#paving a path for the ones that come after 🥺🥺

[cebwrites]

"captain" (how heavy is your title)

a/n: why is it so god damn hair to find gifs of pre-ts shikamaru my GOD gifsearch on this site has gone down the drain 😭

oc | gen word count: 1.3k

At some point during the timeskip, Shikamaru's put on a three-man team with Tae as their jonin captain, he's a genius but still lacks experience after all. The other two members of their temporary team feel bad for the kid and give their consolations quietly away from Tae before the mission starts.

Shikamaru finds out later that this is apparently because their captain has apparent bad blood with Shikaku. He's understanding to a degree, but whatever his father did really doesn't have anything to do with him, and he's understandably frustrated.

Regardless, the mission proceeds as intended, if not a little awkward at times.

When they get a moment to rest, Shikamaru approaches Taeru and asks if it's really such a hassle to work with him. Tae agrees for a moment, but follows this by saying that it has more to do with the fact that the higherups agreed to send a kid on an S-rank mission, genius prodigy or not. He's irked at the fact that they're throwing Shikamaru into the deep end immediately, and so soon after their failure to bring back Sasuke, too.

Tae then talks a little louder to say that he wouldn't begrudge someone for something as petty as their parents' faults, enough for the other two to hear and stiffen as they roasted fish over the fire.

Shikamaru gets to have a moment alone with his captain later on when, while on watch, Tae notices him tossing and turning in his sleeping back, unable to catch a proper wink of rest. The older man humors his junior by talking about the first mission he was sent on when he made chunin, Shikamaru complains at first but he eventually pipes down to listen. It didn't seem like Tae was going to stop talking, anyway.

The mission was a disaster waiting to happen. Tae's subordinates were all older and more experienced than him, scoffing at the fact that they had to take orders from a twelve year old. While the younger two eventually came around when Tae had a chance to show his capabilities and how reliable he was as a leader, a boy and a girl in their late teens, the eldest remained stuck in his ways - a man in his early twenties who hated the idea of being bossed around by some shrimp regardless of rank.

His stubbornness lead to an injury that lost him a leg and put an end to the man's shinobi career.

At the Hokage's office upon return, Tae was berated viciously by his wife. She spared no expense about how it was terrible to put her husband's life in the hands of some snot-nosed kid in the first place, lamenting that they had a newborn at home and now they had no way to support their family so how was he going to take responsibility for his actions?

Tae remained expressionless throughout her tirade, nothing out of the ordinary, though the only thing he could offer was his apologies - going as far to get down and prostrate for his failure as a leader. The two remaining members from their team came running in just as things started to heat up, begging to explain their sides of the story and come to their captain's defense.

It was right that they did, considering the way Tae felt Genma's chakra started to churn when his subordinate's wife lifted her foot in an attempt to stomp on his head while prone. If Lord Third and the accompanying Hokage guard noticed it too, they made no comment.

With the commotion dying down and mission reports fully filed away, Tae was dismissed. So was Shiranui, apparently, his shift was picked up by a young Iwashi since he was told to blow off some steam before he could come back.

Genma spends that time trying to cheer Tae up. When Tae brought up that he didn't have to go so far as to let his killing intent seep through, and luckily the man's wife was too far away to notice, Genma scoffed. Ruffling the boy's hair, he'd say that there's no way anyone would watch their kid brother get treated like that and not get mad.

Their little moment gets interrupted by the other chunin put under Tae's care for that mission. They're only a little older than Genma, but he levels a warning glare at them too, standing between them and his brother - Tae's been through enough today.

When they clarify that they're here to apologize on behalf of the third member and his wife, Gen's still skeptical, but Tae steps to the side to hear them out. They're out of breath and stumbling through their words a bit, but the point gets across; conveniently leaving out the screaming match they had at the hospital with the wife that morning.

Though the connection is still frayed, they say that he wants to meet up in person to apologize if Tae was willing to give a jerk like him the time of day.

Shikamaru asks if they managed to smooth things out and Tae nods, watching the sun slowly start to creep over the horizon and faintly register the chakra signatures of their other team mates waking up. Ah shit, they hadn't slept yet. The other two would have to cover them and gather information in town today instead.

Hopefully they'd take their time.

Shikamaru's next question comes paired with a yawn, inquiring if they were still friends after everything. Tae's quiet for a moment, still staring off onto the horizon, before he tells the young chunin that though he smoothed things over with the older nin, his peers closer in age died in the line of duty some time later under different captains.

The boy's lax posture tenses immediately, Shikamaru actually covers his mouth as his sleepy gesture turns into a cough, then clearing his throat, and finally; a quiet apology.

Tae's rebuttal comes easily, like he's had this conversation many times before. The life of a shinobi was tied inextricably to death - whether the blood on one's hands belong to enemy nin, the painful passing of a fallen comrade, or their own. It was unavoidable in this line of work, most people in it were aware; others painfully so.

But the casual way his temporary captain speaks of his former comrades in passing sends a chill up Shikamaru's spine, knocking the sleep from his mind. He was restless before, but he was sure he wouldn't be able to get to bed now.

Upon their return to Konoha, things settle back into their regular rhythm; though with the addition of Taeru popping in semi-regularly to ask Shikamaru to pass on miscellaneous documents to his father. Shikamaru knows there's something going on underneath the surface, but he respects Kirin enough not to pry directly. As for his dad? Well, Shikaku never really was good about being up front about those kinds of things anyway, always finding one excuse or another to slip out of the conversation.

The only thing he'd gotten out of his dad was a surprised look when he asked Shikamaru when he'd gotten so close to a jonin from Ibiki's task force, then a withering response about how Shikaku had work to attend when Shikamaru started to prod for details, considering his dad worked for T&I too. Man, his old man was such a drag sometimes.

The sinking feeling of Tae's words stick with him for a while, though Shikamaru wouldn't really learn the full scope of his grief until Asuma's death years later - he remembers how everyone just barely defeated the Sound Four with their lives in tact - but sometimes, he'd see Taeru talk to the older man running a soba shop near the Nara district and spar with a kid that could feasibly be around the same age as him.

The clouds in his mind begin to part.

[shirefantasies]

Hello😊

May I please request an imagine or headcanons with female Reader asking Galadriel to be her first kiss?

Thank you😊

Let’s do it this is so cute 🥺 sorry for saving this for so long but HAPPY SAPPHIC SEPTEMBER 🥳👭

Warnings: minor angst, implications of past abuse/trauma (nothing explicit)

The Weight of a Heart- Galadriel x F!Reader

Outsiders were not bidden to witness the trail to Lothlórien. At least that was what you had always heard, but the elves who led you deep into the forest’s heart did not bind you in any way, simply surrounding you on every side. They likely sensed the tension in your body, the panic heaving your sides and rounding your eyes. How unsafe every fiber of your body felt.

At any rate, there was no returning home. Not that you ever intended such. Not now.

Silence overtook your walk, leaving your mind racing as to if this march led to punishment or safe haven. Either one, unfortunately, would explain the lack of blindfolding.

It was some trek later that you were brought before the Lady herself, her words having echoed in your mind before you laid eyes upon her form.

You have endured much pain to come here. No longer. No further suffering awaits in this place.

Clad in a gown of flowing white adorned with silver that flashed against the gold of her hair, Lady Galadriel’s small smile complemented perfectly the smooth, seductive tone of her voice, the way it caressed your mind’s ear.

Shaking your head, you fought the rush of thoughts, that which had led you to such a place of pain. And that which could be heard by none other than their subject.

“You are welcome here.” These words, spoken aloud this time, had you wondering again, this time if she had in fact heard.

Reddening and swallowing, all you did was lower your head in thanks.

~

The flet you were led to seemed far beyond anything you’d earned, already lavished with a bowl of fruit, flowers, furniture intricately crafted of pure white wood, and silvery silken drapes hiding it from the outside world. You almost asked if they were certain had it not been for the expression of quiet surety you’d seen upon the Lady’s face.

It was people like her who had landed you in trouble in the first place, and yet you never could stay away, could you?

Shaking your head, you bared your feet and set down your bag, your weapon, all your possessions carried upon your back. The weight of the world- your world at least- quite literally on your shoulders.

You hadn’t realized how tired you truly were until you lowered yourself onto the provided blankets and slipped almost immediately into darkness.

~

Stars glistening overhead greeted you when your eyes fluttered open, blinking each glinting point into focus. You had awoken on your back, blankets fallen aside from your body despite them being the softest you’d ever felt. Somehow the woodsy-smelling surface of the flet was not cold to the touch of your feet, simply smooth with a near lack of temperature at all. Was even that magic?

Yawning, you realized you were far too awake, thoughts deep and aware as you stood, and took to the steps spiraling down your tree for a walk.

Cool finally reached your soles as they landed upon the soft mossy forest floor, moving forward as if of their own accord. After all, you knew not where you went, only that you must go. The woods were quiet, the only activity reaching your ears being the sound of a faint wind rushing through branches and skittering leaves where there were paving stones.

That path was even colder, but flatter and more satisfying of sensation. Following the cool white rocks, you lost yourself in the silent echo of half-risen thoughts until a voice cut through the ephemeral reverie.

“Not many choose to take the path.”

Galadriel. The Lady herself strode from near a tree, somehow seeming to glow even in the dark of night. Her bare feet pale against the moss they struck and blending in more closely with the paving stones. She crossed to your side, hands folded almost expectantly.

“Where does it lead?” You asked, hoping your voice was not as timidly hoarse as it felt.

“To the garden,” Galadriel replied simply, a smile growing across her fair lips.

With that smile and a small incline of her head, she urged you onward, stepping in line with you. Your body tensed at the soft brushes of hers, even the flutter of her sleeves against the lightly bared skin of your forearm. Mentally, however, you felt a strange peace descend upon you, no apprehension of what she could hear from your thoughts. After all, all you felt was a flush of joy to have the Lady's company, to be there by her side.

Eyelashes fluttering, Galadriel smiled wider at you when your eyes slid over to meet hers. Surely she had heard. Your heart swelled at the thought of such bringing her joy. Nothing was said on the walk, but nothing needed to until you both entered the garden.

Paths of the same paving lead through patches of wildflowers, most of them with pointed, milk-white petals. Alternating throughout these were tiny yellow blossoms, their leaves a brighter green and their faces as small suns. Yellow suns and great white shining stars illuminated by trails of little lanterns.

You could feel the light opening across your features, parting your lips in a smile and raising the apples of your cheeks. "This is beautiful. ...Well, of course it is. All the makings of your people are. I cannot thank you enough for taking me in."

"This beauty is yours to share," Galadriel responded, voice low and serene as ever, "I saw much of your life, or rather how little you were allowed to live."

Her words pricked your eyes with tears, but you nodded as she continued, speaking bandages to soak into the depths of your heart's wounds.

"None of this weight was yours to bear, only that which resided in the hearts of others. And yet yours became the heaviest of them all. I would seek to renew the lightness I see pouring from those cracks. Ask of me what you will." Her voice lowered to a hush. "Perhaps I wish it just as much."

"What I want," you answered honestly, heart hammering as you inhaled in an attempt to calm it, an attempt which utterly failed in the face of such grace, such an intense blend of kindness and desire in those blue eyes as you had never seen, "Is acceptance. Is love. I do want to live. I simply do not know how. I have never been cared for by... by someone as I would seek it from. Never even shared a kiss."

Breezes blew, ruffling the faces of the white star flowers and little suns alike, casting a piece of hair astray onto Galadriel's shoulder. She glanced down at it, back up at you, and with another spike of your heart you stepped a bit closer to brush it back off. Your fingers gentle upon her hair, light as they ever-so-slightly caressed her shoulder. She caught your hand, smiled this time with a glint of teasing at the way your lips parted in surprise.

"I wish you all those experiences. I offer them to you."

"Then would you grant me a kiss, My Lady?"

"Call me Galadriel," she whispered.

The low, sultry tone of her reply was all it took for you to lean forward, closing the gap completely, your skirt fluttering against hers. As you had always suspected, the lips of a maiden so fair were the softest, sweetest of touches upon yours, moving slowly and temptingly against them. Galadriel's hand slid down your arm, gripping your hand as the other held you close by the waist, your chest flush against hers. There you stood in the garden, surrounded by the gentle perfume of flowers and all other sensual pleasures you could desire, such beauty blooming in the dark of night and through the darkness of your heart. Lightening the weight beyond measure, buoying your chest with the gentle, fluttering touch of electric hands.

What could you say other than that you felt alive?

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What say y'all to a part 2? ;)

[rosenallies]

I'd love that 🥺

yes thank u for biting I’ve wanted to write more for this ship since the last one I wrote <3

——

Jane breathed deeply, smoothing her pink dress before she knocked, a bout of anxiety coursing through her as she twiddled with the skirt, so far from her usual dark attire but she knew the light pink would look pretty next to whatever yellow ensemble her date would don. Coupled with the yellow hair clip she’d stolen from Nymphia the last time she spent the night, Jane felt pretty and lighthearted, but more nervous than she’d ever felt before a date.

Though, the moment Nymphia opened the door to her apartment, she was like a breath of fresh air, knocking the wind from Jane all at once.

“Hi,” Jane said, her thick accent coming through like it always did when she was nervous, thrusting a bouquet of yellow roses into Nymphia’s hands. She cleared her throat. “Sorry, my accent always comes through when I’m anxious.”

Nymphia laughed, making Jane’s heart skip a beat. “Hi, Jane, and yes, I know” she said softly, sniffing the sweet smelling roses and taking Jane’s hand. “You don’t have to be nervous though, this isn’t a normal first date. We’re already girlfriends, who just happened to have not had a real first date.”

The sentiment was simple, but it worked in making Jane’s nerves disappear. She fake gasped, feigning offense. “So those drunken nights where we sat on the floor and ate takeout after fucking for hours weren’t dates to you?”

Nymphia laughed, throwing her head back. “ of course they do, this is just our first date outside of that little routine. You look beautiful, by the way.”

“So do you, a vision in yellow,” she laughed, comfort suddenly blooming in her. This was nothing to be nervous about, it was technically a first date but a first date with Nymphia who was just about as comforting as a soft warm blanket and a cup of hot tea on a cold day.

“Well, you know me, mellow in yellow some might say.”

Jane rolled her eyes lightheartedly. “Are you ready to go? I’ve got a very special day planned for us.”

Setting her flowers on the side table near her front door, she grabbed her things and took Jane’s arm, chattering idly while they walked to Jane’s car.

Nymphia’s easy chatter carried them all the way to their destination, a pretty botanical garden where butterflies fluttered about, landing on the people who walked through.

“Oh Jane,” Nymphia swooned, about to jump out of the car in excitement, “I’ve always wanted to come to a place like this!”

Jane blushed, a light dusting of rose petal pink over her cheeks. “I remember you telling me that a while ago.”

Standing on her tip toes, Nymphia pressed a gentle kiss to Jane’s cheek. “Everyone’s wrong about you, you know? You’re totally not a bitch.”

“Wow, that’s the thanks I get for making your dream date come true? I get it,” Jane chuckled, shaking her head.

“I’m just kidding, I love it. Thank you for taking me here. Should we go?”

Hand in hand, Jane led Nymphia to the entrance of the garden, paying for both of their fees and leading her inside to the paved walking path.

“This really is beautiful,” Nymphia said after a bit of comfortable silence while they walked.

Jane shrugged. “It’s nice, but really, it’s you I can’t stop looking at.”

Just as she said that, a big yellow butterfly landed on Nymphia’s head, fluttering it’s wings like it found a home there.

“Hold still,” Jane said softly, pulling out her phone and snapping several pictures, setting her favorite as her Lock Screen, “there,” she said proudly, showing Nymphia her new background.

“Hey, wait, that’s not fair. Now you’ve gotta let me take one of you!”

As of on queue, a blue butterfly landed on Jane, right on her shoulder.

“Your turn to hold still,” Nymphia giggled, pulling out her phone and repeating what Jane just did, choosing her favorite photo carefully and setting it as her phone’s Lock Screen.

They stayed at the garden as long as they were allowed, watching the sun set from one of the stone benches. Nymphia laid her head on Jane’s shoulder, signing contently. “This has been a perfect day.”

Jane found her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Do you think we could have more of these?”

“I sure hope so,” Nymphia replied whistfully, “you know, someday I want to take you to Taiwan. It’s really beautiful there and I think you’d love it.”

‘Someday’ made Jane feel a bit anxious, briefly worried that there wouldn’t be a ‘someday’ with Nymphia but the look on Nymphia’s face and the gentle way she kissed Jane’s bare shoulder told her otherwise.

“I think I’d really love that.”

[lizzie-is-here]

ANOTHER IMPORTANT THING FOR A NEW SERIES PLS RESPOND!!!

i really appreciate any feedback on these yall 🥺🤍

but as i finish up girls just wanna have fun, i need to plan the next series! i have some new ideas, and i’ve scrapped a few others. like i said, pls feel free to tell me ur thoughts! <3

option one: like the dawn

ship: stucky x winged! reader

genre: angst to fluff

summary: you, steve rogers, and james “bucky” barnes have been best friends since kindergarten. when they go off to war and you pave your own path into the army, you never expected to lose them both. when you go missing on a search for their bodies and get taken by HYDRA, you become their latest experiment. the angel of death and the winter soldier are an assassin duo that haunt seven decades, but when you encounter a blond man on a bridge 70 years later, it stirs something you forgot was there.

basically a love story spanning the decades, with lots of reunions and relearning things about the people you love, and learning that while some things change, you’ll love them anyways.

preview:

As you three entered the science fair, you spun around, dress swishing at your knees as you took in every invention on display. Even if Bucky was the nerd of your little trio, you could still appreciate good science.

However, when you turned back to smile at your best friends, the shorter one was gone.

“Oh my god. Bucky. Where’s Steve?” The brunet whipped to his side, his hat nearly flying off his head in the process. Another reminder that he was leaving soon.

“Holy shit. Steve?” he yelled, peering over the crowd.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whispered. Before you could panic any further, the blond stepped out of the crowd, a pamphlet in hand. “Holy shit, Steve, you can’t run off like that!” you chided, checking him for any bruises.

“You know she’s right, punk,” Bucky added, frowning.

“Why do you two feel the need to chaperone me like I’m some kid?” Steve asked, eyeing you and Bucky as the bright lights of the different booths sent spots across his vision. You rolled your eyes, setting a hand on your hip.

“Because, Stevie,” you sighed, drawing out your words. “You have little-to-no survival instincts, and your mother would smite us if we let you run around on your own.”

Bucky nodded. “C’mon, Steve. I even got you a date.” You whipped towards him, eyebrows raised.

“You did? How?”

“I’m just that good, doll.” He winked at a passing girl, who practically swooned and waved to him.

You scoffed, lightly smacking him on the chest and taking Steve by the hand. “Let’s go, before Buck manages to leave a trail of broken hearts behind him and you have an asthma attack.”

option two: hades and persephone

ship: bucky x plant powers!reader

genre: comedy, fluff

summary: you’ve been in hiding in NYC ever since your escape from a HYDRA facility. in all honesty, it hasn’t been too bad. your power over plant life has made it laughably easy to establish yourself as a small-time florist in new york. you’ve thought about trying to join the avengers, but you’re far from prepared when the whole group comes busting into your store after a bad mission involving a lot of poison ivy. turns out you hadn’t been hiding very well, they were just being polite. (no civil war)

basically a superhero comedy showcasing some fun plant-based powers. isabela madrigal who???

preview:

Carefully making sure no one was watching, you ran a hand over the wilted orchids, watching as they returned to life with a mere touch. You smiled, setting the pots up on a shelf, perusing your store and keeping every plant in top shape. Flowers and houseplants alike lined your shelves, all perfectly healthy without a dead leaf in sight.

You sighed, relaxation taking over your mind. You felt your powers tingle, and when you glanced over to the mirror, you were met with a scattering of lavender flowers growing in your hair.

Frowning, you began to brush it out, waving a hand and dissipating the petals on the floor. Just as you managed to remove the last one, your door burst open with a loud bang, sending you jumping and causing begonias to bloom in place of the lavender.

You shrieked, ducking behind a shelf to furiously remove the pink-orange blooms.

“Sorry! Sorry, miss. You don’t have to hide, we know about your powers,” a voice said. How did they know? You’d been so careful to keep it all secret.

You peeked out from behind the shelf, eyes widening when you saw who was standing in your shop.

The Avengers. Still in their mission gear, covered head-to-toe in rashes. Poison ivy. You were sure of it.

“What the hell happened to you guys?”

option three: lonely is a man without love

(THAT’S RIGHT MOON KNIGHT BABY)

ship: marc spector + steven grant x avenger! assassin! reader (no jake i’m sorry i just don’t have enough screen time to know how to write him😭)

genre: comedy, fluff, slight reverse comfort bc episode five

summary: when you went to london to check out rumors of a new vigilante superhero, you were very shocked to only find a mild-mannered gift shopist. you befriend him nonetheless, and are just about to call the tip a bust when one night, you hear loud noises in his apartment next door. when you break in to check on him, you don’t find your shy friend. instead, you come face-to-face with a snarky mercenary and his… giant skeleton bird? (good ending to endgame, reader can see khonshu for reasons tbd lol. comedic effect??? idk)

basically a girlboss x malewife fic with angst. reader is badass and steven and marc are sweethearts with unresolved trauma.

preview:

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” you said, holding a hand up. Steven- no, Marc, sighed exasperatedly, waiting. “You are a mercenary?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Just answer the damn question!”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Yes.” You sighed, leaning against the bookshelf.

“So what? Was Steven just an alibi?” you asked. You really hoped not. One, because he was sweet and kind and an absolute nerd. And two, because if he wasn’t, then that meant that Marc’s dedication to a cover was better than yours. And that simply would not stand.

“No, it’s more complicated than that. He’s, like, a facet of me. Another personality.” You perked up, visibly relieved.

“Oh, so he’s an alter? Like, you have DID?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“Do you… Do you not know the name of your own personality disorder?” His silence spoke volumes. You chuckled under your breath, watching him stammer to try and recover from his fumble. You removed the gun from your waistband, preparing to set it on the table. In an instant, Marc had your wrist in a death grip, attempting to jostle the gun from you.

On instinct, you twisted under his arms, kicking out his legs. He rolled over and stood back up, kicking the gun from your hands.

You took a moment to analyze his fighting style, scanning him as he circled you. He was good, yes, but his form was sloppy. Basic US military training, most likely nothing specialized.

Taking one out of Nat’s book, you leapt up, wrap your thighs around Marc’s head, and flip him over, holding him in place as he thrashed on the floor.

“Shut up, holy fuck you are so damn loud Jesus fucking Christ,” you hissed. Eventually, he tapped your leg, wheezing.

“Truce,” he sighed. You rolled off of him, nodding.

“Yeah, truce.”

option four: the soldier and the scythe

ship: bucky x ex hydra! reader

genre: heavy angst, trauma, hurt and some comfort, healing

summary: all you’ve ever known are the walls of HYDRA. you’re the first joint project between the red room and HYDRA, an assassin with a reputation for perfection. you’ve been modified to resist conditions that would kill anyone else, trained to evaluate every situation and to slip away without a trace. you don’t have any weaknesses. except for your long-time partner. the winter soldier. and when a mission goes south and a man on a bridge stirs up memories in him, you’re stuck in the middle of a war between what you’ve been trained and brainwashed to do, and the man you trust more than yourself.

basically a deep dive into what happened to bucky barnes in HYDRA that turned him into the winter soldier and the lingering hold it has on you both. warning: will discuss abuse, PTSD, torture, dehumanization, and possibly sexual assault. it’s gonna be a heavy one.

preview:

Your room was quite literally the only place you had any semblance of privacy in HYDRA. If you could even call it a room. Four concrete walls, bright fluorescent lights that went out at 12:00, a tiny cot, a toilet in the corner with a sink and tiny mirror.

No cameras though. And that was all you could hope for.

With a sigh, you stripped off your tactical suit, grabbing a thin shirt and pants. You slipped them on, running a bent and broken comb through your hair. Not for your appearance. Hell, HYDRA had trained any care for your looks out of you years ago. But untangled hair was easier to braid back, as you’d found after they’d chopped out a large chunk of your hair one time.

You spot a glimpse of the mirror. Dark, tired eyes stare back at you. Your skin is sunken and dull, although the cut across your nose had stopped bleeding and was already almost fully scabbed over.

You tore your gaze away from the machine in the reflection, opening your door slightly. A freedom not afforded to most HYDRA soldiers. But as one of HYDRA’s prized experiments, well, you got a few privileges.

“Как ты думаешь, куда ты идешь? [Where do you think you’re going?]” a guard asks. You kept your eyes low.

“В гостях у Солдата. [To visit The Soldier.]” He begrudgingly nodded, and let you pass. Silently passing down the hallway, you stopped outside his door. Him. The Winter Soldier. Winter, as you knew him. One of HYDRA’s oldest and best assassins. They’d managed to drain most of the humanity out of him a long time ago. But not all of it.

You knocked.

He opened the door instantly. You both schooled your expressions as you stepped inside and he closed the door. Luckily, HYDRA didn’t care what it’s favorite killers did behind closed doors. As long as it didn’t interfere with your work.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Even though his memories were as jumbled as yours, he knew English was his first language. It was what he preferred to speak.

“I will be.” He sat down on his cot and you joined him, the rough fabric bending under the combined weight. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you closing your eyes.

A moment of reprieve in all of the blood.

[softxsuki]

Heyo, I have request for you 400 follower event, if that's alright. :) Could I get a drabble for 707 with Gn!Reader using prompts 8, 40 & 70. Either fluff or comfort is fine (I can't decide lol). Also! Can I be 🖌️ anon? 🥺👉👈 Have an amazing day/night/etc! :D

Saeyoung(707) Enjoys The View From A Mountain with Reader

8: "You're an idiot, but you're my idiot"

40: "I wish I had a camera right now"

70: "Nope, I'm not letting you go"

400 Follower Event Rules & Masterlist (Requests for this event are now Closed </3)

Pairing: Saeyoung (707) x Gn!Reader (MC)

Warnings: none :D

Genre: Fluuuuuuffffff

Post-Type: Drabble

Word Count: 760

Summary: In which Saeyoung takes you hiking and you both enjoy the view from the top of the mountain.

[A/N: Hello anon! Thank you for participating in my 400 follower event! And yes, you can be 🖌️anon. Welcome to the emoji anon family <3. Can't wait to hear more from you :). I hope you enjoy!]

“Are we almost there?” you ask Saeyoung as you both continue your hike, hand in hand.

He had invited you out to a hiking trail on a mountain to spend some time together, away from the hustle and bustle of your town. It was quiet, chilly, but beautiful on the trail. You were enjoying the chance to spend some quality time with him.

“Yeah, we should be there soon. Just a little longer,” he smiles in your direction, tugging you closer to him.

You nod in understanding and continue to walk by his side, shivering into your coat as a chilly breeze blows by. It’s quiet for a few moments, only the sound of your feet hitting the paved path echoes around you, until he breaks the silence.

“What do you think of me?”

“Huh? What do you mean? Where did that come from?” you question him, taken aback by the sudden question–did he not know how much you cared for him?

“Just answer it,” he whines, “For fun.”

You take a moment to think it over before finally giving him your answer.

“Hmm, well you’re definitely handsome, incredibly kind, funny, selfless,” you pause for a moment as you look over at his beaming face at your words, “and well, you’re a bit of an idiot too.”

“Heyy.”

You laugh, having way too much fun teasing him, “You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs, content with being labeled your idiot.

You place a swift kiss to his lips, confirming your feelings for him and continue to walk by his side, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as you lean into him. He’s a blushy mess, evidence of how easily he unravels from a single touch from you.

You both continue to walk until you finally reach the top of the mountain, a sightseeing area in view. The sun setting on the horizon sits perfectly in front of you. Orangey, pinkish, reddish hues paint the countryside laid out before you. Saeyoung stands a bit behind you admiring the view that is you, as the colors of the sunset illuminate across your skin, taking his breath away.

“I wish I had a camera right now,” he mutters to himself.

“Huh, what was that?”

“Nothing, honey.”

Then he remembers that his phone has a camera. It’s not a professional one, but it would have to do in capturing the beautiful scene of you in front of him.

You hear the click of his phone camera and turn back to look at him, “Did you just take a picture of me?”

“Indeed I did honey.”

“No fair. Let me take one of you now.”

“Nope,” he shakes his head.

“Oh come on. Just one? Please?” you plead with a pout.

He leans in and kisses your pout, “Fine, but just one.”

He was iffy about leaving traces of his identity in photos considering his past work. The last thing he wanted was for you to get caught up in something dangerous because you had a picture of him on your phone, but he couldn’t resist your pout.

You take a photo together as he puts on a goofy face and you’re laughing at him in the photo. You smile at the picture on your phone, knowing you’ll cherish and look back at it for years to come, forever remembering this small, special moment with him.

After taking a photo, and sneaking a few more of him when he turns away, you move on to the sightseeing peak. Saeyoung places his hand on the small of your back, leading you to the railing further ahead to get a better look at the view from the height of the mountain.

Saeyoung instinctively holds onto your waist, which feels like a back hug to you, but in reality he’s holding on to you to make sure you don’t accidentally slip over the rail and somehow fall off the mountain.

“You can loosen your grip, you know. I’m not gonna fly away,” you tease him.

“Nope, I’m not letting you go,” he says from behind you, stuffing his face into the crook of your neck, “Plus, we can keep each other warm like this. It’s starting to get a little chillier.”

“Mmm,” you lean back into his touch, fully enjoying the moment looking out at the setting sun with a beautiful view, with him, “Yeah, this is nice. Thanks for taking me here.”

“Anything for you MC. ”

He leaves one last kiss to your cheek as you both watch the sun fully set, wrapped in each other's arms the whole time.

EVENT REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

REGULAR REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 12/23/2021

[clavissionary-position]

The first paragraph immediately made me think of a small town just outside the town where I went to uni 🥰 Ah, the nostalgia~ Sounds like a perfect date spot with Comte.

(fic spoilers)

...*suddenly remembers this fic is supposed to be angst*

Oh no. Oh no no nono...

You could live in this tiny bubble, this moment of time, forever, surrounded by incredible color and liveliness, with the love of your life by your side.

I love this throwback to the whole "living in the present" theme from Comte's route! Everyday is magic~!

*remembers again that this fic is going to get angsty*

RIP Comte.

You are so enraptured by all that you see that you don’t notice the softness in his golden gaze, the smile that never quite leaves his lips as he watches you.

I'm so soft for this, Violet. So soft. Oh to wrap oneself in Comte's warm gaze 🥺Men who get their joy from seeing you happy 🥺🥺

Pulling him by the hand, you stop in front of a booth

Omg this must have made his heart race. It made mine race 😌

“We have plenty of time, ma chérie. Look as long as you like.”

Ultimate shopping companion. How many carriages did he bring along 🤣

And the touch of black lace feels like an almost scandalous edition. You touch that too, imagining Comte’s elegant fingers pulling the ribbon free from your hair by touching that provocative trim.

No thoughts just me frothing into a pool of my own drool.

You clear your throat, scattering the sensual thoughts.

It's too late, Comte knows! God only knows what HE was thinking while looking at you fingering the lace XD

After a warm glass of apple cider and fresh apple tart

Noooo I'm craving now. Listen, anything in the apple-dessert family is the sole reason my stomach was commissioned.

There is no need for words as you walk in-step together down a smaller dirt path, one that winds a bit away from the main promenade. 

Aw wordless couple tradition 🥺 Their "usual" 🥺🥺

Your boots begin crunching over fallen leaves, beautiful bursts of red and orange and brown crumbling underfoot as you both walk towards the wooden bench you know and love.

The Violet Sensory Experience 😌

It isn’t the shiny white of the newer benches along the main, paved paths of the park. This one is old, brittle, just barely seating the two of you. It’s rough wood scratches and pulls at your clothing every time you sit and you’ve been given a souvenir splinter once or twice, but it is your favorite place in the whole park. Something about it feels like it has always been there, as if the surrounding trees themselves are offering it up as a prize to adventurous travelers who dare explore the path less taken.

This has to be my favorite paragraph in this whole fic. The central set-piece, the quiet motif, the bittersweet conceit. Made me tear up. Sublime foreshadowing for what comes next 🥺

Is that a "The Road Not Taken" reference? I had to look the meaning up again, but Frost wrote it two years before he died, yeah? Fucking chills, Violet. God, what a perfect poem for Comte too, for that chip on his shoulder and his hesitation when faced with that crucial choice.

Vampire Robert Frost when?

reaching into your beaded reticule

TIL what reticule means orz

He glances down at you, at the way you touch the soft, deep orange length of it, your fingertips skimming over the black lace once again. 

The way you touch the color that represents him, and by extension, Comte himself 🥺🥺🥺

“Shall I put it in your hair, chérie?” Immediately you straighten up, excitement buoying your spirits like a burst of wind to a kite.

Reading this genuine bit of joy after knowing what comes next 😭

You turn your back to him, anticipation walking along the tight line of your shoulders,

Ahhh what a great personification!!

Men doing your hair for you A+++++

It feels familiar and comforting, something he has done for you hundreds of times and yet you never tire of it.

SO soft for this. Never let this love party end

Comte leans forward, murmuring to himself in French, his fingers parting strands of your hair until he says with triumph swelling his voice, “Ah ha! I have it.”

LMAO WHY IS THIS SO CUTE. Only Comte 😭 I love how you balanced his playfulness and naivete with the reader's heartbreak. It's that brilliant contrast that makes it hurt so good.

“Perhaps I should start calling you ‘Mémé’,” he says with a grin that is full of warm-hearted affection.

Comte's about to get slapped XD Jk jk

It is only when it disappears, vanishes behind a wall of blurred autumn colors that you realize you are crying.

*chef's kiss* The tragedy of the moment aside, this is some delicious description.

Angrily, you pull, violently yanking the pale hair from your head. Part of you imagines that you could pull and pull and pull and it would never end, an endless spool of white inside of you, waiting for the right moment to blossom, to grow over your head like some kind of oppressive, blanched ivy climbing a wall, burying whatever is underneath until all you see is white. 

Yeah this whole chunk of fear and anxiety and frenzy and borderline psych-horror is faaantastic 😍

Even though his face is half in shadow and swimming behind your tears, the concern there is bright as a journeyman’s flare.

I love that you included such an emphatic description of not just his concern but the degree of his concern. And the bit before that about his face being half in shadow is so heartbreakingly alienating. Like, combined, the dual effect here is just stunning. He's here and he's not here, not on the same page, and what could be more tragic than that.

“Chérie?” You turn, throwing yourself into the safety of his arms, burying your face in the soft folds of his beige coat. 

I'm not crying you're crying. The flood of emotion in my heart right now.

You want nothing more than to stop the march of time, to stay right here on this uncomfortable wooden bench, under the protection of arboreal guards in their jackets of red and yellow, within the circle of Comte’s embrace. To pretend that time can be ignored, that age isn’t stalking you slowly from the shadows of every passing day and every dream-filled night.

Fuckin ouch, man 😭

His hand runs down your back, methodical, rhythmic, and you shudder. It reminds you of the steady ticking of clocks. Minutes that are born and die and with each breath push you closer to separation.

COMTE POCKET-WATCH MY BELOVED. Oh that aching symbolism. Right in the feels.

A single white hair becomes two. Then ten. One wrinkle births many. These first few decades of your life were a river, flowing over rocks and curving around many unforeseen bends. But each year the water moves faster and faster. A river forms rapids and leaves you breathless, holding on for dear life. Life that for him will never end. And for you, has but one inevitable conclusion.

:( :( :( :( :( :( :( :(

But seriously, I love how you marry setting with subtext. It almost makes me feel like there's a physical river just off-screen.

He never forces you to explain. He never stops holding you. He allows you to feel what you are feeling and offers you an unwavering bastion of comfort and support.

Man, Comte, that's just so frickin cool of you to do that 😖

When you finally pull away, the last drops of sunlight are dappling his face.

What a breathtaking sight. Golden man's such a natural fixture inside Autumn and the twilight of both the day and arguably a life.

A love that transcends something as trivial as seconds and years and centuries. A forever that belongs to you both, no matter if its form is a tender embrace right now under a darkening forest canopy or the warmth of this memory on a cold, autumn night somewhere around the riverbend.

Warm blanket of feels 😌

“Let’s go home,” you whisper, your thumbs running over the sharp lines of his cheekbones. 

NO NOT THE SUDDEN CHEEKBONE PORN

I mean *ahem* carry on.

“Of course, chérie.” He leans forward, placing a gentle kiss to the corner of one eye, then the other, and then another on your lips, love sinking into your skin at every point of contact.

This whole scene was such a well-observed moment. I love that he barely said anything because his presence said so much. And I love the slow progression of time you took us through, using the play of light upon Comte's features as the clockface. Even if time to the reader felt like it was slipping away, Comte was there, and Comte was present, and every moment of every day truly was magic.

It's almost like the old, weathered bench is as much representative of Comte as it is of the reader.

And I just really, really love that, how you explored the tiny tragedies that poke out from the most idyllic of moments, how you took us through a whole sunset, a sobbing silence, things we all experience a countless number of times, and you gave us the beauty in every moment of it, used it to create this affecting bubble of timelessness, all while celebrating the un-aging constant of love. Thematically super powerful stuff. Stuff that really speaks to the soul.

Thank you for such a beautiful and bittersweet fic! And for the lesson on symbolism and how to use contrasting moods to produce angst and all the other super cool literary stuff 😌

I seriously love that Comte barely said a thing. We saw him be super adorable and then be super reliable husband material. I personally like how you write Comte way better than the game depicts him.

Comte + 11 + angst

A/N: For the Fall Fluff Autumn Angst Content Creator Challenge and one of my best friends @aquagirl1978 🍂 Thanks for the request

Comte x f!reader, angst

Word Count: 1582

There is nothing quite like the Autumn Harvest Festival. A sleepy little town just a few kilometers outside of Paris transforms from rows of tiny white cottages and rolling fields to a bustling marketplace full of bright colors and smells and sounds: the red, gold and orange garlands of fall leaves and wreaths, the smell of cider and pies and warm soup, the voices calling out for visitors to stop by their booths, inspect their wares, buy their vegetables and berries and baked goods.

You squeeze Comte’s hand as you try to take it all in, to allow all the glory of fall on full display to sink into your bones and wrap itself around you. You could live in this tiny bubble, this moment of time, forever, surrounded by incredible color and liveliness, with the love of your life by your side.

You are so enraptured by all that you see that you don’t notice the softness in his golden gaze, the smile that never quite leaves his lips as he watches you. Seeing you so joyful, cheeks slightly pink from the cool breeze and your own excitement, fills him with a warmth that rivals any flame.

“Ohh look at these!” Pulling him by the hand, you stop in front of a booth laid out with ribbons of all sizes and colors. The merchant, a portly woman with eyes as green as shamrocks, offers you a bright smile.

“Welcome, welcome. Feel free to inspect any of them up close. No finer silks, satins, velvets and linens in all of France!”

Her hyperbole makes you smile as you take in the medley of colors and textures laid out before you. They are all so beautiful. You glance over your shoulder at Comte and he offers you an encouraging smile.

“We have plenty of time, ma chérie. Look as long as you like.”

Affection widens your smile as you turn back to the lengths of ribbon, your gaze running over them with an appreciative gleam. And then you spot it. A sumptuous velvet ribbon of deep ochre, trimmed with black lace. The merchant sees where you have stopped and reaches for it, lifting it and offers it to you, eyes twinkling at the anticipation of a sale.

“A beautiful choice indeed, mademoiselle. A fine match for your lovely hair.” 

You take it from her, holding it in your palm as if holding a rare gem. Carefully, you run a finger down its length, marveling at how soft it is. How luxurious it feels to your skin. And the touch of black lace feels like an almost scandalous edition. You touch that too, imagining Comte’s elegant fingers pulling the ribbon free from your hair by touching that provocative trim.

You clear your throat, scattering the sensual thoughts.

"I'll take it!" 

*

After a warm glass of apple cider and fresh apple tart, you stroll with Comte, arm in arm, until you come to the edge of a park you have visited many times when making the trip to this particular village. There is no need for words as you walk in-step together down a smaller dirt path, one that winds a bit away from the main promenade. 

Your boots begin crunching over fallen leaves, beautiful bursts of red and orange and brown crumbling underfoot as you both walk towards the wooden bench you know and love. It isn’t the shiny white of the newer benches along the main, paved paths of the park. This one is old, brittle, just barely seating the two of you. It’s rough wood scratches and pulls at your clothing every time you sit and you’ve been given a souvenir splinter once or twice, but it is your favorite place in the whole park. Something about it feels like it has always been there, as if the surrounding trees themselves are offering it up as a prize to adventurous travelers who dare explore the path less taken.

Settling down next to Comte, you snuggle against his side, reaching into your beaded reticule, your fingers exploring until they feel the soft velvet of the ribbon and you pull it out with a satisfied smile.

He glances down at you, at the way you touch the soft, deep orange length of it, your fingertips skimming over the black lace once again. 

“Shall I put it in your hair, chérie?”

Immediately you straighten up, excitement buoying your spirits like a burst of wind to a kite. You turn your back to him, anticipation walking along the tight line of your shoulders, painting the pale pink flush of your cheek. Comte finds the silver combs currently tucked into your tresses and gently pulls them out, one side then the other. A sigh escapes you, soft as a rustle of silk, when he pushes his gentle fingers into your hair, helping it shake itself free and flow naturally down past your shoulders. It feels familiar and comforting, something he has done for you hundreds of times and yet you never tire of it. You close your eyes, indulging in the finesse of his touch, when it suddenly stops.

Comte leans forward, murmuring to himself in French, his fingers parting strands of your hair until he says with triumph swelling his voice, “Ah ha! I have it.”

You feel a tiny tugging at your scalp and then he is holding the end of a single, soft hair, still attached. He pulls it carefully around, reaching for your hand so you can take it yourself and see what he has discovered.

“White as snow,” he says with a small smile, his eyes warm with amusement.

“A gray hair?” You turn your head to try and get a better look at the offending strand. There it is, a single hair, a thin sliver of moonlight between your fingertips.

“Perhaps I should start calling you ‘Mémé’,” he says with a grin that is full of warm-hearted affection.

Words become stuck in the desert of your throat. Your eyes are unable to look away from the thing caught in your grasp. It is only when it disappears, vanishes behind a wall of blurred autumn colors that you realize you are crying. Angrily, you pull, violently yanking the pale hair from your head. Part of you imagines that you could pull and pull and pull and it would never end, an endless spool of white inside of you, waiting for the right moment to blossom, to grow over your head like some kind of oppressive, blanched ivy climbing a wall, burying whatever is underneath until all you see is white. 

Comte’s arm around your waist tightens as he reaches for you with his other hand, turning your face toward him. Even though his face is half in shadow and swimming behind your tears, the concern there is bright as a journeyman’s flare.

“Chérie?”

You turn, throwing yourself into the safety of his arms, burying your face in the soft folds of his beige coat. 

You want nothing more than to stop the march of time, to stay right here on this uncomfortable wooden bench, under the protection of arboreal guards in their jackets of red and yellow, within the circle of Comte’s embrace. To pretend that time can be ignored, that age isn’t stalking you slowly from the shadows of every passing day and every dream-filled night.

His hand runs down your back, methodical, rhythmic, and you shudder. It reminds you of the steady ticking of clocks. Minutes that are born and die and with each breath push you closer to separation. A single white hair becomes two. Then ten. One wrinkle births many. These first few decades of your life were a river, flowing over rocks and curving around many unforeseen bends. But each year the water moves faster and faster. A river forms rapids and leaves you breathless, holding on for dear life. Life that for him will never end. And for you, has but one inevitable conclusion.

You don’t know how long you sit there, clinging to his strong frame as your body wrings itself of tears. He never forces you to explain. He never stops holding you. He allows you to feel what you are feeling and offers you an unwavering bastion of comfort and support. Eventually the waters calm and the wind inside your aching heart stops roaring. When you finally pull away, the last drops of sunlight are dappling his face. You reach up, cupping that beloved face in your hands, your eyes finding his.

What you find there is a love as luminous as the harvest moon, forcible enough to withstand even the most destructive of storms. A love that transcends something as trivial as seconds and years and centuries. A forever that belongs to you both, no matter if its form is a tender embrace right now under a darkening forest canopy or the warmth of this memory on a cold, autumn night somewhere around the riverbend.

“Let’s go home,” you whisper, your thumbs running over the sharp lines of his cheekbones. 

He reaches out with one hand, running it over the softness of your hair. 

“Of course, chérie.” He leans forward, placing a gentle kiss to the corner of one eye, then the other, and then another on your lips, love sinking into your skin at every point of contact. Standing, he reaches down for your hand and says in a voice steeped in the honeyed tenderness of loving devotion, “Let’s go home.”

🍂

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