he was in, needing a pardon that so many people didn’t even think he deserved. 

Watching you wake up, Bucky looked down at you as you opened your eyes to look back at him. 

“Hi,” you whispered, drowsiness hinted at in your tone. “I missed you.”

Bucky chuckled. “I’ve been here the whole time, baby.”

“I know,” you sighed, snuggling closer to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Bucky shook his head. “What are you apologizing for?” 

Sitting up slightly, you positioned yourself on your stomach, resting your arm on Bucky’s chest which you then rested your head on.

Biting down on your lip, you exhaled once more. “I know I scared you the other night, and before you say it wasn’t my fault, I know that none of this would’ve happened if I had just stayed here until you got back from your mission.”

“Baby…”

“I mean it, Buck,” you emphasized. “I don’t want you to see me go through what you went through. You don’t deserve that. It’s triggering, it’s scary, and you’ve come too far to be swallowed by all of that fear again.”

Bucky couldn’t quite gather the motive behind your words, but he’d hoped you didn’t mean you wanted to break things off. He found that it would eat him alive far worse than anything Hydra could do to him.

“You’re the air I breathe, you know that?” He said in a whisper. “When you’re hurt, I’m hurt. When you’re sick, I feel sick. It doesn’t matter how close or far I am, it doesn’t matter if we’re together or separate. You’re everything to me. Hydra doesn’t scare me anymore, they can’t reach me anymore and I meant that.” 

He cupped your face in his hands. “My priority is you. I need to make sure you’re okay. Fury knew that Hydra was looking for you and even if it was your decision to go into that base alone, I could never blame you for doing what any one of us would have done.”

Leaning into his touch, you kissed the palm of each of his hands. “I love you, Bucky. So much.”

“I love you, too, Y/n. More than you know.”

Three Months Later

First mission back, and you felt better than ever before.

The last three months were far from easy. You had gotten nightmares here and there, Bucky immediately comforting you, especially during the worst ones. He hated seeing you sob, but he knew that the trauma from Hydra never truly left. 

Word had gotten out about the files the organization had kept on you, the public finding that you’d killed for them, which some didn’t take lightly. They weren’t nearly as ruthless as they were with Bucky, your work with the Avengers already overshadowing your actions under Hydra’s authority. Steve got you talking to Dr. Raynor as mandated sessions when the government had meddled its way into your history with Hydra. It took a lot of negotiating and convincing that you weren’t under Hydra’s control anymore; the government was worried they’d have a repeat of the Winter Soldier on the streets, but Steve and Tony managed to assure them that there was nothing to worry about. Seeing the two of them in a united front definitely helped your case. 

After a few sessions with Raynor, you could see why Bucky hated the woman. You swear you had told him she should be fired.

“Yeah, baby, I’d have to agree with you on that one.”

You, Bucky, and Steve were back in Siberia, at the same location from the events three months prior. 

“Okay, bomb’s in and ready to detonate,” Bucky alerted Steve through comms.

“Let’s blow this place to hell,” Steve responded.

As you all evacuate and boarded the jet, Steve hit the detonator once you were at a fair distance so the shock wouldn’t hit the quinjet. You stared off as the building fell into pieces, sighing to yourself mostly in relief. 

“You okay?” Bucky asked, rubbing a comforting hand on your knee. 

You looked over at him and gave him a warm smile. “I will be.”

Leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss on his lips, Bucky kissed your temple afterward. He knew you were being sincere, and he was glad that you were okay.

—

It feels good to be back! I’ve had this in my drafts for a few months and finally got the motivation to finish it. I hope you enjoyed it; thanks for reading!

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dear Y/N

My darling diamond, I look into your eyes, deep within them, there is a light that guides me like a star in an ocean of darkness. Your lips are a melody, every time they move, my heart dances to the music of your words. Every touch, every whisper, every glance is like a brushstroke on the canvas of my soul, revealing a masterpiece. Your laughter is a symphony, echoing through the chambers of my heart, filling every corner with its sweet harmony. Your smile is the sun that lights up my world and illuminates even the darkest of days. I cherish every moment I spend with you. Your voice is a lullaby that soothes my mind and eases my soul. Every sound that escapes your lips is a gentle whisper that caresses my heart like a soothing breeze. Your presence is a comfort that wraps around me like a warm embrace, providing solace in times of turmoil. Your touch is a flame that ignites fireworks in my heart.

I love the way your nose crinkles when you laugh, and the way your eyes light up when I compliment you. I love how comfortable we are with each other, and how even in silence, we can communicate. I love the way our bodies fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle that were made to fit together. I love the sound of your voice, whispering in my ear, and the feel of your skin against mine. I love the way you make me feel safe like I can be my true self around you without fear of judgment. I love the way you always know exactly what to say when I'm feeling down, and the way you support me in everything I do. You make me feel like I can conquer the world. I love the way we can spend hours talking about the smallest things, or just sitting in silence, enjoying each other's company. I love the way you challenge me to be a better person and the way you believe in me, even when I sometimes doubt myself. I love the way you touch me, whether it's a gentle caress or a passionate embrace, your touch ignites a fire within me, a fire that only grows stronger with each passing day. I love the way you surprise me with little gestures, like bringing me my favorite food or leaving a note on my pillow. I love waking up next to you, and watching you sleep, feeling the steady rhythm of your breathing, and the warmth of your body next to mine.

I love the way you can make me laugh, even when I'm feeling like the world is ending. I love the way you understand me, even when I don't understand myself. I love the way you know all my quirks and little habits, like how I take my tea and how I sometimes talk to myself when I'm deep in thought. I love the way you don't mind my messy bedhead in the morning, and the way you always seem to know exactly what I need before I even realize it myself. I love the way you surprise me with small gestures of love, like leaving notes around the house, or bringing me my favourite food when I'm having a rough day. I love the way you listen to me when I talk, and the way you remember even the smallest details about our conversations. I love the way you make me laugh, even when I'm in a bad mood. You have a way of lighting up any room you walk into, and I love how easy it is for me to get lost in your eyes.

I love the way you make me laugh, no matter what mood I'm in. I love the way your presence can instantly calm me down and make me feel at peace. I love the way you make me feel seen, heard, and understood. I love the way you share your dreams with me, and how you encourage me to follow my own. I love the way you look in the early morning light when you're still asleep, and how you look at me when you wake up and see me lying next to you. I love the sound of your voice when you sing, even if you don't think you're any good at it. I love the way you smell after you've just gotten out of the shower and the way your hair looks when you let it air dry. I love the way you dance when you think nobody is looking, and the way you get flustered when I catch you. I love the way you hold me when we watch movies like I'm the most precious thing in the world. I love the way we can share our deepest fears and darkest secrets without judgment. I love the way we can be vulnerable with each other, and know that we will be met with love and understanding. I love the way our personalities match so perfectly, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. I love the way we make each other better, and how we grow together. I love the way we can be silly and childish one moment, and mature and rational the next. I love every moment I spend with you, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

I love how you make even the mundane seem extraordinary. I love how you can turn a simple errand into an adventure. I love how you can make me feel at home, even when we're far away from our own. I love the way you make me feel like I'm the only person in the world when we're together. I love the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking like I'm the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. I love everything about you, and every day I fall in love with you more. I love the way you accept me for who I am, my flaws and all. I love the way you push me to be my best self, even when it's uncomfortable. I love the way you support me in pursuing my dreams, and how you celebrate my successes with me. I love the way we can balance each other out, like yin and yang. I love the way you accept my quirks and eccentricities, and love me even more, for them. And most of all, I love the way you make my heart skip a beat every time you walk into the room. I love the way we can spend hours talking about nothing, and still manage to have the most meaningful conversations. I love the way we can finish each other’s sentences, and how we sometimes even speak at the same time, almost like we’re thinking the same things. I love the way you make me feel like I'm the only person in the world when it's just the two of us. I love the way you make my heart skip a beat with just a smile or a touch.

I love the way you make every moment special, no matter what we're doing. I love the way you make me feel like the only person in the world when we're together. I love the way your touch makes my skin tingle, and how your smile brightens my day. I love the way you push me out of my comfort zone, and how you never let me settle for mediocrity. I love the way you inspire me to be the best version of myself, and how you believe in me more than I believe in myself. I love the way you show your love through small gestures. I love the way you surprise me with my favorite treats. I love the way you leave me sweet notes in unexpected places. I love the way you hold my hand and give it a gentle squeeze when you know I'm anxious. I love the way you remember my favorite songs and play them when we're together. I love the way you make me feel loved and cherished, every moment of every day.

There are countless reasons why I love you, and I could write a thousand more. You are my rock, my safe place, my sanctuary. You are the one who makes me feel whole. You are my reason for happiness, my source of strength, my best friend, and my lover. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know whatever happens, I want to face it with you by my side.

With all my love always and forever, Anthony

[scrollonso]

26 plus marcmarc pretty please

(now this is 57,, sorry for the confusion 😿)

The warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across Marco’s childhood room. The space was cozy and inviting, decorated with posters of racing legends — Marc included — and shelves lined with model cars and trophies. It was a world apart from the chaos of their usual lives, the calm before the storm of the next race.

Marco and Marc lay together on the bed, the familiar comfort of the room wrapping around them like a soft blanket. Marco had insisted on bringing Marc here after a particularly grueling race, wanting to share a piece of his past and find solace in the simplicity of his childhood surroundings, he figured Marc needed it with how stressed he's been over the bike.

Marc was nestled against Marco, his head resting on Marco’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Marco had his arm draped over Marc, fingers gently stroking his hair. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the curtains and the distant sounds of the neighborhood coming to life outside.

“I understand why you keep coming back,” Marc murmured, his voice almost a whisper. “It's nice here. Your parents are nice. I wish I could stay.”

Marco nodded, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “I still to come here to escape, to just be myself without all the pressure.”

Marc shifted slightly, looking up at Marco. “I can see why." He hummed, setting his head back down and they grew heavier "Peaceful.”

Marco smiled, a touch of nostalgia in his eyes. “Yeah, it is. I'm glad there's enough room for both of us.”

Marc nuzzled closer to Marco, his expression softening. “Just enough, I wanna be close like this forever.”

Marco chuckled quietly, his fingers gently caressing Marc’s arm, absentmindedly feeling the dip of his scar. “Marc," He started, the Spaniard humming in response "I want you to know that no matter how crazy things get, you have a place here with me. In this room, in my life.”

Marc’s eyes glistened slightly, touched by the sincerity in Marco’s words. He snuggled closer — if even possible at this point — pressing his face against Marco’s chest, finding comfort in the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Sometimes I worry,” Marc admitted softly, “that there isn’t enough space for us both. For me to be who I need to be. For you to be with the academy. For us to be together.”

Marco tightened his embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Marc’s head. “There is always room for us, amore. You come first, y'know?”

Marc smiled, his worries easing as he felt the warmth and security of Marco’s words. He closed his eyes, savoring the peace of the moment, knowing that as long as they were together, they could face whatever challenges came their way.

The room was bathed in a soft, golden hue as the sun continued its slow descent. The gentle light seemed to wrap around them, creating a cocoon of comfort. Marco’s steady breathing and the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat became a soothing lullaby, helping Marc’s mind to drift into a serene state.

Marco, too, felt the weight of the day lift as he held Marc close. He relished the simple, tranquil joy of having Marc in his childhood space, away from the pressures and demands of their lives. His fingers continued to trace slow patterns on Marc’s skin, feeling the tension melt away with each pass.

As the minutes passed, the room grew quieter, the distant sounds from outside fading into a gentle hum. The warmth of Marco’s embrace, combined with the softness of the bed and the comforting familiarity of the room, made it hard for either of them to stay awake. Marc’s breathing became more even, his body relaxing completely as he let go of the day’s stresses.

Marco shifted slightly, adjusting their position so that he could hold Marc more securely. He pressed a tender kiss to Marc’s forehead, his own eyes growing heavy as sleep began to claim him as well. He marveled at how peaceful everything felt, how perfect this moment was.

Within moments, both of them were drifting into sleep. Marc’s head nestled into the crook of Marco’s shoulder, and Marco’s arms wrapped protectively around him. The room, once bustling with the echoes of the stress outside, was now full of stillness and warmth. Full of love.

[drewharrisonwriter]

One Day at a Time - Ch. 3: A Busy Day

Pairings: Dave York x Female Reader

Series Summary: A man washed ashore, with no memory, and no name, finds a home and a life in the middle of nowhere.

Author's Notes: This story has been sitting in my drafts for over a year, waiting for the perfect moment to see the light of day. It wasn't until recently that I found the inspiration to finally finish the last two chapters, thanks to the incredible Keri @absurdthirst. Her story, "Washed Up," struck a chord with me—it had such a similar plot and concept to what I had in mind, and it reignited my passion to bring this piece to life. Keri's writing has been a constant source of solace and inspiration, and I'm endlessly grateful for her creativity and the way she crafts stories that speak to the soul. If you haven’t checked out her work, you absolutely should!

Warnings: Please be aware that this story contains elements of violence, explicit sexual content, and pregnancy. Additionally, there are medical inaccuracies throughout—because I don’t work in the medical field, so please take it all with a grain of salt. Enjoy the ride, and thank you for reading! 😊

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over Dave’s room. You stirred, nestled against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting sound in the early light. For a moment, everything felt peaceful, almost surreal, as you recalled the events of the previous night—how naturally things had unfolded between you, how right it had felt to be with him.

But the tranquility was short-lived. The distant sound of commotion from outside gradually pulled you from your reverie. You frowned, sitting up slightly, straining to hear. It was the animals—something wasn’t right.

“Do you hear that?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern as you looked over at Dave.

He was already awake, his brow furrowed as he listened. “Yeah… sounds like trouble.”

You quickly slipped out of bed, throwing on your clothes as you headed for the door. Dave was right behind you, pulling on his pants and a shirt before following you outside.

The scene that greeted you was chaotic. The chickens had somehow gotten out of their coop, scattering across the yard, while one of the cows had wandered too close to the fence, its head stuck between the slats as it tried to reach for some grass on the other side.

“Oh no,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you assessed the situation. “How did this happen?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dave said, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s just get things under control.”

Together, you sprang into action. You grabbed a bucket of feed, using it to coax the chickens back into the coop while Dave worked to free the cow from the fence. It was a hectic start to the day, the two of you working side by side, but despite the stress, you couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly you and Dave functioned as a team.

“Got it,” Dave grunted, finally managing to free the cow. The animal gave a disgruntled moo before lumbering back to the pasture.

“Thanks,” you called over, catching your breath as you secured the coop door, the last of the chickens safely inside. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

He flashed you a small, tired smile, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Glad to help. Besides, I think I owe you after last night.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I think we’re even.”

As the morning wore on, you both found yourselves immersed in the tasks of the day. There was always something to do on the farm, whether it was tending to the animals, checking the vegetable garden, or handling the endless paperwork that came with running the place. Normally, the routine was comforting, but today felt different—busier, more intense, like there was an undercurrent of tension that neither of you could quite place.

By the time the afternoon sun was high in the sky, you noticed Dave beginning to slow down. His movements were more deliberate, his expression pinched as if he was in pain.

“You okay?” you asked, pausing in your work to look at him.

He nodded, but the slight grimace on his face told a different story. “Just a headache,” he said, trying to brush it off. “I’ll be fine.”

But as the day wore on, it became clear that this was more than just a simple headache. Dave’s condition worsened, the pain in his head growing more intense, his hand occasionally pressing against his temple as if trying to hold the pain at bay. You caught him stumbling slightly, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he tried to steady himself.

“Dave, you need to rest,” you insisted, concern lacing your voice. “You don’t look good.”

“I’m fine,” he tried to argue, but the strain in his voice was evident.

“No, you’re not,” you said firmly, moving closer to him. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

Reluctantly, he let you guide him back to the house, his steps unsteady as you led him to the couch. By the time you got him to sit down, he was pale, sweat beading on his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

“What’s happening?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why does it hurt so much?”

You didn’t have an answer, panic rising in your chest as you grabbed your phone and called for an ambulance. “It’s going to be okay,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “Help is on the way.”

As you waited, you sat beside him, holding him against your chest, feeling helpless as he fought against the pain. He didn’t say much, his breaths coming in shallow pants, but you could see the confusion and fear in his eyes.

When the paramedics arrived, they quickly assessed his condition, noting the severity of his symptoms. “We need to get him to the hospital,” one of them said, motioning for the stretcher.

You followed them to the hospital, your heart in your throat as they rushed him inside. The doctors took over, running tests, asking questions you didn’t have answers to. All you could do was wait, pacing the sterile hallway, praying for good news.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached you, his expression serious but not without hope. “He’s stable for now,” he said. “But we need to keep him for a few days to monitor his condition. He’s experiencing severe migraines, which could be a result of past trauma.”

“Past trauma?” you echoed, your voice trembling slightly.

The doctor nodded. “It’s possible that the migraines are being triggered by something in his past—memories that his brain is trying to process. We’ll need to keep him under observation to see how he responds.”

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. “Can I see him?”

“Of course,” the doctor said, leading you to his room.

When you entered, Dave was lying in bed, his eyes closed, a look of exhaustion etched on his face. You approached quietly, taking a seat beside him, your hand resting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you said softly when he stirred, his eyes blinking open slowly.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Sorry about… all this.”

“Don’t apologize,” you said, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “The doctors say you’re going to be fine. They just need to keep you here for a few days.”

He nodded weakly, his gaze distant, as if he was lost in thought. “I keep seeing… flashes,” he said after a moment, his brow furrowing. “Like… memories. But they’re all jumbled. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.”

“What kind of memories?” you asked gently, leaning closer.

He shook his head, wincing slightly at the motion. “It’s hard to describe. There’s… a tower, I think. And a fight. Someone was there, someone… dangerous. But it’s all blurry, like a dream that’s slipping away.”

You listened, your heart aching for him as he struggled to make sense of the images in his mind. “Do you recognize anyone in these memories?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus. “Maybe… I don’t know. It’s like trying to grasp smoke. Every time I think I’ve got it, it just… disappears.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “It’s okay. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. “What if… what if these memories are bad? What if they’re things I don’t want to remember?”

You squeezed his hand gently, offering him a comforting smile. “They’re still a part of your past that might help you remember the rest….”

He nodded slowly, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “Thanks… for being here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You stayed with him as long as the hospital allowed, but eventually, you had to leave, promising to return the next day. The ride home was a blur, your mind occupied with worry for Dave and the strange flashes of memories he’d described.

In the rush and stress of the day, with everything happening so fast, the Plan B pill slipped your mind completely. Between worrying about Dave and dealing with the chaos on the farm, it simply didn’t cross your thoughts again as you made your way home.

The next few days passed in a haze of worry and exhaustion. You visited Dave everyday, but each time you saw him, it seemed like he was slipping further away, lost in the maze of his own mind. The doctors assured you that his condition was improving, but the frustration of not knowing what was real and what wasn’t weighed heavily on both of you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dave was cleared to go home. The ride back to the farm was quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When you finally arrived, the familiar sights and sounds of the farm seemed to have calmed the man sitting beside you in the car. 

That evening, after settling back home, you both found yourselves sitting on the porch, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink as the sun dipped below the horizon. The silence between you was comfortable, but there was an undercurrent of something unspoken—something that had been lingering since Dave’s return from the hospital earlier that day.

Dave finally broke the silence, his voice low and thoughtful. “You know… I’ve been thinking. Maybe what happened between us, that night… maybe it triggered something in my head.”

You turned to him, curiosity and concern mingling in your gaze. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his eyes distant as they fixed on the treeline in the fading light. “When I was in the hospital, I told you that I started getting these flashes—like memories, but they were all mixed up. There was this one… a tower, a fight… It felt real, but at the same time, it was like a bad dream. And it keeps repeating…”

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. “Do you remember anything specific? Anyone?”

He shook his head, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “Not really. Just… fragments. Faces I can’t place, voices that I recognize but can’t make out the words. It’s like trying to put together a puzzle with missing pieces.”

You reached out, placing your hand gently on his. “That must have been terrifying.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “It was. But what scared me the most was that I don’t know if those are real memories, or if they’re just my mind playing tricks on me.”

You squeezed his hand a little tighter, offering him a warm, encouraging smile. “Whatever they are, they don’t define who you are now. You’re here, and you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

His gaze finally met yours, the hardness in his expression softening. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

You chuckled softly, a hint of self-deprecation in your tone. “I try. But I’m serious, John… Whatever those flashes are—if they are really memories—good or bad, they’re just pieces of the past. They don’t have to control or define your present and your future.”

He was quiet for a moment, mulling over your words. “I guess I’m just worried,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “What if remembering changes the way I feel about everything? About us?”

Your heart swelled with a mix of emotions as you held his gaze, your eyes searching his for understanding. “Then we’ll deal with it when it happens. But right now, we’re here. And I care about you… a lot.”

A small, tentative smile tugged at his lips. “I care about you too. More than I thought I could, given… well, everything.” You both chuckled, the sound lightening the mood just a bit, a shared acknowledgment of the complicated history between you.

You leaned in closer, your voice soft and tender. “Then let’s not let fear of the unknown ruin what we have right now. We’ll take it one day at a time, remember?”

He nodded, his expression relaxing as he gently pulled you into his arms. “Yeah… one day at a time.”

As you rested your head against his chest, you felt the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your ear. The worries and uncertainties were still there, hovering in the background, but for now, you were content to let them be, trusting in the moment. You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his embrace, the feeling of being held so close, so securely.

But then, as the quiet deepened and the night settled in around you, Dave tilted your chin up, his gaze searching yours with a newfound intensity. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with a tension that neither of you had acknowledged until now.

Slowly, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your lips as he hesitated for just a fraction of a second, as if giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was as tender as it was filled with unspoken promise.

When you finally parted, breathless and slightly dazed, you kept your foreheads pressed together, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. The unspoken words, the fears, the hopes—they all hung in the air between you, but the kiss had said more than words ever could.

“You know,” you began with a teasing smile, “the last time we started making out like this, you ended up in the hospital the next day. Maybe we should put a warning label on our kisses.”

Dave laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh? You’re saying kissing is bad now?”

You grinned, poking him lightly in the ribs. “I’m just saying, I’d like to keep you out of the ER for a while. Can’t have you back there… the nurses swoon over you...”

He shook his head, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours. “Well, maybe I should kiss you again, and if I do end up back in the hospital, kiss me again… in front of the nurses.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “Wow, that’s pretty bold!” You laughed. 

His smile widened, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “Oh, that’s something I want to do.”

Before you could respond, he captured your lips in another kiss, this one filled with a light-hearted passion that made your heart skip a beat. 

Any lingering tension melted away as you both laughed softly against each other’s lips, the playful banter turning into something sweeter, more intimate.

Next Chapter 👉🏻

[mrsgrimshawe]

Soo I wrote my first ever fan fiction. I’ve had this idea for some time and thought hey, why not try to write this down. Please be nice, English isn’t my first language!! Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Sirius Black (after Azkaban) x female reader (fluff mostly)

Warnings: slight smut, talking about death

Word count: 1.2k

- MINORS DNI -

Summary: After you and Sirius wake up randomly almost every night for weeks, not being able to ever sleep through, you made a habit of meeting up in the kitchen drinking some tea and sharing lighthearted conversations. One fateful night, you have something to confess to the man.

Title: Midnight Tea and Confessions

The dimly lit kitchen of Grimmauld Place was a sanctuary for those restless souls who sought solace in the quiet of the night. For the newest member of the Order of the Phoenix, it became a refuge from the haunting memories of the day and the uncertainty of tomorrow.

Y/N, a young woman in her twenties with an air of resilience about her, found herself often in the company of her dear friend, Nymphadora Tonks. Their laughter echoed through the old house, bringing life to its somber corridors. But it was in the quiet moments, when the clock struck midnight and sleep eluded them, that she found herself drawn to another.

Sirius Black, once the prisoner of Azkaban, now roamed the halls of his ancestral home with a freedom tinged with the weight of his past. His eyes held the wisdom of someone who had seen too much, yet there was a spark of mischief that refused to be extinguished.

Their encounters in the kitchen began innocently enough, a shared pot of tea and idle chatter to fill the silence. But as the nights stretched on, their conversations grew deeper, touching on topics both trivial and profound. It was in these moments that Y/N found herself opening up to Sirius in ways she never thought possible.

As the night draped its veil over Grimmauld Place, the heavy silence enveloped her like a suffocating shroud. Sitting across from Sirius Black in the dimly lit kitchen, she found herself unable to shake the weight of her troubled thoughts.

"Sirius," she began, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room, "I need to tell you something."

He turned to her, his eyes filled with concern. "Of course, love. What's on your mind?"

She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. "I've been having these nightmares," she confessed, her voice trembling with emotion. "About... about our friends. About them dying."

Sirius's expression softened, his hand reaching out to gently grasp hers. "I'm so sorry, darling," he murmured, his voice thick with sympathy. "It must be terrifying."

"It is," she admitted, her eyes brimming with tears. "But there's one dream in particular that haunts me. It's... it's about you, Sirius. It feels so real."

His breath caught in his throat, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. "Me?" he echoed, his voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, her throat tightening with emotion. "Yes. In the dream, something happens to you, and... and I wake up crying, feeling like I've lost a piece of my heart."

Sirius's eyes softened, his hand moving to gently brush away her tears. "Oh, love," he murmured, pulling her into a comforting embrace. "I promise you, I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be by your side. Besides, you can always knock on my door at any time of the night, if you need me. I barely sleep anyway. And I’ll be glad to help you.”

Y/N buried her face in his chest, his words a balm to her wounded soul. "Thank you, Sirius" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Their embrace lingered for a moment longer, a silent exchange of comfort and reassurance. Then, with a tender smile, Y/N leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Sirius's cheek.

He returned the gesture with a loving smile, his eyes meeting hers in a silent understanding. And as she rose to her feet, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks, she knew that no matter what the future held, she would always find solace in the unwavering presence of Sirius Black.

Y/N returns to her room, lying down not able to shake her thoughts about the handsome gentleman that was Sirius Black. She knew there had been feelings for him, but oh boy were they growing strong. Nevertheless she was finally able to sleep with a smile for once this time. Dreaming about her secret love interest, wondering if he might find her to be too young to be a serious option for him.

One fateful night, another restless one at that, as they sat side by side at the worn wooden table, she felt a stirring in her heart that she couldn't ignore. With a courage born of desperation, she turned to Sirius, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the night.

"Sirius, there's something I need to tell you," she began, her words hanging in the air between them like a delicate thread.

He turned to her, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. "What is it, love?" he asked softly, his hand reaching out to brush against hers.

"I... I think I've developed feelings for you," she confessed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “No… I know I grew feelings for you. I’m sorry. I had to let you know. It’s okay if you can’t return them. I would understand.”

For a moment, there was silence as Sirius processed her words. Then, with a tenderness that took her by surprise, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands.

"I've been feeling the same way," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

In that moment, all pretense was cast aside as they leaned into each other, their lips meeting in a fiery kiss that ignited a passion neither could deny. His lips felt soft against her own, still warm from the tea he was drinking before their little conversation. He kissed her with so much love, gentle but still passionate. Their hands roamed eagerly, exploring each other's bodies with a hunger that bordered on desperation. “Sirius,” she broke the kiss for a moment - “not here” she breathed against his lips.

Eventually, they stumbled to their feet, their desire leading them up the darkened hallway to Sirius's bedroom. There, they shed their inhibitions and gave in to the undeniable pull of their attraction.

In the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, they made love with a fierceness that left them breathless and spent. And as they lay tangled together in the aftermath, Y/N knew that she had found something truly special in the arms of Sirius Black.

For the first time in months, they both fell asleep peacefully, in each other’s arms, wondering if this was even real.

The next morning, Y/N woke up first, still finding herself in his bed. It was very early, no need to get up just yet. Her eyes lingered on his peaceful looking face, he was sound asleep. Breathing slowly, steady. She couldn’t help but smile, thinking about last night. He treated her gently, lovingly, still full of passion and lust. It was everything she longed for in such a long time.

She started caressing his hair, then his cheeks. Then looking at his bare chest which was exposed, thinking about what the meaning behind those appealing tattoos might be. He started smiling, eyes still closed.

“Good morning beautiful” he said in a raspy voice. “Good morning handsome. It’s still early. We can stay here a bit longer, if you’d like.” she answered. Sirius opened his eyes, looking deeply into her big Y/E/C eyes. “There’s nothing I’d love more.” He pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead then taking her chin between his fingers to lift it up, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

“Rest some more, my love. I will still be here when you wake up. Let this be the end of your nightmares. And even if they return, I will be here to distract you from them.” he said, pulling the blanket over your bodies, you both drifting back to sleep.

They had no idea she would be the reason the Black Family wouldn’t die with Sirius.

[myillusions]

Noisy Sunday (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Summary: You've entered a mindset you're unsure how to come back from, your own emotions drowning you in a pool of despondency. Joel is there, trying to help you pull away from it.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: HEAVYYY angst, fluff, cursing, large descriptions of depression, anxiety, dark thoughts, comfort, undefined age gap (reader is of age), kind of dark themes its very somber

A/N: hi hi!! oh my, im so sorry i havent posted in so long. life has been so busy lately with exams and work, but here's this whilst i struggle with that and writers block! sorry (not rlly) that its so angsty, THANK YOU SO MUCH to anyone who reads, i hope u enjoy lovelies! also please please PLEASE i cannot stress this enough; if any of the warnings i've stated make you uncomfortable, please DO NOT read this!! and for anyone who may need to talk, my messages are always open <33

It’s peculiar, you think. How it eats away at you, gnawing down against supple flesh when you’ve already been forcefully spiralled onto the floor. Most say it’s like greeting an old friend; and you agree. It’s almost like reuniting with a family member whom you rarely see at a gathering. The one which then continue to pester you with inquiries you don’t have the vigour to answer. 

It comes in a moment. Sometimes for no reason at all. It reminds you of the subject which stops your musical theatre production mid-way, shining a glaring light towards you whilst you stare wide-eyed back; a deer caught in the headlights. Your character starts to break down around you whilst you’re stood onstage, its pieces cascading along your incapacitated physique like thrashing water which you’ve just dived into from a twenty-foot jump, limbs flailing by your head until the inevitable crash through the translucent liquid stings at your skin.

It attaches itself like a shadow to you, not always so visible yet constantly looming from around your shoulder. It never really made sense to you, how the more the light shines against this tenebrosity, the darker the shadow it casts. Shading you. Smothering you. A copiously adamant fire which refuses to be extinguished, its embers dancing up past the hillocks perched in the distance and threatening to singe anyone who comes near.

It made you yearn for a reposeful night, where the stars shimmered like pools of water in reflection to the sea rather than your own tears surging down your cheeks. Where a modest zephyr tapped gently at your swaying hair, twirling locks around its invisible finger gingerly. Where the whole world paused on its axis, bringing forth those few moments of pure solace. Nothing to bother you, and nothing for you to bother.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” A husky voice drawls out from beside you after the door to the front patio squeals open on its hinges, revealing Joel; adorned in his sleepwear of blue plaid print trousers and a black long-sleeved sweater. Considering his normal attire of worn-down jeans and a permanent scowl, he looked almost ridiculous, but in an admiring sort of way. His inquiry forcefully dragged you from the dazed state you had found yourself caught in, your eyes hauling themselves to face him laboriously slow, like it was strenuous to do so. You blinked a multitude of times to attempt to clear your head of its cloudiness.

You gave a harsh swallow before you even attempted to reply, “Not long. I just needed some water and air.” You lied right through your teeth, wincing towards the factor that a glass of water was sitting idly beside you on a tall and round wooden coffee table, still full to the brim with the reflecting liquid. Joel didn’t look convinced. To be honest, you had maybe caught a total of eight hours of sleep in the past three or four days, if lucky. Your body drums with craving for rest at the deprivation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to relax for long enough to lull into even a light rest, thoughts striking their way through forcefully in the canvas of your head, ripping downwards to leave their mark fiercely, consistently reminding you that pain is not an easy thing to ignore.

If you could say the apocalypse surfacing has brought you anything, it’s that it’s made you tired. So tired. But there are two types of tired, you suppose; one is a dire need of sleep, the other is a woeful need for peace.

Joel exhales past his nose harshly, his head dipping downwards for a moment, maybe in disappointment- you’re not sure. Either way, your stomach lurches with guilt, and you turn your head to face forward once again and pay rigorous attention to each detail lining the Jackson street in front of your given accommodation. The street was entirely empty, the only sound to be heard within earshot being the light whisk of the breeze against your supple skin, reddening the tip of your nose and turning your fingertips numb. You should’ve guessed Joel wouldn’t believe your white lie. Knowing him, he likely noticed you retracting the sheets from your legs and his arms strewn around your waist at just the start of the night, before tiptoeing down the stairs as quietly as possible to weave through the kitchen then to the front patio, where you have been set for a couple of hours now.

You’re both silent for multiple pregnant pauses, and you have to fight the urge to nibble nervously against your bottom lip, apprehension swirling within your chest.

“Do you want to come back to bed?” Joel tries cautiously, to which you visibly tense. You tilt your chin downwards dubiously, before giving an almost indistinguishable shake of your head from side-to-side.

Joel doesn’t give a response to your discreet answer, but instead pushes himself forwards from where he’s leaned against the doorframe to move past you and settle against the uncomfortable wooden chair opposite your own. The chair creaks as he perches himself there, the only intruding sound to the tranquillity before it swallows you both whole once again, thudding against the thin air which is gradually turning palpable. It’s suffocating.

“…Would you-“ He starts, his gaze turning upwards from the patios surface to face you, “Want to talk about it?”

Your heart throbs agonisingly at his offer, your fingertips tracing the wrecked linen material of your pants. You try a small, consoling smile, one that barely reaches your eyes; your head lifting to face him.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You murmur back, sombrely. You weren’t fibbing about this, though. There was no explanation as to why you were feeling this surge of perplexing emotions. It appeared as if it were just a protruding root sticking awkwardly out from the soiled terrain, its only task to trip and surprise anyone who were unfortunate to tread along. Even if you wanted to talk with Joel about it, you weren’t sure how to put it into words. It’s fine, until it’s not; a surprise.

“I can’t help you if you won’t let me.” Joel speaks, his voice softer than usual, as though he was afraid for what your reaction would be.

You bottom lip purses as you bite down against your tongue roughly, almost drawing blood to quarrel against the melancholy rising in your throat. You’re not sure how to reply- you don’t wish to reply. You would rather descend into the quietude than face this situation. It’s not that you liked the silence, no- you actually despised it. Silence gave any thoughts swirling around the midst of your head permission to inflate and rise to the surface, bobbing up and down there, whilst its limbs helplessly thrash around, wishing to get back to shore.

It's only after you notice that Joel is still peering over at you expectantly do you swallow gratingly, opening your mouth to answer.

“Well, I- It’s not anything, I’m fine-“

“Why can’t you just stop for once in your life?”

“What?” You ask, your voice cracking at its edges. Your brows shoot upwards at his words, taken aback.

“You lie to me, act like you’re okay- when you’re so clearly not and you won’t even let yourself realise that you need help.” He speaks sternly, eyes firmly trained on you- whilst you can’t even meet his gaze, eyesight shifting to anywhere but where he’s sat opposite you.

You weigh over your words, a trepidatious lump forming inside your throat. Your vision blurs at its corners, your brain fogging over with despondency.

“Please don’t make me say it.” You eventually speak again, your voice strained painfully, as your head drops down in a swaying motion, defeated.

Joel doesn’t reply, but instead reaches forward, gently placing his hand atop your own where its set against your thigh. He gives a gentle squeeze, urging you to blink back up towards him, where he’s peering at you with a softened gaze; and you can’t fight off the tears that instantaneously build up against your vision, attempting to rip past your shields and barriers which are gradually toppling down around you.

“I am barely holding on.” You admit, your shoulders slumping forward with the heaved effort of speaking without letting a cry rip through in interruption, causing a few teardrops to plunge down the canvas of your cheeks. A harrowing headache thrums against your forehead, your field of view only worsening, but not enough that you can’t see the way that Joel’s expression is overcome with visible empathy, which only results in making your stomach lurch more.

“And I-“ You exhale sharply, “And I can’t even tell you why. I just- there’s this thing, and it’s weighing over my shoulders. I can’t shake it.”

“You don’t have to find the perfect words. Just tell me what you’re feeling. I’m here.” He encourages softly.

“It’s like- like I’m here, but I’m not. I’m away from my body, watching over myself; whilst continuously being dragged backwards by this unknown force- pushing me somewhere I think I know. It’s like déjà vu, when you walk into a room, and you don’t where you know or remember it from, but you can feel that you recognise it. I-I’m angry, I’m sad and I’m confused. Maybe I just have a built-up resentment against the world.” You speak rather sullenly, but try to mask it with a small, tight-lipped smile towards Joel once your brief monologue comes to an end.

“I can’t say I know exactly what you’re feeling. But… I don’t want you to push me away. I want to try and help you, in any way that I can. But I can’t if you won’t allow me to. And… I don’t want it to seem like I’m tryin’ to coddle you, or anythin’. It’s because- y’know, I care about you.” Joel speaks steadily, his gaze shimmering with uncertainty.

Your heart lurches downwards in repentance with his words, as though you were liable for your own shifting thoughts and feelings. It bruises you; how much you’ve allowed your emotions to take hold, guiding the wheel in a swerve as rubber burns against asphalt distastefully. How far you’ve come, just to end up here. You know you need help. You’re just unsure how to accept any. But you know that you wish to breathe again. To hold out a hand to loved ones. To be afraid of death again. To have excitement at the idea of different winding roads. To feel free as a light breeze washes against your skin, clearing any distress from you in a wave. You wish to dream again. This longing is what powers your words onwards, as you peer over at Joel, vulnerable,

“I need help.”

Joel’s hand raises from the back of your palm, and instead encompasses your icy fingers with his warmer ones, intertwining them. He searches your eyes for a moment, and once he discovers a bold outline of authenticity, he promptly nods towards you.

“Together?”

“Together.” You reply.

It evokes a memory of a familiar oak tree. One you were very accustomed to when you were younger, before the outbreak. As a child, you used to wonder down the street to the park perched at the end after every school day. Outlining the grounds, just opposite a wooden bench, was an oak tree. Tall and mighty; confidence resonating from its stance, daring anyone to meddle with it. Thick arms branching from its moss-coated wood, whilst the lime-coloured leaves bundled against each other cascaded the surrounding distance in shade. You would lay beneath it, basking in the frigid yet reassuring atmosphere it created, hair messily sprawled out around your head. You would frequently come to the spot to just rest within the constant spiralling of the world, watching as the tree’s features changed with the reoccurring seasons; its leaves shifting from green to gold, from gold to ginger, then from ginger to cherry, and then falling, oscillating down to the soil with the wind, before repeating its cycle. It was almost soothing, watching its colours shift around with the change of the earth, whilst resolutely remaining staunch in its attitude, its branches a prime symbol of vigour. Changing, but still remaining what it is; strong. You deeply envied that, and hoped- wished, that someday you would build yourself up to resemble that oak tree.

"We drink the poison our minds pour for us and wonder why we feel so sick." - Atticus

Noisy Sunday - Patrick Watson

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