#that word is starting to lose all meaning to me now

[alotofpockets]

Fun facts | Grace Clinton x Reader

5k celebration prompt: “Do you ever run out of fun facts?”

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.4k

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A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. For the past hour you had been debating your outfit, switching between a top every five minutes. But, the knock on your door meant that Grace was here to pick you up for your first date, so the top you were currently wearing had to be the one.

You quickly make your way to the door, not wanting to leave her waiting for too long. When you opened it, Grace’s face lit up. “You look amazing.” You feel your cheeks flushing, already by even such a small compliment. “Thank you, so do you.”

Grace moved into your apartment building a few weeks ago. The thick Liverpool accent had caught your attention instantly when you were making your way downstairs. None of the neighbours that you knew had that accent, so your curiosity was instantly triggered.

What you hadn’t expected to find around the corner was the contents of a moving box scattered over the hallway floor. “A single cardboard box can be reused 5 to 7 times before it starts to break down and lose its strength, yet here I am on my first use with my stuff scattered all across the hall.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the unexpected commentary as you stepped around the corner. “I think you might’ve gotten the one box that has a vendetta against moving. Clearly it wasn’t cut out for this life.”

The girl looked up, startled but amused. “Ah, so it is the box’s fault, is it? Not my fault for not using proper packing rules, and putting more weight in it than you’re supposed to?”

Within ten seconds of meeting this stranger, you already loved her humour. You crouched down to help her pick up the scattered items. “I mean, who am I to argue with a moving box expert?”

She laughed at your joke, the sound of her laughter like music to your ears. Never had you imagined you’d be able to fall for a stranger so quickly. The way she so effortlessly joked around with you, made you want to get to know her better.

“Oh, I’m full of fascinating facts about boxes, and well just random facts in general. Stick around long enough, and you’ll learn loads!” She stood with her hands now filled with her items.

“Well, if this is how you introduce yourself to your new neighbours, I am definitely interested in sticking around for more. I’m y/n, by the way. Your neighbour who now knows more about moving boxes than she ever planned to.”

The girl chuckled. “Grace, the neighbour who might’ve just exposed her weirdest talent way too early.” With a smile and a shake of your head you say, “I think it’s cute.” You noticed the light flush of her cheeks before she quickly turned her face away from you. “What floor are you on? I’ll help carry your stuff up.”

Since that day the two of you have been chatting every day, whether it was face to face or over text, the two of you were connecting. It was instantly clear to the both of you that it wasn’t just a neighbourly or even just friendly connection, and you wanted to explore it more. 

So, Grace asked you out on a date and now here she is standing in front of your door. All your nerves faded away as you walked down together, and she started talking.

“Did you know that dates involving outdoor activities create stronger connections?” If you had learned one thing over the past few weeks is that Grace had a fun fact on just about every topic. “I didn’t, but it makes sense if you think about it.”

She agreed, “It’s why I wanted to grab some coffee to go and walk through the park on our way to what I have planned.”

“That sounds lovely, and also very adorable, telling me you want to have a stronger connection with me.” You smiled at her as you walked out of the apartment building.

Grace paid for your coffee, even if you told her that wasn’t fair because she was already paying for the rest of the date. “You can get them next time.”

“Oh, you already know that there will be a next time?” You said with an amused smile. “Around 66% of people say that they know within the first thirty minutes if they’re interested in a second date.”

You chuckled, of course she had a fun fact for that too. “Thirty minutes sounds doable for getting the vibe of a person, but Grace we’ve been out for like five minutes.” She smiles and shrugs, “I already knew before I knocked on your door.”

Gosh she was a smooth talker. “I think I may need the remaining twenty five minutes to decide.” You joked back, and the glint in her eyes was enough to make you cave in. “Fine, you got me. I was already thinking of what I could plan for our next date before you knocked on my door as well.”

You continued on your walk, sipping on your coffee, and talking with Grace. If you had only done this for the duration of the date, you would already have considered it a good date. Grace had more planned though, as she led you into town and you stopped in front of one of the buildings.

“Are we going to make pottery?” You asked as you took in the shop’s window. “Close, but no. We’re painting pottery.” Her smile grew when she saw the excitement on your face.

Once you were inside and you were all settled in at one of the tables, surrounded by a bunch of different pottery dishes, paints and brushes, Grace started speaking excitedly about pottery. “Did you know that pottery is one of the oldest human inventions, with the earliest known pieces dating back over 20,000 years?”

With a shake of your head you say, “Wow, that is so long. Isn’t it cool how some things stick around for so long?” She nodded, “Yeah, I love it.”

You decided on a mug for your first pottery piece, while Grace went for a bowl. You thought for a moment on what you wanted to paint on the mug, deciding on some tulips. After dipping your paint brush into the green paint, you fill the mug with the stems and leaves, leaving room to add the flowers in different colours.

“Did you know in the 17th century, tulips were so valuable in Holland that they were used as a currency?” At this point you weren’t even surprised by Grace’s random knowledge on all topics anymore. “That’s crazy, imagine getting coffee somewhere and just paying with tulips.”

“Yeah, it’s so weird to think about, right? They even named the period Tulip Mania.” With the new knowledge about tulips, you fill the already painted stems with red, orange, and pink tulip flowers. 

When you looked over to Grace’s bowl, she had filled the outside with small watermelon pieces, and she was now working on painting the inside of the bowl like the inside of a watermelon. 

“Yours looks so cool!” You say in awe. “Thank you! I love it, and yours too. Did you know that watermelons belong to the cucumber family? Technically they are classified as both a fruit and a vegetable!”

“Do you ever run out of fun facts?” You say with a soft chuckle. Amazed at her excitement over the classification of a watermelon.

“Oh, is it too much? I can stop.” She says taken back. You’re quick to reach out your hand and place it over hers. “Please never stop, I love it.” Her smile grew again. “Yeah?” You nod, “It’s so cool that you have all this random knowledge, and I love that you want to share it with me.”

The rest of the date was amazing, and like you had already said at the beginning of the date, a second date was definitely happening, and you couldn’t wait to plan something for her.

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[cvnt4him]

okay, how do we feel on squirting on izuku? hear me out now—

UA dorms, 3rd year, everyone is 18+!!!!!

you and izuku are having a midnight fuck sesh cause it’s quite literally the ONLY time y’all get to be sexually intimate so things are REALLY hot & heavy. I’m talkin’ like having to hold in moans to not wake your neighbors up, the bed is creaking, you had to put a pillow in between the headboard because it was making too much noise, sweating everywhere and izuku has to keep making out with you so y’all can get your moans out quietly!! 🫣

and all of a sudden after izuku moves his hips slightly, you just start squirting EVERYWHERE, like your soaking his bed and you have to moan into a pillow cause it felt so good 😵‍💫

“Did…Did i make you…?”

“..yes…yes you..did..haa..”

“Can i..keep going?I-I haven’t came yet..”

“Yes baby, please keep fucking me…!”

and then just proceeds to overstimulate you while your whining and moaning into his mouth and scratching on his back.

do what you will with this information 🥸

-🩸

I kinda free balled even though you literally told me what you wanted lol, I hope this is to your liking my loveᡣ𐭩

It was after midnight, you were at least sure all of your dorm neighbors were lying down if not asleep by the time you went over to izukus dorm.

You and your boyfriend haven't been able to explore each other's body in so long given you're in your last year of highschool which means not only will things become more advanced but you have even less time to get all of the things done. With all the stress of colleges and your futures taking over your brains you two only had time to text each other 'good morning' 'goodnight' and 'I love you'

It hurt you but none of that mattered anymore, you were finally in your boyfriend's arms after so long. This was the only time you two had together let alone to be intimate with one another you had to take advantage of it.

Izuku had your face shoved into the pillows and your back arched painfully you can hear him groaning above you, his eyes squeezed shut as he slammed his cock inside of you repeatedly.

His thick cock forcing its way into your gushing pussy. The way you squeezed around him had his head rolling back he couldn't take it. He'd already cum inside of you about 2 times given how long it's been since he'd felt your tight wet walls, the thought of them alone had him busting a nut.

You heard his gutteral moans being hushed by his face being buried in your shoulders he began biting them harshly causing you to scream into the pillows, luckily for you they were quite scream proof izuku made sure of that when he bought them.

“ ....ohh...~ you sweet thing... ngh- need it s’bad huh? hmmn. c'mon cum in my cock baby..”

The way he whispered in your ear, so dirty yet so sweet. He was never rough with you but he couldn't help himself fucking you as if you're some cheap fleshlight he needed all that he could take. His hands coming down to harshly grip the flesh of your ass before slapping it making your back arch and your ass grind back onto his cock.

He loved the feeling of you fucking him back, throwing your ass back onto his cock while he tried shoving it deeper inside. The bed creaking with each rough motion of you thrusting back against him, izuku groans at the sticky sounds of the two of you thinking he should've put a pillow behind his headboard someone was definitely going to complain!

“ ngh..! give it t’me, give it t’me zuku— need it s’bad- ugh...”

Your words were coming out muffled and sloppy you were losing your mind with how sensitive you were, you'd come so many times its as if it was happening all on its own. You couldn't control it anymore letting him split you in half on his cock while you lost your mind.

“ let me.....huff....let me flip you over baby.. wanna look at’cha when I fuck you.”

You hum and with that he pulled out causing you to whine, he instantly flipped you over into your back to get a good look at your soiled face. Tears streaming down and spit down your jaw, your eyes were glossy and you could hardly see all you wanted was to hold your strong boyfriend.

You heard him shakily sigh above you, lining his sticky and cum covered cock back up with your dripping cunt, cum leaking out of it and creating a ring around his cock as he quickly shoved it in causing you to jolt upward into him, he instantly leaned down and held you locking lips with you to sustain your whine and moans you were shaking in his arms and your spit was slowly leaking down both your chins.

Izuku sat inside of you for a moment letting you convulse around his cock, this was more for him than it was for you. The feeling of your nasty icky cunt spasming around his twitching veiny cock had his mind melting just as much as yours. He was trying his hardest not to fall apart inside of you but God was it hard with you squeezing him tighter than anything he's ever had.

Izuku gulped down hardly and slowly jerked his hips up into you there was something inside of you, a coil that just snapped your head was thrown back and you couldn't help but to moan aloud izuku was too late to catch it pitchy moans echoing through his room you had started squirting all over his cock your eyes were rolling and your mind was completely blank.

Izuku was in utter awe with you, gasping lightly as his cock only began plugging you deeper with how thick it was, your juices were spraying all over his abdomen and his bed you would be embarrassed if you were coherent and understood what was going on around you. Izuku rubbed your thigh and cooed sweet words to you telling you how proud of you he was.

“ awh honey.... m’ so proud of you baby, did so good f’me.”

“ do...do you want me to keep going...? can I? I wanna cum again...”

You nod your head at his words hardly even understanding any of them. With that he took all that he had and began thrusting into you once more, not as rough as he once was but just enough to get him there and to have you squealing into his chest tears wetting him as your body rocks with his arms wrapping around his back and scratching his back harshly.

His back arched into you a wince leaving him as he sped up, hips stuttering into yours. The nasty slaps of skin filling the air along with your hiccups and moans and his low groans. The bed creaking faster with his movements.

“ sh...shit baby..! m’gna cum inside of you... fuck-!”

Giving it all he could with a couple sloppy messy thrusts, he came inside of you hard and deep. His moans turned into high pitched whines his cock was twitching so much and you were squeezing him so tightly after he'd already cum he couldn't help squeezing your hips tightly making you wince and squirm.

You felt his shaky breath fan over your neck as your face was buried in his chest drool getting all over him as he just collapsed on top of you not even bothering to pull out. His poor cock was too thick for you to push out so you just sat there plugged and fucked full of cum.

The next day you were both told by your teacher that izuku had many complaints from his neighbors due to loud squeaking that sounded as if someone was being murdered. You both had detention for the rest of the year and were BANNED from going near each other's dorm and would be kicked out of U.A if caught in the other's room.

Was it truly worth it....

[niniwritesxo]

‘tell me to stop and i will’

kang dae-ho x fem reader

part two of ‘please’

——————————————————————————

The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of Dae-ho’s ragged breathing. His hands lingered at his sides, clenched into fists, as if he was trying to hold himself back. But his eyes, his eyes were locked on yours, intense and unyielding, pulling every thought from your head until all that remained was the weight of him standing so close.

“I should go,” he muttered, though he made no move to leave. His voice was low, uneven, and the way his gaze flickered to your lips betrayed every word he’d just said.

“Then go,” you replied softly, though the words felt hollow even as you said them.

He let out a sharp breath, his jaw tightening. “You don’t mean that.”

Your stomach twisted, and before you could respond, he took a step closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hands hovered near your waist, like he wanted to touch you but didn’t trust himself to.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was an edge to it, a challenge. “Tell me, and I will.”

Your breath hitched, your pulse thundering in your ears. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. The words wouldn’t form, trapped somewhere between your mind and your heart.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “If you want me to leave, just say it.”

But you couldn’t.

His hand rose slowly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered against your cheek, and the tenderness in the gesture made your chest ache. “You don’t want me to stop,” he said, almost to himself, like he was trying to convince himself it was okay.

Your skin burned where his hand touched, and you felt your face heat as the weight of his words settled over you. “I—” You faltered, the sound of your own voice foreign and unsteady.

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re so damn stubborn,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your jawline. “Even now, you won’t admit it.”

Your breath caught as his hand slid to the back of your neck, his touch firm but careful. The air between you felt impossibly thick, and the tension was so sharp it almost hurt.

“Dae-ho…” you started, but your voice betrayed you, shaking just enough for him to notice.

“Don’t,” he said quickly, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to go insane y/n.”

You swallowed hard, the words tangling in your throat. The weight of him, his presence, his intensity, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him standing was almost too much.

“I’m not going to stop unless you tell me to,” he said again, his voice low and steady, his lips just a breath away from yours.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

And then, like a dam breaking, his lips found yours. The kiss was deep, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, the feel of you, as though this moment was something he couldn’t let slip away.

Your hands moved without thought, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if to keep yourself grounded. The world around you faded, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything else fell away.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, though his grip on you didn’t loosen. “I just… I couldn’t stop myself.”

You shook your head, still catching your breath. “Don’t apologize,” you murmured, your voice trembling.

His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find some kind of reassurance. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly.

“You won’t,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. “You won’t lose me, Dae-ho.”

The relief in his expression was subtle but unmistakable. And as his hand lingered at the nape of your neck, you knew that whatever came next, you weren’t letting go of each other.

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Retirement and a Failed Proposal

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

✯ pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none ✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

She and Seb had a history—complicated, very complicated. Both now retired drivers, both multiple-time world champions, both stubborn, both competitive, both once lovers, both once rivals, both once acquaintances, and both lovers once again. She had just retired, and it was that, the culmination of her F1 career, that almost signified the end of her dispute with Seb. And she hadn't forgotten him, at all. And he hadn't forgotten her, at all. He was two years retired by now. It was picking things up from the sparks, not the ashes. 

The stars above seemed impossibly bright, their reflection shimmering across the gentle waves of the Mediterranean. The sailboat rocked softly beneath you, a quiet rhythm to the vast stillness around. She was leaned back against Seb’s chest, his arms loosely wrapped around her as the two of them sat on the deck.

It had been a peaceful evening, just the two of them, reminiscing and sharing moments that felt suspended in time. His presence was so natural, as if those years of tension, heartbreak, and rivalry had never been.

Sebastian shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You know,” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant, “these past few months have felt… different. Like I finally have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

She smiled softly, turning her head to look at him. “You’re not too bad for a washed-up driver,” she teased, earning a quiet laugh from him.

But then his expression changed, the humor fading into something more serious, more intense. “I mean it,” he said, his eyes locked onto hers. “For years, I tried to move on, to convince myself that I didn’t miss you, that I didn’t need you. And then you retired, and it felt like the universe was giving us another chance. And now, I don’t want to waste it.”

She blinked, her heart skipping as he gently untangled himself from she and reached into his pocket.

“Seb…” she started, but the words caught in her throat as he pulled out a small velvet box.

He opened it, revealing a simple yet stunning ring that glinted under the starlight.

“I know this might seem fast,” he said, his voice steady despite the flicker of nervousness in his eyes. “But I’ve known for a long time what I want. It’s you. It’s always been you. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, she just stared at him, her mind racing. The love she felt for him was undeniable, and being with him again felt like coming home, the home she's been away from for too long. But it had only been three months since they’d reconnected, since you’d started to rebuild something from the sparks that had never really died.

“Seb,” she said softly, her hands reaching for his. “I… I love you. I love she so much. But this feels rushed. It’s been three months. We’re still finding our footing again.”

His expression faltered slightly, but he nodded, listening intently.

“I want to be with you,” she continued, “but we’ve been through so much. I don’t want to jump into something this big without being sure we’re ready. We owe it to ourselves to do this right.”

Seb exhaled slowly, a small, understanding smile tugging at his lips. He closed the box and set it aside, taking her hands in his.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I got ahead of myself. It’s just… being with you again feels so right, so easy, and I didn’t want to lose that.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” she assured him, squeezing his hands. “We have time, Seb. Let’s take it.”

He nodded, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. “Okay. No pressure, no rushing. Just us.”

“Just us,” she repeated, a smile breaking through.

The stars continued to shine above, the sea calm beneath, and as Seb pulled her into a warm embrace, she felt the weight of the moment lift. The ring could wait; her love wasn’t going anywhere.

Seb pulled her closer, resting his chin atop her head as the two of she sat in the embrace of the quiet night. His arms wrapped securely around you, the warmth of his body contrasting with the cool sea breeze.

After a moment of silence, his voice broke through, low and teasing. “Alright, no wedding yet. But… what about a child?”

She tilted her head back to look at him, narrowing her eyes. His lips were curved into that familiar, mischievous grin that always made her heart flutter, even when she wanted to roll her eyes.

“Sebastian,” she said, a warning laced in her tone, though her lips twitched with amusement.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence, his grin widening. “I mean, if marriage is too rushed, surely we could—”

She cut him off with a soft nudge to his side, eliciting a laugh from him.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“But you love me,” he shot back, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple.

She let out a small huff, her mock exasperation melting into a soft smile. “Yes, I do. But don’t push your luck, Vettel.”

Seb chuckled, pulling her closer again. “Fine, fine. No babies, no weddings. Just us.”

“Exactly,” she said, resting her head on his chest. “Just us. For now.”

His arms tightened around her as the sailboat swayed gently, the night wrapping around the two of them like a cocoon. And at that moment, with the stars above and the calm sea below, it felt like enough.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

✯ authors note: This is my very first fic!!! English is not my first language and the story is a lil corny, I know. I hope you liked it <333

[rowie264]

Jinx x jinxer!reader. First meeting

You don’t really know how you ended up like this.

Truth to be told... you never really believed in your “leader”, if Jinx could even be called that. You didn't even fully dye your hair blue like the others. Just a small strand. In your eyes, Jinx did nothing but blow up the Council and redirect the Grey to Piltover. But even then… it was enough for you to make you join “Jinxers”.

You knew her actions will cause problems to Zaun. But you were so fucking done. You were too tired of being a rug under pilties boots. And maybe that was what Zaun needed to finally reach point of no return and fight back. And you wanted things to change.

So one day your hopeless gray life turned blue.

And now you were here, using your artistic abilities to portray Jinx as a kind of savior and leader of the revolution, as you were asked to do. Only instead of flag and shit you drew her with bombs and explosions. It was more like the image of Jinx you had.

“My eyes and nose are not like that.” Someone’s raspy voice reaches your ears.

You turn to face the intruder and see a girl sitting on the beam above few meters away. Somehow you just knew it was Jinx. You felt it in your gut, even though it was the first time you had encountered her.

You couldn't see her face completely hidden by the shadows, but you could see the color of her eyes. Pink, like shimmer.

“It’s the closest description I’ve got.” You say, too calm for a person who’ve met a Loose Cannon. And before you can stop yourself you add: “Maybe you could pose me so I could do it right?”

After that, there was silence between the two of you. Jinx didn't seem to expect such a reaction from you. You were surprised by your carelessness as well. She was dangerous and insane after all.

“Why not?” she says after a couple of seconds, probably agreeing out of boredom, and jumps off, landing smoothly like a cat.

As she comes over, you finally see her face. It does differ a little from what you were drawing. You also notice how short she is. She wasn't as intimidating as some people described. Although, perhaps, it was such thoughts that led many to their deaths.

You start correcting your painting, glancing at her from time to time, trying to convey her features as accurately as possible. You could lose yourself in art, even standing next to the most wanted criminal. Maybe you were crazy too?

“I'm not a hero you make me out to be, ya know?” Jinx suddenly comments after some time, looking at portrait of herself. Judging by the way she was tapping her feet, it took a lot of effort for her to stand still.

“I am aware.” You respond distantly too focused on your task, barely paying attention to anything around you. You almost finished.

“Then why?” She asks tilting her head and observing you like a hawk.

You take a step back, glancing at the wall to check everything one last time. “Why not?” you repeat her own words from earlier.

Jinx huffs, hiding that she's confused by your answer again. You're not like the other Jinxers she's met before. You treated her almost indifferently, like an ordinary stranger. Not like symbol of Zaun, not like Loose Cannon, but just… Jinx.

“So whatcha gonna do for me for posing to ya?” she casually changes the subject.

“You didn't mention that I have to pay you.” You frown at her, inwardly cursing yourself for being so carefree for not asking earlier.

“Don’t sweat it, toots, I don’t need money.” She waves her hand dismissively and you are not sure if paying with something else is any better.

“Then what?”

“Hmm… let's see…” Jinx walks around you, wondering what to ask you. “You drew me… so it would be fair if I drew on you back, don't you think?”

“Draw me, you mean?”

“I didn’t stutter, toots.” She scoffs pulling crayon out of her pocket.

“Don’t move.” Jinx orders and grabs your wrist. Without asking your permission, she starts drawing something right on your arm.

You didn’t protest – out of your safety and curiosity. Her grip was firm but surprisingly gentle. You couldn't help but look at her tattoos until your gaze landed on her face. This close, you could see her freckles. The word “cute" flashed through your mind as you stared at her in fascination.

“Here!” She suddenly announces with a beaming smile, pulling you out of your little bubble. You look down at your arm and see little pink clouds painted from wrist to elbow.

“Don't wash it off until I meet you again.” Jinx says and walks away, disappearing into the shadows without explaining anything, leaving you wondering when you'll be able to meet her once more. But to some extent… you want it to happen.

And until then, you would try to keep the clouds on your body.

[riririnnnn]

To know that Sae doesn't think he is having any kind of fight with Rin and he, in fact, watches BLTV too makes me think that this post of mine wasn't that far from the tracks.

Yes, of course, he might not be watching BLTV solely for Rin and the reasons might also be Isagi, Shidou, Kaiser, and maybe even Lorenzo, Charles, Loki, and Noa. However, I just like to believe that he never stopped looking out for his little brother, Rin. And in a very strange way, I think he was looking out for Rin in that Snowy Night too.

First thing first, something was wrong with Sae in that flashback.

As the saying goes, "Eyes are the window to one's soul," he looks so worn out—miserable, in fact. And I highly think that around the time of this flashback, it hadn't been that long since he lost his dream—or maybe got his dreams crushed. And I got two reasons to think this way:

To repeat my words, he looks miserable, which is a given when you lose a dream, compared to his later appearance like in the U-20 match. And judging by the timeline, the flashback and U-20 match have 1 year-ish gap which is an ample amount of time to cope up and get a hold of yourself.

Rin kept close tabs on Sae through news and all. The younger Itoshi would definitely be the one, if not the first, to know that Sae was now aiming to be the best midfielder instead of the best striker. But..

...Rin didn't know shit.

Now, you might be wondering why in the world I'm focusing so much on the timeline, right? Like, Sae got his dreams crushed, then he return to Japan and confronted Rin—what's the big deal about it even if these events happened in a short amount of time?

...

And that's where you'd be wrong if you think this way.

We all keep forgetting that to be the world's greatest striker was Sae's dream first before he decided to share it with Rin. Sae has been playing this sport since he was one year old. Soccer, probably, came into his life before Rin did. Rin gave his teen years to this game, but Sae has nearly given his whole life to this dream.

Now imagine yourself in Sae's position. Imagine devoting your whole childhood and teen years to something only to not be able to achieve it in the end. Won't you be devastated? Won't you be a mess? Won't you need some time to collect yourself together? Now do you understand why the timeline matters so much? And why the timeline is such a big deal? Hm?

Secondly, Sae has never been a visibly sweet person, even to Rin.

Yes, Sae took care of Rin, but did we ever see him go, "Aww! My lil baby bro Rinnie! Cutie patootie! My baby bro <333333" Did we? He had always been rather.. emotion-less and blunt. After the above panel, too, his words were, "You can be the most amazing, after me."

He just has been like that.

Always.

That's why I have always believed that he never changed as a person, even after Spain. He has been like this from the start, which is also why I think that his harsh words in that Snowy Night was just another way of him looking out for Rin because guess who has known soccer longer? Who has gone out of Japan and seen the outside world's soccer with his own eyes?

Yeah.

In a way, Sae's dream had more weight than Rin's. The older Itoshi had soccer in front of his vision, meanwhile the younger one had his Nii-chan in front of his eyes. Despite being so focused in this sport, Sae just couldn't be it, so what makes you think Rin could've made it when his sole focus was his Nii-chan instead? Wouldn't have Rin struggled so much in the outside world with this kind of mentality?

And this is something, I think, Sae knew too—on that Snowy Night, he actually realised what Rin's real mindset was like and immediately knew that it just wasn't going to fly in the world stage. Sae was just saving Rin from the hardships he himself must've went through during his time in Spain—Sae was just looking out for Rin.

"What about those mean things he said to Rin?" you may ask, and that's exactly where the timeline comes into play—Sae was just a mess, and Rin's words were the breaking point for him.

"What words?" you may ask now, and these are the words:

Repeating myself, eyes are the window to one's soul:

Sae never broke his promise—Sae never stopped looking out for Rin.

[treatbuckywkisses]

HI I STAYED UP WAY TOO LATE TO READ THIS PART !!!! :))

(also this might be my longest rb so far)

SIX UPON A TIME

"You weren’t sure what you wanted him to do, but it was fun to watch the time bomb tick." - let's kiss him on the mouth 🫶🏻

"A reason to get up in the morning." - SHUT. YOUR. MOUTH.

"But then you blink back into reality again when Bucky sits you down on the closed lid of your toilet and slowly makes you let go of his shirt, kneeling down in front of you. The blue of his eyes is devastating, even though you have to keep blinking to keep him in focus." - No I can't do this 

"Maybe that’s the most terrifying thought of them all. You would die for him. Once, twice, however many times are necessary if that meant that he’s safe. " - Nika I'm fucking crying. I wish I was exaggerating but I'm actually fucking crying before 10pm.

"But it seems like you haven’t known it at all, because right now, you feel the knowledge of it, of him, surge through you with all its facets. You can’t even begin to put it into words, because where would you start? How do you explain what he makes you feel when he hasn’t been there himself, not in any way that matters or sticks? And if it’s never happened at all, if time keeps unraveling like this, how can it even be real? " - the woman that you are. Oh. My. God. You are completely unreal this is phenomenal.

"His breath hitches when they dip lower, almost reaching the place you’ve watched dimple when he laughs, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t laugh, either." - I have actual tears in my eyes you are so evil 

"That day, he dies with your stupid nickname on his lips, twisted into something that looks strangely close to that earlier smile. This one doesn’t have time to reach his eyes, though." - Nika I'm fucking sick to my stomach what the fuck is wrong with you 

Brief intermission bc I got too into it and read the rest twice before coming back to make notes (I was too immersed)

A crack in the sky you are insane I would FREAK

Where TF does bucky go during the day. As a naturally nosy gal the unknowns in this story make me ITCH I can't wait for everything to be revealed

"Why won’t you look at me? " - this is so hurtful why are you being so mean to me

HOW IS THE DELIVERY MAN EARLY IM LITERALLY IN SHOCK AND WE MOVED ON FROM THIS TOO FAST????????

"You take a sip of your tea and some feeling returns to your translucent fingers. Strange’s cloak draws itself around your shoulders." - hehe we have the cloak 🫶🏻 

""I came to you," you realize. "Or, I will, once I get out of this." The relief that washes over you makes you want to sob. "So there is a way out?"" - why did this make ME relieved like I'm stuck in the loop too 😭 I literally have felt anxious for our dear reader like I'm sick and this has soothed my heart the smallest bit (I'm still scared of you)

"You can’t help but wonder when he’s last tried the bed." - Frick you for putting him in the floor what has my baby done to you let him be comfortable 😭😭 

"No," Strange answers. "This is just when he wakes up." - this made me LAUGH I needed that 

CAPS BDAY IM CRACKING UP THATS SUCH A FUN SILLY MOMENT

"He might has well have doused you in a bucket of ice water. You’re suddenly very aware of every single cell in your body, and you don’t like the challenge sparkling in his eyes." - THEY ARE SO IN LOVE MY GOD IM SICK 

Why are we waking up to silence I'm gonna throw up Nika 

What did the powers do 

Alpine can see us that is both cute and scary 😅 

"You lose a few hours here and there, time seemingly speeding up at random sometimes now. One morning, Bucky isn’t in the gym like he usually is, and you work yourself up over it so much you nearly have a panic attack. In the end, you almost crash into him outside of his room, and a rush of reassurance floods through you with such force you can’t even look at him." - what is wrong with you 

"That time, Sam is there when Bucky gets shot, and it’s his cry that follows you into the next day. Your hands are clean this time, and somehow that feels worse." - how dare you write these 2 paragraphs and also put them so close together????????

"And then it’s you who’s speechless, because the shock on Peter Parker’s face is more than you bargained for." - FULL. BODY. CHILLS. WHAT A MIND YOU HAVE NIKA. I WILL NEVER GET OVER THIS.

"Sweat pearled on your forehead as you and the universe held your breath again. You could feel your hold slipping with every second that wasn’t allowed to pass. Time was impatient with you." - THE LAST LINE ?????? I'm speechless 

"And with time stumbling and flailing around in confusion, you made it out of the building and into the waiting cab." - ok chapter 7 pls 🫶🏻 

I'm kidding you are PERFECT I can't believe I missed out on this for as long as I did?!!!!!!! Thank you so much for sharing your incredible brain with me I want to kiss you on the mouth I love you!!!!!!!

time after time [6]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 12.8k

chapter warnings: maybe reacquaint yourselves with the story premise, it's been a hot minute; characters refusing to be honest with themselves and each other; violence against side characters, minor injury descriptions; strange is still annoying

a/n: this is quite possibly the scariest fic update i've ever made. a lot has happened since the last chapter was posted, and i won't bore you with all of it. suffice it to say, i missed sharing this story. thank you for being patient with me.

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

six: butterfly effect

Working with Sam and Bucky was different than working with Natasha and Steve had been.

At the Compound, it had felt terrifyingly easy to find your place, to slip into the new role they granted you as if you were always meant to fill it. You’d felt that way before, and it hadn’t turned out quite so well. Maybe that was why you used to dread the end.

Now, however, for the first time in a while, you constantly had to prove yourself in order to not be left back in that dark place they’d found you in, alone and trying to make sense of any of it. And you liked that. The challenge was something you could live with, something you could enjoy more than the ever chilling anxiousness that things were simply too good to be true.

So when Sam called you on for a follow-up mission shortly after the first one, you jumped at the chance.

It didn’t matter that you barely talked about anything but work, even when you were hanging out in your spare time; in fact, you much preferred that to digging up the past. You even learned to find a wicked sort of enjoyment in provoking Bucky’s initial dislike of you to the point of where he would barely speak to you at all unless it was to snap at you.

You weren’t sure what you wanted him to do, but it was fun to watch the time bomb tick.

It wasn’t as easy to get under the new cap’s skin.

"You’re making us sound like we’re partners in a law firm," Sam said, a smile clearly audible in his voice even though his eyes didn’t betray it. Bucky didn’t even dignify you with a clench of his jaw.

"What?" you said, crossing your legs. "Every newspaper in the city calls you 'Wilson and Barnes'. Don’t you ever read the articles about yourselves?"

"Unlike some people, I don’t have all the time in the world," Sam said, leaning back on the couch with his eyes closed.

"Pity. The Bulletin called you the 'nation’s new dynamic duo' last week." You looked at Bucky, your eyebrows raised in amusement. "You’ve officially been downgraded to a sidekick, Barnes."

He answered with an empty glare of his own. "And what does that make you?" he said, but not like a question.

"Nothing at all," you still grinned. "Everything is right in the universe."

The reporters had yet to pick up on your addition to the team, which was proof enough that your powers still sufficed to fly under the radar. Combined with the fact that you were actually regularly talking to people again—and people who weren’t your therapist or your customers no less—, things almost felt like they were settling into a new kind of normal. Still somewhat weird, and still a struggle each day, but somewhat hopeful, nevertheless.

You’d almost forgotten what that could feel like.

“Right. You’d prefer people not knowing about your creepy powers.”

"Aww." You tilted your head to the side happily. "You think I’m creepy."

Bucky scoffed into his mug, refusing to look at you like he always did, and then he strolled off again.

In truth, you couldn’t blame him all that much. You’d lived with your powers all your life and still found them unsettling sometimes, particularly when they got away from you and left you trapped in a universe that refused to move.

That was none of his business, though.

Besides, Bucky had taken to moving around so quietly you could never tell he was there until he’d cough and you’d flinch, usually dropping whatever you were holding in your hands. You’d already cracked your phone screen twice.

Not that he’d know, or care if he did. It gave you great satisfaction to erase his amused smirk from existence.

"Give it time," Sam said without moving. "He doesn’t like new people."

"Neither do I," you murmured, and he snorted. "What?"

"Pretend with me all you want, but maybe do a bit of introspection there."

You crossed your arms with a pout. "You sound like my therapist."

"Mhm," Sam hummed, opening one eye to look at you. "You owe me fifty bucks for that."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, would you look at that, the price just went up."

He chuckled as you flipped him off and went to look for the coffee pot.

Of course, your way got blocked. The downsides of not hating having people around.

Bucky was leaning against the counter, considering you. "You go to therapy?"

"You should try it some time," you said distractedly, reaching around him to get your favorite mug. Bucky recoiled like he was afraid you’d burn him. You shook your head in annoyance. "Helps with the stink eye."

"Is that what they told you?"

"They told me I needed to process my grief, but I decided to focus on some more achievable goals." You took a sip of your coffee, sighing in comfort. "We came up with a compromise."

Bucky scoffed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He still hadn’t taken his gloves off around you.

"Sounds like a way to drag it out," he said.

You frowned into your cup. "It’s not a race, Barnes. There’s no finish line for this shit."

Something odd went over his face, but he went back to avoiding your gaze when you tried to make it out. You knew him well enough by then to get the hint, and so you left him alone.

What was it to you if he didn’t want to warm up to you. That had no bearing on the fact that overall, your situation wasn’t all too bad anymore.

It was something, you supposed as you curled up in your spot on the couch with your book later that day, slipping in and out of time to keep your company a little longer because deep down, you knew you were sick of being alone.

It was weird and different, yes, but it was still something anyway. Something to do with your afternoons again.

A reason to get up in the morning.

*****

"What are you talking about?" Bucky asks quietly, carefully, but he makes no attempt to pull back from your embrace. It allows you to take another shuddering breath, inhaling his scent until it makes you dizzy.

The fact that you probably won’t be this close to him again any time soon makes you press into his chest even harder, hard enough to feel his heart flutter against your forehead, the shock of the situation making it pick up speed.

For a split second, you slip into a sort of vacuum, your thoughts quieting as he keeps mumbling to you, and in that blissful moment, your situation doesn’t seem quite so dire anymore, more like a bad dream. You’re safe now, aren’t you? How could you not be?

But then you blink back into reality again when Bucky sits you down on the closed lid of your toilet and slowly makes you let go of his shirt, kneeling down in front of you. The blue of his eyes is devastating, even though you have to keep blinking to keep him in focus.

You don’t want to have to do this, you realize once your gasps for air start calming again. You’re not sure if you can bear it.

But nothing in this loop has been about what you wanted.

And so your resolve is made, with your heart sinking until it’s hidden away deep, deep inside of your chest. You ball your hands into fists to keep your fingers from twitching.

Two or three times he watches you inhale, start to say something, halt before you can, almost choking on it. Like your body is refusing to go through with it.

"How do you know when I’m lying?" you finally ask, and your voice sounds oddly clear in your small bathroom.

Bucky’s face goes from concern to confusion, his frown deepening. You want to smoothe it away with your thumb.

You close your eyes so maybe the temptation goes away.

"What?" he asks, and he still sounds so damn gentle.

"I’ve never been able to lie to you," you say. "What’s my tell?"

You can feel him move away from you and the ache of it makes you look again. His shirt and his hands are covered in his own blood, and you’re sure there’s some fucking metaphor in the way it stains the golden inlets of his vibranium arm crimson but for the most part, you can’t unsee the damn irony of it all.

Because you’ve pissed him off now.

"You scared the shit out of me, Y/N. And Sam, too." There’s the sharpness in his voice you know all too well. You haven’t heard it in a while. "What the hell is going on?"

"I’m trapped in a time loop," you say, squeezing your fists more tightly. "I’ve been reliving this day for weeks, my powers aren’t working, I’m the only one who can stop time from completely collapsing, I can’t do that without my powers, and you’re gonna die later today. Am I lying?"

It’s maybe the worst way you’ve ever told him, because watching Bucky’s face change is almost too much. This is exactly why you’re doing it, though; as long as you’re going through this loop with a giant guilty knot in your stomach, you’re not going to make any progress. And you need to put an end to all of it.

So you meet his gaze, almost unwavering, and you don’t blink.

His shock bursts free as an incredulous laugh. "What?"

"I’m stuck," you say again, slower, nodding at his hands, his blood, continuing to push, "and you keep dying."

Bucky looks down, then, before his gaze falls back onto you and he sits back on his heels. The pause lasts for way too long, heavy and smelling of iron, and you’re pretty sure you’re suffocating. He only says one word, and it sounds so defeated. "How?"

You swallow heavily. "You got shot on a mission," you say, but he shakes his head, the fire returning to his eyes.

"No. How did you get stuck?"

"I …" You blink, because you’re not prepared for this question, because you can never predict what he’s going to say, because he keeps doing that to you, because somehow, and not like you’ve expected, you feel like you’ve been here before.

How did it happen? That’s not … Okay.

"It was an accident," you finally say, helplessly, defensively.

There’s a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. "What happened?"

"You died. You died that first time and I didn’t—I couldn’t …" You swallow the sob that threatens to shake your voice again. Damnit, you’re supposed to push him away.

He moves his arm, then hesitates, as if he wants to reach out to you but changes his mind at the very last moment.

Right. He doesn’t normally do that.

Except he has.

He has held your hand and pulled you closer and written on your arm and let you lean on him with the full weight of your body, as if to him, you weighed nothing at all. He’s been offering to carry your load so many times, and he doesn’t remember a single one of them.

"Please don’t look at me like that," you say tonelessly, watching Bucky retreat.

"Like what?"

"Like I’m gonna fall apart at any moment. And yes," you add when his mouth opens, "I—I know I just did, I’m aware of the irony, but this is exactly why I can’t keep telling you, I don’t—I can’t stand it." You press your wrists against your temples, ignoring the buzz of the whirling time symbols against your skin, the stinging in your eyes. "You shouldn’t even—I mean, are you even the slightest bit worried about yourself? Because I feel like I’m the only one here, and I should’ve just—"

You stop yourself, shaking your head. Your hands are very clammy all of a sudden, and when you tug at your rings just to do something, one of them slips off your finger and clangs against the tiles as if to punctuate the silence.

When you reach down, you move your wrist in a way that makes you hiss in pain and flinch back. Bucky’s eyes flit between your own and your hand, his frown deepening in a strangely soft way. "Did you break it?" he asks quietly.

"I’m fine," you mumble, and he looks at you disapprovingly. "You’d grabbed my hand just before …"

His jaw twitches as the blame settles in again, and you would do fucking anything to finally make him understand that none of this is his fault. That you should be in pain for what you’re putting him through.

"It should’ve been me," you tell him, because it’s true.

Even earlier in the week, you would’ve taken great delight in seeing Bucky Barnes’ face fall at something you’d said. Hell, you’d have probably enjoyed it on Thursday, because there used to be this easy sort of gratification that came from riling him up, from catching him off guard.

Seeing it now, though?

It makes your fingers twitch.

"Don’t say that. Not even as a joke."

"I’m not joking." You can feel your pulse in your ears. "They aimed a shot at me, and you pushed me out of the way, and you died. So by all accounts, if your instincts weren’t so damn noble all the time, it should’ve been me, and if I weren’t such a fucking coward, I’d have gone back and switched places with you weeks ago."

The thought terrifies you, even though it’s true. No part of you wants to go through the things Bucky is, but if someone gave you the choice between either one of you right now, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.

Maybe that’s the most terrifying thought of them all. You would die for him. Once, twice, however many times are necessary if that meant that he’s safe.

"I’d like to see you try," Bucky says, and something slams into your chest as an old familiar shiver runs down your spine.

There’s a pained edge to his gaze, contemplative and heartbreaking and …

"You’re doing it again," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What am I doing?" His hand brushes your knee, and your skin is left searing.

You swallow heavily. "Being noble."

Bucky chuckles softly, and his eyes leave yours for just a moment. "Don’t exactly feel like that."

He’s beautiful.

It’s a new thought, despite everything. Even when you’ve noticed it before, you’d roll your eyes at the fact and move on, because this was Bucky. So what if his face was delectably handsome?

But it seems like you haven’t known it at all, because right now, you feel the knowledge of it, of him, surge through you with all its facets. You can’t even begin to put it into words, because where would you start? How do you explain what he makes you feel when he hasn’t been there himself, not in any way that matters or sticks? And if it’s never happened at all, if time keeps unraveling like this, how can it even be real?

So it’s pure instinct that makes you move, like someone would pinch themselves to ensure they’re not asleep, even though you’re very aware that this isn’t just a dream. You need to confirm that Bucky is real, though.

The air stands still when your fingertips trace along his cheekbone, leaving a delicate flush behind in their trail, barely touching and yet …

And yet.

His breath hitches when they dip lower, almost reaching the place you’ve watched dimple when he laughs, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t laugh, either.

There’s a scraping sound at the closed bathroom door, followed by a short knock. You flinch backwards.

"I’m leaving the first aid kit on the bed," Sam calls from the other side. "Just … holler if you need me."

"Thanks, Sam," Bucky says coarsely, and you can hear steps receding. The scratching continues, though. That damn cat.

Finally, he breaks eye contact, clearing his throat.

"Do you want me to help you clean up?"

You shake your head. You’re not sure you could stomach more of this. "I’m good, don’t … Don’t worry about it."

Bucky drags a hand through his hair, muttering something to himself you can’t quite make out. Slowly, he gets to his feet again.

"We need to come up with a plan," he says, and you want to cry except … you’re tired. Tired and sick of this.

"I need to come up with a plan," you correct him. "We have been trying to do this as a team for weeks, and it doesn’t change anything except waste time and …" And hurt. "I can’t do it anymore, Buck."

There must be something in your voice that thaws his defiant glare a little. "So what’s the plan?"

And with a sigh, you fill him in on everything that’s been going on with Strange and your powers. Again. One last time.

You have to do this alone.

Bucky ignores your insistence that you can manage just fine and sets your wrist while you talk. Alpine, now free to roam wherever she pleases again, has decided the bathroom isn’t quite that interesting after a short look inside, and is now taking a nap in the spot of sunshine next to your bed.

"New deal," he says once you’re done, once he’s thought about it all, and you raise your eyebrows. "Don’t do anything stupid."

"You know me," you smile, checking the makeshift dressing around your hand. The green symbols are hidden by the layers of gauze.

Bucky doesn’t bite. "I’m serious, just—don’t."

"How would you know?"

"I wouldn’t," he says, snapping the first aid kit shut so vehemently Alpine’s tail twitches. "But I trust you."

Your head whips up at his words, even though his back is still turned to you. He doesn’t see your face as your heart is jostled into a new rhythm, so violently and unexpectedly that you lift your hand without thinking, pinkie outstretched.

"Promise."

He smiles when he notices, and you wish you could take a picture to carry with you through the rest of this nightmare.

That day, he dies with your stupid nickname on his lips, twisted into something that looks strangely close to that earlier smile. This one doesn’t have time to reach his eyes, though.

***

There’s been a change in the weather.

Not literally, no; of course not literally. Fuck, you long for a single cloud, a raindrop, a damn hailstorm to break the streak of endless perfectly sunny days that don’t fit your mood in the slightest.

But there’s a tinge to the sky that makes your stomach turn. It’s not very obvious to anyone who hasn’t looked at the exact same sunset for weeks on end, just a single strip of color across a storybook horizon. It looks like a crack.

"Do you see that?" you ask warily when you notice it for the first time, ominous and yet almost completely hidden by the trees and the buildings. Just dancing around the edge of your vision like another mockery.

"What?" Sam asks, eyes not leaving the path ahead.

"That … thing in the sky. What is that?"

Bucky stops and squints at where you’re pointing. "It’s called a cloud," he says dryly.

"With that color?" you murmur, but continue walking when he stops to turn to you, your wrist tingling. His stare is searing your neck, but you ignore that, too.

The best course of action, you’ve learned, is to shut your brain off as soon as you get out of the quinjet and just go through the motions, trying to ride out the mission like you’ve done dozens of times before. There’s a sort of autopilot you’ve fallen into after a couple of days, and it’s the only thing keeping you somewhat sane. Most days, it means it’s all over quickly, and you can’t help but feel glad about that.

You’ve given up trying to change your own actions to get him through the day.

But this …

It’s something new, and in all this monotony, that thought is both frightening and exciting. It distracts you enough to get you off script.

"Lovely interior design," Sam mumbles like he always does.

"Remember how this was supposed to be a day off?" You kick one of the pebbles in your path with a sigh. "What happened to 'don’t worry, Y/N, after training the day is all yours'?"

"Occupational hazard," Sam says, checking his map for the thousandth time.

"You know what I mean."

"Don’t you have tomorrow off?" Bucky says over the intercom.

Tomorrow. "Right." It comes out somewhat strained, your fingernails digging into the palm of your hand. "And why do you know that?"

Sam shakes his head and there’s a brief crackle of static in your ear. For a fraction of a second, you nearly dare to hope Bucky will give you an answer, even though you have no clue what it would be.

"They’re heading your way now," he says instead, "so get a move on."

And just like that, you’re back on track.

Quickly clearing your throat of the lump that has formed there, you say tonelessly, "I probably only have one reset left. Two, if we’re lucky and you two aren’t being stupid again."

It’s taken you a while to get used to it. To the constant lying.

You’ve worn fingerless gloves on missions before, so that’s not raised any questions from the others yet, and your rings stay hidden away. You’ve been more reluctant to take them off since the one you lost on your bathroom floor vanished into thin air.

The other thing you’ve picked up on while endlessly repeating this day is that Bucky is less likely to catch you in a lie if he can’t see your face.

So you’ve made an effort of spending as little time as possible with him.

It’s surprisingly easy to stay in your room for the majority of the day, because he doesn’t remember it ever being any other way. Even today’s little exchange will be lost to the loop soon enough, just like that little pause he made, just like the bullet through his heart.

Still, when you wake up with a start on Friday, July 4th, you look at the sky first. Its perfect blue doesn’t soothe the sinking feeling in your stomach at all.

You’ve been waiting for something to change for weeks, and now that it’s here, you don’t like it at all.

"What did you expect?" Strange says with an infuriating composure once you’ve nervously recounted your experience. "I told you, time isn’t supposed to get stuck in this way. Of course your reality was going to act up sooner or later."

"I really feel like you should be more concerned about this," you mutter, letting a ball of green energy pass from your left hand to the right. It’s about the size of a quarter now.

"Honestly," Strange answers, "I thought something like this would have happened a while ago." He taps his fingers together. "Again. Slower."

"So what am I supposed to do then, just ignore it?" The green ball pulses with your indignation, turns around itself once and then sinks into your palm again.

"In all likelihood, it’s a one time glitch. If everything is back to normal today, I wouldn’t worry about it."

Your thumb rubs across the empty space on your finger. "Easy for you to say if you’re not the one who’s stuck in an endless hellscape."

"Aren’t I?"

You both roll your eyes at each other, but then you bite the inside of your cheek again, unable to shake the feeling of a whole new shade of dread. "What if it’s not just a one time glitch?"

The corners of Strange’s cloak roll up on themselves, and he doesn’t meet your eye when he says, "We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it."

It’s still early when you return to the present, too early for Bucky to be back from wherever he’s always going, so you decide to venture out of your room again, stretching your tired limbs. You’re pretty sure at this point that waking up on the floor is never going to feel fun.

Sam is in the kitchen as always, reading something on his laptop. He’s still sitting down, which means that it’s even earlier than you expected. You miss these early parts of the day, the calm before the storm.

If today were only made up of these few hours, you suppose, it might not be half so bad.

You pull up a chair next to him and lean a cheek against your hand. "What’re you doing?"

"Research." Sam sighs, rubbing his temples. "Remember that ULTIMATUM group?"

"Never heard of them," you say with a small yawn. "Is that an acronym? What does it stand for?"

Sam gives you a glare and your mouth twitches slightly.

"Anyway," he continues, turning his laptop so you can see the article he’s reading. "They’ve been more active again lately. Acquired a couple thousand dollars’ worth of lab equipment through one of their contacts and then went underground again."

Of course, you know all this. You’ve been over it again and again, back when you were all still trading information like it could save Bucky’s life. Like there was a deeper meaning behind any of this damn loop other than the fact that you, and you alone, fucked up.

Useless.

You close the mental door on those thoughts and take a deep breath. You hate to admit it, but all of this sitting around with your thoughts bullshit you’ve been doing has actually helped you to clear your head somewhat—if only to make it through the parts of the day you can’t avoid.

"And now what?" you ask, pretending to just have reacquainted yourself with the topic.

"Now," Sam says, taking his laptop with him as he stands up and strolls over to the kitchen island, "I’m waiting for Torres to get back to me so we can decide our next steps once we’re all recovered." He gives you a meaningful look and you scowl.

Then, slowly, his words register in your brain, and you stare at his back as he stretches and then moves to make some coffee, wordlessly taking one of your mugs out of the cupboard as well as his own.

"You don’t seem too worried," you say hesitantly.

Sam shrugs. "Until we have a proper lead, there’s not much we can do. And I doubt they’ll be doing any actual damage any time soon. They’re a lot more covert than the Flag Smashers ever were."

"Right," you say, more to yourself than in response.

"Try that again, less convincing?"

"I don’t know," you mutter, slowly following him to lean against the fridge. "Just … what if Torres did find something? Should I be getting ready?"

Sam frowns. "Are you not telling me something again?"

You try to shake the thought, pulling your arms around you. "Forget it."

You don’t, though.

It keeps bugging you, because that day like any other day, he knocks on your door at 4:32 on the dot, and you go on that mission anyway. And even though this has been happening for weeks, you’re just starting to suspect that you are, in fact, still not getting the whole picture.

***

Catching a glimpse of Sam’s phone turns out to be more difficult than you first thought.

You’re still trying to get the timing exactly right a couple of days later, and you miscalculate enough to catch Bucky on his way upstairs.

"Hey," he says, his shoulders tense when he looks at you. There’s a restlessness to him that he’s not quick enough to hide; or maybe you’ve just grown more perceptive when it comes to him.

"Hi," you say, crossing your hands behind your back. "Where’ve you been?"

He shrugs. "For a walk."

You already know he won’t elaborate if you try poking, so you don’t. "Was it good?"

"Lotta people." He hesitates when you continue to not meet his eye, and then he says, "Do you want to talk about it?"

You swallow, ignoring the tingling sensation on your wrist. "Not particularly. Do you?"

Bucky’s jaw twitches. "Nah."

Somehow, you feel like that’s also a lie. Once again, you’re left wondering.

The silence between you stretches as you continue to not quite look at each other, until you finally clear your throat, nodding at the front door. "I’m getting coffee, do you want something?"

Honestly, it’s just an excuse as to why you need to leave before he notices something off again somehow, but Bucky tilts his head in amusement.

"Didn’t you just get some this morning?"

"So? I like coffee."

"Really. I never knew."

"Screw you."

You can hear him huff behind you, but thankfully the door falls shut before you can do anything stupid. Like turning around to face him, for example.

You miss his eyes.

Why won’t you look at me?

When the elevator doors open, you almost yelp into your delivery guy’s face. He stumbles a half-step backwards, somehow managing to keep a hold of the boxes precariously balanced on his arm while he’s reading something on his phone.

"Oh my god," he lets out, "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was just …"

"Early." You blink.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," you say, frowning only a little. "Wait, let me get that."

You quickly sign for the delivery and open the door with your keycard, holding it open for him. You’re not exactly afraid of burglars these days, and besides; you know this guy by now.

"If you could just go straight ahead and to the right, that’s where the kitchen is."

"Sure thing," he shrugs. "Thanks—"

His mouth snaps shut and he blushes a little as if he wanted to say something else but thought better of it.

You’ve introduced him to Sam enough times you know he’s going to be fine, so you just smile and wave him in.

When you step out on the street, you instinctually look up at the sky. It’s outrageously blue, blatantly perfect for an endless Friday, and even when you squint, you can’t make out any irregularities.

It’s a tiny relief, but a relief nontheless.

Lucy is leaning against the wall just out of sight of the storefront, an unlit cigarette dangling between her lips as she rummages through her pockets. Her colorful makeup has begun to melt off in the sweltering heat, making the red-white-and-blue stars on her cheeks bleed into each other to look somewhat purplish.

"Are you off or on break?" you call over.

She lifts her head, the glare vanishing when she recognizes you. "Counting the seconds," she says. "Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You sidestep a couple of pedestrians hurrying to cross the street and join her. "Not really."

"I hate you." She finally fishes a lighter out of her back pocket, sighing contentedly as she takes her first drag. "I swear, this day just won’t pass."

Fine. Maybe your chuckle is a little shrill. "I’m sorry."

Lucy waves you off with a gesture crude enough to make a young dad with a stroller send the two of you a dirty look. "You without your shadow today?" she asks, inspecting her nails.

You blink. "My shadow."

"You know. Your friend who’s been in here eight thousand times and still gets confused when he orders." A cloud of smoke vanishes into thin air. "Kind of the lingering type, isn’t he?"

"He’s old," you say, because for some reason nothing else comes to mind.

"Not that old."

"No," you agree, "not that old."

For a moment, you’re afraid she’s going to ask you to pass her number along to him, and you’re already scrambling to find an answer somewhere in the depths of your brain, coming up empty. That’s the problem with being able to unhave entire conversations; you don’t usually really have to deal with reactions if you don’t want to.

Without your powers, though, you’re stuck, and it’s making you wish you hadn’t come here at all.

Instead of any of that, she pulls a flyer out of her other pocket. "Sorin and Cass are doing a gig in Brooklyn next week, do you wanna come with? They’re still terrible, but they got a new bassist who seems alright."

You take the flyer, staring at it. "I didn’t know they’re in a band," you admit.

The truth is, you’ve never paid that much close attention to the people you work with. Maybe that’s been a mistake.

Lucy shrugs. "You’re always doing your own thing." It stings, even though you’re pretty sure she doesn’t mean for it to. "It’d be fun if you came, though."

"I’ll think about it," you say, and your smile is a little unsure, but genuine.

So is hers.

"If you don’t want to hang with us all night, you can bring some friends, too." Her emphasis hangs in the air between you like a dare.

You snort. "I feel like this isn’t quite their scene."

"You feel like or you know?"

"Isn’t that the same thing?"

"No." She puts her cigarette out on the wall behind her. "Knowledge is based on experience. On memories. Your feelings don’t sit in your head. And so they don’t make sense and they’re not necessarily true." She winks.

"You’re weirdly smart," you say, shaking your head.

"I know. It’s a curse." Lucy sighs. "Anyway, think about it. I gotta get back to hell."

"You know," you say with a grin, "I could really do with a frappuccino right about now."

"You know what you could do?" she answers in her sweetest customer service voice, pointing you down the street. "Get in a trash can."

Damnit. You might actually grow to like Lucy.

She taps her fingers against her temple and then shuffles back inside, a hot rush of air blowing out of the AC as the door opens. You fold the flyer up to fit into your back pocket, hoping you’ll make it to that concert one day, and then you walk on, aimless again for the moment.

***

Time passes while it’s standing still.

The problem is, at least for the moment, that by all appearances you’ve reverted back to square one. Going through your day as though any of this is even remotely normal, counting the hours and minutes to reenter the astral plane and feel some semblance of control again.

It’s been nice, really, if you’re ignoring the constant underlying feeling of dread.

Which you’re getting better at.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Rinse and repeat.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Even on days when you’re sure you’re making progress with your powers, every reset makes it just a little harder to keep dragging yourself onwards.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

"You look like shit."

Your head rolls to the side slowly, allowing yourself a glance while Bucky is still distracted with his arm. Concentration makes his brows knit, and something warm spreads in your chest.

"I’m so tired," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t look at you, but you’re grateful for it for once. Your eyes are stinging a little.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes. Yes. Yes.

"Not particularly."

"Do you want to talk about something else?"

You almost smile. "Like what?"

Bucky shrugs with one shoulder. "Like the fact that you just planted Sam into the mat head-first and yet made a face like you killed a puppy?"

Sometimes you wonder how he still manages to slip in without you noticing, no matter how many times he does it.

"Did I?"

"Did you kill a puppy? I’d hope not."

Your body’s been getting stronger, anticipating Sam’s every move. At this point, it’s not so much training as it is an exercise in muscle memory; but how would he know that?

It still isn’t enough. It’s never enough.

You pitiful, selfish, useless bastard.

"You’re doing it again," Bucky says and you blink.

"Doing what?"

"I don’t know, but I don’t like it."

Something inside you twinges uncomfortably and you wrap your arms around your knees, pulling them into your chest. "That might just be me, period."

Bucky huffs. "Take the towel on the right," he says. "I already used the other one."

So you do.

And then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with blah, blah, blah.

"I can’t do this anymore."

Strange watches you, but you don’t get up from where you’re lying, blankly staring at the ceiling, feeling like your chest is about to explode.

You don’t want to feel like something is tearing you apart every single time, even though you know it’s not permanent. There’s always the tiniest glimmer of hope that this will all be over soon.

Or maybe it’s dread.

"Maybe you can’t," Strange answers.

You blink, sitting upright. "What?"

"Maybe you are actually incapable of cleaning up your own mess. You’ve never had any training before, after all. Maybe you’re too weak."

Useless. Not good enough. Waste of time.

"If this is reverse psychology, it’s not working," you say through gritted teeth, pressing your eyes shut so tightly they don’t burn anymore.

Strange ignores you. "Maybe you’re going to be stuck in this loop forever. If that’s the case, there’s no point to keep trying either. Maybe we should just call it a day."

You can feel your breaths coming in shorter.

"Maybe you’re just going to keep failing to save anyone for the rest of your life."

"Stop it!"

An explosion of power goes through your body, bouncing off the walls and bathing the room in a ghostly green light. You cough and curl into yourself as you watch it billow, still echoing the words back at you, "too weak", "stuck in this loop forever". Your bones are heavy with exhaustion.

Strange crouches down next to you and a cup of fragrant tea draws itself up to the side of your face.

"You’re drawing the bulk of your power from pain. From a desire to fix things that you think you alone are responsible for when the truth is that each and every one of us is constantly creating reality."

"Fuck you," you mumble. When you sit up, your head is still swimming.

"You cannot keep this up."

"If I’m such a lost case, then why do you bother?"

"I’m trying to tell you that you’re not." He points at the walls, still covered by that greenish fog. "This is the strongest display of your powers I’ve seen from you yet, and it only happened because you were lashing out. Pain is not a sustainable source of energy. Imagine what you could do if you could be in control."

Do as I tell you.

"There’s no way to control my powers on a larger scale. It’s impossible."

"You keep telling me that, and yet you keep coming back. Why?"

You push yourself up to your elbows, wiping at your face. "Because I have to hope, right?"

"And there it is."

You take a sip of your tea and some feeling returns to your translucent fingers. Strange’s cloak draws itself around your shoulders.

The wizard himself stays quiet for another minute or two, before he asks, "Why do you think I’m talking to you right now? Helping you, even, nevermind your constant whining and your insistence that this won’t work, after you’ve spent your whole life running away from anything resembling actual responsibilities."

"I didn’t—"

"Answer the question."

"Because I created a time loop?" you guess.

"But you already know that this loop is just one point on the timeline. A single day, repeated endlessly, but going exactly like it was always supposed to, once resolved. So, without the time stone and my privileges as the Sorcerer Supreme, and with your protections still in place, how would I have found you?"

He knew exactly where and when to look for you. But he’s right, that shouldn’t even have been possible unless …

"I came to you," you realize. "Or, I will, once I get out of this." The relief that washes over you makes you want to sob. "So there is a way out?"

"Of course there is," he says, surprisingly gently. "Time isn’t supposed to get stuck."

You sit with that for a minute, hiding your face in your hands as Strange stays silent. Finally, you take a deep breath and look at him again with newly sharp focus.

"So why don’t you just tell me how to do it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You know that’s not how it works."

"Yes. It is. It’s literally what I do all the time."

"What you do is leaving realities you don’t like by turning backwards."

"That’s not true."

"Just because your motivations aren’t entirely selfish doesn’t mean you’re right."

You’re so damn exhausted. The frustration of this whole thing is really starting to scratch at your sanity, and there’s an ache in your chest as you stare at your own sleeping face, biting the inside of your cheek, thinking.

Strange snaps his fingers to get your attention back.

"I’m not a mind reader," he says. "Out with it."

"I want to see him," you say, getting up. The cloak flaps around you in a very satisfying way. "Bucky. It’s early this morning, right? Just before the loop starts again. That means he’s upstairs."

"And what’s seeing him going to do?"

You ignore him and walk towards the door, reaching for the handle. Your hand goes right through it. You try it several more times, to no avail.

"Heaven help me," Strange mutters behind you.

Shutting your eyes, you take a deep breath. The circle of green tingles around your wrist.

Then, you walk through the closed door.

You fully expect to crash into the wood head first, but instead you feel the door moving through your noncorporeal form, and then you’re standing on the other side.

With a startled hum, you turn left, not waiting to see if you’re being followed.

You only hesitate in front of Bucky’s bedroom door. You’ve never actually been inside his room since he’s moved in; well, apart from that time he patched up your feet and you woke up in the astral plane for the first time. It feels odd to consider entering without him actually being aware of it.

Then again, there’s quite a few things at this point that he’s unaware of.

Before you can make up your mind, the door swings open just a little, and you automatically take a step back. Alpine sleepily slinks through the gap and trots off in the direction you came from, probably to sit in the kitchen and mope until FRIDAY activates the food dispenser again. On the stairs, she passes Strange who raises an eyebrow at you.

"Changed your mind?"

You glance into the room.

At first, you can’t find him. The bedding looks untouched, and there’s a brief flurry of panic that makes you step inside before you can keep questioning yourself.

Bucky is lying on the floor next to the bed, his hands balled tightly into an old throw blanket. It’s haphazardly draped across his torso, like he’s been trying to wriggle free during the night. He grimaces in his sleep.

Try the floor.

You can’t help but wonder when he’s last tried the bed.

"Can he hear us?" you ask quietly, not needing to look over your shoulder as you sink to the floor next to Bucky.

"No," Strange says. "Not until you put in a lot more work."

"Would he remember if I did?"

"I don’t know."

You do look back at him, then. "You know, considering your position you don’t know a whole lot of things."

You concentrate on your own hand until you’re starting to feel cool metal underneath your fingertips, ignoring the throbbing of your head. Carefully, you touch the crease between his brows, smoothing it out tenderly.

Bucky sighs a little in his sleep, but doesn’t stir. Doesn’t stop quietly murmuring in his dreams.

"You feel better?" Strange asks.

"Not really." You’ve already reached out to him without it having any repercussions too many times. "But that wasn’t the point."

"What was?"

"Just …"

Comfort. He brings you comfort, even when he doesn’t know it. It’s the same reason you keep waiting for him to arrive in the gym in the mornings, even though you could probably hurry up and miss him.

Even if the loop never ends, it’s still good to see that it’s bringing him back like it’s supposed to.

How incredibly selfish, you think as you continue looking at Bucky and letting a quiet, hesitant wash of calm come over you.

And then, all of a sudden, his eyes open.

You flinch backwards, but even though you’re almost face to face, he seems to stare right through you, his breaths heavy.

"Did I do something?" you say quietly.

"No," Strange answers. "This is just when he wakes up."

You watch as Bucky drags a hand over his face and then gets up with a determined tick in his jaw, grabbing a notebook from the nightstand. He scribbles something down, hastily, like it’s threatening to get away from him if he doesn’t hurry. You don’t have to read it to know it has something to do with what he’s seen in his sleep.

When the words stop flowing, he sits on the edge of the bed for a minute longer, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. Finally, he rolls his left arm a few times before pulling on a shirt and his running shoes.

He always goes for a run in the morning. You’ve made fun of him for it before, but you hadn’t put together that while Strange was trying to get you to clear your own head through sitting still, Bucky might be doing the exact opposite to get the same result.

The door clicks shut.

"Are we done with the spying, then?" Strange says.

"No need to get weird about it," you mumble and take his outstretched hand.

***

Something changes once you know that your situation actually has an end date, even though Strange either cannot or will not tell you how many more loops you’re going to have to go through until then. Even so, there’s a new assurance to your every step again, a determination grown from the knowledge that all this isn’t for nothing. That there is an out.

You can cling to that.

"What would you do if you were stuck in a time loop?" you ask, letting your legs dangle over the ledge of the roof.

"Ew, no," Lucy replies, shaking the few remaining ice cubes in her cup emphatically. "My shift was long enough as is, and I’ve been looking forward to my Sunday off all week."

"Fair point," you concede.

It’s early afternoon then, and you’ve found a quiet spot on the top of the Tower. If Lucy was at all confused why you’d shown up at the store right when she clocked out and asked her to hang out, she’s not showing it. Over the past couple of loops, you’ve learned that she really likes to go with the flow, and you appreciate that.

"If it’s not today, though," she continues, like she’s thinking aloud. "Imagine the books you could read. You could try out all that stuff that you say you want to do, and then you never have the time to actually do them."

It’s a good thought, but a lack of time has never really been an issue for you. "Nothing you do would really stick, though."

She squints against the sun. "You realize that’s a pro, right? No consequences whatsoever. I could cut my bangs again and they’d be gone the next day."

"You used to have bangs?"

"Never, and I’m willing to state that in a court of law."

You smile and lean back on your elbows. "If something good happened, that’d be gone, too, though. You don’t get to keep that, either."

"Yeah," Lucy says thoughtfully. "I’d still remember it though, right? It still happened. I could make it happen again."

"Maybe." Your thumb scratches the empty space on your pinkie. Even though you’ve turned your entire bathroom upside down, your ring is still gone, like it just up and disappeared from this reality. You can’t help but wonder if that rift in the sky from a few todays ago has anything to do with that.

"What about you?"

"Hm?"

Lucy takes another slurping sip from her almost empty cup. "What would you do in a time loop?"

You can’t help but laugh. "I’d try to keep making the good things happen, I guess."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

It is.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" someone shouts behind you. "It’s in the fricking nineties today and you’re baking?"

"Technically, we are baking," you say, nodding at Lucy and leaning back further so you can look at Sam upside down. "And we’re baking for you."

"Hi, cap," Lucy says, pulling her sunglasses off.

"Hey." Sam crosses his arms and fixes you with a very cap-like glare. "Why are you baking for me."

"Y/N said it’s for your birthday."

"My—" He cuts himself off, rubbing his temples. "My birthday’s in September."

"Whoops," you say, your grin just believable enough. "My bad, cap."

"You’re not funny," Sam says, "I hope you know that."

You know.

Of course, today isn’t actually his birthday, not even if time were allowed to pass normally. It is day forty-fucking-nine of the loop, though, which makes it your fiftieth time living through this crap and frankly, you all deserve some damn pie.

It’s not going to make a difference in the long run, of course, and yet you can’t help but feel like keeping count of those little markers of time helps to hold your head above water. Making the good things happen, even if they don’t change a thing and no one but you is going to remember.

So you simply say, "It’s turtle pie," because you know that it’s Sam’s favorite. "Hey, what’s the time?"

"Oh, it better be," he says, holding his phone up for you to read and then marching out of your field of vision.

Sadly, you’re just about a minute early.

"He could’ve stayed," Lucy says when you let out a frustrated huff.

"He has that thing at the Garden," you tell her distractedly, taking a mental note to stall Sam a little longer next time.

"There you are."

You flinch at the sound of Bucky’s voice, barely daring to move your head when he sits next to you, his back to the brink.

He never comes up here. That’s the whole point.

"Hi?" you say carefully, and a grin tugs at his mouth.

"Not you," he says, nodding to the ground in front of him.

You turn around fully to find Alpine taking a nap just a few feet behind you, her snowy tail wrapped around a flower pot.

You let out a relieved breath and ignore the small sting in your chest. Of course he’s not up here because of you. Why would he be?

"Gee, thanks," you murmur, quietly shifting around so your hands are hidden underneath your legs. "You sure know how to charm the ladies."

You glance back at Lucy, but she’s looking at her phone, her eyes once again indecipherable behind the large sunglasses.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Think you could handle my charm, Y/L/N?"

He might has well have doused you in a bucket of ice water. You’re suddenly very aware of every single cell in your body, and you don’t like the challenge sparkling in his eyes.

So you do what you always do and you block it out. Dismiss and distract.

"Does Alpine seem weird to you?"

He tilts his head, his jaw tight. "Weird how?"

"I don’t know," you say, staring at her. "She’s just been acting … odd, lately. Today, I mean."

And following you around in a way you’re pretty sure she’s never done before. Not before the loop, at least.

Bucky sighs. "Did you make her scratch you again? Because I’ve told you before that I’m not getting rid of her for enforcing her boundaries."

"First of all, I never make her scratch me, she does that well enough on her own."

"That’s victim blaming," Lucy says without looking up. Bucky snorts and you almost roll your eyes.

"Second of all, she’s up to something. I know it."

"Oh, yes," Bucky says dryly just as Alpine makes a small noise in her dreams, her nose twitching. "That’s the embodiment of evil right there."

"I don’t trust her," you mutter.

"And yet the cat’s the weird one."

"I hate you," you mumble, standing up. "I’m gonna go check on the pie."

"There’s pie?" Bucky says.

"Not for you!"

You turn at the door to see Lucy leaning in to show Bucky something on her phone; the frown has disappeared from his face, his shoulders relaxed. If he’d pull off his glove right now, it’d almost be like sitting in a park.

That’s good, you tell yourself as the door slams shut behind you with a bit too much gusto. Reminds you that there’s nothing special about you in particular, which is much needed, really.

Can’t wait to punch that one out of your system later.

Again and again and again and a—

"Whoa, whoa, you alright?"

You blink. Riff slumps to the ground in front of you, body limp.

Bucky stares at you in concern, his hand still on your shoulder. His lip has split open and there’s the usual bruise already forming on his cheekbone. You can’t help it. Your gaze is drawn down, your breathing shallow.

You screw your eyes shut to snap yourself out of it, but when you open them again, Bucky hasn’t moved an inch.

"Never better," you whisper, and for a split second, you almost believe it yourself.

Liar, liar, liar.

***

At least, you suppose, reality seems considerably less broken these days. No more cracks in the sky.

You get your wake-up call when you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY …

"… FRIDAY?" you say into the silence of your room, your heart pounding wildly. This cannot be happening. Not now.

Not yet.

He got shot again yesterday.

A pleasant jingling sound rings out. "Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N."

You look at the clock on the wall. Ten to eight, just like every morning. "What day is it?"

"Today is Friday, July 4th."

You can taste bile in your mouth despite your relief. There’s an impatient thrum to the symbols around your wrist, like a noose that’s tightening.

What did you expect?

"Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!"

"Didn’t you set FRIDAY to wake me?" you ask Sam as you’re climbing the stairs, nerves on edge.

He looks at you weirdly. "I did. You’re up, aren’t you?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Didn’t sleep well."

That much, at least, is still true. Full nights of sleep are a long distant memory from before constant back-to-back repetitions. The only time your body shuts off is when you manage to sleep for a little bit in between your astral visits and the mission call.

"I hope you don’t think that’s an excuse," Sam says, bumping your shoulder, and you manage a tired grin.

"You wish."

Today, you let him win, even though your ankle makes an odd crack when you land on the mat. You’ll take care of it later.

"You look like shit."

Grief and relief, you’ve learned, both taste like salt and iron, but the latter is so much easier to swallow.

"That makes two of us," you say, sitting up slowly. "How was your run?"

"Good," Bucky says, putting the cloth away and stretching his fingers out. They catch a ray of sunlight. "What’s wrong with you?"

Not this again.

"Later, okay?" you answer, because that’s not a lie. "Let’s just … not, right now?"

"Alright," he says.

And, oh, you want to tell him again. Because he doesn’t press it. Because you miss having someone to share things with. Because you miss telling him the whole truth. Because you’re scared, and tired, and sick of losing him.

But those are egotistic thoughts, and so you keep them all to yourself and take the towel on the right.

There’s one good thing about this today. You make it to the living room just in time to finally catch a glimpse of Sam’s phone right when it pings with Torres’ message.

I can check it out on Monday if you’d like.

That’s it. No urgency, weirdly proper spelling, not even an exclamation mark.

In other words, you’re not sure what you expected but you’re no closer to answers than before.

"What does it matter?" Strange sighs when you tell him all of this with a frown.

"It matters," you reply, "because if we hadn’t gone on the mission, Bucky wouldn’t have died that first time and none of this would’ve happened."

"So what?" he says. "It’s already done."

"But if I could prevent it—"

"It already happened."

"I can make it not happen."

"You and what powers?" Strange says sharply. "Even if you did that, it wouldn’t stop the loop."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you’ve already seen first-hand that it’s bound to you and your powers, not to whatever you do or don’t do during the day. Karma is a fairy tale for those who don’t want to take responsibility for their actions."

"Do you really still think this is me not taking responsibility?" There’s a green flare that goes through you, hot and seething and making goosebumps crawl down your arms.

Strange smiles at the sight. "Let’s find out."

He extends his arms and slowly opens his fists until orange symbols dance across his shaky fingers. The band around your wrist prickles at the weight of his magic flooding the air.

Strange’s cloak nudges you towards the center of the room and your heart gives a heavy thud. "What, right now?"

"Would you prefer being stuck for a couple weeks more?"

"Of course not it’s just—I don’t feel ready."

"No one ever feels ready until they try."

And maybe it’s because it reminds you of something Steve once said, but it makes you step up, falling into the stance you’ve practiced over and over again. You breathe in deeply and close your eyes.

The pull comes easier now. Your powers have just been resting, nestled somewhere deep inside your bones like glowing embers, waiting for you to call upon them.

When you look at your open palm, the green wisps of your powers have curled up to the size of a ping-pong ball. You take another steadying breath and let it glide to the tips of your fingers, carefully letting it balance itself out for a second before moving your other hand.

"Good," you can hear Strange say quietly.

Slowly, carefully, you let the threads untangle until they’re just about to touch the green band circling around your wrist. You can feel the electric tingle of it, the soft beat of each passing second contained within, and you push past it.

You’ve done this before, so you’re not surprised when you feel the energy drain from your body almost immediately. Up until now, though, it’s just been trial and error, not expecting anything to happen. This time, you have Strange’s magic feeding some of his strength into you as well, and so instead of hesitating, you press on, your heartbeat speeding up.

The band around your wrist does the same.

"Don’t lose your focus." Strange’s voice sounds very far away, almost warped.

Very funny, you might have said, but you’re too busy watching it all unfold.

The whirring inside of your head grows louder as the circlet of time keeps rotating with accelerating speed, faster and faster until your eyes start tearing up and there’s something that looks almost like a crack.

You gasp quietly. At first, you think you might have just imagined it, but then the split starts growing, the symbols growing farther and farther apart as the band itself keeps spinning. Your pulse is beating in your ears. Your wrist feels like it’s being set on fire.

There are voices, then, quiet and fast, like you’re watching a sped up movie, music and noises and chatter and birdsong and a whooshing sound like something flipping right past you. Then, something like distant shots.

I’m getting Bucky out of this, you think as the green band continues rotating until suddenly, there is a shockwave of green light that takes up your entire field of vision.

You close your stinging eyes, keeping your feet firmly planted on the floor as your powers rush through you once more and then, with a shudder, settle down again, exhausted. The glare subsides. Something like a trickle of sweat runs down your noncorporeal neck.

"Did it work?" you ask, your voice rough, not daring to look for yourself. There’s no answer, though. "Doc?"

Slowly, your eyes readjust to the gloomy darkness of your room in the astral realm. The only source of light is the glowing green band continuing to circle around your wrist, the rifts stabilizing again like it’s clicking back into place.

You swear under your breath and turn around to ask what went wrong, but Strange is no longer standing beside you.

You’re all alone.

***

Three, two, one—

"Iced grande extra whip caramel macchia—shit!"

You catch the plastic cup before it drops onto the suit of the business man standing in line in front of you. "Here you go, sir."

He grabs his drink with a grunt and hurries back outside. One of these days, you might ask him why he’s in such a hurry, but it’s not today.

You’ve grown to adore the noise of the pre-noon rush. The cacophany of the whirring machines, the AC and the people is just loud enough to make your head calm down a little. Besides, being alone in a crowd has never been easier than when you know for a fact they are not going to remember you.

The drinks are starting to pile up at the hand-out, and because you feel bad for your colleagues, you start handing them out to people. You’ve been here a lot, after all.

"Tall hazelnut latte for Misty!"

Plus, it helps to keep your mind from wandering back to everything that’s going wrong.

Strange still hasn’t returned.

The astral dimension feels different when you return the day after your experiment, like someone’s been pulling invisible strings to make everything just slightly more disordered and dark.

It’s cold, too. You watch your body shiver in her sleep as you wrap your arms around yourself. The books are still there, shimmering slightly with the magic they contain.

"Doc?" you call out, and the vibrations of this place hum it back at you. There’s no answer.

The book at the top of the pile is still opened to a page, as if it’d just been left a moment ago, and you pick it up. The words glide around like they are looking to jump back into an inkpot, and you have to squint to make out any of them.

Incursion, the section header reads. Result of a contraction in a universe’s timeline. Can cause premature disintegration or collapse of any one reality within the multiverse.

"Just great," you say, slapping the book shut again. "I get it, alright? You can come out now."

But there’s no sound apart from your own heartbeat.

Your noncorporeal head is swimming with pressure as you pass through the closed door and into the hallway. The walls seem larger than usual, the stairs warping ever so slightly underneath your feet so that you can’t look at them for too long without feeling seasick.

Upstairs, the air doesn’t feel quite as heavy. The silence follows you, though, lingering in the grayish morning shadows like the remnants of a nightmare.

Bucky still mumbles in his.

You can’t make out what he is saying, and you wouldn’t have understood the words, anyway, but there’s sweat on his brow again. His fingers are tightly clutching the thin throw blanket like it’s shielding him from whatever he’s seeing in his dreams.

You take a step closer to him, desperate to do something, anything, when you notice movement out of the corner of your eye.

Alpine is perched on top of the bed, complacently tucked into herself on one of the fluffed up white pillows like it’s really her room, not Bucky’s.

And she’s staring right at you.

You take a step to the side, then another. Alpine tilts her head, her large eyes fixed on you. They follow your gestures as you wave your hand.

A quick glance tells you that Bucky is still sleeping. You take a deep breath and conjure up a small dot of bright green light, letting it dance across your fingertips. Alpine uncurls herself in interest, her tail twitching.

"You can see me," you whisper, and the little spec of your power disappears.

The cat meows in disappointment.

Carefully, you move closer to the bed, reaching out your translucent hand until you place it on Alpine’s head.

She rubs against your palm.

You chuckle incredulously, scratching behind her ears. "You little devil."

Alpine seems particularly pleased with herself. She starts purring.

This is simply bizarre, you think as you continue petting her soft fur. You’re expecting a sarcastic comment from behind your shoulder any minute now, but it doesn’t come.

So, you lower yourself down on the floor next to Bucky, the tips of your fingers not quite grazing his arm as you swallow heavily.

And then you wait until he gets up.

It’s possible, you think as you watch him leave and then make yourself wake up too, that Strange is simply messing with you for the hell of it. You don’t like the timing of this, though. Your day still continues on and on and on, like it always does, but it seems just a little too pointed that this would happen right after you had your first hopes of getting out of here in a long time.

It doesn’t help that the reality glitches have decided to return with a vengeance.

Every day is still July 4th. You wake up with a start, you train, you get coffee, you fight over lunch, you take your astral visit, you go on that damn mission. It’s the details that start to get … fuzzy.

In the beginning, every single thing around you was the exact same every single day. Now, though, there are sometimes details that are just wrong. A different mug left on the drying rack. A mess all over the tables in the lab. Weird noises all over the Tower.

You don’t know what to make of any of it, and so in general, you follow Strange’s rule of thumb and simply ignore the things that are wrong one day and then right the next—which, thankfully, is all of them. You just go with it, telling yourself that this is simply reality malfunctioning a little, like a machine that needs oiling.

Weirdly enough, that doesn’t reassure you in the slightest.

But what else can you do?

You lose a few hours here and there, time seemingly speeding up at random sometimes now. One morning, Bucky isn’t in the gym like he usually is, and you work yourself up over it so much you nearly have a panic attack. In the end, you almost crash into him outside of his room, and a rush of reassurance floods through you with such force you can’t even look at him.

That time, Sam is there when Bucky gets shot, and it’s his cry that follows you into the next day. Your hands are clean this time, and somehow that feels worse.

Everyone’s back to their usual stuff again, and that’s that.

Another time, you’ve barely rolled out of bed and into your bathroom—"Rise and shine, McFly!"—when you’re suddenly jolted forwards and you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume. Your stomach feels like it’s still turning, nauseous, as if you’d sat up too fast.

That feeling still leaves a bad taste in your mouth, sticking to the back of your mind like the blood you haven’t even had time to wash off.

The thing that demands most of your attention, though, is the pile of books waiting for you in the astral realm. Since you don’t have any control over the loop itself, you pour all of your energy into trying to understand the theory behind your powers. It’s giving you a constant headache, and it takes a lot longer than you would like to admit, but at least you feel like you’re doing something that’ll last.

Nothing else will.

There’s one last lonely cup sat on the counter next to your own, which signals that the rush is over for now. You can see Lucy wiping her forehead as you wave your goodbye, picking up both drinks on your way out and handing one of them to the guy just hurrying back downstairs.

"Here you go," you say without stopping, glancing at your phone. You haven’t stayed this late before.

"What the—" you hear behind you, just before the doors glide open and you’re greeted by the sound of traffic and a hot breeze of air.

If you’re lucky, you can make it back to your room without anyone seeing you. You’ve moved on to a particularly hefty tome about relativity, and you’d like to—

"Hey! Miss? Hold on a second!"

You look over your shoulder to see the delivery guy has run after you, cup still in his hand. His bike is leaned against a lamp post nearby, his cap dangling off one of the handles.

You found out a couple of weeks ago that he takes his break just after dropping off your order, but you don’t usually make eye contact anymore.

Now, he holds out his cup accusingly. "That’s my drink."

You smile. "Good for you."

"No. No, that’s not—I mean—how did you know it was my drink?"

And because nothing really matters and you really want to go home, you say, "It has your name on it, doesn’t it?"

You expect him to look at you with wide eyes, just like people normally do when you know things you’re not supposed to. His mouth will drop open, speechless, his frown will deepen, and you can wink at him and continue on your way so he can spend the next couple of hours wondering what just happened.

The cup falls out of his hand, but somehow he manages to catch it before it hits the sidewalk. When he looks up at you again, and his expression is unlike anything you’ve seen coming.

"But that’s not …" he says quietly. "Do you remember me?"

And then it’s you who’s speechless, because the shock on Peter Parker’s face is more than you bargained for.

*****

"Honestly, I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this," you said quietly, looking over the rim of your glass at the crowd.

"You complaining?" you heard Sam’s voice say over the little earpiece you were wearing.

"Not at all."

Apparently, people connected to terrorist organizations threw incredibly fancy parties.

You hadn’t felt this glamorous in a while, if ever, dressed up to the nines in a dark green jumpsuit with an incredibly flattering cut that you’d never had a reason to wear before. Despite your initial doubts about this whole thing, you felt great, for the first time in way too long.

"Are you gonna move any time soon?"

Well. Mostly.

At least Barnes cleaned up nice, you supposed; it almost made up for his grouchy demeanor.

With a sigh, you downed the rest of your drink and got back to work. You let the crowd swallow you up, seemingly on your way to the restrooms, and then you stopped it all to slip upstairs unnoticed by prying eyes and cameras.

You didn’t hold it for very long; you had to rattle some doors, after all, and despite your espresso martini, it was still hard to tell if you could manage several redos back to back. After all, you’d only been back in the game for a couple of weeks.

It took you a few tries to find the right office, and locating the files was comparatively easy with what you already had access to. There it was, proof that ULTIMATUM had managed to secure most of the Flag Smashers’ previous supporters as well as some high brow weapon dealers.

While you copied everything onto a flashdrive, your eyes caught one of the designs. You frowned.

Even though you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly, something about it seemed just slightly too highbrow for an organization of the international bad egg committee that was supposedly still mostly underground. Your gaze started drifting through the rest of the office, noting the usual boring books and glass awards in the bookshelves on the far wall. You pulled open one of the desk drawers.

"You almost done in here?"

"Fuck!" You slammed the drawer shut again, getting your pinkie stuck in the process. "Damnit, where did you come from?"

Bucky pointed over his shoulder.

"Fuck me," you murmured, your eyes stinging at the pain.

Bucky looked nonplussed. "Can’t you just undo it?"

"Great input, thank you." The flashdrive beeped softly and you shut everything down again. At least you were definitely sober now. "What are you, anyway, my babysitter?"

"Wouldn’t have to be if you could check in on time," he answered, checking the corridors, then nodding for you to follow.

"Time’s a social construct," you murmured, but followed him, the flashdrive hidden in your fist.

You didn’t even make it to the staircase.

"Didn’t I tell you?" a voice said right before several triggers clicked and you both froze. "I knew I’d recognized that arm. And who do you have with you here, Winter Soldier?"

No one, you thought, and then you yanked time backwards so forcefully you stumbled into the desk, your heart still racing. The copy sat at 57%.

You felt almost seasick with the rewind, but there wasn’t any time. "Keep going upstairs," you said into your earpiece.

"What?" Bucky said.

"I’m fine. Don’t come get me. Just keep going," you gritted through your teeth, trying to calm your breaths. 70%.

"Exit plan C, then," Sam said.

Bucky didn’t answer. You looked at your hands. There was a slight tremor to them, but nothing too bad. If you could get the nausea under control, you could probably make it past the cameras one more time.

You should’ve eaten more.

As soon as the flashdrive was done, you ripped it out and forced everything to a halt again. Your palms were sweaty as you hurried out of the office and in the direction of the staircase, your lungs burning. This didn’t feel like a good sign.

You stumbled over your damn heels and the noise returned for that moment you lost your concentration.

Not good enough.

Sweat pearled on your forehead as you and the universe held your breath again. You could feel your hold slipping with every second that wasn’t allowed to pass. Time was impatient with you.

A small crowd had assembled at the bottom of the stairs. As you closed in on them, you felt a jolt go through you and suddenly found yourself surrounded by people as time attempted to right itself again. Your nails dug into the skin of your palm so hard you could feel yourself draw blood.

It went quiet again and you moved through them, almost blindly. Everything seemed to be spinning.

Behind your shoulder, you could hear several people talking, interrupted only by the world stopping around them every now and then.

"—d’you—see that—"

"—could’ve—sworn there—”

And with time stumbling and flailing around in confusion, you made it out of the building and into the waiting cab.

chapter seven

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[aishangotome]

[Azel] The Mean Unicorn's Greedy Desire (Bday Story) - Part 1

It had been a while since I started staying in Tanzanite as a traveling merchant---

The day of the Nativity Festival arrived, celebrating the day the living god, worshipped as the incarnation of the moon, descended to this world.

(Amazing... Everywhere is bustling with festivities.)

The shop on the right is selling palm-sized statues of the living god, and the shop on the left is selling commemorative coins that were apparently made to celebrate this year's Nativity Festival...

If I look ahead, I see a multitude of people praying around the statue of the living god, and if I look behind, I see dancers performing a dance dedicated to the god.

The market, filled with a mix of locals and tourists, was so crowded that it was difficult to even walk, so as soon as I finished the job the owner asked me to do, I rushed into a nearby alley.

(I didn't think the crowds would be this bad, but surely there's no one in the back alley––)

Azel: ...Huh?

Emma: Eh...?

Standing right in front of me was the god himself.

(Am I having a daydream?)

I rubbed my eyes and looked again, but the scene didn't change.

Emma: Why is Prince Azel in a place like this–– Nggh!?

Azel: Don't make a fuss, don't shout, be quiet! Do you want to be sued for damages? Fine with that, huh?

(That's so unreasonable!)

Azel quickly closed the distance between us, covered my mouth with his hand, and dragged me into the shadows.

(Is he perhaps hiding?)

When I signaled with my eyes that "I'll be quiet," he finally let go of my hand.

Azel: Of all people, why did you have to find me? This is the worst.

Emma: Were you doing something bad?

Azel: If I were, you wouldn't see tomorrow.

Emma: ...I'm glad that's not the case.

Emma: But, why is the guest of honor himself in the shade on a day like this?

Azel: Did it look like I was having fun?

Emma: ...No.

Azel: That's how it is.

(No, what does that mean?)

Azel let out a huge sigh by my ear.

It tickled, and my shoulders jumped, but Azel didn't seem to notice.

Azel: Do you know what day it is today?

Emma: It's Prince Azel's birthday, right? Happy Birthday.

Azel: Thank you. I'll be collecting presents later, so please be prepared.

(Shoot, I wasn't thinking!)

Azel: I prefer presents with actual items rather than just feelings.

Emma: ...So that's how it is.

Azel: But what all the citizens want to give me are "feelings."

Azel: No, even feelings are questionable... Anyway, people don't really care much about "whether I'll be happy or not."

(Is that... so?)

Azel: What do you think would happen if I went out on the main street now?

Emma: It might cause a commotion. Everywhere is already buzzing about Prince Azel.

Azel: In other words, that's how it'll be.

(I see, I understand now. He's hiding here because he doesn't want to cause a stir.)

As soon as one question was resolved, another one immediately popped up.

Emma: Wouldn't it have been better to stay in the usual temple...?

Azel: That's why I'm here, isn't it?

Perhaps out of spite or something, he pinched my cheek.

Azel: The main event of the Nativity Festival is the divine ritual.

Azel: If I skip this, the whole nation will start making a fuss, wondering if something has happened to the god, and politics, economy, everything will collapse.

Emma: That's a bit of an exaggeration...

Azel: You think so?

Azel: But it's no exaggeration to say that for the people of Tanzanite, god is the pillar of their spirit.

Azel: If that pillar cracks even a little, people will lose their minds.

Azel: For example, you like books, right? You might not be able to read them at all from tomorrow...

Azel: If that were to happen, could you remain calm?

Emma: I might not be able to.

Azel: That's how big of a deal it is for someone to lose their spiritual support.

Azel: ...Though it's a huge pain.

(Somehow... I think I understand.)

(Azel has to go to the castle no matter what, for the sake of the people.)

(Because that's his duty as a god.)

Emma: Is there no secret passage to get to the castle?

Azel: No. The more entrances the castle has, the more invasion routes there will be.

Azel: Tanzanite Castle is built in such a way that there is no other way to get there than through the main street.

(So, a commotion is unavoidable...)

Emma: Then, I'll be cheering you on from the shadows.

(There's nothing I can do anyway...)

Just as his hand left my cheek and I was about to turn around, he placed his hands on both my shoulders.

Azel: That's not right, is it?

Emma: Wh-What do you mean?

He squeezed my shoulders tightly, putting pressure on me both physically and mentally.

Azel: You think you can just go somewhere without giving me a present?

Azel: By the way, I don't want anything you just randomly bought at the market.

Emma: But, you want a physical item, right?

Azel: A thoughtless item is the same as bulky trash.

Azel: Let me see, what I want from you...

Azel, who had been lost in thought, suddenly changed his expression to a god-like benevolent smile.

I couldn't help but tense up.

Azel: I've never had a birthday cake before, so I'd like that.

Emma: ...Eh, never, ever?

Azel: Never. Because I'm a god.

(Oh right... The way gods celebrate is different from ordinary people.)

(But, why... does his smile seem sad?)

Emma: If I can use the castle kitchen, I can make one...

Azel: I'll arrange it. But for that, you have to go to the castle with me.

Emma: Together...?

Azel: Yes, together.

(If we go to the castle together, won't we get caught up in the commotion...?)

Azel: You want to celebrate me, don't you? You do, right?

The god enveloped me in a benevolent smile, as if bathed in a halo of light.

Azel: Very well. I will offer you my divine lending service at a special price.

Azel: Just for today, I am yours... In other words, we are bound by fate. Please take care of me.

(This wicked god––!)

.

.

.

Part 2

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[freakingholland]

I need some fluffy Remus x f! Reader. Reader is a need-of-touch Person, plagued by the similar issues like Remus (insecurity/ anxiety, lack of self esteem, feeling of not deserving love & happiness, depression, and can be impulsive). History of bullying at school, family issues (fighting parents, mean relatives). On a very hard hitting depression day, Remus learns of her troubles, a friendship develops. Both afraid to „ruin“ it with their feelings. A deep cuddle part :)? Thank you very much!

"Let's stop pretending" - Remus Lupin x teacher!Reader

A/N: Hello! Thank you sm for this request! You didn’t specify if you want it to be older or younger Remus so I went with teacher Remus and teacher Reader – I hope you don’t mind! I loved working on this piece and I hope you’ll like it! Also this was my first time writing something so emotional so please go easy on me!

If you or anyone you know is struggling please consider seeking help. Here are some extremely helpful hotlines: 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: 988 (US) STAND! For Families Free of Violence crisis line: 888-215-5555 (US) National Domestic Abuse Helpline in the UK: 0808 2000 247 (UK) Crisis Services Canada Suicide Prevention Service: 1-833-456-4566 (Canada) Remember, you are not alone and things can get better. Virtual hugs - Tori xx

Summary: Sometimes the most influential people, the closest to one’s heart, get the worst of treatments. But true love will always shine through the toughest of times. And that’s what happened with Remus and his partner. (emotional hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, romance)

Warnings: not proofread! descriptions of low self esteem, depressive mood, descriptions of anxiety and worries, heartfelt confessions, teacher x teacher relationship.

Word count: 1.7K +

If you enjoyed my work: Ko-fi.com/freakingholland

questions/requests/ideas here! - rules here

masterlist

my AO3 archive is here

Sweaty, breathless. With a knot painfully tightening in your stomach. With an unrested mind, thoughts colliding with one another and blurring together. Was it the weight of your new function? Was it the memories of your own school years? The taunts, the whispers, the isolation - all of it suddenly felt too close, like it had never really left. But you shook your head, forcing yourself to breathe. In and out.

You were safe now—or so you told yourself. On the other side. Teaching, not being taught.

A bottle of water, your beloved quill, some chocolate, books. You nervously clutched your most needed belongings with trembling hands. You hurriedly skipped up the stairs towards your newly assigned classroom keeping your things close to your torso.

As you were approaching the top of the staircase you were greeted with a small smile from a man walking downstairs. One that you couldn’t help but return despite the tightness in your chest. A fellow professor – judging by the look of his robe. He was wearing a sweater that at first sight seemed just as soft as his gaze. His soft facial expression and scent briefly shook you from your overwhelming thoughts.

“Good morning.” he said calmly. You stopped in your tracks.

“I feel like we know each other,” you said hesitantly, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

He nodded gently, with a spark of recognition behind his ocean blue eyes.

“Hmmm we do… it’s been so long. Good to see a familiar face. Remus. Remus Lupin.”

“It really has been. Nice to see you too,” you replied, a weird sense of relief creeping in.

Remus Lupin. Of course you remembered him. He had been a well-seasoned fifth year student by the time you had started your first term at Hogwarts. Though you’d never really spoken directly, you were aware of him. Your paths crossed briefly when you were a prefect for Ravenclaw at a time of his own prefect duties for Gryffindor.

You loved being a prefect, it had been a rare reprieve. It gave you an excuse to roam around the castle, to lose yourself in the beauty of it. While many younglings found the darkness of Hogwarts unsettling, to you it was a genuine comfort, a place where you could gather your racing thoughts in peace.

“I’m sure we will see each other more often. My class is just around the corner. If you need anything dear you know where to find me.” He tilted his head in the direction of the stairs.

“Now if you’ll excuse me ma’am! I have to sign some documents at Mrs. McGonagall’s office. We shall see each other later?”

“Certainly. See you later Remus.”

It was hard not to admit that his warm welcome caught you off guard. What surprised you was that, despite having barely interacted in the past, he seemed to hold some sense of fondness towards you. Regardless, his gesture was undeniably kind.

-

You and Professor Burbage sat side by side, your mugs of coffee warming your hands as you exchanged stories about the last week’s antics from your lessons.

“…and then he- “you began, only to be interrupted by a familiar warmth on your shoulder.

“And who is that?” a familiar voice teased from behind.

Remus peeked between you and Professor Burbage with his very own cup of coffee.

“Good evening, Remmy. Please have a seat!”

“May I?” he asked without really waiting for an answer before pulling up a chair.

As Remus sat down, his knee brushed yours briefly under the table.

“You’re like two peas in a pod these days,” Burbage commented, her eyes darting between you with a knowing grin.

“What can I say dear Charity…?” Remus began, his tone mockingly serious.

“You have to have somebody to complain to when you’re marking awfully written papers.” You finished for him.

“Exactly. Out of respect for our sanity, of course.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” she asked.

Remus raised an eyebrow, but his smirk gave him away. “Yes, that’s precisely what we’re calling it. Survival through shared suffering.”

 “Mhmm, shared suffering,” Charity said under her breath before taking a long sip of her coffee. She glanced at her watch.

“Well well I’d love to banter with you for a little longer but some of us have lessons to prepare for. Good night,” she said, slowly rising from her seat. She gently smoothed out her robe.

“Goodnight, Charity,” you said, trying to ignore the subtle heat spreading through your cheeks.

-

You were moving rice from one edge of your plate to another, trying to make it vanish with your sight.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Remus said, breaking the silence.

Forcing a smile, you replied, “It’s nothing, just tired.” He gave you an attentive look and nodded slowly.

“Dearie if you need to talk, you know I’m here,” he said gently.

„I know, thank you…”

Your rational side begged you to stop, to bury the feelings before they ruined what you had. But your heart had other ideas. It kept slowly but surely tearing you apart with unrelenting tension, increasing with every single one of Remus’ gestures, remarks.

His hand had barely brushed against yours, and it was enough to fuel the ache in your chest. You wanted to lean into the warmth he offered, wanted to let the comfort of his company wrap around you like a blanket, but you simply couldn’t.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you. You needed to leave. Needed some space.

“I... I must…go set up the classroom.” You said firmly getting up from your warmed up seat.

As you stepped into the hallway the cold air hit your face, making you more focused on your breathing. The feeling was sort of like the one on your first day teaching. Except this time you were walking away from him, the one person who had brought you so much comfort. With each step, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were letting something so important slip right through your fingers.

You slammed the door behind you, taking out your anger on the object. You couldn’t help but cry it all out. You slid down to the floor and buried your face between your knees.

Remus couldn’t stand it any longer. He set down his mug with a thud and followed you.

He hesitated for a moment, but the instinct to check on you was stronger than the quiet voice in his head telling him to stay away. Gently pushing the door open, he found you, sitting on the cold stone floor next to it.

He sat down beside you without a word. The silence was growing thicker if that was even possible.

“I don’t deserve this Y/N…” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“You are right…you don’t deserve such treatment, “ you whispered back.

“I... I don’t know what’s happening anymore, Remus,” you choked out, your shoulders shaking. “Everything feels like it's falling apart, and I can’t keep pretending it’s fine.”

“That is not what I meant love.” He locked his gaze with yours, eyes glistening in the warm sunlight. He took a deep breath.

“I don’t deserve someone like you. I’ve spent so long convincing myself that I shouldn’t get close to anyone, and yet… here you are. Without even trying, you’ve become everything to me.” His voice wavered.

“You’ve brought light into places I thought would stay dark forever.”

“I’ve hidden from who I really am… from what I’ve been through. I convinced myself that I wasn’t worthy of any of the good things, especially not you.” His words made your chest tighten.

“But you are worthy, Remus. You’re the most caring person I know. I wouldn’t have survived being here if it wasn’t for your constant support. I owe you the beginning of this chapter of my life.”

He looked down, his voice quiet as he murmured, “I don’t know how to accept that. I don’t know how to feel like I’m enough for you.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I have to be honest with you, Remus. I don’t know how to just be your friend anymore. I’ve tried, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel the way I do.” Your voice cracked, and you turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I never thought… I never dared to believe you could feel the same,”

“I’ve spent so much time telling myself you were out of reach,” he continued.

He paused, his hand hovering uncertainly before finally brushing gently against your cheek, as if afraid you might pull away. “I need to say this, Y/N. It’s been eating at me for weeks now, and I can’t keep pretending it’s not there.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You turned to face him. More tears welled up in your eyes. But this time they were happy tears.

Without thinking, you closed the space between you, wrapping your arms tightly around him. His embrace was immediate.

“I’ve tried to ignore it... but the more I’m with you, the more it’s hard to deny. I love you too,” you murmured into his chest, your voice muffled. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

As he held you close, the world felt like it had finally righted itself.

You soaked in the relief. And the warmth that seemed like it was completely out of your reach just seconds ago.

You stayed intertwined for a while, slowly digesting the good and the bad. Giving yourself space to let everything sink in.

But then, as the two of you sat there in silence for a while, Remus shifted slightly and let out a soft chuckle.

“You know,”

“as romantic as this moment is, my buttocks are absolutely freezing.” You couldn’t help but laugh through the remains of your tears.

“Oh, so now you’re saying my breakdown spot isn’t up to your standards?” you teased, pulling back just enough to see his face, which was now decorated with a playful smirk.

“I’m just saying, if we’re going to spend the night clinging to each other and crying some more maybe we could do it somewhere else. My butt’s about to become part of the stonework here… have some mercy for an old man.”

“I will as long as I am allowed to call you my old man.”

“I suppose I could let you get away with that... but only because I’m feeling generous.” Remus grinned, planting a kiss on your forehead.

Thank you for reading! Stay whelmed xx

[kathlare]

don’t wanna break up again

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie wrestles with the weight of her emotions during a vulnerable therapy session, reflecting on the strains of her relationship with Rodrigo and the echoes of heartbreaks past.

Wordcount: 1.4 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

May 12th, 2023 - New York City, NY

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, a quiet reminder of time passing as Amelie sat in the plush chair of her therapist’s office. Her legs were curled up beneath her, her oversized sweater draped loosely over her frame. She toyed with the edge of the sleeve, her mind wandering as she tried to gather her thoughts.

—You’ve been quiet today, Amelie,— Dr. Wilson said gently, her soft accent grounding the room. —What’s on your mind?

Amelie glanced up at her, the older woman’s steady gaze both comforting and disarming.

—I don’t know where to start,— Amelie admitted, her voice low. —Everything feels... heavy lately. The tour, my voice, Rodrigo... it’s like I’m juggling too much, and I’m dropping everything.—

Dr. Wilson nodded, her pen resting idly on the notepad in her lap.

—Let’s focus on one thing at a time. You mentioned Rodrigo. How are things between you two?—

Amelie let out a humorless laugh, leaning back into the chair and rubbing her temples.

—They’re... fine, I guess? No, not fine. That’s not true. It’s... complicated,— she said, her words tumbling out in a rush.

—Complicated how?— Dr. Wilson prompted.

Amelie sighed, her hands dropping into her lap.

—We barely talk anymore. When we do, it’s surface-level stuff. I’m always on the road, and he’s busy with his own things. Half the time, I feel like I’m trying to force something that isn’t even there anymore.—

She paused, her throat tightening as the words she’d been avoiding finally escaped.

—I love him, I do. But it’s like we’re living in two completely different worlds now. And I don’t know if we can keep pretending like that’s not true.—

Dr. Wilson watched her carefully, giving her a moment to sit with her emotions before speaking.

—Do you feel like he’s still a priority in your life? Or are you trying to hold onto something out of habit, or fear of letting go?—

Amelie stared at the ceiling, blinking away tears that threatened to fall.

—I don’t know. Maybe both? I mean, he was there for me when I was filming Wicked. He was my constant when everything else was chaos. And I love him for that. But now...— She trailed off, biting her lip.

Dr. Wilson leaned forward slightly.

—Now what, Amelie?— she asked gently.

Amelie’s chest felt tight, her hands fidgeting in her lap as her emotions began to spill over.

—Now it just feels like I’m holding onto a memory of what we were instead of what we are. And I don’t want to admit it because... because I don’t want to go through it all again,— she said, her voice breaking on the last word.

Dr. Wilson nodded, her expression calm and understanding.

—You don’t want to go through what, exactly?—

—I don’t want to break up again. I don’t want to feel that... that emptiness. That loneliness. I don’t want to start over. It hurts too much,— she whispered, wiping at her face with her sleeve.

Her therapist handed her a tissue, giving her a moment to compose herself before continuing.

Amelie took the tissue and pressed it against her face, her tears falling freely now. She didn’t try to stop them.

—It’s just... when Lando and I split...— Her voice caught, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to get the words out. —It was so fucking hard. I didn’t think I’d ever feel okay again. And even now, sometimes it still feels like I’m carrying pieces of that with me.—

Dr. Wilson gave her a moment before gently prompting, —What was the hardest part for you, Amelie?—

Amelie let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she clutched the tissue.

—All of it. Losing him as my best friend, not having him there to talk to about stupid things or big things. The way it ended... how he just gave up on us because I was ‘too busy.’ Like I didn’t matter enough to him to try. It made me feel like I wasn’t worth the effort. Like I was disposable.—

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she shook her head, her tears flowing harder now.

Dr. Wilson leaned forward slightly, her tone soft but steady.

—That’s a lot to carry, Amelie. And it’s understandable that you’re afraid of going through something like that again. But let me ask you this: when you look back on your relationship with Lando, do you still feel like it was your fault?—

Amelie shook her head immediately, though the tears didn’t stop.

—No. I know it wasn’t my fault. I’ve done the work, I’ve talked it through. I was busy because I was building something for myself. I had dreams, and he couldn’t handle not being the center of my attention all the time. I know that now. But back then... God, back then it felt like I was broken. Like I wasn’t enough.—

Her voice dropped to a whisper, the vulnerability in her words cutting through the room like a knife.

—He didn’t even try, Dr. Wilson. He just... gave up. And I think that’s what hurt the most. Because I never would have given up on him.—

Dr. Wilson’s expression remained calm, but her eyes held a deep empathy.

—And now, with Rodrigo, do you feel like you’re the one holding on while he’s letting go?—

Amelie’s chest tightened, and she looked down at her lap, the truth of the question hitting her like a punch to the gut.

—Maybe,— she admitted, her voice barely audible. —But it’s different. Rodrigo isn’t giving up; he’s just... not there. It’s not intentional. It’s just life. We’re both so busy, and I don’t know if that’s something we can fix. I don’t even know if he wants to fix it.—

Her tears started falling again, and she clutched the tissue in her hand as though it were the only thing keeping her together.

—I don’t want to feel like this again. I don’t want to break up again, start over, feel like I’m losing a part of myself. I’ve been through it too many times, and I’m so fucking tired of it,— she said, her voice cracking.

Dr. Wilson let the silence settle for a moment, giving Amelie the space to feel what she needed to feel. Then she spoke, her voice gentle but firm.

—Amelie, it’s okay to feel tired. It’s okay to grieve what’s slipping away, even if it hasn’t fully ended yet. But what’s more important is understanding what you deserve. You’ve worked so hard to rebuild yourself after everything you’ve been through; Cameron, Lando, even Shawn before that. You deserve a relationship that supports you, not one that makes you question your worth or your place in someone��s life.—

Amelie nodded slowly, her tears still falling but her breathing beginning to steady.

—I know you’re right. I just... I don’t know if I’m strong enough to let go. Not again. Not now,— she admitted, her voice raw.

Dr. Wilson gave her a small, encouraging smile.

—You’re stronger than you think, Amelie. You’ve proven that time and time again. And letting go doesn’t mean failing. It means choosing yourself, your happiness, your peace.—

Amelie wiped her face, her hands trembling slightly.

—It’s just...— she started, her voice faltering. —When Cam died, I didn’t think I’d ever feel whole again. And then Lando came along, and it was like... like Cam had sent him to me. He was light and laughter when everything felt so dark. And when that ended, it was like losing Cam all over again.—

She pressed her hands to her face, her sobs breaking through.

—I thought Rodrigo would be different. I thought I could finally have something steady, something that didn’t hurt. But maybe I’m just not meant for that.—

Dr. Wilson’s voice was steady and kind, her words cutting through Amelie’s spiraling thoughts.

—You’re meant for love, Amelie. But love doesn’t have to come at the cost of your own peace. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is let go of what’s no longer serving you, even if it hurts. It doesn’t mean you’re giving up. It means you’re making space for something better.—

Amelie nodded, though her tears didn’t stop. The weight in her chest felt as heavy as ever, but Dr. Wilson’s words planted a tiny seed of clarity in her heart.

—Do you think... if I let Rodrigo go, I’ll be okay?— she asked, her voice trembling.

Dr. Wilson’s expression softened, her gaze unwavering.

—I know you will be. Because you’ve been through so much, and you’re still here. You’re still standing. And no matter what happens, you’ll keep moving forward.—

Amelie let out a shaky breath, her tears slowing as she processed the words. She wasn’t ready to make a decision—not yet—but for the first time in a long time, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could survive this too.

[34saveme34]

me when I read a fanfic and it isn't the not being able to keep one tense going through the fic that puts me off for a second but the idea that 3 doesn't know he has feelings for 4

I honestly think he knows he likes 4 since about

hm. I'll say when he was exiled

I think he had time to think

yknow, despite all that happened before, you'd think that he would hold more against 4 but he doessnnn'tttttttttt

and I knoooow the meme life cicle but I think he was still very casual about it despite that

I think he realised then and overtime like thought it went away

and then 4 appeared again and thought he was fine, he was good

but then he gets to figure out he's basically 4's soulmate and it least now a lot of things start to make sense but not others and he's all over it again

for 4 it's IGBP 100% but only after a while

like he's throught he shock

maybe after all the annoyance with his living situation and he finally lives in his fuckin- don't remember the name of it but he settles down in the back to relax and his mind drifts back, thinks about 3 a little too much, the words he said still burning on his mind and it makes him so giddy and then it hits him like oh- oh huh, guess a lot of things make sense now. better repress!

I mean just- just think about it

neither of these idiots are brave enough to say anything like that, they're both scared of being vulnerable but 3 is more so. BUT 4 is way way more scared of rejection than 3 is. I mean they're basically the same amount of scared but from different perspectives. Like they see themselves this way is why I'm phrasing it this way, 4 is scared to be vulnerable like that too but he specifically thinks about the idea of 3 forever rejecting him and losing him all over this.

3 is also heavy scared of rejection but he's more scared of the idea that if he doesn't keep up his tough persona and tells 4 how he feels he'll be made fun of forever and no one will take him seriously ever again, not even as little as they already do, at least in his eyes.

then again I do absolutely think wotfi23 was a step forward from this

with 4 not trying to snoop around so hard to find out what 3 thinks, and 3 having less of a high wall up around 4, especially since 3 was drawing them not only in that specific art style but also with like.... the expressions are so specific. I do think 4 brings 3 a lot of joy, something that should be explored more

because got theough.... yknow what fuck it I'm overanalyizing that drawing, lemme put it here first

so like this piece of shit drawing <3

one thing first and this is gonna sound insane first but 4 takes up more place

and also has a more complex albeit not by that much pose

also his pose exudes energy, also with the face he makes as well

I think this is how 3 truly sees 4, like a bundle of sunshine who is full of unneeded energy

another interesting thing you might notice is 3's corner of his mouth

that little line by his beard.... he's cringing a little bit, almost like he's trying to mask enjoying 4's company. And in general, his eyes too and once again back to his posture and how he takes up less space than 4 it feels like he's holding back. Once again back to him being kind of intimacy. And when he tries to reach out it hurts him, he cringes and he's like fuming and crazy about it

WHILE he views 4 as being more open, more fun than him, more jolly than he'll ever be

it's crazy how jealously he is in love still despite everything

and we didn't quite see development from this

he loves him so much and still envies what he has with his whole soul

maybe one day the love will overtake the jealousy, especially with how 4 is like, slowly and slowly being more open (and a lil gay) about caring about 3

unless it's a one step forward one step backward type of thing

like imagine first episode of the year and we witness them step backward from a better and more truthful relationship they could have

because honestly, it isn't only about love. It's about communication issues, greatest example of that being Trash Friends of course (oh trash friends, how I miss watching you for the first time)

and it would be genuinely so genius if they, with 4's development about dropping more hints about just how much he thinks about 3

like being vulnerable

and if it was used against him OOOOOOH it would the BIGGEST step backward

if 3 let jealousy win while 4 is trying to be vulnerable with him

imagine the fall out. imagine 3 breaking, being like maybe 4 was right, maybe I really only think of myself

while 4 fully closing off, hurt

their relationship is SO conflict prone. which is why it's so fun to talk about, like why I've been rambling here for a long while now oops

I was reading a fanfic before I almost forgot 💀 anyways I do believe in 4 realising his feelings for 3 later than 3 does for 4, I think that's probably the more popular opinion in the fandom

might make a poll aboutt ittttt :3

[waitsobs]

THE LONG GAME ⋆˚࿔ chapter nine!

When popular actress y/n l/n's private account gets exposed, it is revealed that she has a crush on one of the girls from the girl group katseye. y//n tries to de-escalate the situation, but makes it worse, and loses her chance with the girl. The only way she think of winning the girl over is by playing the long game. 

WORK FOR IT

When yn arrived on the set, the scene set up was a typical bedroom. Megan was already standing on the side, ready to start. yn's heart began hammering as she approached her, but fortunately, the director was approaching them to explain the scene, saving her from having to make an embarrassing introduction.

"So, in this scene, you two will be on the bed. Megan, you're going to lay down while yn is on top of you applying your makeup." The director explains.

Megan's eyes widened; she wanted to protest, but she knew she had to be professional, so she remained silent and nodded.

yn, on the other hand, was freaking out since the two were not on good terms, if they were on any terms at all.

"You guys got it?" The director inquired, which jolted yn out of her trance and caused her to nod in agreement. "okay great, well let's get started you two can go take your positions."

The director walked away, and to yn's surprise, Megan was already laying down on the bed.

Gradually, she approached the bed and stood beside it, gazing down at Megan. 

"Are you just going to stand there or what?" Megan asked, slightly annoyed, her brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry I didn't know whether to ask or just you know…" yn responded, her gaze shifting away from Megan.

"Just get on top of me so we can hurry and get the scene done."

yn took a deep breath before finally climbing on top of Megan. The two remained motionless in their postures, not speaking until yn felt compelled to apologize.

"I'm so sorry about the private account situation. I asked Lara for your number to apologize, but you then blocked me. yn explained, scratching her brow.

Megan turned her head to look at yn, who continued speaking. "I didn't mean for it to sound like I didn't know who you were. I just didn't know how to word it. I never meant for it to get blown out of proportion, and I apologize.

Megan quickly realized that if she hadn't blocked her, she would have received an apology sooner, and she felt bad about it now. She took a deep breath and responded. "I'm sorry too I probably shouldn't have blocked you."

"No," yn interjected. "I understand why you did but I kind of wish you didn't block me when I messaged you." yn allowed a faint smile slip over her lips.

"Yeahhh" Megan went on, "I was still upset about the situation, but I'm kind of over it now."

"So does that mean you'll unblock me now?" yn's small smile became larger.

"Hmm," Megan hummed, leaning up and placing her face a few inches away from yn's. "I think I'll make you work for it." Megan curled her lips into a smile.

"Oh I'll work for it." Yn answered, softly nudging Megans' chest, causing her to fall back into the bed.

masterlist ⭑.ᐟ next

Taglist: @saysirhc @urmom2314 @artrizzler19 @yeetaberry127 @yjiminswallet @lara4eclipze @meiphobic @meizinisnumberone @meganskiendielsbtc @soobnotfound @linnnsworld @1luvkarina @raviolisupremacy  @peranoo @vrtualstar @ssamlovr | TAGLIST OPEN

[hereforreadandwrite]

Yandere Kratos x Female reader

Masterlist

Your breathing was irregular, your body was shaking and refusing to obey you. A devastating storm had invaded Greece, the Sun had died, plunging the world into darkness, the seas had swallowed the lands. Everyone in Greece and Olympus was dead. The corpses of Gods and slaves surrounded you, the room reeked of blood and death. You sobbed as you stared at your legs that refused to obey you. A voice in your head was screaming at you to run away, but your legs had decided otherwise. Your head felt like it was underwater, the screams of the other slaves screaming were barely in sight. A woman you barely knew was dead right in front of you. Cut in two. You were in shock.

How could all this have happened?

How could things have gotten so bad?

The place was silent now. Everyone living on Olympus was now dead. You were the only one still alive with the executioner.

"You… You killed everyone," you said with a tight throat. "You killed all the Gods, all the slaves, all the inhabitants of Greece… Why haven't you killed me yet?"

Kratos didn't answer you, he just moved closer to you. He put away his blood-soaked blades, his body was covered in the blood of his victims. You didn't dare look at him, you couldn't. You were too afraid to face him.

"Why am I the only one still alive?"

Kratos moved the corpse so he could kneel in front of you, in the pool of blood. You jumped in fear as you felt the rough fingers of the God of War grab your chin to lift your face. Your gaze met Kratos's. He was crazy. He had gone mad after all his years of loyally serving the Gods of Olympus, killing all those people, the murder of his family.

"Oh (Y/N). Why would I kill you?" he asked, smiling at you. "You're everything to me."

"No," you said, shaking your head and lowering your head as you sobbed. "No, no, no, no, no, no… No…"

Kratos let go of your chin to caress your cheek. He wiped away your tears, whispered reassuring words to console you. He tried to make you believe that everything was going to be okay.

"We're finally going to be able to be together," he said, grabbing your hair and violently lifting your head. "No one's going to separate us anymore."

You looked at Kratos terrified, a squeak escaping your lips because of the pain. He had torn your hair out. Kratos quickly let go of your hair when he heard you squeak in pain. He ran his hand over your sore scalp, soothing the pain.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I just bothered," he said, placing his lips on your forehead. "It's not against you. It's not going to happen again."

"Why?" you asked in a breath before starting to scream at him. "Why don't you kill me?! Why me?! Kill me so we can end this!"

Kratos stared at you with a perfectly neutral expression. Tears rolled down your blood-stained cheeks, like the rest of your body. The Spartan simply reached out to wipe away your tears.

"(Y/N). You are my world. Everything is everything I need. And there is no way I'm losing what is mine again," he said, caressing your cheek. "We're finally going to be able to be together, have a family. You'll have everything you've ever dreamed of."

You couldn't do anything against Kratos. You couldn't run away from him. How could you? He would be capable of destroying the world if he wanted to. What he did to Olympus was proof of that. You didn't have time to understand that you felt a pressure behind your neck and your world became darkness.

(o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o)

You felt good. You felt like you could feel the sun's rays caressing your skin. It was strange. Helios was dead, how could there be a sun? And all his dead. The image of the many dead came back to you and Kratos. This simple thought woke you up. You looked around you perplexed. You were lying in a bed, you found yourself in a strange place. There was greenery everywhere, butterflies, there was even a clearing with a waterfall.

"What is this place?"

You got out of bed. You realized that someone had changed your clothes and cleaned the blood you had on you. You were wearing a semi-transparent white dress with a slit skirt and a gold belt that tightened your waist. You searched the place, looking for an exit. Without finding anything.

Where were you?

What are you doing here?

"Do you like this place?"

You jumped, turning to face none other than Kratos. Where had he come from? You hadn't heard him arrive.

[emmavakarian-theirin]

so let me start this by saying i in no way mean to steal the thunder from this post or anything, as stated this has been on my mind for a while and i wanted to articulate my own thoughts rather than hijack someones post, as well as get the wording right because there's so much about it i can't put into words

the way the notion of a promise between rook and lucanis changes over the course of the game and their relationship is so complex and endearing to me. from my playthrough (as a non-crow, if there's a difference):

rook promises they'll take down zara together with lucanis. he tells rook not to promise. technically that doesn't happen, and you could say that promise was broken. prior to tearstone island, rook promises they'll be here for lucanis, and again he tells them not to. but then rook's gone for weeks, presumed dead. again, a broken promise. but then rook comes back and wants him to promise that they're here and this is real, and he does. that promise doesn't break. then later, rook promises they're not going anywhere, a promise which had already been broken. but lucanis lets them promise, and rook wants that promise held against them. that promise also doesn't break.

there's so much to be said and discussed about it and i don't think it comes down to one reason, but just some possibilities:

in lucanis' mind, has his worst case scenario already happened? so now with rook back, does he let these promises happen? there was so much he didn't say or do because he was afraid to lose them, only to lose them anyway. so now he'll say and do anything while rook is with him and here. rook has become priority despite all he's known and been through.

is it more that, having been a part of the antivan crows since birth, he's been raised and trained not to trust or rely on many, if anyone. but as a crow, his life is little more than contracts and sworn oaths. would he promise to rook, but not have them promise in return? only when there's so much on the line and no promise of tomorrow, worse than usual in his line of work, does he let them promise just this once?

is it because maybe, just maybe, if rook can make it back to him again and again despite everything - the prison of regret, arlathan, weisshaupt, gods, even him - maybe there's hope? that they can find a way and be safe and together, even when so much of their lives involves death and deception?

or is it merely them finally just fully giving themselves to one another without fear or question of each other. to be completely vulnerable for a change. to have that with someone in their lives they can trust completely. to love and be loved.

i've spent the last 30 hours (my laptop begs for death) putting together a lucanis gifset and once i can finally think of the caption it is so over for me

[whateven333]

FROM as a show is so special because it's one of those rare instances where the most disliked character that the fandom finds to be annoying for any and all reasons... is a white man. Instead of doing the usual thing where the most hated character is a woman who is over-hated for even the most minor misstep (with the underlying real reason being misogyny). And I just think that's so beautiful, so thank you Jim for being mildly but consistently irritating. The world is healing ❤️

[widevibratobitch]

omw to play emotional support for my mom disguised as ✨fun family bonding time✨ for the rest of the week <3333 there's something so deeply wrong with me uwu teehee