#they would find too much in common in their wants and miseries

[silverskye13]

HI! So i just recently read Redstone and Sculk and I've been asking myself something.

If Zeds Hels would still be alive, how would he and Tangunish interact? Would they actually be friends?

I think they would find a lot of camaraderie in each other, and I think they could be friends, but I don't necessarily think it would be a healthy friendship.

Where I had placed hels!Zed in his character arc, Tanguish would have found him when he was flagging, very close to returning to the universe. He was still someone who enjoyed his gadgets, and enjoyed making new things, but he was also someone depressed and worried and dealing with his own mortality. I think he and Tanguish would have a bad cycle of feeding off of each other's anxieties, and I think despite Tanguish's people pleasing nature, he wouldn't have been strong enough to break the spirals. At that point in his development, he was more concerned with his own goals and comfort to make actionable change in someone. He changed Helsknight for the gentler, only because his reactions to Helsknight's behavior struck a chord with Helsknight's sense of honor. Tanguish was also, at that time in the story, dealing with his own existential fears about losing people, and he wasn't coping too terribly well.

So you have one character who is depressed and worried about dying, and who sees no real way out. And you have one character who is depressed and worried about death, who sees no way of fixing a problem that he is now realizing will be a regular part of his life. They could offer small comfort for each other in little things, and little things can do a lot, but I don't think they would have done well together over all. A lot of Sad Boys Hours.

[giamee]

🌺 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘!

STARRING. ノ dan heng

request. ノ anon: helloo if it's right up your alley, could you do a danheng x reader hanahaki au? one where the reader thinks he and someone else have something going on given how caring danheng is through that stoic face of his! but really, danheng is just too kind and you're much too caught up with your own feelings

word count. ノ 3.4k

contains. ノ hanahaki!reader, u and dan heng r both kinda dumb, angst pertaining to the hanahaki trope, you can tell how old this fic is because it's set during the jarilo-vi story quest, some unfounded jealousy of march 7th?, mentions of death and injury and some graphic descriptions of blood and illness

gia's notes. ノ this was the very first request that i ever received on this blog. over a year ago. i drafted this fic and wrote out about 70% of it then let it rot at the bottom of my drafts. anon, you have the patience of a saint if you're still here.

THE MOMENT THAT YOU STEPPED FOOT ONTO THE ASTRAL EXPRESS, you had the sneaking suspicion that you were doomed. Your fate was set in stone as soon as you felt the hard encasing of a seed clutch the walls of your heart in a vice grip when you first laid eyes upon him.

Dan Heng was elusive. The others had been warm in their welcome, but it took the combined efforts of yourself and March 7th to find him hidden in the recesses of the train’s records room. His greeting was a mere nod in your direction before Welt required your presence again, but that’s all you needed.

His eyes were cool, practically piercing through your skin as March 7th ushered you pack to the parlour car, and you felt yourself shiver as his intense stare burned itself into the back of your head.

And while he’s intimidating, sure, that’s not why you stayed away from Dan Heng. He had a cold and callous exterior that you had never seen crack, yet all the same you had felt the start of a crush start to take root.

And this may not have been a problem at all if it weren’t for two details that were like a slap to the face for you.

One, you were fairly certain that Dan Heng had his eyes for March 7th.

And two, if your crush didn’t return your feelings, you would die.

It wasn’t a case of exaggeration, either. You had been aware of the fact that to develop feelings for someone was dangerous, as it had been drilled into you from a young age by your parents. They had gripped your hands, steering you away from other children with little more explanation than that, always chastised you for wanting to forge a human connection, keeping you isolated from the world around you, better safe than sorry.

And you had felt so alone.

Being forced to live a life in confinement was not an easy one, and despite your parents’ wishes, you had told them of your plan to to finally go out into the world, to live a life from experience and not watching it unfold as an impassive reader of a book or on your phone screen, danger be damned.

So it wasn’t really your fault that you had been so quick to develop those feelings that had been so often described in the books you read, as an explosion of butterflies erupted within you upon meeting someone else, another person for the first time.

And yet you found yourself in the same predicament- a watcher from afar. The heart wants what it wants was a bitter mantra that seemed to enjoy your misery as you watched March 7th excitedly chatter with Dan Heng, and you could have sworn the man even cracked the smallest of smiles at whatever she was saying. And really, could you blame him for it? March was kind, bubbly, outgoing- a perfect match for the stoic and seeming immovable Dan Heng.

It was more common sense than pessimism that had you concluding that you didn’t really stand a chance for his affections against someone like her. You doubt that Dan Heng even looked at you more than he had to. You, so secretive and elusive that you gave him a run for his money; and two similar poles never attracted each other. It was a funny hand that fate had dealt you, but you had to play with those cards regardless.

As if to mock you, you ducked away from the outskirts of the room, feeling a coughing fit coming. You had barely made it to your room before you doubled over, feeling your insides run ragged by the prickly thorns of the rose bush that grew inside you.

A single bloodstained petal fell into your palm.

Besides the quickly growing issue that you refused to acknowledge, life on the Astral Express wasn’t awful. You hadn’t yet confided in anyone about your condition, so to speak, and not entirely because you didn’t want to. To be completely honest with yourself, there was much that you didn’t know about it.

And so you timed it well- you waited for the subject of your affliction- for Dan Heng to leave his unofficial bedroom before you slipped through the door into the records room, desperate to find any sort of information that might help you find some sort of cure.

There was a small computer in the corner that you quickly typed your symptoms into- flower. unrequited love. coughing fits. You didn’t know if the single digit of entries was a cause for concern or not, but your brows furrowed as you began to scan through them. The number of obituary entries that were listed on this one document alone was making you shiver. You clicked out of it, about to open the next one before the door sliding open had you starting like a frightened animal.

Dan Heng strolled in, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he registered that you were in the room, in his room. He spoke your name, softly, as if trying not to scare you further. You would have said something, honestly, if it weren’t for the sudden explosive coughing fit that came on a lot quicker than usual.

You could barely get a word out before you were bent over from the force of your coughs, tears pricking your eyes from the newfound intensity of the pain coming from inside you. Despite your hands clasped over your mouth, a couple of petals escaped and fluttered down to the floor, some distance between you and the horrified Dan Heng.

He was frozen in place, fingers itching to reach out to you and comfort you, but with the way you practically flinched away from him, he wasn’t sure if his presence was wanted. He barely caught a glimpse of your pained face before you darted around him and back to your own room on the train.

Dan Heng scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration at his inability to act, before his attention diverted once again to the bloody petals on the floor, and the files on the record searcher that you hadn’t completely closed. He cast one last guilty glance back in your direction before heading closer to the screen and beginning to read.

The Trailblazers’ journey must progress, and your heart hammered for another reason other than a sighting of the raven-haired male who you still harboured feelings for. You had ultimately left your home to explore the world, and with the Express finally stopping at the planet Belobog- your promise to yourself was a step closer to being fulfilled. You disembarked alongside Stelle and March, doing your best to avoid Dan Heng like the plague ever since that fated day. You didn’t know how much he exactly knew, but you had no intentions of finding out.

Your plans of peaceful exploration, however, were short lived with the arrival of Silvermane guards to greet you. In the chaos of the smoke, it was not lost on you that Dan Heng had instinctively protected March, practically shielding her with his body. As Stelle dragged you along some backway path in pursuit of some mystery saviour, you felt the excruciating addition of a new thorn in your heart.

The adrenaline of the escape had worn off by now, and you could feel your secret threatening to spill over any second now. You could barely warn Stelle to let you move off to the side before you were keeled over, closer to gagging than coughing as a large ball of petals and dark, dark blood forced its way through your throat. You felt faint, barely registering the panicked calls of your name as you felt your world turn sideways, Stelle’s face and voice being quickly replaced by another deeper one, with fear in their eyes and a certain desperate edge as you felt yourself slip into unconsciousness.

It's a dreamless sleep, yet it isn't restful, judging by how you feel like you've been hit by a bus when you sit up. Every fibre of your being aches, and there's a harsh overhead light that dazzles you as you blink awake.

As your eyes grow accustomed to it, there's a surge of panic as you don't recognise your surroundings. It looks like a clinic of some sorts- and there was the cloying smell of chemicals that invaded your nostrils. You struggled to sit up, until you felt a hand place itself gently against your chest.

A dark-haired woman with a doctor's coat smiles down at you warmly, and you eye her warily.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Natasha, I'm a doctor in the Underworld. Try not to move around too much, dear. You've been unconscious for quite some time and your condition is unstable, you still need rest."

"Where's the people that I was with?"

"They've all awoken a few hours before you." She casts a quick glance at the clipboard in her hands, as if to fact check herself, giving herself a quick satisfactory nod. "Don't worry, you haven't been abandoned. They should be just outside. The young man sat by your bedside while you were unconscious only left a few minutes ago- he got whisked away by one of my... colleagues."

Your mind's racing now, wondering who she could be talking about. Hoping that it was who you thought it was. But she reiterates her request to lie back down, and you comply begrudgingly. You start to settle down, until you catch a glimpse of the mess lying atop your blankets. A visceral combination of blood and crumpled petals rest upon the fabric, and you watch the doctor's expression become grave.

"That is the unstable part of your condition that I wanted to discuss." She pulls up a chair besides you, settling neatly, hands folded in her lap. "How long have these symptoms been ailing you?"

You furrow your brows, recalling how they started a mere month or two ago, after you joined the Astral Express. After you met him.

"A couple of months." Natasha nods, a frown forming on her face again.

"Considering how quickly it has developed, I imagine that your case is rather severe." You shrug, a humourless smile on your face.

"There's not much that I can do about it, Doc."

"I'm sure that you're aware of the risks that come with a confession, but as a bystander rather than a doctor, I think that you should talk to him."

"Who?"

"The man who refused to leave your side for all of these hours."

You hoped that Natasha was right. Deciding to ignore her advice of continued bed rest, you force yourself up, walking out of the clinic in search of him. Welt was no young man, and there wasn't anyone else that came to mind based off of Natasha's description. It couldn't be anyone else than him, right?

You stumble out onto the streets of the Underworld, garnering a few odd looks from passerbys as you wander around, looking for not just Dan Heng but anyone that you recognised.

You round a corner, seeing the back of a head and clothing that looks an awful lot like him. Who you're planning to confess to. You call his name, out loud, voice a little hoarse.

And he turns, beautiful crystalline eyes meeting yours. Call it a trick of the light, but you could have sworn that they shone a tad lighter when he saw you. But your gaze drifted past him, and all bubbling hope was quelled once again in your heart as you recognised the figure of March 7th stood with him.

Of course he would be with her.

If you looked closer at the pair of them, all signs indicated an intimacy to them that made you feel sick. There was a serious look on her face, one of her hands rested against his arm, but she soon recognised you too, her face instantly perking up as she began to ran towards you, calling your name.

"You're finally awake, you're OK!" she calls out in delight, her arms wrapping around you as she practically barrels into you, threatening to knock you off balance. You stumble, returning the hug, the nausea turning to guilt as you remember how the girl has been nothing but good to you. Of course Dan Heng would harbour feelings for her, not you.

The Doctor's order was wrong.

You sigh to yourself in defeat, unwinding your arms and shooting March 7th the best smile that you could muster in the moment.

"I feel better, but I'm still feeling weak so I might go back to the clinic."

March 7th frowns, eyes scanning your figure in concern.

"Are you OK, Y/N?"

"Do you want me to walk you back?" You twitched, not even realising that Dan Heng had caught up to the pair of you. He was also looking at you with concern, and you could feel an onslaught of petals coming.

"No, it's fine, I'll go back on my own." You don't really give either of them the chance to respond, spinning on your heel and trying not to run back from where you came.

You felt... worse. Before, you had at least been able to function, but now you felt so much limper, and weaker. You cursed at yourself for allowing false hope to be instilled, just as the coughing begins. It wracks through you, so hard that you almost dry heave as you keel over, and you watch in horror as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and see it come back crimson.

At least the clinic was around the corner.

You barely make it inside, unable to stand up straight by this point. Natasha springs to action, helping you back into a bed, helping you through the worst of the coughing. It's so much more draining than before, and you're quick to fall into a fitful sleep.

Even unconscious, you don't get a reprieve. Even in your dreams, he's all you can think of. There's a spitting image of him stood before you, eyes soft and voice like honey as he calls out to you, hands outstretched. And you try to join him, fingers straining to touch his before you watch them turn into branches and flower before your very eyes. You look down, and it hurts, with brambles wrapping themselves around your middle. And just as fast as they grow, your new floral appendages wilt before your very eyes. Branches drooping, flowers losing their hue, and you feel yourself start to fade, his name one last desperate cry from your lips.

You wake up, tears staining your cheeks and you trembling. For a few panicked seconds, you think you're still dreaming because he is here, sat by your bed, and as he stands up to wipe your tears you shrink back in fear of turning back to branches again.

But his warm palm cups your face, solid against your trembling state, deft thumbs wiping away your tears, an uncharacteristically soft hushing and cooing coming from Dan Heng as he promises you that everything is okay now.

It's easy to believe him, with the way he moves even closer to hold you, cradle your form against his warmth, patting your hair and letting you cry until you can't any more amidst the petals on your bedsheets.

You don't know how long the pair of you stay like this, your face pressed into his chest, his heartbeat leading yours back into the range of one at rest rather than its prior pounding against your ribcage. You would stay there for the rest of time, if you had a choice, but you had to admit that the oxidation of blood and its drying against your skin was making you feel ever so slightly uncomfortable.

You clear your throat, as best as you can in your hoarse state, and Dan Heng picks up on your withdrawal as he all but flinches away from you, returning the distance that usually lies between your two bodies. But his eyes still scour your figure, your face, for any and all signs of discomfort. Like a lover would. The thought melds with the already-bitter taste of blood residing against your tongue, and you frown down at your lap. At the petals. At your pathetic form lying beneath the blanket, obscured from view.

“How long has this been happening for?” Dan Heng sounds so timid, as if he were walking on glass sheets around you. Ever since that fateful day in the records room, it felt like he had done nothing but tiptoe and tread around you, a careful dance of avoidance that you were forced to be his partner in. You sigh deeply, a hand gingerly beginning to gather the gorey sight of such beautiful pink marred by the visceral crimson that remained, not yet dried.

“I’ve had it all my life, apparently, but it only started making itself known once I joined the Astral Express.” Once I met you.

“I, um- I looked into it more. In the records.” His admission made you snap your head up to face him, cautious of his next words, whatever they may be. He looked nervous himself, with eyes that refused to meet yours and fingers that twisted into his clothes, toying with the hem of his jacket.

“I read of many such cases where people were able to make a full recovery.” He sounds so hopeful, even daring to meet your eyes, that you almost feel bad for him. It was like looking back at a past version of yourself, so hopeful for a happy ending that once sparkled in your eyes, now a dull flicker you can see when the lighting is just right.

“It’s not that simple, Dan Heng.”

“What do you mean, it said that there weren’t any later cases of symptoms returning-”

“That’s because it’s not an illness from the body.” You’re snappier than you intend to be, you see it in the way his mouth snaps shut and his throat bobs against his collar, as he sits up straighter, waiting for you to continue. “The only cure is to confess to the person that I love.”

“And why haven’t you?” His voice is barely above a murmur, and even from his place in the seat next to our bed, you hear him just fine.

“Because I’m sure that he has eyes for another.” You’ve collected all the petals in your palm by now, observing them with a dry humour as you notice that they’ve begun to wither, much like yourself. You doubt that you could go on much longer after this conversation. Part of you urges to get it over with, to confess now and let yourself bloom with one last glance upon his face.

Dan Heng must have scoured each and every record, because you didn’t need to offer an explanation of what would happen with such unrequited feelings. He’s silent again, an awkward and palpable tension as you can feel his confliction from here.

He finally manages a lame “you never know” that has you laughing, a brief reprieve before you dissolve into another coughing fit. It’s hardly something to worry about, but Dan Heng is by your side again, palm smoothing over your shoulder blades as you are wracked with coughs. You appreciate it nonetheless.

“What would happen if someone else confesses to you?” You shoot him a sideways glance, confusion written all over your features, urging him to elaborate. “What if you held no feelings for them, but they confessed to you all the same. Would that cure you?” He’s earnest now, hands scooping up your dirtied ones, clasping them in his grasp as he looked at you with stars in his eyes.

Your shrivelled heart begins to beat again.

“What- what do you mean?” Play dumb. Don’t mistake curiosity for what you desire most.

“What if I told you right here and now that I love you?” His eyes are searching yours, pleading with you for an answer that you’ve been screaming at him for so long. One that he does not have to search for, because it’s been laid there at his feet this whole time.

“I would tell you, Dan Heng, that such a confession is not unrequited.” You’re grinning now, the smile on your face growing wider and wider as you watch recognition flood his features.

And then he’s smiling too, laughing, holding you ever closer to him before he pulls away again, just to cup your face now. It’s only natural to close the distance between the two of you, lips touching his for a kiss that quickly becomes searing, welcoming a new season of heat into your body.

The thorns in your heart reside. Spring begins to bloom.

➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... enjoy the silence

roommate!dan heng x reader

➤ alternatively, you can find my hsr masterlist here!

[kaisacobra]

Deal - Tara Carpenter

Summary: After a long time apart, you and Tara have to figure out if you can still save what you had or if you are too broken to be fixed.

Warnings: A bit of angst (maybe)

Word Count: 3.9K

a/n: This is officially the end of the whole "second best" saga! Thank you so much for everyone who read it till here, it was really fun to write. I hope you guys don't mind the open ending 🤭

Fourth part/Alternate ending of Second Best

Tara couldn't remember the last time she felt this nervous. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror for what must have been the hundredth time, adjusting her bangs again, sweeping them from side to side until they looked almost the same as they did initially. The bright light in the room highlighted her freckles and wide, brown eyes filled with anxiety.

It had been a little over a year since she last saw you, since you accepted a spot for a study abroad program after recovering from the injuries caused by the last ghostfaces attack. You went with Kate, and as far as Tara knew, you and the girl spent that time living together.

She vividly remembered the day you left, as everyone else bid you farewell at the airport while Tara drowned in her own misery in her room. She wanted to go, say something, maybe even plead for you to stay, but she didn't have that right. She had sworn not to get close to you again until she knew she had her emotions under control.

Still, she allowed herself to be a bit more flexible when she noticed that her contact was no longer blocked by you. She let her fingers type an honest and heartfelt message about her mistakes, how sorry she was, and her plans to become a better person in the future. You responded with a heart emoji and nothing more. Nevertheless, it relieved the weight on Tara's chest just to know that you didn't hate her as much as she feared.

Tara remained true to the promise she made, a kind of devotion to you and what you represented in her life. She continued her therapy sessions regularly and decided to set aside some of her pride when trying to find new coping mechanisms, even if some of them required the help of others.

Writing remained her favorite, and she had hundreds of pages to prove it. She would be lying if she said you weren't the most mentioned topic in her journals, but over time, she started expanding her writing, and it became common to see her with a small notebook in her bag at all times, ready to express her opinions and feelings when necessary.

But she didn't have the notebook in hand that day. It was Mindy's birthday, and Tara wanted to be 100% dedicated to her friends, actively participating in games, conversations, and any other activity they needed. She knew she had been a bit absent-minded since you moved away, and it made her friends uneasy, not knowing exactly how to deal with the situation and with Tara herself.

But the day was supposed to be happy and carefree, so that's what Tara was going to appear to be.

Or at least, that was the plan until Tara arrived at Mindy's apartment and heard from the birthday girl herself that you would be arriving any moment. From that point on, Tara only remembers feeling her heart almost leap out of her throat and rushing to the bathroom in a failed attempt to prevent hyperventilation.

She sighed again and gripped the sink so tightly that the knuckles of her fingers turned white. She was anxious to see you, but she had no idea how you would react to the encounter. What if you looked at her with distaste? Or if you didn't even want to look her in the face? Tara knew she would deserve that kind of treatment, but it didn't mean it would hurt any less.

Because the truth is, all this time, Tara just wanted you back in her life.

---

Ringing a doorbell should be a simple task, but still, you couldn't help but stand in front of the door, second-guessing before pressing the simple buzzer.

"You know, if you want, we can turn around and leave, but we both know that's not what you want."

You sighed, turning to look at the girl beside you. Kate Bishop had her hands in the jacket pockets and displayed a fond smile on her face, which you imagined was an attempt to make you feel better.

"I hate it when you're right," you scoffed, but both of you knew your indignation was just a joke, having spent enough time together to read each other's reactions like a book.

This wasn't what you expected when you accepted the offer for a year-long study abroad program at Cambridge, but you also couldn't say you weren't satisfied with how things turned out. You didn't even know you needed this change of scenery, but it made sense after everything you had been through. You needed time away from painful memories.

The British air provided a calmness you hadn't felt in a long time, without fear of seeing familiar faces on the streets or places that would remind you of certain memories or people. Of course, good company also played a significant role.

You could hardly believe it when Kate offered to share an apartment with you near the college. She had already done so much for you, being by your side and supporting you throughout your rehabilitation process after last year's attack. You didn't want her to feel obligated to continue taking care of you.

But Kate barely listened to your concerns, saying that she needed to go to other countries to try to expand her company's contacts and that it would be good to have a roommate to share expenses (even though you were pretty sure Kate had enough money to buy three apartments in central London if she wanted to).

It was one of the best decisions you had ever made, and quickly you and Kate fell into such a comfortable rhythm that it felt like you had always lived together. Your relationship even turned romantic for a while, but it only lasted until you both realized that you were better off as friends, which was agreed upon between the two of you.

"Come on, ring that doorbell already! I'm starving!" Kate lightly pushed you, and you rolled your eyes with affection, feeling a bit less tense with your friend's moral support.

"Starving," you laughed and actually pressed the doorbell, taking a few steps back to wait for the moment the door would open. Your hands were trembling, and you felt as though you were about to sweat even though it was quite cold in New York. Of course, you missed your friends, your family, but that wasn't enough to ease your anxiety.

When the door finally opened, you were faced with Mindy Meeks-Martin, with her signature sarcastic smile and her short, curly hair reaching her chin, much longer than the last time you saw her. "Well, well. If it isn't our new European! Do you only speak with an accent now?"

"You're ridiculous." With a smile, you advanced and enveloped Mindy in a long hug that she quickly reciprocated, both feeling the longing emanating through the touch. The contact lasted for a few long seconds until you both untangled yourselves again. "I hope it's not a problem that I brought Kate along..."

"Pfft! Of course not!" Mindy waved her hand, indicating that she didn't mind the newcomer. "It's even better you brought her because I needed to thank her in person for taking care of you." She looked at Kate with a playful smile. "I think we all know our y/n is too kind to be alone in a distant country. She would try to help a stranger on the street and get kidnapped for sure."

"Hey!"

"Wow, have you heard about the time she took the wrong subway, and then..."

"Okay! Enough about my misfortune! Can we go in?" You interrupted Kate, feeling your cheeks flush a bit. Despite being slightly embarrassed, you were still happy that two important people in your life had the potential to get along, and that was all you could ask for.

Mindy made room, and finally, you entered the apartment. It was new, considering the twin and Anika had recently moved in together, and it was sparsely furnished but beautiful and comfortable enough to feel like a home. You and Kate approached, she with her hands on your back as a silent support, and you greeted your friends with enthusiasm and a longing to catch up.

Chad looked stronger than ever, and he seemed excited about both college and his part-time job as an assistant at a gym. Apparently, he got a discount for training and using the equipment and was clearly taking full advantage of it. He and Kate engaged in a conversation about diets, weights, and workouts that you honestly couldn't follow, but you were satisfied to know that they had gotten along well enough to plan to train together someday.

Anika was happy and radiant, making you laugh as she always did. She wore a cropped top, revealing the huge scar forming a line in the center of her stomach, something she seemed to wear with pride. You never expected this reaction from her; on the contrary, you had imagined that she would want to distance herself from the group, out of fear or trauma. Still, it was reassuring to see that she had stayed for Mindy. They were the kind of couple you hoped would last forever.

Sam seemed somewhat lighter since the last time you saw her, as if a huge weight had lifted off her shoulders. She was smiling, albeit not very widely, and welcomed you with a warm hug that almost made you cry with relief. Part of you always wondered if Sam was glad with your departure because of... well... your conflicts with her sister, but she seemed so happy with your presence that it was almost embarrassing that you had that thought in the first place.

And then, she came. A pair of bright brown eyes that haunted your sleep without permission. It was unfair how she looked as beautiful as the last time you saw her, as if time worked differently for her, and only for her. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart seemed to beat so fast it was about to explode.

How could it be possible that your entire system changed just by her presence? How was it possible that, with a glance, she could change your heartbeat and make your head spin like a carousel? Maybe she didn't even know she was doing it, but you couldn't comprehend why, even after so many years, your body reacted so instinctively around her.

It was almost humiliating to realize that your efforts seemed to have been in vain. You had gone to another country, met new people, explored new horizons, even had a girlfriend for a brief period. During this year, you had thought so little about Tara that you almost thought you could leave her in the past, that you had overcome your feelings, so pure but so conflicting. All of this, all this effort to come back and realize that you seemed to still be stuck in the same place, like the same foolish girl who would do anything for Tara Carpenter against your better judgment.

You could still hear her screams on that last night you had together when you thought you were going to die, and your biggest concern was that Tara had to leave that room alive. You still remembered the conversation you had before, Tara begging for your forgiveness and saying she loved you multiple times.

Those were memories that left a hole in your chest. You knew Tara had her problems, but you always lost so much when she distanced herself.

She raised her hand in an awkward greeting, and you think you gave a half-smile in response. It was too much. You were still feeling too much, and it drove you crazy. Still, you pretended everything was okay for a few moments, just not to create an uncomfortable atmosphere at the party. You talked to the others, sharing a bit of your experience in England, but your mind always unconsciously turned to Tara, analyzing her reactions and trying to read her thoughts.

Tara was quiet, maybe even quieter than you had ever seen her. You couldn't read her expressions very well, straining to see her only from the corner of your eye, but you could feel her attentive gaze on you, as if nothing in the world was as interesting as you.

Finally, you stopped talking for a while and found an excuse to leave and try to restore some of your sanity. The door to the balcony was open, and even though the view was nothing but New York's industrial buildings, the cold wind on your face helped alleviate some of the nervousness you were feeling.

A gentle touch reached your shoulder, and it was familiar enough for you to recognize the owner. Kate's image appeared by your side as she leaned on the railing, looking directly at your face in deep thought. "So?"

"I thought I had gotten over this. This is ridiculous." You responded with your head down, feeling ashamed to continue in this cycle of liking Tara Carpenter.

Kate shook her head and held your shoulder again, silently asking for your attention. "You can't control these things, you know." A second of silence passed, the faint sounds of the city serving as a soundtrack to your emotional confusion. "If it helps, she spent the whole time looking at you. She seemed... I don't know, regretful, maybe? I don't know her as well as you do."

"I don't even know if I still know her." It was a true confession. Even after everything, even the attacks and the message Tara sent you when you were leaving the country, you still weren't sure if she had the capacity to return to what she was before everything went wrong. You were afraid, and honestly, who could blame you?

While you were away, sometimes you checked your friends' Instagram, just to see what they were up to. Multiple times, the posts contained photos with Tara, and she seemed happy, maybe even lighter. You even wondered if the two of you were just destined to be apart, like a more brutal version of Romeo and Juliet.

"You're not obligated to anything, but don't you need some sort of closure?" Kate advised. "Just to move on, if that's what you really want."

"What do you mean by that?" You retorted defensively.

The blue-eyed girl smiled and shook her head slightly, as if dealing with an irritated child. "I saw how you looked at her when you arrived. I'm not saying you should do anything, especially because I have my doubts if she could really be good for you, but it's clear that you feel something for her that's bigger than you can control."

"Yeah, and that's pathetic."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I understand that your situation is complicated." Kate placed her other hand on your shoulder, now holding you face-to-face with her. "But you know you'll have to face this someday, right? Whatever the conclusion may be."

"Yeah, I know." You sighed, but eventually a smile broke through, lighting up your expression. "When did you become so wise, Bishop? Last time I saw you, you were trying to put aluminum in the microwave."

"Shut up." She grumbled while also having a smile on her face and pulled you into a hug that you didn't even know you needed. That was Kate, a warm person who always gave her best to the people she loved. You couldn't be more grateful to still have her in your life, even though your relationship didn't work out. 

The affectionate moment almost made you forget your conflict. Almost.

Until the reason for all your doubts appeared standing in front of the door, staring directly at you.

_

Tara regretted going after you.

She should have expected, especially since you came to the party with Kate, especially because you spent this whole year living with her. But that didn't mean it hurt any less to see you embraced with her, looking so comfortable that you wouldn't need anything else in this world.

Especially if it was someone known for hurting you and breaking your heart repeatedly.

She stood there, rooted to the ground like an idiot, until you two separated and noticed her presence. When your eyes met, she looked like a deer in the headlights and immediately started stepping back, embarrassed to have been caught like that.

Tara was already planning how to hide from you for the rest of the party when Kate stopped her. "Hey! No need to leave."

The Latina girl halted her route and looked suspiciously at both of you. You didn't seem to understand the situation, just like her, but Kate seemed sure of what she was doing because she continued. "You two need to talk once and for all. No imminent death or text messages, just eye to eye."

"Kate." You called her, grabbing her arm as a form of protest. Tara couldn't help but wince when she noticed how just how much you were against the idea of being alone with her. Not that she could blame you for it.

"Thank me later." That was all the other girl responded, and with a short nod towards Tara, she returned to the living room, leaving two tormented souls by themselves on the balcony.

Tara took a few small steps forward, analyzing what your reaction would be to the proximity. You seemed to be doing your best to ignore her, looking into the distance as if there were something interesting in graffiti-covered billboards and dimly lit lamp posts. She leaned on the railing, trying at least to have a view of your face. "Sorry if I interrupted your intimate moment; I didn't mean to."

You released air through your nose, but Tara couldn't tell if it was a laugh. "You talk as if Kate and I were dating."

"And aren't you?" The younger Carpenter replied, trying to contain some of the excitement she wanted to show. That had been one of the best news she had received in a long time. 

"No, not for a while. I thought you saw it on my Instagram; I unblocked you." You finally looked at her, and Tara could see that you were analyzing her, as if she were a puzzle to be solved.

"Yeah, I stopped checking a while ago. Thought maybe it would bother you."

"And it wouldn't bother me for you to say you love me and not visit me in the hospital once after almost dying in front of you? It wouldn't bother me that the only news I had from you after that was that message before I boarded the plane, since you didn't even bother to show up at the airport?"

Tara felt the anger in your voice, and she accepted each of your frustrations as a penance. God, she would probably accept a punch from you if that would make you feel better. "I had promised myself that I would only get close to you again when I was better, okay? When I sought help and there was no risk of being an idiot with you again. I didn't lie when I said I love you, and it's because I love you that I knew it was better to stay away until I could be a version of myself that would be better for you."

A minute of pure silence passed, and Tara almost thought the conversation would end there until you spoke again. "And did you? Get better, I mean."

She sighed and crossed her arms as if that made her less vulnerable. "I think so. I don't feel as much uncontrolled anger as before; I also don't feel the need to take out my frustrations in drinks or parties. It's been a while since I argued with Sam, and I think that's good for both of us. And my therapist is nice, even though he's old enough to not know what Twitter is." Tara laughed, even though she was full of anxiety bubbling inside her. "But he advised me to write, and that has helped me a lot."

You looked at her with curiosity. "Write? About what?"

"About everything." Tara shrugged, almost as if she were relaxed. "My day-to-day life, college, my friends... you. Writing makes what I feel not stay trapped inside me, so I have no reason to explode. Everyone wins with this, and I must say that my essay grades even increased after that."

A short laugh escaped your lips, and the sound made Tara minimally satisfied with herself. "You write about me?"

"Yeah, actually, most of my journals have something about you. Memories of our childhood or what I feel for you." Tara admitted, feeling her own face blush with embarassment. You didn't seem to notice, or just didn't care, because you continued to look at her very carefully. "But most of it is about things I regret. Things I said, things I did... I'm really sorry."

"I want to believe that. I mean, I believe you, I know you're not lying, but..." You placed your hands on your head and closed your eyes, your elbows resting on the railing. It seemed like you were trying to block your own thoughts. "It's all so complex, and I feel so much... pain."

"I understand. I don't expect you to forgive me, and I'm willing to spend the rest of my life apologizing if necessary." Cautiously, Tara took a few steps towards you. "But if you want me to stay away, just say the words, and I'll go."

You sighed with evident exhaustion. "Of course not, Tara."

She took a few more steps, and now her arm almost touched yours. "I know I have no right to ask this, but... do you still love me? Or do you think you could love me again someday?"

"Of course, I still love you, Tara! Don't you see that's the problem?" You moved away from the railing, raising your voice as the conversation stressed you. "I shouldn't still love you! I shouldn't still want you around! What does that say about me?"

Tara waited a few seconds until you calmed down, keeping the distance between you to avoid making you more irritated. When your breathing started to slow, she continued in a weak voice. "I hurt the person I loved most in this world. What does that say about me?"

You didn't say anything in response. She spoke again. "Why don't we make a deal?"

"A deal? About what?" You replied with sarcasm dripping from your voice.

"Let me prove that I've changed, that I've improved, that I deserve a place in your life again. We can start slowly; I won't force anything and will respect any boundaries you want." The girl pleaded, almost clasping her hands and kneeling at your feet. "And if I do anything, anything at all, that makes you uncomfortable and hurts you, I'll leave you alone forever."

"What's the point of that?"

"To stop this doubt that I know we both have. Stop us from wondering about the 'what ifs' and really put to the test if I've changed. That's what you want, isn't it? To know if there's any chance the old Tara can come back? Well, that's all I want too."

You stared at her, clear doubt and apprehension in your eyes as you thought about the presented arguments. Tara's foot tapped rapidly on the floor, demonstrating her nervousness.

A few seconds passed until you spoke again. "What does this mean for us?"

Tara's expression softened as she understood your caution. It was understandable, your fear. "I don't know, but we can find out together. Do we have a deal?"

A few more seconds, and then, a nod.

"Deal."

[serafilms]

song 24! message in a bottle (taylor swift) + aang requested by @fylithia (spotify wrapped event)

but now you’re so far away and i’m down, feeling like a face in the crowd, i’m reaching for you, terrified

It’s been years now since the war ended. Years since you and your friends saved the world, defeated Zuko’s father and brought peace to the four nations once more. Ever since, everyone’s been busy trying to piece the world back together. Katara’s been staging a feminist revolution in the water tribes, Toph has been reinventing Earth bending, Suki taking the Kyoshi Warriors all over and recruiting, Sokka inventing, Zuko rebuilding a nation and Aang flitting all over the place.

You, on the other hand… What have you achieved? You went back to your village and spent some time telling stories of your adventures to children, then picking up odd jobs on fishing boats and cargo ships to hitch a ride to wherever your friends are off making history. You tell yourself you like the simplicity, like not having to worry about the fate of the world, but you feel like about as insignificant as a speck of dust at your biannual (twice a year) catch ups.

I’m like an old lady telling stories to relive her glory days, you think bitterly.

But you like reliving them. You miss adventuring and seeing the world with your friends. You miss when you were all just kids and there were no real titles or duties in the way (aside from your common goal of ending the war, of course). You miss when Aang looked at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky, when he was just a boy who liked you but never said it, and when you liked him but refused to show it. Now you feel like you’re miles apart, like he’s on the top of the mountain and you’re left waiting at the base.

You still all write each other, Aang more than the rest but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s out of pity; it’s an obligation to you as an old friend. They’re busy now and that’s not their fault, and you all really would have no reason to go back to camping out. In fact, with the Avatar and Fire Lord especially, it was probably a security risk.

You’re too busy drowning in your own misery to notice Katara until she’s already nudging you in the arm. “Hey, why aren’t you over there with everyone else?”

Starting a little in surprise, you stare at her for a second before sighing as you kick your foot into the dirt and watch the dust rise.

“No reason,” you lie. Because I don’t want to talk to you guys. Especially Aang.

Your time alone has dulled your social skills, because Katara stares at you for a good seven seconds before you realise she expects you to keep talking.

“I think it’s just a little overwhelming to be around many people when I’m usually by myself.”

Her face softens and she reaches out to put her hand on your knee. “But it’s us. We want to make you comfortable and be around you. You know that, right?”

You nod, and she squeezes then releases you. “Let’s start small. Aang!”

Your chest flickers with panic as his bright eyes locate you instantly and he leaves his conversation with Zuko without a second thought. Katara takes his place, striding back up to the group as Aang stops right in front of you.

You feel your heart lurch at finally seeing him up close after spirits knows how many months. He's taller than you now, so it's not hard to avoid his gaze, but you can't tear your eyes away yet. His eyes sparkle at you and you feel yourself flush at how cute he looks with faint freckles dusting the upper part of his cheeks.

"Hey," he greets you softly, taking a seat beside you. "How are you?"

"I'm good," you find yourself saying, despite your mind being devoid of any thought that's not of him. His smile that's as sweet as ever, his eyes, his pink lips. How he's so, so out of your league.

Much like Katara, Aang seems unsatisfied with your short reply. "What have you been up to?"

Thinking about how much I love you. You can't say that, of course, so you babble on about the courier job you did a few months ago, which was great because you helped find a few new Kyoshi Warriors for Suki. When you look back at him once more, Aang has a soft look on his face, and a smile that seems to be there without his knowledge. Your face flushes, stomach flips and something akin to hope rises within you.

His cheeks turn pink when you've trailed off and he realises you're looking at him.

"Wow," he says. "That sounds really great."

You roll your eyes a little, feeling a sense of familiarity. "It's fine, you don't have to pretend you're interested. I know it's all boring compared to the work of the great Avatar."

"No, really," he insists, and there's an urgency in his voice, as if he needs you to know how genuine he is. "I think everything you do is amazing."

You smile. "Really?"

Aang nods down at you, eyes wide. "Well, yeah. I mean, it's you."

Embarrassed but pleased, you look down at your shoes before looking back up at him. "Thanks, Aang."

He grins at you, before glancing over to the others. "Wanna go catch up with everyone else?"

You take a look over at your friends. They look normal now, like a group of friends laughing, instead of the incredible figures they are. You nod at him and he extends a hand out to help you up. You take it.

You can't tell him how much he means to you, but you feel closer now. All you can do now is hope that one day, he gets the message.

[natasha-in-space]

It's a common sentiment among the fandom that Zen is like a protective older brother figure to them in other routes (and I am totally a part of that sentiment), but I genuinely can't help but think about it on a slightly deeper level. Like, Zen would get a certain level of catharsis out of a familial relationship with someone that gives him a chance to be the supportive, caring sibling figure he had to mourn over in his youth (and one he arguably still mourns on some level, hence his deeply personal grudge against Jumin that is really just him projecting his older brother's apathy onto Jumin). In a way, this is a chance for him to give something he's always wanted to someone else. And there is a great sense of closure that can be achieved in that. I think that growing close to you in that platonic way can help Zen out more than you would think at first glance.

His parents were consistently dismissive and unsupportive towards him. Like every child, he still yearns for their love and acceptance on his bad days, but it doesn't cause him too much pain.

Zen never had their approval in the first place, so it didn't pain him as much to lose something he never really had in the first place. He does want his parents to accept him at one point in the future, and he does leave a door open to them for that, but he is not going to change for them or try to fit into their suffocating standards to get this approval. He's content on his own.

His brother, though? That's a different story completely. It hurts so much more to have someone you've relied on and trusted suddenly withdraw the love and support you grew dependent on. To the best of our knowledge, his brother was the only person he was really close to on a genuine level. It's no wonder his brother's refusal to support him scarred him as much as it did. Unexpected betrayals hurt way more than expected ones.

Zen was not expecting his parents to provide him with any support, but he fully believed his brother would. No wonder he left once he had a falling out with him. There was nothing else holding him back in his home. Only misery and constant personal attacks.

So I do think playing the role of a caring older sibling he mourned deeply would be a great help to him, in my opinion. Maybe it'll even help him move past his old inner scars. Find a feeling of contentment that will replace the old ache in his heart.

I don't know. Older brother Zen just makes me emotional. He is protective of you because his own safety and discomfort were always dismissed, and he had to learn to fend for himself. He's a bit nosy with you because he knows how he used to hide things to avoid being talked down with, and he never wants you to feel so alone. He is very supportive of you because it's something he hasn't had before.

Lowkey feel like he would get all misty eyed if you were to lay your head on his shoulder and say that he's like a brother to you.

[aqua-the-smiter]

Healing takes a long, long time. Who knows. It may never come. Cato Sicarius x female reader you are his only solace PART 3, APPARENTLY. I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED. Divider by @squishyowl . I'm sorry I keep @ing you but Cato is living rent fucking free in my head Song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0z53F9I-93M

Fall with me, come on and fall with me, into the dark and scary hole inside the bottom of the sea ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Things weren't perfect. But they seemed to be better, at least. Even if only marginally.

Cato was happier than you'd ever seen him in the weeks since you got together. At least, when he was with you. He was a surprisingly affectionate man once you got past his shell. He was still lonely, still in pain, but he had you, and he loved you. And he wasn't ashamed to show it either.

Some Ultramarines congratulated him on it. A few seemed a little envious. That one ambassador that Cato had had less pleasant dealings had glared at you like you insulted her mother. Overall though, the reaction was positive. Even Lord Guilliman seemed pleased, laying a hand on Cato's shoulder.

Astartes getting girlfriends wasn't common, but it wasn't entirely unheard of either. Most kept quiet about it. While he didn't trumpet from the rooftops about you, he wasn't afraid to kiss you or let you kiss him in public when you accompanied him, or allow you to hold his hand, or slip your hand around his elbow (as best you could) so the two of you could walk arm and arm together.

And flowers. You loved flowers, and every day when he came to you he'd present you with some, weaving them into your hair or tucking them behind your ears. You got the impression he enjoyed finding and giving them to you as much as you enjoyed receiving them, and you were filling out a whole book full of pressed and dried blooms.

He even had a pet name for you. Peahen, after the female of the numerous peafowl that inhabited Macragge. They had been brought over by early settlers and found a very comfortable niche for themselves. The males were especially pretty, with cobalt blue bodies and magnificent, long tails of green and iridescent eye spots that could spread out into a huge fan of feathers. The females were less showy, with plain brown and white feathers, but even they had a splash of bright blue and green on their necks. And the chicks were absolutely adorable.

The name always made you giggle. You supposed Cato was a like a peacock with his bright blue armor and plumed helmet. Your peacock.

For your part, you made up for things by being equally as affectionate as possible. It was pretty clear that he needed it. Giving it to him as freely as he did to you. You would let him scoop you up and carry you around just because he felt like doing it, or rest his head in your lap when he was particularly frustrated or put out. Stroking his hair, whispering to him softly that things would be just fine. He didn't seem like he believed it, but it made him happy to hear from you.

But...it was still pretty clear he wasn't doing well, and that irritated you to no end. You wanted to help him. You want to scream at everyone who made him feel like he had nobody to talk to about his troubles. And you would, too. You felt fiercely protective of him.

It was like he was in a hole. A deep, dark pit in his own head that he couldn't climb out of. Or he'd just gotten used to sitting in the dirt. Sometimes misery and pain could be awful comfortable if you lived with it long enough. Even if you didn't want it to be. Or if not that, then extremely hard to crawl out of. Like a tar pit.

And you weren't the only one who noticed his poor state, either.

Roboute Guilliman leaned back in his chair. In one hand was a mug of steaming mountain laurel tea. On a very small clear spot on his desk was a small plate that held some Eldar sweets Yvraine had brought for their weekly chat over tea. She held her teacup in the toes of her left foot, a plate in her right hand, and her gryrinx Alorynis tucked under her left arm. He kept trying to fling himself into Guilliman's lap, which he seemed to prefer because it was bigger.

He loved these meetings with her. They had become a weekly thing under the guise of "negotiation", and she was an accepted sight around the Fortress of Hera. It was nothing short of a relief to have her to talk to.

"Let him sit." Roboute said, amused as he watched the feline struggle.

"He'll get your lovely blue toga covered in sheddings." Yvraine said, sipping her tea. Placing Alorynis in his lap anyway. The gryrinx immediately curled into a happy ball, purring.

He stroked the creature's back, smiling. Although she could see it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't mind. I like cats."

"Robu, you're frowning again." She poked his wrinkled forehead. "What's on your mind this time?"

"Nothing unusual. I am concerned about one of my sons. Among other things."

"Which one?" She said, amused. "You have so many. I'm jealous."

He snorted. "Very funny, you unbearable xenos witch. It is Cato Sicarius."

"Ah yes. The one who never smiles."

"Most Astartes don't smile too often." Roboute pointed out.

"He only has two expressions from what I've seen. Grinding his teeth behind his lips, and a thousand yard stare."

"He's been happier recently. But that's because of his serf, I believe. The root problem is still there."

Despite her teasing, her expression was sympathetic. "What do you mean?"

"He used to be a very...arrogant man. He has gone through much humbling since, but I do not think all of it has been beneficial. I think he is as bad as he was in some aspects, but in the very different way. Instead of pride, it is pain that guides his actions. Although he adamantly refuses to talk about it to anyone."

"Have you tried asking him directly? He wouldn't refuse you."

"No, but forcing him to speak will do no good either. It will make him more evasive and mistrustful." He sighed. "I have asked, but only vaguely. I do not want to be overbearing to my Astartes, but I am worried about Cato. He pulls away from his brothers, and from me. He isolates himself, and wanders around in the night. There is no light in his eyes."

"Do you have any idea as to why?" Yvraine asked. "Maybe he just prefers to be alone."

"No. Some years ago, a ship he was traveling on got lost in the Warp. It was trapped for five years, aimless and constantly being invaded by daemons and Warpborn horrors. Many of his men died. I believe it has traumatized him."

Yvraine's ears flicked up in surprise. She looked sober. "I didn't know that was even possible. What does an Angel of Death need to see that will scar his mind so deeply?"

"It is very possible. Nobody likes to talk about it, but it is. Granted, it is also not common. In that you are correct. It takes a special kind of hell to leave that kind of scarring."

"But I suppose being lost in the Warp for five years is as special kind of hell."

"It is."

"He also doesn't seem to popular with your boys. I've heard some...less than flattering remarks."

"You probably hear everything with those ears." He said with a small smile. She snorted a laugh. "He is...a divisive figure. Many respect him. Many cannot stand him. I know one of my ambassadors really dislikes him."

"I've heard people calling him sexist."

"He is not. That rumor is stupid." Roboute said, thoroughly tired of it. "I thought my sons were more mature, but apparently not."

"Boys will be boys Robu." She pinched his cheek.

He sighed. "I wish to help him, but I don't know how. And..." He trailed off, uncertain of how much to share.

"Go on Robu. You know I won't breathe a word of it."

She read him like an open book. He loved that woman. "The mission I sent the Redeemed on. It is a success so far. If all goes well, I will be off to Medusa soon. If that goes well, I will need Cato then. And I will need him at his sharpest. Beyond, even."

The Redeemed were a...peculiar chapter of Astartes under Roboute's direct control. They were perfectly normal, except for the fact that it was entirely made up of former Chaos and traitor marines. He had a soft spot for them, and they were by far his best weapon against daemons and Warp spawn of all kinds.

"Ah. The thing with your brother?"

"Yes." That was the end of that train of discussion. "I know I cannot rush his healing, but I do not believe he has even begun to heal. His wounds still bleed. I fear if I try and intervene I will make things worse. I do not wish to hurt him."

"You said he had a serf he's fond of. It seems he's not entirely without comfort."

"He loves her. And it is good he has her. He does not trust his brothers with this. He does not trust me with this. Let him have her. Someone."

"I think you could reach out to him too. Don't force him, but merely inquire. Tell him you've noticed his change in behavior and be honest about your concerns. You are still his father, after a strange fashion. Maybe he could use some kind words from his Primarch. His Primarch certainly needs kind words too from time to time."

He smiled at that. "Not inaccurate. I will see what I can do. Maybe talk to his serf as well."

"See? There's the Robu I know. Always making plans." She patted his head. "And you are still as infuriating as ever." "Shut up and drink your tea before it gets cold." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a beautiful evening. The light of the setting sun was golden, the day was warm and the breeze was cool. It was nice enough that even the Ultramarines took notice, spending their small amount of free time outside in snatches.

Cato sighed. The wind made his robes ripple and flutter. He'd received a note inviting him to share a jug of wine and some small talk with a few other officers. His first instinct was to refuse, but then he remembered he was trying to retain some semblance of normality. So now he felt obligated to show up. He would have brought you with him, but you were fast sleep in the sunshine. Instead he'd covered you up with his cape and let you nap. You were cute like that anyway.

He found the others sitting in the shade of an old willow tree, the wind rustling the long branches. It sounded like rattling bones. Marneus, Uriel, and Demetrian were scattered across the benches around the trunk. They all looked unusually relaxed and in good spirits.

"Sicarius."

"Cato."

"Cato."

He sat on the edge of the bench Titus was on, who promptly handed him a clay cup. The liquid inside was a dark red, dry and sour tasting.

"Chapter master, Uriel, Titus." He nodded to each. "I wasn't expecting an invitation. Did anything special happen?" He asked, keeping his tone neutral.

"Can't we just want to enjoy your company?" Titus asked, smacking his shoulder.

He snorted. "Nobody enjoys my company. I thought that was established."

"That serf of yours seems to enjoy it. Congratulations on that." Uriel smiled at him. "I never would have guessed you to be the type to seek out something like that."

Titus nodded. "It's very rare, but not unheard of. I know the Chapter Master had a girl once, when he was young and attractive."

Calgar raised a grayed eyebrow. "What do you mean was?"

"Well...you are old." Uriel offered.

"Brilliant observation Ventris. It's that tactical genius that made you captain of the fourth."

Uriel and Titus both snickered at that. Cato offered a small smile at the Chapter Master's witticism. He took a sip of the wine to offset the fact that he wasn't laughing. A small one, though. It was starting to look a bit too much like blood for his comfort.

Then Marneus's gaze turned squarely on Cato. "But I'm not so old that a replacement needs to be considered yet. Sicarius."

He nearly choked on his wine. "Who, me? Absolutely not. I don't want to be Chapter Master. Keep your chair."

The thought was utterly laughable. He had aspired to it. Once. Not anymore though. he'd already proved himself too incompetent for that seat.

That earned him three raised eyebrows.

"What happened to you, Cato?" Uriel asked. "I thought you were counting down the days until Calgar was unavailable."

"I was. When I was young, and still had hope." He replied, then seeing the looks he was getting, "But it doesn't look like our venerable Chapter Master will be abdicating anytime soon." He added, forcing a joke.

"1st Captain Severus will be pleased to hear it." Titus told him with a grin.

"Seems I get a break from young upstarts for a while." Calgar said wryly.

"And when the time comes may someone worthy take your place."

He held up his cup in salute to the chapter master. Hoping that they believed his words were true. Because they were. Someone worthy. Not him.

The others raised their cups in return before taking a swig.

"Maybe one of you two." He added.

Titus shook his head. "I think I'm happier where I am."

"I never considered it." Uriel admitted. "I try to keep my aspirations reasonable."

"You would be a good pick though." Titus mused, agreeing with Cato.

He nodded.

"You have the track record." Calgar nodded slowly. "If you're not dead by the time I am, and if Agemman doesn't want to job for some reason."

"You're a hero, Uriel. The things you have accomplished go beyond even our line of duty." Cato said. "I believe you have a lot of qualities the Primarch likes to see in us as well. That might make you more a favorable choice."

"Don't sell yourself short Cato. You have done a lot of good too. Lord Guilliman wouldn't have made you captain of the Victrix for nothing."

The wine was starting to acquire an oddly metallic taste. Like iron. "Everything I have done has come off the heels of a spectacular blunder."

"I got sent off to Medrenguard because I didn't follow the Codex Astartes. Remember?"

Cato shook his head. "You did what needed to be done. I sent my men to their deaths."

"The Emperor's Will was not your fault, Sicarius." Calgar interjected. "Blaming yourself accomplishes nothing."

"And what about the losses at Damnos? Or Black Reach? I have proven time and time again that I am not a good commander."

"There is no leader of men who has only victories. Not even Lord Guilliman can claim that. You have failed, and you have failed hard. That is certainly true. But you have learned from it since. I doubt you would make the same mistakes again. Would you?"

"Of course not."

"There you have it then."

He felt a warmth in his chest for a moment before the doubts he held to be truths reasserted themselves. He had missed this. This fellowship. It was like he had been gifted a taste of the brotherhood he had lost, and he hadn't realized how bitterly he had missed it.

"That is something easier said than applied." He countered, and before he could stop himself, added. "Some things still haunt me."

It eve smelled like blood now.

Uriel nodded sagely. "I still think about the things I saw on Medrenguard sometimes. Although time has sanded the edges a great deal."

"Yes, of course." He said, a little too quickly. "It always does. But it's still unpleasant."

It didn't. He thought. Everything is still as sharp and painful as ever. Do you still smell the charnel reek? Do you still hear the screaming and moaning of the poor wretches of the Daemonculaba? Is your sleep full of daemon music and rot? Do you see Tyranids in every shadow and Iron Warriors in every doorway?

Time hadn't healed any of his wounds. He could still feel them, deep in his mind, pulsing with pain and oozing infection. That's how he felt. Like an infected wound. He had simply gotten worse and worse over time. That's why he was in this state now. Both his honor and his mind in pieces.

He wondered why they had asked him here in the first place. His hand shook, and he put the wine cup down. It all tasted like blood anyway. He wasn't like them. They were all heroes. They were everything an Ultramarine was supposed to be.

Maybe that's why he was here. So he could see everything that he wasn't.

He fell silent for the most part after that, listening to the other three and occasionally answering yes or no to some question or another. As quickly as that moment of warmth had come it was gone, and he felt hollow again.

Eventually he stood up to take his leave.

"Wait." He turned to see Titus holding out a few long sprigs of mountain laurels. Clusters of beautiful, star shaped white, pink and red flowers.

"Take these to your lady. I notice you've been bringing her flowers all the time." He said with a smile. Cato took them with a nod of gratitude.

"She likes them. Thank you."

"Good luck with her." Titus called after him, before his expression turned stony.

He was going to have to talk to someone about this. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Peahen." Cato called softly, opening the door to his quarters.

You were awake, sewing up a few ragged edges on his broad red cape. Looking up, your face broke into a wide grin when you saw him, and the gorgeous flowers he had for you. Putting your sewing down, you sprung into him like a rabbit into a trap. He gathered you up in his arms and held you tightly. Tucking the laurels into your hair.

"They're beautiful Cato. Thank you so much." You beamed at him. Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He smiled. Feeling all his earlier distress draining away as he held you close. You could see his expression soften, the tension drop from his shoulders.

"One of my brothers suggested them." He said.

"He has good taste." You ran your fingers gently over the petals. "You know you don't have to bring me flowers every day." He sat down, pulling you into his lap. "Maybe not. But seeing your eyes light up every time I present you with some makes it worth doing. I like making you happy."

You snuggled against him, as content as a cat with a stolen fish. "I appreciate it. You know I've saved every single one. I'm filling a book with them."

"Really?"

"Yep." You nodded. "I dry and press them. It's like a record of sorts. Since we...became and item."

He took your small hand in his and squeezed it.

"I want to make you happy too." You told him.

"You make me happy just by being here."

He kissed your cheek.

"You are my solace."

You pulled one of the springs of laurel from your hair and tucked it behind his ear. "You look so handsome Cato."

"I love you." He whispered. Holding you close. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Titus." Roboute greeted his son as he walked into his office.

"Lord Primarch." He returned. "Am I interrupting anything?"

He sighed. "Nothing out of the ordinary, lieutenant. Is something wrong? You look troubled."

"Forgive me if this is nothing, but I felt that I needed to speak to someone about this." Titus began. "I...believe there is something going on with Cato."

To his surprise Roboute's expression darkened almost immediately. "Tell me." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hole-dwelling, hole-dwelling, hole-dwelling, you’re just like me

[sunny-mercya]

Runaway Love

Roronoa Zoro x Male Reader | Unreciprocated! Sanji x Male Reader

Fandom -> One Piece

Requested by -> @heehoe

Masterlist

Zoro watches you from his hanging position, how you sat on the ground—near him as you stubbornly didn't want to leave his side, no matter how many threats and rough treatments you gotten from the Marines—starring into the distance with an dazed and sleepy expression. He knows that look, you doing this sometimes when being low on sugar, reminiscing in a past you wished sometimes to be different.

Just five more days, Zoro tells himself and then he would be let free and you two could row off to whatever Island lays ahead next. Just five more days without food and water—Zoro could manage this, but he was more worried about you and even though impressed, proud a little even, how long you lasted without the humane necessity, it also worries him as the last time you went this long without food—or more precisely sugar—you were on the brink of a drop like stroke.

Arranged marriages were a common occurrence in yours and other wealthy families. Most, if not all, of your siblings had been married off to other Men and Women and sometimes even both—genders never matters in those political and social affairs of wealth and fame.

Some of your siblings had found their love in it and some of them just lived through it—as family reputations come always first.

With you being the youngest and last in your family, your mother—a sinister cunning woman—had planned your wedding and marriage partner—a hard chose between the Charlotte and Vinsmoke family—on the day you're born.

At the age of 5 you had meet your soon-to-be spouse—Sanji Vinsmoke—and you two had formed instantly a bond. A friendship and thinking back on it, you could say Sanji was/had been your first love.

Throughout the four months of naïve childlike bliss and living in the Germa Kingdom, with two of your older Siblings, Sanji and you were smitten in each other's company. Him baking you, his ever firsts and a bit too salty, cakes and you being you—fumbly doing the things which you were taught in order to impress Sanji just a little bit.

Just two children being children.

And when Sanji had been gone one day—at first you were told was away to learn proper etiquettes, till he had actually vanished—your own misery had begun.

~~~

You woke from your dazing dozing. Blinking owlish you looked into the face of a smiling—more like grinning brightly full of energy and optimism—stranger.

Black curls bouncing from underneath his strawhat and framing his slight chubby cheeks.

«Zoro! He's awake! Awake!» the stranger proclaimed excitedly loudly, poking the tip of your nose and grabbing your cheeks, pulling at them.

You squinted your eyes at him. Lips twitching into a frown. You couldn't remember much, besides waiting next to Zoro till his punishment trial had ended, but you surely would remember a face like his.

«Oi oi! Give him some space Luffy and don't go screaming again.»

Zoro pulls Luffy off from you, handing you a glass of Honey-water—just warm water with honey in it—urging you to drink it and ignoring your grimace of distaste.

Taking a seat of his own next to you again and taking a sip from his beer, Zoro still needs to think of a way to convince Luffy—now his Captain which he had sworn loyalty and devotion till death—to take you in the crew too.

Zoro wasn't a man to break a promise, but he also wouldn't leave you alone. So either he finds a way of agreement or he had to cut something off.

« I will be your first mate if [Name]'s joining too.»

In confusion you turned to Zoro. Have you missed out that much while being in your low-sugar daze? It seems like it apparently.

«What can he do?» the question was more direct at you than Zoro.

Your mind goes blank, starring down at your glas. What can you do? A good question which you had asked yourself more than once.

You knew the basic of Swordsmanship, carrying even one with you, thank to Zoro. You know how to defend yourself in a fight, but still you weren't quite sure what exactly you can do or what you're good at. What your qualification is to be deemed part of a crew.

«Uhm, I'm a dancer?» you mumbled out, more question itself than answer.

«Just a dancer?»

«Yes. Just a dancer.»

Luffy smiled at you and somehow you knew this was his approval.

~~~

Knowing that you are together with Zoro—who's moronic, sword and violence obsessed and has non sense of direction—in love even, did stirred something in Sanji—something of low bubbling and emotional anger. Jealousy even.

Back then, when you and the others had stepped into the Barite, Sanji had recognised you on first glance—he simply never couldn't forget the person he had been supposed to marry, the person who had been, even if it was for a short time, his first friend.

Though while he remembers you, you didn't—greeting and treating him politely like you would with a stranger. So—after his joining to the crew and after helping Nami—he chatted you up, ignoring the always scrutinising gaze of Zoro and started to befriend you (again). Which had been a success.

Since they are currently docking at Water Seven, which means a longer stay as good old Flying-Lamb had to undergo some massive maintenance and repairs—which she needed and deserved, because Lammy had been carrying them through this route of rough sea.

A longer stay also means, Sanji could try to win your affection, to whoop you into his arms and love.

Now, don't get him wrong, Sanji does still love Women's—all of them as they are all beauties and to be treated with chivalry love and affection—but you're technically, in a sense, his. You belong to him, you two were meant to be married—if of course, Sanji hadn't fleet from his birth-home back then, though he had reason for it.

Sanji knew how to, probably—a chance of fifty percent—bring your heart back to him. One of his ever first "cakes", it was more of an messy almost soupy pudding, which he had baked for you. Albeit a bit salty, you said you liked the taste and since you had an problem with sugar—neither too much nor too little would be good for you—a nice sugary salt mix, with a hint of (f. flavour) was exactly what's to be needed for a successful heart winning.

~~~

The blinding rays of the sun now being blocked off by your back, causing a shadow. Tall as you were, which was quite the height and Luffy—you silly precious Captain—liked to climb on your back or shoulders and misusing you as a lookout pole, you loomed over Zoro.

«What is it?» he didn't open his eyes, grumbling the words out, making his point clear that you were interrupting his sleep—more like constant naps.

«You said you're going with me into the City and look for some weapons which could be, make me, useful» you said, crouching down now.

Zoro mured something, in an instant grabbing your arms and pulling you against him, in his lap. You were sure you will get some bad neck cramps again.

«If I get cramps in my neck and back again, you're the one who's gonna massage them out,»

«Stop with your nonsense bullshit of not being useful. You are.»

You huffed at what he said, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrow in a disbelieving grimace.

Easy talk from your boyfriend there, who is an excellent swordsman and compared to you, you were a lousy nothing—who shouldn't be in a Crew, this Crew, at all as you didn't have any worthy qualifications or knowledge or experience.

You felt more than often out of place. Course you could hold your own in a fight, could defend yourself and others, but when it comes to terms of; Navigating, medical or general knowledge, cooking and craftsmanship—you're a very useless nobody.

So you thought, doing it often—the thinking—that if you find perhaps a weapon you would feel more confident with the right of staying.

You asked Zoro to accompany you on your little shopping trip and he said yes, but here you were—in your Boyfriends arms, because he deemed naps more important.

«You promised me, we're going. Zoro, I really want to be more of use and so finding a good weapon is good start, isn't it?»

«I know what I said, but I also told many times before.»

And he did told you. Years of being together, it was like a constant repeat of the same words. Zoro was right, your brain just doesn't register it at all, seeding more doubt than—what did the others once told you? Aah yes—self-love.

A mere and simple dancer is what you are. Nothing more and nothing less. Just a dancer. No use in a pirate crew, because what could a dancer do? Nothing.

«Ya know, since ya so damn pessimistic, I'm just gonna give ya your present now.» Zoro moves you asides from his lap, standing up and going into the mans quarters.

It wasn't long till Zoro returned, an object warped with cloths in his hands. Zoro sits down again, handing you the so called present.

You gave him a curious look, presents weren't a common thing in your relationship—sure, a bottle of quality Sake for Zoro and for you a bag of mixed (f. Candy) every now and then, when you two want to appreciate one another, but never presents—not even on your anniversary.

You opened it slowly, unwrapping it from the bandana—it wasn't a cloth like you assumed—which had the colour of (f.colour) and matches, colour wise, with Zoro's green bandana.

A Fan, beautiful design on it and with razor sharp blades it was.

It makes sense now, whenever Zoro told you; that even a mere dancer can be a strong fighter.

~~~

Around afternoon Sanji had returned back to ship. Walking just a tad faster, couldn't wait to be back in his kitchen—his little empire—and making you the salty cake.

Sanji would make it grand, decorating it with some sugar sweets.......and oh.

Stopping in his tracks, Sanji glanced over at you and Zoro. The two of you napping against the railing and even though you're the tallest, you're the one which laid in Zoro's arms. Looking at peace, so tranquility like.

Sanji pretends to never have seen the matching Bandanas you two wore now.

Sanji should have known better, shouldn't have made himself such delusional hopes.

Because Sanji was just a friend and Zoro your love which your heart desires.

Truly delusional. A fool.

[wutheringskies]

Post-Canon Fics in MDZS...

You know, what would make post-canon fics great? If they adhered to canon! This post is honestly just a list of character tropes, and plot tropes I find incessantly OOC, replaced by plot tropes I wish we hyped up more.

1. Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation

There are plenty of reasons this will never happen. Firstly, Jiang Wanyin will not apologize to Wei Wuxian further beyond the apology that he has made in Guanyin Temple, because to apologize, you need to see "wrong" in your actions and regret them. Jiang Cheng doesn't have a similar morality index as Wei Wuxian and their beliefs have always been different. Not to mention Jiang Cheng is inherently bitter since he was young; following down the path of his mother. His first instinct when someone is being praised is so squash them down.

Secondly, Wei Wuxian will not apologize to Jiang Cheng beyond the apology of breaking that promise that only Jiang Cheng was left holding onto - a culmination of their broken dreams and desires, a marking of them being a generation of war.

The only thing both of them have in common is their love for Jin Ling and a shared, painful past - a past that Wei Wuxian wants to move on from, a past that Jiang Cheng is simultaneously rooted in, and moved away from.

Note: that this, I am speaking for is MDZS canon. Not CQL, as well, Jiang Cheng didn't directly kill those Wens which is the tipping point.

Replaced by: Loving Jin Ling

In the MDZS Novel, we go from seeing Jiang Cheng become increasingly abusive and violent towards Jin Ling as the stakes worsen and Jin Ling becoming annoyed and having arguments with him, not agreeing with his thinking.

We also see, Wei Wuxian, being the one to push Jin Ling to talk to Jiang Cheng in the Iron Hook Extra. We see Wei Wuxian being disgustingly affectionate towards Jin Ling, and Jin Ling being a tsundere about it and promising to himself that from the next time, he'll stick around Wei Wuxian in night hunts, implying these two will be consistently in each other's lives.

We also learn that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji take Sizhui out on night-hunts (a family). And that Sizhui and Jin Ling go on night-hunts together. Also, that Wen Ning often joins their night-hunts.

So, hear me out, post-canon fics revolving around this strange, muddly, messy support system and family that Jin Ling has amassed.

Yunmeng bros reconciliation is never going to happen; too much interaction might worsen their tentative mutual ignorance of each other. Wei Wuxian, who's always pushed himself into other's personal spaces, is fine with just ensuring Jiang Cheng is okay. Distance is better than proximity.

But what plausibly might happen is Jin Ling forming deeper connections with his scattered, support system. Jin Ling might open up to Jiang Cheng for help with this or that, as Wei Wuxian has advised. Jiang Cheng might learn how to not be emotionally abusive or harsh and show the love he has for Jin Ling in better ways. Jin Ling will probably end up getting closer to Wei Wuxian and Sizhui and understanding just so many things about, everything. He might be supported by Hanguang-jun.

He might grow up to be the best Jin sect leader there ever was.

2. Wei Wuxian navigating through a world where everyone hates him, withering away.

This is, not only one of the saddest post-canon takes, but also very OOC. It might not make sense what I'm talking about so I'll list out common tropes I put under this categorization:

a) Wei Wuxian has terrible self esteem

b) He feels undeserving of Lan Wangji's love and keeps him at a distance emotionally by seducing him for sex instead

c) He has a childlike innocence, he goes out and hears everyone talking shit about him and stays indoor most of the time

d) He is mistreated by Lan clan and Lan Wangji is oblivious to it all

And such. I definitely understand why these tropes are so popular. It feeds into a particular sort of misery but there is a lot that it ignores:

a) Wei Wuxian firstly doesn't have terrible self esteem. If he did, he wouldn't have made it this far (coughs, the big age of 21 or 22). People ignore the fact that Wei Wuxian is a strong protagonist. He is proud, and aware of his worth. He never plays down his talents. He understands quickly the perspective of other people, and already knows that the people who talk more, do less.

In his first life, he went through being coreless and powerless, hated by all, but still standing up for stuff he believed in and lounging and drinking. He's not afraid to make others uncomfortable with his presence. That is a part of his charm. He cares for the opinions of only few people - and those few love him.

b) The one where he's emotionally distant towards Lan Wangji is the one I possibly hate the most. Especially because these sorts of fics often have him distracting Lan Wangji from his bouts of worthlessness and insecurity by his body, and Lan Wangji jumps straight into action.

Lan Wangji knows Wei Wuxian well enough that he offers comfort to Wei Ying even when he doesn't realize he needs it; like hugging him in Intrustion extra when they are on the topic of servants. Wei Wuxian can read Lan Wangji well, and so can Lan Wangji. Both of them have a relationship built on mutual trust and understanding. Wei Wuxian isn't sticking around with the Lan Clan and the jingshi because it's what Lan Wangji wants, but it's also what Wei Wuxian wants.

Also, Wei Wuxian doesn't feel undeserving of Lan Wangji. He knows he has caused Lan Wangji a lot of pain, intentionally or not, and is dedicated to making him happy, and being in love. It was all in his Guanyin Temple confession - their relationship is not out of gratefulness or anything like that.

c) Wei Wuxian is innocent at his soul, but he's not a child. He knows what the world thinks and he doesn't care. He doesn't expect the world to talk nicely about him; he probably doesn't even hear half the chatter, and even if be acknowledges it, it doesn't need to emotionally hurt him. Unrelatable? Yes. But that's how his character is like.

And if he ever is hurt or surprised, he's going to seek comfort. Act childish, ask to be pampered, etc.

d) THIS one is so... We see Wei Wuxian stepping into the Lan Clan. One day later, he's sitting next to Lan Wangji in a banquet, accepted as his cultivation partner. Lan Qiren is definitely against his presence. But like, sincerely, how long will that go on when we know that Wei Wuxian is the one who takes Lan juniors to night hunts everyday? We also see Wei Wuxian acting independently with juniors onto missions where assistance from the Lan Clan was requested (Iron Hook extra) without any Lan Wangji or anyone else. He even has a jade pendant, just four days after settling in. Lan Qiren has to hear his moans like... every night. A few hours in and he's talking to a Lan female cultivator?

Lan Wangji himself has injured thirty three Lan elders and been punished by the worst punishment, probably, ever assigned. Beyond Lan Qiren's glares and admonishments, I sincerely doubt anyone can do or say much. What I don't doubt is that Wei Wuxian is loveable and makes friends easily, and that despite everything, he's Lan Wangji's cultivation partner. A teacher. Accesses all Lan cottages and buildings. And now an addition to the Lan family.

And as for what the general people speak, perhaps the Yiling Laozu will always be a figure that haunts children bed time stories. But Senior Wei, and Hanguang-jun's husband, and Wei Wuxian - is shown to be a figure that is loved, respected by many.

The whole of cultivation world TRIED to kill him (Second Seige). They were embarrassed. Only like 20 people were actually there to kill him.

These 20 people will probably never be able to touch a hair on his head.

The WHOLE of cultivation world was saved by Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and the Wens' remains. Stories always travel fast, don't they? The cultivation world has found their newest figure to hate - and it's not Wei Wuxian. Not just that, even the one with the most hostility towards him (Jiang Cheng) didn't DISALLOW him from coming to Lotus Pier where in front of him, they transferred crimes previously "done" by him to Jin Guangyao (like the death of Jin Zixuan - let's not fool ourselves and think anyone other than Jin Ling cares about the truth). Not just that, the cultivation world asked "Master Wei" for help.

Wei Wuxian didn't come back to life only to live a terrible, hated, agonizing life. Most people don't care. He doesn't care. Those who care are not strong enough. Those he cares about love him.

Replaced by: Wei Wuxian navigating through life without heavy burdens on his shoulder

Much of the fics focus on the "burden" of the trauma he's been through his life in the fics. Very few focus on the lack of burdens. Like... the guy is now well fed. His feelings are returned. There's nobody in danger. He has a body that can grow a core again. He can slowly pick up Suibian. He can learn new tunes on Chenqing. He can hang out with Wen Ning. He can think back to fond memories. He can paint, read, travel, teach, have great ideas and tap 100% into his actual personality.

He can process stuff he's been through in a healthier way. Like, I don't know, that intrusion scene where LWJ immediately hugs him when the topic of servants come is so important to me, because, it makes me wonder what sorts of conversations they have had. He now gets pampered and indulged - and we all know he loves it, but often the portrayals of his thoughts about being loved is very self critical which isn't canon. And it would be really cool for Wei Wuxian to have just, time, on his hand.

He was barely free for a year and changed the ways of the cultivation society forever. Without much resources or money. Now, the possibilities are endless. He can not only travel, but buy expensive stuff and have a bunch of Lan texts and a very educated and smart husband to help him invent more.

3. CQL Shade but Post-Canon Fics where Wangxian is too busy with responsibilities for each other ???

Why are you guys hurting yourselves? Like, there's only a certain amount of these sorts of fic that's acceptable until it becomes a sort of widely accepted canon.

I think it definitely has to with Chief Cultivator Lan Wangji. My poor baby, his romantic heart, extremely concise replies, and disdain for worldly matters (HIS LITERAL NAME IS WANGJI. HIS SWORD IS BICHEN) was ignored in the favour of making him a cold, busy husband who's sorting minor clan disputes, surrounded by length drabbles and politics by those that once killed his husband.

This is just so awful for me. In the intrustion extra, even after dressing up early, with a guest waiting outside (Master Qin), he lets the guest WAIT than wake Wei Ying up (who sleeps until noon).

If he became chief cultivator the world would collapse. If Wei Ying held onto his robes a little too tightly, he wouldn't even step out of the Jingshi.

Like he told Wei Ying, "I've been damned since long ago." Lan Wangji is a pure romantic. He's never going to be too busy for Wei Wuxian, or too distant, or too cold.

Like, guys just no. Let's write post-canon Wangxian. Not Madam Yu-Jiang Fengmian inspired Wangxian.

[beeblkscripted]

Imagine being a fellow black! fem vampire tagging along with Louis and Claudia when they make it to Paris

A/N: getting back into interview with the vampire made me completely starved to be apart of this world and I just had to write smth about it! Hope yall like it! Anybody can read it, I just had a black femme character in mind lol

The three of you met in the battlefields of Ukraine. You slept out in the woods—underground—in a little hole you dug yourself.

You would sleep for days, to avoid drinking. Because the blood is bad here.

Too much misery.

Too much despair.

Too much isolation.

You hated it.

You needed to find a way out.

You needed a place with fresher blood and companionship.

After a couple weeks of waking up—poking your head out of the surface and feed on birds or rats that came across then going back to sleep—you felt the presence of two vampires …

Your eyes immediately snapped open.

It’s been such a long time since you had a companion—the last time you had one was your master. You desperately got out of your hole and sped to the two. It was as if your heart started to beat again.

Seeing that they’re black and since you’re black too, yall hit it off quite well!

——

Getting into Paris was the best thing ever. The streets were lively and the blood was sweet. You, Claudia, and Louis were like siblings. Louis being the oldest—obviously, then Claudia and finally you. Even though it didn’t show physically, given how you was turnt at 22, it showed mentally.

Louis had his hobbies, Claudia was bold and searched out for more vampires in the land, and you kept to yourself—also having a hobby turnt dream.

When you wasn’t hunting with Claudia or conversing with Louis, you liked to draw and read books. The wars of the world made you want to draw to cope.

It started to captivate your time immensely up to the point where the two practically had to drag you outside for some fresh air.

~~

“Working that pencil once more, Y/N??” Claudia said, walking into your room, putting on some of her jewelry.

You was sitting at your desk, drawing on large sheets of paper—pictures of landscapes and portraits hung up around. A faint “Yes.” Murmured out of your lips in which Claudia rolled her eyes.

“Y/N I love you but you have to put your pencil down every once in a while!” She put her arms around you and looked over your shoulder. Something common she’d do. “Oh—that’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Claudia.” A small smile tugged at your lips and then you felt yourself being pulled away from your desk. “H-hey-! Claudia!”

“But it can wait, come on! We’re going to a play! Louis found some other vampires!”

“Some other what!?”

[blue-slxt]

Common Ground

*Request: I seen that you were asking for a request! Imagine lo'ak and ao'nung who can hardly stand each other are forced to hunt together by their parents, and they find reader who's in heat deep in the forest. Maybe reader is a shared friend or she doesn't like either of them, but she's so needy because of her heat! Maybe a bit of tail play and marking, if that's something you're up for!*

I loved this one. I got worked up just writing this. Y’all are hitting all the right spots with these requests. I’m still getting used to writing Ao’nung so this was a nice challenge. Hope you like how this turned out! 🤗 All characters are aged up.

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Smut under the cut.

“I can’t believe you got us into this mess.” Ao’nung grumbles beside Lo’ak.

His face whips to look at him, “Me? You’re the one that was talking shit about my family!” he retorts.

Lo’ak and Ao’nung didn’t really like each other at the best of times. And at the worst of times, they were at each other’s throats. Jake and Tonowari had decided that enough was enough after the two of them had gotten into another fist fight earlier today. They had come to the decision that they would send the two on a trip together into the forest and Tonowari ordered them to not come back out until they had found some kind of common ground.

Now, here they were an hour deep into the forest and still ready to tear each other to shreds.

“It is not my fault that you are freaks with your five fingers.” Ao’nung spits at him.

Lo’ak gets in his face, “Yeah? Want these five fingers to deck you in the fucking mouth again?” Ao’nung pushes him and just as Lo’ak is about to launch himself at him, they both hear a sound.

“Shit!”

Both of their ears turn in the direction of the voice recognizing it immediately. They both forget their anger for long enough to slowly move towards the sound. The closer they get, the more they hear. Mumbled curses and obscene moans reach their ears and their tails sway in curiosity.

Neither of them are quite prepared for the sight they’re met with. You’re in the middle of nowhere, skin glistening from sweat, and your chest was heaving with every breath. Your face was turned away from them and they got a full view of your bare cunt grinding helplessly against your fingers, your arousal dripping down your knuckles.

“Fuck.” Lo’ak quietly mumbles feeling himself instantly get hard. Even though he said it so quietly, all of your senses are turned up to the max right now and you still hear him.

“Who’s there?” you call out removing your fingers from your core and sitting up to look around. It wasn’t like there was much you could really do in your currently dazed state though.

Ao’nung and Lo’ak emerge from the bushes and you let out a loud groan, “Not you two.”

You didn’t particularly have a real problem with either of them, but you definitely found them annoying with their constant bickering. It was immature so you kept both of them at arm’s length.

“Geez nice to see you too” Ao’nung shoots at you sarcastically.

“Look, I am not in the mood to deal with the two of you right now, okay? I’m dealing with a lot so could you please leave?”

Lo’ak is about to say something, but gets cut off. “Suit yourself, but I’m not the one who was humping their hand like a desperate animal.” Ao’nung throws his hands up in surrender.

Your face burns in humiliation knowing that they both saw you, but your body is on fire needed something – anything to fill you and finally put an end to your misery. Your thighs squeeze together trying to sooth the ache between them. Ao’nung notices and gives you a devilish smirk.

“Of course, you know we could always help you out.”

Lo’ak’s eyes go wide listening to him talk. You feel yourself clamp down around nothing wanting to take him up on his offer.

“Hold on just a second” Lo’ak says to you before walking Ao’nung over to the side. “What the fuck man?” his voice is a hushed growl.

“Oh come one, you’re telling me you don’t wanna hit that?”

“Fine.” You pipe up finally not being able to take the wait any more.

Both of their heads snap to you and your pupils are blown all the way leaving barely any color to be seen.

“Are you sure?” Lo’ak tries to ask you, but you’re already stripping off your top. “Just hurry up and help me before I change my mind.” You were bluffing. You knew you were too far gone to change your mind even if you tried.

“You heard the lady.” Ao’nung nudged Lo’ak’s shoulder as he circled around to rest behind you. He wastes no time in letting his hands roam up and down your torso while he breathes in your scent. His lips ghost the skin on your neck and makes your hair stand on end. Your skin is hot to the touch, but it does nothing to deter Ao’nung from squeezing one of your breasts and playing with you nipple. It makes your body jolt with each new sensation. You look up at Lo’ak who can’t stop watching you.

You reach out your hand to him with pleading eyes, “Please Lo’ak”. He caves. He falls to his knees in front of you and crashes his lips to yours. You eagerly open your lips and pull his tongue into your mouth so you can taste him. His hands trail up and down your thighs and they spread wanting some kind of touch. He drags one finger between your drenched folds and you both groan at the feeling. Your body trembles in Ao’nung’s grasp and one of his hands sneaks down your back to stroke the base of your tail. Your head falls back against his shoulder while soft pants leave your lips. He smirks seeing your lustful drunken face. He pushes you forward so that you’re on all fours in front of him while he unties his loincloth. He revels in the sight of your juices steadily streaming down your thighs. In this position, you were now eye level with Lo’ak’s bulge. It’s like you can literally hear it calling your name. You can’t even wait for him to untie the knot around his waist before you’re pulling the fabric to the side and freeing his thick cock.

Your mouth immediately fills with saliva taking in his size. You had to have it. You sink him all the way into the back of your throat and he sucks in a sharp breath.

Behind you, Ao’nung coats his dick in your slick and easily plunges into your greedy cunt. You want to moan from being filled at last, but you can only manage to hum around Lo’ak’s tip still buried in your mouth. The vibration makes him throw his head back. “Shit.”

Ao’nung thrusts into you watching how your hole just swallows his cock happily. Every thrust from behind pushes you forward onto Lo’ak even more if that were possible. Drool and tears run down your face and spill over onto the forest floor.

You push his tip into your throat and swallow. Lo’ak brushes your hair out of your face, “Oh, fuck, just like that pretty girl.” His words tingle in your head and make your pussy clench without your permission.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum inside you if you keep doing that” Ao’nung breathes out while smacking his hips into you. Your eyes roll feeling your orgasm hurling towards you like a boulder. “Is that what you want sevin? You want us to cum inside of you?” Ao’nung wraps your tail around his forearm and tugs it back towards him. You try to yelp, but Lo’ak is keeping his cock buried in your mouth chasing his impending high. “Mhm” is all you can manage to hum out as a response.

This sends Lo’ak over the edge and he bucks his hips up into your throat and spills his cum straight into your throat. You are more than happy to swallow all of it down. You keep sucking on his tip while he cums hoping to get every single last drop he has to offer. You finally pop off of him when his legs start to shake. You gasp for air now that your throat is free, but it doesn’t last long as Lo’ak grabs your face and kisses you deeply again. His tongue dances with yours tasting himself in your mouth and swallowing all of your moans.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” you get out between kisses.

Ao’nung drills into your cervix repeatedly inching you closer to your release. His thrusts start to get sloppy and his hips stutter as he finally shoots ropes of thick cum inside of you. The heat spreads through your body and crashes you into your own orgasm finally. Your mouth is stuck in a silent scream while your arms and legs shake.

Ao’nung finally pulls out of you and you fall forward into Lo’ak’s arms. He strokes your hair and whispers small praises into your ear.

Your mind and body start to feel like they’re returning to normal as you come out of your haze. “Thank you, guys. You know, you make a good team when you’re not at each other’s throats.”

Lo’ak and Ao’nung look at each other and offer one another a silent nod of understanding. Guess they found their common ground.

[n0vazsq]

Moon, a hole of light | JB22 x SV5

summary . . . Jenson Button and Sebastian Vettel, one of the most esteemed names in Formula 1. Well, their names held a different story than their behaviour. Mischief, troublemaking and much more came with these two. Will the grid be able to survive?

request . . . yes!

word count . . . 1.6k

warnings . . . cursing

alexavia yaps . . . idk if this is good or not bc i literally just put a bunch of ideas together and hoped it was good </3 i accidentaly deleted the first draft so i lost the authors note and summary dni

2010, it was a year to be in F1. Many legends were on the grid, aswell as new rookies striving for greatness. But there was one pair that stood out more than the others, Jenny and Sebby, as they called themselves.

Jen and Seb, another name for them, were the troublemakers and pranksters of the grid. They were either driving or causing trouble, no in between. They made sure their PR Managers lived in misery and vain, but at least they had fun, right?

"SEBASTIAN VETTEL! COME RIGHT HERE!" Jenson's shout came from his driver's room in Mclaren. Seb, who was waiting around the corner grinned and tried to stifle his laugh as he walked over to the driver's room.

Seb slowly opened the door, trying to hold his laughter at the sight in front of him, but then failing. There stood a red-face Jenson Button, but quite literally. His face and body were stained a bright red, his fists clenched and shaking.

It took all his will to not punch Sebastian right then and there.

You'd think that a 30 year old man and a 23 year old would be mature, and have some common sense, right? Well, if you ever met Seb and Jen, you'd instantly know you were wrong. They were even more immature than a pair of 5 year olds, which was a bit surprising.

"I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe" Sang Sebastian to Jenson, who rolled his eyes and shook his head disappointingly.

"I regret teaching you that this song even existed." He muttered, eyes closed and head in his hands.

"Well, too bad. I've already memorised all of it." Laughed Seb, pointing his finger at Jenson in a taunting manner.

"You did not!" Exclaimed Jenson, his eyes comically wide.

"Yes I did!"

"God, what am I going to do with you?" Jenson sighed, his shoulders deflating.

"Nothing, because you're never getting rid of me!" Seb started skipping around him in circles, singing the lyrics to Buttons by The Pussycat Dolls.

"God please help me." 

"A beekeeper?!"Jenson shouted, his jaw almost on the floor.

"What's wrong  with being a beekeeper?" Seb shouted back, his arms going across his chest defensively.

"That's so...adorable and cutesy! It does not  fit you!"

"Yes it does!" Seb argued, his voice slightly cracking.

"Does not!"

"Does"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Nuh uh!"

"Shut up!"

"Jeez, way to stop an argument." Jenson laughed, blowing air out of his mouth.

"Fuck off, Jen. You want to be a DILF."

"Why’s my entire table filled with… carrots?" Seb stared at the small mountain of carrots spilling out as he opened his locker.

Jenson strolled into the room, arms crossed, leaning casually against the doorframe with a smirk. "Just making sure you’re eating healthy. Thought you could use a bit of beta-carotene, mate."

Seb rolled his eyes, grabbing a handful of carrots and shoving them into Jenson’s arms. "Fine, but you’re eating them with me. Enjoy your five-a-day."

"Why is there glitter… everywhere?" Jenson asked, his voice barely holding back a mix of rage and laughter as he opened his driver’s bag to find every item coated in a thick layer of sparkles.

Seb was practically bent over in silent laughter, barely able to breathe. "It’s called adding flair, Jen. A little sparkle in your life never hurt."

Jenson held up his helmet, which was covered in glitter, and just shook his head. "You're dead, Vettel. You better start running now."

During one race weekend, Jenson was doing a live interview, being the picture of professionalism, answering questions and playing the PR game as usual. But right on the edge of the frame, Seb popped up wearing a pair of sunglasses and holding a cardboard sign that said, 'Free Hugs from Jenson.'

Without any hint of annoyance or surprise, Jenson smirked at the camera and pointed behind him. "Alright, guys, you heard him. Go find Seb if you want hugs. Might be the only time he’s offering them to the public."

During a fan Q&A, a young fan asked Jenson how he would describe Seb in three words.

Jenson looked at Seb, pretending to be in deep thought. "Hmm… a bee loving menace."

Seb grinned, crossing his arms. "Best description I’ve ever had. What would you be?"

"Easy," Jenson replied with a grin. "Seb’s number one fan."

The audience burst into laughter, and Seb dramatically placed a hand over his heart. “Aww, Jen, you shouldn’t have!"

"Sebastian, what’s your proudest achievement in F1 so far?" a journalist asked during a media day.

Seb was mid-sentence, talking about his wins, when Jenson appeared out of nowhere, a huge smirk on his face. "Oh, I can tell you. It’s definitely pranking me with a cardboard cutout of myself in my hotel room at 3 a.m. Nearly gave me a heart attack."

Seb burst out laughing. "It was life-sized! I figured you’d love the surprise!"

"Oh, I loved it," Jenson replied sarcastically. "Especially when I walked in and saw myself staring back at me. Almost had to call security."

Then there was the time when Seb was asked if he ever got nervous before races.

"No, not really," Seb replied calmly, then paused as Jenson slid into the shot behind him, eyebrows raised.

"Are we forgetting Singapore? 2009? Because I remember somebody pacing around like a madman that morning, muttering something about needing more breakfast."

Seb glared at him, trying to stifle his grin. "I wasn’t nervous! I was… focused."

"Right, focused on finding an extra croissant," Jenson said, leaning into the mic. "He was unstoppable once he got it."

In a rare joint interview, Jenson and Seb sat down with a reporter, who knew that having these two together would be nothing short of entertaining chaos. The interviewer barely got to her first question before things went to chaos.

"So, Jenson," she began with a smile, "how do you and Seb keep such a good dynamic? I mean, you're known as one of the most iconic duos in the paddock, but there's clearly some… competitive spirit there."

Jenson gave a small chuckle, glancing over at Seb, who already had a smug grin. "Well, I think it’s because we’ve both come to terms with the fact that we'll never stop pranking each other."

Seb scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Me? I’m the one who’s just a tiny bit competitive? Remember Monaco, Jen? You may as well have had steam coming out of your ears by the end of that one."

"Don’t act innocent, Seb," Jenson shot back, eyebrows raised. "Who was the one who replaced my car’s steering wheel with a pink one with ‘Princess’ written on it?"

Seb laughed, clearly proud of his prank. "Oh, come on! You did look quite royal with it."

The interviewer was grinning ear to ear, clearly loving their dynamic. "Okay, okay, let’s settle this! What’s the biggest prank you two have pulled on each other?"

Seb’s eyes sparkled, leaning forward like he’d been waiting for this question."That’s easy. Spain, last season. He had this brand new helmet design he’d been bragging about for weeks. It had all these fancy graphics, and he wouldn’t stop talking about it."

Jenson’s eyes widened as he realized what Seb was about to reveal. "Don’t you dare, Seb!"

"Oh, I’m telling them," Seb said, grinning. "So, I may have… slightly changed his helmet."

"Slightly?" Jenson cut in, exasperated. "You replaced my name with a cartoon donkey and slapped a rainbow on it!"

Seb was barely able to keep a straight face. "And it looked amazing. He didn’t realize it until he was already at the track, visor down, ready for the press photos."

Jenson shook his head, grinning despite himself. "Every photographer at the track got a picture of that disaster. You know how hard it was to live that down?"

The interviewer was in stitches, barely able to get her next question out. "Alright, Jenson, what’s the biggest prank you’ve pulled on Seb?"

"Oh, this one was good," Jenson said, rubbing his hands together like he was planning a grand scheme. "It was right before Silverstone, and Seb had just gotten this new superstitious thing about his driver’s suit. Something about ‘needing it perfectly creased’ for luck."

Seb rolled his eyes. "Don’t remind me."

"So, I… may have swapped his suit with one that was three sizes too small and had bright neon green stitching." Jenson shrugged, feigning innocence. "I figured if he really needed luck, he’d work with whatever he had."

Seb slapped his forehead, laughing. "I couldn’t even breathe in that thing! I walked around like a robot all morning until someone finally told me where he’d put my actual suit."

The interviewer chuckled, leaning in. "Do you two ever get tired of the pranks? I mean, don’t they ever just get exhausting?"

Seb and Jenson exchanged a look, then shook their heads in unison.

"It’s like an unspoken rule at this point," Jenson explained. "He pranks me, I prank him back. Keeps things interesting. And the paddock seems to find it entertaining." (he push me i push him back)

Seb nodded, adding, "And, hey, it makes those PR events a little less boring. Like that one event in Monaco where he wouldn’t stop complaining about the heat, so I ‘helped’ by swapping his water bottle with sparkling lemonade. Thought he’d appreciate the upgrade."

Jenson shot Seb a look. "Upgrade? Seb, it was carbonated. I sprayed half of it all over my suit before I realized it."

"Good times," Seb said, smiling like it was a fond memory.

The interviewer’s eyes twinkled with excitement as she moved on to her next question. "Alright, last one! If you could describe each other in one sentence, what would it be?"

Seb tapped his chin, pretending to think deeply. "Oh, that’s easy. Jenson is the most patient man on the planet… for putting up with me."

Jenson laughed, leaning back in his chair. "You got that right."

"And what about you, Jenson?" the interviewer asked, curious.

Jenson looked at Seb with a playful glint in his eye. "Sebastian Vettel… the grid’s biggest headache, but somehow my best friend."

Seb looked mock offended. "Hey, I prefer ‘legendary troublemaker.’"

They both burst out laughing, and the interviewer shook her head, thoroughly entertained. "Alright, I think we’ve got enough stories to keep F1 fans laughing for weeks!"

[buckybabesonly]

As If It Was Really That Easy

Summary: There's nothing more painful than wondering what your love could have been.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!Avenger!reader, Bucky x Natasha, Steve x Female!reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Emotional infidelity (if you squint), love triangle. Sad ending - proceed with caution.

Word count: 8.2k

Being in love with someone who was already taken must have been a torture created by the Devil himself.

You hadn't planned on falling for him when you first met him. Then again, no one plans on falling in love. You thought that love was simultaneously the most beautiful and cruel phenomenon of all - it was capable of making you feel like you wanted to protect and care for him with all your heart, but also bring out the ugliest of emotions: jealousy, sorrow and misery, to name a few.

You thought you would get over it, eventually. And it had become easier, seeing Bucky and Natasha together, as time passed. A consolation for your unreciprocated love was the fact that you had found a new, adopted family within the Avengers, and that made you happier than ever.

You would do anything for them, to protect them. You fiercely reminded yourself of this whenever you found yourself looking at Bucky a little too long, or when your skin burned at his touches.

He's just the same as everyone else.

You teetered at the precipice of falling into an abyss that you wouldn’t be able to climb out of, feeling so frustratingly infatuated with someone you couldn’t have, and you were determined not to let yourself topple over the edge.

You didn't know how your platonic feelings for him had spiraled into something so much more, but if you could fall in love, you were certain you could fall back out.

Steve insisted on celebrating your one year 'anniversary' of joining the team, gifting you a small cupcake with red, white and blue sprinkles, ruffling your hair with a playful wink. You had no idea how time had elapsed so quickly, but there you were.

It was the start of a new calendar year, too - as you blew out the tiny candle Steve had stabbed into the cake, you promised yourself resolutely that this would be the year you would really made an effort to get over a certain, ruggedly handsome brunette. You didn't want to spend more time unhealthily pining over a man when you could find somebody who actually loved you, too.

Fantasizing about him was an unhealthy, self-inflicted torture. You were confident that he had no idea what your true feelings were, and you would never dream of telling him. You adored Natasha as much as anyone else, and the idea of stepping in-between the two of them was unfathomable.

However, your feelings for Bucky had no doubt wedged an invisible wall between yourself and Natasha, even if you didn't realize it. It meant that you were never quite able to be fully open with her, fearful that if she was able to read you like she was with everyone else, she would know that you were completely enamored with her boyfriend.

It was slightly hard to disguise your affection when you saw Bucky get hurt. To Natasha, it was a regular, everyday occurrence, unworthy of particular fuss - but when you saw him, you wanted so badly to ask him if he was okay.

Today was one of those days. You and Steve were in one of the common rooms - you had been spending a lot of alone time with him lately - when Bucky and Sam traipsed in.

"Hey," you said in greeting, raising your hand. Your eyes followed Bucky closely, noticing that he had a fresh wound on the bridge of his nose. You gnawed on your lower lip in discomfort.

Not your place, you reminded yourself brusquely. Stop staring.

“You guys okay?” he asked as he walked over, clasping a hand on yours and Steve’s backs simultaneously. He was in good spirits despite his slightly battered features, a charming smile playing on his lips.

“All good,” Steve said. “We were just talking about the Albania mission.”

“Ah.” Bucky paused, cocking his head at you. “First mission just the two of us. You nervous?” His smirk made you roll your eyes. Your heart thumped erratically, betraying you.

“Nervous about what?”

“All that time spent together, don’t want you falling in love with me,” he joked. Your throat tightened, your smile stretching wider as you let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Ha ha ha. Very funny,” you said dryly. Too close to home.

You missed the look of discomfort in Steve’s eyes. He pursed his lips, shifting his position in the chair so his knees bumped slightly against yours.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Steve asked seriously, making you frown.

“What?”

“Your leg injury,” he reminded you.

“Is fully healed,” you stated firmly, though you knew he was only concerned for you. “Don’t worry about me.”

Easier said than done, Steve wanted to say, his eyes lingering on you for just a second too long. Not that you noticed. You were looking at Bucky, an expression on your face that he couldn’t decipher. It frustrated him, sometimes, being unable to know what you were thinking.

“I’ll brief you both tomorrow morning,” Steve grunted, his hand squeezing your shoulder. “8am. Don’t be late.”

Bucky and you were very close friends. The friendship had ironically bloomed the more you forced your true feelings for him down, locking them away and refusing to let them come out. You went on missions together a lot, and would be working together even more once you were dispatched on your mission in Albania. One that was supposed to last for at least a month as you gathered intel on the latest enemy base.

But, you had enough practice, and you were confident that you would be able to control everything, your heart included. You were certain.

Bucky and you trained together almost every day, having very similar fighting styles, even though Bucky was far stronger than you. He seemed to notice that your gait was off, scowling as he tapped your thigh.

"You told Steve you were fine," he said, unaware of the shocks he was sending through you at the unexpected touch.

"I am," you insisted. At his disbelieving look, you relented. "Okay, fine. My knee isn't quite the same. But I'm fine - I can still fight. Go on, attack me right now, do it." Your voice was aggressive as you motioned for Bucky to tackle you.

"Calm down, kitten," he said, raising his hands in the air. Kitten. That was a first. "I'm not doubting your ability to fight. But Steve might strangle me if something happens to you."

"You're not my babysitter," you scowled.

"Funny, that's exactly what I said to him."

You rolled your eyes, deciding to call it quits for the day. You both took a seat on the side of the training room before you asked lightly, "Where's Natasha these days?"

Bucky shrugged, turning his face away from you slightly. Silence.

"What's going on?" you frowned, tilting your head and elbowing his bicep.

Bucky raked his fingers through his short hair, ruffling it up before he sighed.

"Just...going through a bit of a rough patch," he admitted. "It's nothing serious." He looked down at the floor, still avoiding your eyes.

"Oh. Right." You were concerned at the way Bucky was now looking slightly deflated. "You want to talk about it?"

Bucky gave you a thin smile, shaking his head.

"It's alright. I just want to focus on this mission. I don't know, maybe the time away will help us clear our heads," he said, referring to himself and Natasha.

You wanted to know more, but decided not to pry. He would share in good time. Hearing the fact that he was having relationship trouble with his girlfriend shouldn't have teased out a tendril of hope in you, but it did, and you felt awful. The guilt must've been clear on your face, as Bucky cocked his head at you.

"What?"

"Uh, nothing," you lied, sipping your bottle of water. "Let's get some rest. Got an early start tomorrow."

Saying goodbye to the compound was easy - you went on missions all the time. However, living solo with Bucky was a whole new experience.

Being together in a tiny shoe box apartment led to some situations which you definitely did not foresee. Those situations tested the limits of your ability to pretend not to be insanely attracted to Bucky.

It didn't matter how much you tried.

One day, you had gone out to the local market to pick up some supplies. When you returned to the apartment, you had almost dropped the paper bag of fruit and vegetables when Bucky emerged from the bathroom, clad in only a towel around his waist. Your eyes had involuntarily zeroed in on his chest, tracing the path of the water droplets which ran down the valley of his abdomen, past his hips and teasing at something more.

You could remember every defined plane of his naked, muscular torso, the scars decorating his skin, his blue eyes widening in shock at the sight of you.

He had blushed violently, mumbled something about forgetting his clothes in his room, and practically bolted in there.

It didn't matter how much you tried.

One night, you had a particularly horrific nightmare which caused you to wake up in the middle of the night screaming. You woke with sweat covering your face, your hands clenching the sheets.

Bucky ran into your room, wrenching the door open with such force that the handle was crushed in his fist. He found you curled up in a whimpering ball on your bed. That night, he had held your hand and comforted you, sleeping next to you on top of the covers.

It didn't matter how much you tried.

The day you had finally entered the enemy base. You had made your way down the maze of corridors together, but found Bucky practically shoving you inside a tiny store cupboard which definitely should not be accommodating two people, his hand on your mouth to mask any sound as the two armed men marched unexpectedly down the hallway.

You could still remember the feeling of Bucky pressed up against you, his eyes flickering between yours as you tried to stay as still as possible. His scent overwhelmed your nose, made you want to close your eyes and bask in it.

He had been slightly off that same evening, going to bed early before resuming his normal behaviors the next day.

You didn't know if you were imagining it, but something seemed to be changing.

It didn't matter how much you tried. You were definitely still in love with him.

One evening, Bucky found you sitting upright on your bed, squeezing your knee with one hand, a grimace on your face. He was walking past your open doorway and did a double take, his hand curling around the door frame as he peered in.

“My knee,” you explained. “Injury seems to be flaring up.”

Bucky tsked and disappeared momentarily, before he returned with an ice pack. He sat down on the edge of your bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip. He reached out for your leg without a moments hesitation. You were only clad in a sleep shirt and shorts, but that didn’t seem to bother him as he lifted your limb onto his lap.

He applied the ice pack against your skin, making you withdraw your leg instinctively. He held his hand around your ankle, firmly holding it in place.

“Better?” he mumbled after a moment.

“Yeah. I think so,” you said quietly.

You looked up, and your eyes met. You turned your face to stare at the wall, suddenly unable to hold the eye contact. In your peripheral, you could see he was still looking at you intensely, the way Sam always made fun of him for.

“What are you staring at?” you asked, forcing a teasing lilt in your voice, his hand suddenly feeling incredibly warm against your skin.

“Nothing,” he said after a long moment. His fingers seemed to tighten around your ankle, so briefly and so quickly that you weren't sure if you had imagined it, before he let go of you.

One month. You had expected to be in Albania for one month, tops, but that turned into almost two. It was nearly mid-March, day after day spent holed in the tiny apartment with Bucky, papers and photos and electronic equipment lying everywhere.

"Remind me why I'm here again?" Bucky asked, a frown on his face as he sat down on the couch. "Intel gathering isn't even my specialty. I thought we would be able to get in on some action, but we've literally just been spying on these guys for weeks."

"We've got some very valuable information already," you reminded him, eyes scanning the mess of documents all around you. "Just a little longer, then we can go home."

Bucky groaned. It was way past midnight, and you heard him open a bottle of whisky and the glug glug glug of a glass being filled. Another clink, another glug glug glug. Two glasses.

"Come," he said loudly, patting the space next to him. "We both need a break."

You sighed, standing up and stretching your limbs.

"Fine. One drink."

You crashed down next to him as your phone buzzed in quick succession. Lifting your phone, you saw the notifications of texts from Steve. Bucky inadvertently saw his name flash on the screen.

“Something going on with you and Steve?” Bucky asked without missing a beat, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

“Something?”

“Yeah, you know. Something."

"I have no idea what you mean," you said coolly, knocking your glass against his before taking a sip of alcohol.

"Can't hide this shit from me," Bucky said, leaning back and slinging his arm across the back of the couch. "He's my best friend. I can tell."

"Tell what, exactly?" you asked.

Bucky took a slug of whiskey. It was like the alcohol was enabling this impromptu heart to heart.

"He seems different around you.” His expression was neutral, but there was something else there which you could quite identify.

“Different how?” You were genuinely confused by Bucky’s words.

He looked off into the distance, a mulling expression on his face.

“He looks at you like he wants to be your personal soldier. Your knight.”

You snorted, the sound fading when you realized Bucky was being serious, his face devoid of humor.

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked, perplexed.

“You’ve seriously never noticed?”

“Steve and I are just friends,” you said firmly.

"Uh-huh. Is that why he messages you every day? And I know not all of it is mission related."

"I don't know. I guess we're close?" you said, becoming flustered. You took another sip of whiskey. “Besides, I…” You trailed off uncertaintly.

Bucky pounced on your falter like a cat.

“What?” he shuffled in his seat, turning towards you with a childish grin.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Either the alcohol was getting to your head already, or you were just feeling particularly brazen.

“I’m kind of into someone else.”

He seemed to stiffen as he observed you silently. The alcohol was making you feel warm and slightly fuzzy as you looked into his steel eyes, marveled at how his pupils appeared to pool and dilate. You held your breath, imagining him asking - "who?"

You.

In that moment, you suddenly imagined telling him how you felt. What a relief it would be. Being just the two of you for so long, it made you imagine sometimes that it was really just the pair of you against the world.

You wished you could be selfish. Wish you could just reach out and take what you wanted, tell him how you yearned for him. The way his handsome face looked now in the dim lights was so unfair, so teasing.

The silence was getting too long. Bucky seemed to lean closer, his body closing the gap between you inch by inch. His head tilted ever so slightly, his gaze moving to your left eye, then your right, before flickering down to your lips.

You wanted to kiss him. His lips looked so soft, and you wanted to know how they felt, how he tasted. Nothing else seemed real in that moment except the two of you.

Bucky moved forward again, his hand sliding along the couch. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple shifting.

You looked at his mouth. His tongue darted out to wet his lips -

The shrill vibration of your phone sliced the air.

He cleared his throat loudly, leaning back and taking a swill of his drink. You blinked, turning away from him and scrabbling for your phone, trying to get the image of his lips out of your mind.

You thought Bucky would acknowledge that moment. You half-expected (and feared) that you would have a confrontational conversation about it. But, that confrontation never came, and you returned to New York after Steve deemed that you’d gained enough information for them to make a move, but wanted to reconvene as a team first.

Bucky didn't bring it up on the way back to New York. He didn't bring it up on the car journey back to the compound. He didn't bring it up when you both walked into the common rooms and he embraced his girlfriend.

He and Natasha seemed to have put any relationship troubles to rest upon your return to the compound, the time apart apparently reigniting a spark of passion. She had been waiting on the landing pad, and they kissed wordlessly the moment they got close enough, the sight making your chest tighten.

You continued playing the role of the regular friend, and never brought up that almost-kiss again.

You were stubborn, in many ways. If he wasn't going to bring it up, then you could pretend it never happened. You were a great actress.

You wondered if you’d simply imagined that moment after all.

You’d missed New York a lot. The second he saw you at the compound after returning from Albania, he'd given Bucky a silent nod before pulling you into a tight embrace that almost lifted you off your feet.

Huh. Maybe Bucky was onto something.

After that, you found yourself spending even more and more time with him. Steve was the perfect gentleman, in many ways. He reminded you of an angel, sometimes, especially when his golden hair glowed in sunlight, the corners of his eyes creasing when he smiled.

He had a cherubic beauty. He was different to Bucky - they were like day and night. Both stunning in their own way, a complete force of nature, but with Steve, you felt like your vision was clearer. There was no second guessing - it seemed that he really did have feelings for you which were more than just friendly.

Bucky watched you and Steve from the other side of the Quinjet as you spoke in low voices, ready to dive into the next assignment. Steve was piloting, you crouched down next to him, his head leaning close towards yours.

Natasha was sat silently a few seats away from Bucky. She got in these moods, sometimes, where she wasn't particularly upset at anything Bucky had done, persay, but just wanted to shut herself off from everything.

Bucky didn't mind. He was twirling a knife between his fingers as he watched you with his best friend, a foreign feeling settling inside his chest.

Was it jealousy? Not of Steve, no. It couldn't be. Maybe he was just jealous of the way you smiled at each other, completely care-free and easy. Not like things were with Natasha - he couldn't remember the last time that he had shared an innocent moment like that with his girlfriend.

When he'd first returned from Albania, things had seemed good with her. But sometimes it felt shallow - like everything was just superficial without real grit or weighting to their emotions.

He was beginning to question a lot of the things he shared with Natasha. It felt like recently, a lot of the positive aspects of their relationship had simply run their course. Now, the time they spent together was either in silence, in arguments, or in semi-rage fueled sex.

Seeing you smile at Steve made him suddenly wish for something purer. Simpler.

His eyes traced the angles of your nose, the slender slope of your neck as you gazed up, the corners of your lips as you smiled.

He closed his eyes. He would have to stop thinking about you too much.

When you were fighting, you couldn't focus on anything else besides getting rid of the threat and protecting your team mates.

A blade flew past your face, barely avoiding glancing your skin before it was swiftly caught by Bucky, who launched it into the neck of the tall, bulky man who had been advancing towards you. He had been swinging a bat wrapped in barbed wire, an ugly smile on his face.

"That's a very creative weapon," you grunted, wrenching the bat from the man's hold as he crumbled to the ground from Bucky’s attack. You swung it into the face of a snarling, blonde haired woman who was coming for Natasha.

The sounds of fighting echoed loudly in the empty warehouse, cries of pain and screams sounding every few seconds as you fought off the increasing number of enemies who appeared in every direction.

You and Natasha stood almost back to back as you both aimed guns with expert precision into the rafters above you, your eyes spotting hidden snipers and firing before they could get you.

In moments like these, amidst the chaos, anything could go awry. You heard rather than saw the clatter of a grenade, your eyes widening in shock the second you registered what it was. You opened your mouth to warn Natasha, feeling a large wall of muscle crash into you and roll you away before you could even speak.

You were practically thrown off your feet, back thudding onto the ground like a doll. The explosion sounded in the distance - you realized that Sam had managed to intercept and toss the grenade into the air in those six seconds before it detonated, taking out a section of the warehouse wall, dust and debris raining onto you.

"You alright?" Bucky asked huskily, pulling you onto your feet.

You didn't have time to respond before he was turning away and diving into the fight again, Steve suddenly appearing by your side and tilting your chin to look at him.

"All good?"

"All good," you said affirmatively, watching as he gave you a grim smile before he too rejoined the battle.

Bucky's heart was roaring in his chest as he threw himself at yet another nameless man, driving his fist into his face to incapacitate him. The sudden realization was almost painful that in the appearance of a grenade, his first instinct had been to run towards you.

You found yourself shopping with Natasha one afternoon. In the life of an Avenger, getting the chance to do these mundane, every day things was exceptionally fun.

You were picking out decorations for Steve's birthday party. He had insisted that he didn't want one, but the team had ignored him, obviously. When there was so much doom and gloom, it was nice to have an excuse to just be normal and celebrate something.

"So, you and Steve, huh?" Natasha said suddenly as you both walked down the grocery store aisles.

You groaned internally. In recent weeks, it seemed like everyone had suddenly decided something was going on between the two of you.

"Not you too, Nat," you said, pretending to glower at her.

"I'm just saying," she smirked. "His crush on you is getting pretty obvious. You have to see it, too"

You shrugged, biting down on your lip.

"I don't know. Maybe?"

When it came to discussing Steve, the thought of Bucky also inevitably flitted across your mind. Okay, admittedly, you also had a crush on Steve - how could you not?

But your feelings for Bucky always overshadowed it. However, you hadn't seen a lot of him lately, and the drastic decrease in interactions between the two of you coupled with the many what if scenarios planted into your head by others regarding yourself and Steve, was starting to make you think.

It made you consider him, for sure. Steve was a good man. Not that you wanted to use him to make you get over your feelings for Bucky, but maybe it wouldn't be the worst idea to explore that avenue and see where it took you.

"I think you should make a move," Natasha said. "Life is too short."

You pursed your lips, entertaining the idea. Maybe she was right.

Bucky would never be yours. He would never return your feelings, and it was time you accepted it.

You didn't have to make the first move, after all.

The party was a small, private affair, the rooms in the compound decked out in patriotic decorations, music playing and giving the team a chance to actually wind down.

Towards the end of the night, you ended up sitting at the bar with Steve, the others outside watching the fireworks that had been set off by Tony.

"Can I try something?" Steve asked quietly out of the blue, his clear eyes flitting between yours. He raised his hands hesitantly, waiting for you to give him the green-light. They ghosted around your face, aching to touch you.

You thought of a dark haired super soldier, how he unknowingly pained your heart. All the fantasies you had of him which would never materialize.

"You can kiss me, Steve," you whispered.

That was all the encouragement he needed as he leaned closer and slotted his lips against yours. It was an unfamiliar, but not an unpleasant, sensation.

It was a gentleman's kiss. Short but sweet. He pulled away, his hands having found their way in your hair, and he seemed breathless.

"Woah. Am I interrupting something?"

You both jumped apart, Sam walking in with raised eyebrows and a Cheshire Cat grin.

"Is everyone around here getting laid except me?" Sam chuckled.

Bucky walked in next, his observant gaze taking in the scene in front of him. He had heard Sam's comment, seen your slightly tousled hair, took in Steve's slightly sheepish expression.

He didn't say a word.

You and Steve began...could you call it dating? You didn't exactly go out on dates - you were both too busy doing Avenger shit.

But nowadays, you spent almost all your spare time with him. He would hold your hand and steal kisses in private, away from prying eyes. You found yourself cultivating a growing affection for him, beginning to truly look forward to seeing him every day.

It was conflicting, when the object of your most raw affections was still there.

You didn't know if you were a bad person. Was it terrible, that you were letting yourself get involved with Steve when your heart's deepest desires all revolved around Bucky?

You were never going to act upon them, you rationalized. And having residual love for Bucky didn't mean you didn’t deserve some happiness with another man, right?

You wondered just how residual your love was when Bucky still managed to make you feel defenceless and totally at his mercy.

Once it became clear that you and Steve were no longer just friends, it seemed to shift the dynamic between yourself and Bucky even more. You spent less and less time together, and it didn't help that his mood was always perpetually affected by his rocky relationship with Natasha.

You had found him storming through the compound one day after he had no doubt had an argument with her. You had seen the rage coming off him in waves and stopped him without hesitating, asking him if everything was okay.

"Mind your own business," he had said curtly, the rudeness in his voice making your mouth fall open.

"Excuse me?" you spluttered, genuinely taken aback at the venom in his tone.

"Was I not clear? I said - mind your own business," he said, glowering at you in a manner that made you flinch. He continued on his way without a second look back at you, the animosity bringing frustrated tears to your eyes.

He had never spoken to you that way before. His apology came in the form of a small box of chocolates the next day, but after that incident, you told yourself you would not ask about his love life again.

Bucky was drinking by himself when you found him in the middle of the night, listening to music playing from a vintage record player. How old school.

"You gonna join me for a drink?" he asked, but you shook your head with a smile.

"I'm okay. I couldn't sleep," you said to explain your sudden appearance.

Bucky imagined you sleeping in your bed next to Steve. Except Steve was away from the compound for the rest of the week, so he knew you were alone. Maybe that was why you were so restless, he thought bitterly.

How nice it must be to rest next to someone you really loved. Unbeknownst to you, he and Natasha had been sleeping separately for weeks.

He wanted what you and Steve had.

(Or maybe he just wanted you?)

The music playing was unfamiliar to you, and Bucky said it was one of his favorites from back in the day. He suddenly grabbed your hand, and you could tell he had been drinking for some time, the smell of alcohol heavy on his tongue.

"Dance with me?"

You didn't have time to say anything before he was swaying you back and forth without rhythm, making you laugh out loud at the hilarity of it.

"I thought you were supposed to be a good dancer?" you teased. You had been walking on eggshells around Bucky for the longest time, but in this moment, it felt like old days.

"I am," he murmured. He suddenly adjusted his stance, his hand moving to your back, the other grabbing yours as he began properly leading you into a dance. Your fingers were interlaced when he pulled you close, and you began moving in tandem in a spontaneous waltz.

The music was soothing, and his body was warm. You felt comfortable and safe with him, feeling all the tension leave you.

He looked so unbearably handsome. You realized that you were staring at each other, unblinking.

This was strange. And yet you couldn't drag your gaze away from him as he tilted his head forward, resting his forehead on yours. Your breath hitched. His eyes closed with a flutter.

"I'm tired," he said quietly. "Let's just stay like this for a while."

Tony threw a small party - well, small by his standards. In his own words, everyone needed a night to "chill out and drink a lot of booze". You were chatting with Sam when you noticed Natasha and Bucky arrive at the party. Separately, pointedly avoiding each other.

Sam followed your inquisitive gaze and sucked in a breath.

“Trouble in paradise,” he said. It wasn’t a question - more like a statement, as if he was privy to something you didn’t know.

“Hm?”

Sam took a sip of his drink.

“Never mind. Don’t want no vibranium arm up my ass for running my mouth.”

“Now that would be some party trick,” you said, though you were now furtively watching Natasha and Bucky from over the rim of your drink.

They were definitely avoiding each other. They could not be stood farther apart, on opposite sides of the room. Bucky’s face looked slightly sullen whereas Natasha looked composed and cool.

Steve wrapped an arm around you, placing a kiss on the top of your head. Things had started off quite slow and light at first, but you were increasingly conscious of the fact that things seemed to be getting more intense between the two of you. He hadn't quite asked you to be his girlfriend, but you were starting to wonder if there was a silent understanding that you were.

You weren't good at this relationship stuff. And, frustratingly, you found yourself wondering more about the state of Bucky and Natasha's relationship than yours.

Your worries multiplied when he got so drunk by the end of the night that you offered to accompany him back to his room, Bucky's arm slung around your shoulders as you tried to support his weight.

"I know you can walk, Buck," you grunted as you made your way towards his bedroom. “Use your legs. You’re killing me here.”

He sighed loudly, patting your back. He seemed to sober up when you both stopped outside his room, and you stared him down with a serious look on your face.

"Are you okay? No bullshit.”

His eyes were glazed over when he looked at you. He had always found you to be beautiful. No wonder Steve fell for you, he thought.

"We broke up," he said quietly.

His words weren’t entirely a shock to you.

"Are you okay?" you asked gently.

Your voice was so kind. When he looked at you now, he really felt like he had somehow missed a chance to discover something great. You had been there all along. Why didn’t he see it?

Maybe he always knew. Even back in Albania, there had been a moment where he thought he would kiss you. The memory scared him. He hadn’t quite realized there was something in his heart that was more than just friendly until that night.

“No,” he said, but not for the reasons you thought. He hesitated. “Will you stay with me?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Stupid, Bucky scolded himself. He knew how you would interpret that - and somehow you wouldn't be wrong. God, no - what was he thinking? This wasn't him.

“Never mind. Sorry. That was dumb,” he said hoarsely. Guilt wracked his body - for you, for Steve. His best friend. “Goodnight.”

You didn't say anything for a second, but finally the words found their way out.

"Goodnight. I'll be here if you want to talk," you said as he pushed open his door.

Bucky surveyed you with a look that may have contained disappointment. You weren't sure, and you suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to stay, and yet you forced yourself to take a step back, away from him.

The door closed with a click.

The universe was playing a sick joke.

When Bucky first met Natasha, he thought he had found his life-partner. As time went on, he realized that it just wasn't meant to be.

Had he always loved you? No, maybe not at first. He had considered you almost like a little sister in the beginning, someone to take care of, someone to joke with, someone he cared a lot about.

Maybe he always told himself the love that brewed was just like the love one had for their family.

It was confusing and he was laden with guilt, the first time he found himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss you. He was still with Natasha, and he felt so awful when those thoughts breached his mind. Like he was betraying her.

When you got together with Steve, it was almost a relief. He thought that seeing you with his best friend would dampen down any flame that existed within him, any longing that he had for you.

He was wrong. Seeing you so happy with Steve made him jealous, but it wasn't because he wanted that happiness for himself and Natasha. No - it was because he just wanted you.

God, how he hated himself. Steve was his best friend, his most loyal friend, and he was lusting after you. The disappointment and hatred for himself manifested into a coldness towards you, eventually.

He found that the only way he would be able to get through this was to keep you at arms length. There was no way he was going to be able to see the relationship between you and Steve blossom without doing something he would regret.

He hated himself for the way he was treating you. He knew you could sense it, too, his hostility towards you reaching a crescendo one autumn afternoon when he found himself shouting at you aboard the empty Quinjet after the rest of the team had disembarked.

"You could have gotten the team injured," Bucky spat through gritted teeth as you stared at him in bewilderment.

"Are you kidding me? I knew what I was doing."

"Did you? Steve had to come and save -"

"He didn't have to save me," you sniped back, pre empting his words. "I had it under control."

"You were a liability," Bucky snarled. The moment he said it, he wanted to take it back, but he just couldn't. He was pissed off - not at anything you did, but at the way his heart was pounding uncontrollably at the mere sight of you. How did you render him so weak?

Your mouth opened and closed silently, and Bucky could identify the exact moment your eyes stung with tears, but he chose to say nothing. He stood to the spot like a cowardly statue as you stood stiffly and stalked off the jet.

Bucky was fighting a losing battle to keep his emotions at bay. With feelings so intense, he knew they couldn't be contained in a vessel. They were bound to explode.

There was a storm that night.

Bucky had sustained a deep knife wound to the side of his chest whilst out on the field. You walked into the medical bay as he was being bandaged up, startled by dark expression on his face. He was in a foul mood, you could tell.

"Is he going to be okay?" you asked.

He had been stabbed because of you. He had been hurt because he had pulled you out of the way of a rogue S.H.I.E.L.D agent just an hour ago, and your lip was bleeding from how you’d been chewing anxiously on it as Bucky was tended to.

"M'fine," he responded before the doctor could, pulling on his blood stained shirt and leather jacket.

"Actually, Sergeant Barnes, you need to - "

He stalked out of the medical bay, past you with such fury that you stared after him in shock before following him.

"What's gotten into you?" you asked.

"Nothing," he said curtly. He was marching so fast that you were struggling to keep up. He walked through the compound, right out of a set of doors and into the field outside, the rain pelting his face. It was ice cold and exactly what he wanted to make him feel nothing, to feel numb.

You were feeling sick of his attitude. For weeks, he had been acting awful to you. Blunt, brushing off your attempts at conversation, avoiding you. The rare times you did get him to speak to you, he was rude and brusque.

It hurt your feelings more than you’d care to admit, but now you were just angry at how he was acting like a petulant child.

"Come back inside!" you shouted over the rain. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Go back inside," he said, the frustration in his voice clear.

It riled you up even more, and you felt instantly indignant as his barking command.

"No, not until you tell me what's going on!"

Bucky continued walking, ignoring you.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you stop right now!” you shouted, your fury evident. That made him stop in his tracks, his back still facing you. Your annoyance finally tipped you over the edge. “You’re acting like an immature bastard! You’ve been an ass to me for weeks - do you want to fucking explain why?”

Bucky whirled around then, cursing and stalking up towards you. He lifted his hands like he wanted to grab you, but he stopped himself from touching you. The expression on his face startled you out of the red mist that clouded your brain - it was a combination of rage and sadness.

"Why are you here?" he exclaimed, looking tortured.

"Why am I here?" you repeated, incredulous. "What are you - "

"You're always here," he spat through clenched jaws. "Always distracting me, always making me think of you. Why?"

Confusion marred your face. He continued, "I hate looking at you and knowing that I can't have you."

"What's going on?" you spluttered. "Are you mad that I got you stabbed?"

"No!" he shouted. "I'm mad that I love you when I want to feel nothing for you."

His words made you seize up, and your lips parted in shock. He was raging now, his whole body shaking as he stared at you.

"Did you have feelings for me?" he pressed, his voice desperate and urgent. "Did you?"

"I - "

"Don't lie," he warned, his face pained.

"Yes," you gasped finally. "I did."

He nodded as if he knew all along.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his tone accusatory.

"How could I tell you?" you retorted. "Why would I tell you?" You had no idea what he wanted from you, or where this was all coming from. It was so unexpected, to be having this conversation out here with him, today, but he seemed to want to wrangle the truth out of you.

"If you had told me, maybe - maybe I wouldn't be feeling this way." His voice broke, and your heart strained at the seams, guilt filling your chest.

The rain was getting heavier now, pelting the two of you. Your clothes felt so heavy on your skin, acid rising in your throat at Bucky's words. They infuriated you.

“Maybe things would’ve been different!” You were almost screaming over the sound of the rain and thunder. Your hair was sticking to your face, blinding you. “Maybe - maybe if you hadn’t been with Natasha in the first place. Maybe if we didn’t end up in Albania together. Maybe if Steve didn’t tell me his feelings for me.”

“Did you love me?” He was almost screaming too, his voice filled with frustration.

“I won’t answer that,” you said resolutely. “It doesn’t matter. You have no idea how I’ve been feeling, Bucky.” You wanted to grip the collar of his jacket, shake some sense into him. “I’ve felt like I’ve been in the shadows for so long, pining for you. Sitting on the bench, waiting for you to pick me.”

“I was with someone else -”

“And that’s fine!” you exclaimed honestly. “That’s fine, Bucky. I never wanted to break you up. But I just think - if it’s meant to be, I wouldn’t have had to wait for so long. No one wants to feel like the second choice.”

“It was never like that. You know that.”

“I know,” you said weakly. “I know all these things, and I know it’s just a way of life, relationships come and go and your relationship with Natasha doesn’t dilute the feelings you have for me now.” The words fell out in a rush, almost nonsensical. “But it was always so hard, Bucky. Feeling all this love for you and getting nothing in return. With Steve, it’s different. It’s easy.”

“So you gonna take the easy way out?” he snarled.

"Nothing about this has been easy!" you said angrily. "You have no right to take a knife for me, scream at me then tell me that you love me!"

The rain was rolling off his skin, his eyelashes thick as he narrowed his eyes at you. He wanted to kiss you so badly, to dismiss everything and ignore every possible consequence and just kiss you.

Instead, he took in the helplessness in your expression. Reminded himself of who his best friend was.

“Do you love him?” he asked softly. It wasn’t a rhetorical question - he genuinely needed to know, to hear the truth from your lips. It was conflicting - Steve was his brother, but at the same time, he was the man who had your heart whilst Bucky ached to capture it in his fingers, too. Every cell in his body told him he needed to be valiant and fight for you. But he knew that fighting for you wouldn’t be brave, it wouldn’t be courageous - it would only cause pain to those he loved.

“Yes,” you answered truthfully.

“Do you still love me?”

The question alarmed you. Bucky had always trod the boundary between you carefully, particularly since you and Steve had become a couple. You thought he would never do anything to disrespect that. You knew that if he had to ask, then he truly was a desperate man.

How could you ever tell him how you felt? How could you tell Bucky that sometimes, when you were with Steve, you thought about him? That the guilt was eating away at you, keeping you up at night? How could you describe how sick it made you feel when you looked into Steve’s eyes and felt a sweet affection for him, but which was just a fraction of the burning love you held for Bucky?

“That’s unfair,” you said, voice quivering. “You can’t ask that. Steve is your best friend.”

“And you’re my…” His voice began as a forceful protest before trailing off.

“Your what, Bucky?” you asked incredulously, eyes widening. “How does that sentence end?”

Bucky winced.

“I’m not your friend,” you said carefully. At this point, after all those questionable moments shared throughout the year, you were no longer just a friend, not really. “I’m not your lover. And this is why we can’t be having this conversation.”

“You’re my person,” Bucky said, his voice cracking. “I would never take you from Steve. I know that. But I just have to let you know.” Tears were gathering in his eyes, making your chest hurt.

You smiled a watery smile.

"I know."

You were two ships that passed in the night. Two people who could have had a beautiful story, but neither of you had time to open that chapter. The timing was never quite right, after all.

"I love you," he said finally. He seemed to sag as the words left his body, like they were a weight he had been carrying for a long time.

Those three words were ones which you had wanted to hear from him for so long. But now, hearing them hang in the air, they only made your pain worsen.

"It'll pass," you said finally. "One day, you will find someone that is the right person, right time."

You never thought you would find yourself in this position. That the man you loved so dearly would tell you he felt the same, and you would have to do everything in your power to stop yourself from running into his embrace.

You had to do the responsible thing. You couldn't hurt Steve.

“What do we do now?” Bucky asked. He needed your guidance. He felt like every fiber in his body was burning.

You were silent for the longest time. You realized you were holding your breath, because you were afraid that you would spontaneously burst into tears if you moved a single muscle.

“You and I...will not mention this again. We won’t think about what could have been, because we can’t.” Your voice broke on the final word despite your attempts to compose yourself.

Did you love Steve? The answer was yes. You did love him, honestly.

Did you love Bucky?

With your entire existence.

You didn't know if you could genuinely love two people at once. And, deep down, you knew that your feelings for Bucky would forever be ingrained in your heart - it was burned into you. But Steve was the one who stood by your side, who picked you without hesitation - you could not and would not hurt him. He was too good to you to deserve that.

Even if it meant letting go of the love that never was.

Bucky nodded once. He looked at your beautiful face, at the devastation in your eyes, but also the determination in your stance.

“Okay,” he said, a half-smile on his face. “I'm sorry."

For you, he would try. For Steve, he would try. If he had to make peace with the fact that he had lost out on something beautiful, he would try. Because he knew it was unfair - he had been late to the game, ignored the niggling feeling in his mind that you perhaps felt something special for him, told himself that you just viewed him as a friend.

For you, he would try not to love you anymore.

Destined to meet, but not destined to be together. Sometimes, people are meant to stay in your heart, but not in your life.

A/N: I don't expect many people to like this fic, but I wanted to write this one just for me, I guess? I have been in a very angsty mood recently and wanted to write a fic about love that doesn't have a happy ending, to reflect the reality that sometimes, you can love someone with your whole soul, but it just doesn't work out. I don't know if reader or Bucky made the 'correct' decisions here - that interpretation is up to you.

[melodic-haze]

☆ — SONG TITLE: I know what you tell your friends (it's casual)

☆ — PAIRING: mermaid!Kokomi x artist!Reader

☆ — TYPE: SFW, bittersweet angst? I honest to god don't know

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: POTENTIALLY OOC for the purpose of the character......mostly, light depictions of blood, drowning

☆ — NOTES: HI ALL I DIED BUT WHO'S SHOCKED LMAO 😜😜 this is for @edgeray's Halloween event, though it's a bit late bc I was ill at the last week of it and I'm lazy😭 GO CHECK OUT EVERYONE ELSE'S STUFF HOLY HELL. Also, my interp of a mermaid is moreso leaning towards what people nowadays THINK sirens are. I js couldn't bear to USE 'siren' bc of how they're acc supposed to be like. Winged creatures, not fish people

☆ — WORD COUNT: 2,801 words

It was often said that one must not go into the beach all alone.

Naturally, people would often tell you of sensible reasons such as possibly having your fragile items like your phone being dropped into the sand or, god forbid, the water or losing said belongings if you were to ever leave them somehow.

However, the most notably repetitive reasoning came out to be the possibility of being missing.. or ‘taken by the sea’, as everyone else would say.

It was a lot easier to just say that someone was lost or missing, but there was a certain reason why most have opted to disregard practicality for the sake of glamorisation—where you live, there has been a concerning surplus of missing persons cases with their last-seen location all being the beach, the seaside, the shore, all the same thing. And no matter how much the police had tried to investigate it (and it’s crazy that they actually did try, though that might be due to government concern), they found nothing conclusive about how the victims disappeared.

Perhaps it was because of the tides washing any sort of evidence away, though such an assumption led to the cases all collectively being dismissed as a suicide because.. well, really, they had to put some sort of conclusion to the case when they couldn’t really find any other possible outcomes without it sounding like more of a conspiracy than it already was.

(Fat lot that did anyway, because you can’t even put nightwatch on post there without them getting taken too.)

..So to a normal person, being at the beach all alone with nothing but a phone and a sketchbook in hand in the middle of the night would equate to one of the dumbest things you can do out here.

It wasn’t like you didn’t care about what would happen to you, or that you were experiencing that particular phase where you went against what was advised of you just because you wanted to be cool or popular or something (you weren’t a child, you were a grown adult with a life, for god’s sake), but oftentimes people like you all had one common flaw: artists were all dedicated to their craft, suffocatingly so.

And you were no exception, even if it had been too long since you drew with any sort of creative inspiration.

You remember when you walked back from god knows where and witnessing the way the moonlight hit the water, its gentle glow reflecting on the tide like fluid glass.

You remember that sweet dulcet tone stopping you in your tracks in the midst of your misery once your headphones lost power, the singing voice holding a certain alluring cadence that rooted you to the spot.

You remember the sight of dark crimson on shimmering claws and scales of blue, pink and purple, the palette much too distinct to be considered ‘natural’.

You remember the brief contact of eyes between your own and a set of glowing orbs that were no less striking than the tail that flapped behind the entity once it turned to have its body be entirely consumed by the ocean’s depths.

As an artist, you knew you had to immortalise the vision seared into your brain. And so, the day after that fateful encounter and consecutive days after that, you visited the beach at the exact time you remembered from before, picked up a pencil and opened your sketchbook to sketch like a madman possessed.

But of course as time passed, so did the freshness of your memory and your recollection of the details that had you entranced in the moment. The background itself? You had no problem. The issue was the oceanic figure; what details were you missing? What was its scale pattern? Was the red meant to mesh with the purple? What was it doing there?

Eventually you convinced yourself that maybe you were seeing things, and the messy scribbles of faint recollections were erased and drawn over with lines that connected the ever-flowing sea. Even when artists were seen as delusional, prone to confuse one thing with another—perhaps that thing was just a trick of the light, or maybe you’re starting to go insane, whichever tickled your fancy—you knew where to stop and come back to reality.

..Still doesn’t mean you had to keep coming back to the spot at the same time over and over again but alas, you couldn’t help it when you woke up at the dead of night just for your legs to lead you to the exact same spot you remember being at that very night.

Despite the constant warnings against the act of going to the beach all by yourself, nothing had happened to you or interrupted your creative flow despite being completely alone so the nights you spent on that exact spot were often peaceful, if a bit devoid of life. That was fine for you though, it meant less distractions from finally finishing this piece and moving on with your--

(You feel warm breath against your skin before you hear--)

“What are you doing?”

You startle, the pencil losing its gentle stability and creating an atrocious line across the page, and for a moment the irritation actually takes over any form of self-preservation you have.

So you start to complain, “I was drawing until you scared me—” then you turn to look at her, "—and made me ruin my own--"

...

Shimmering blue.

"..work."

Your speech fell flat the minute your gaze clocked onto those glaringly familiar set of eyes that pulled you in as if it were the ocean's depths itself. Its highlights were some sort of pearly pink, a soft contrast to the deep dark unknown.

And no pupils.

Maybe a trick of the light again, maybe you're hallucinating. Though you guessed even some of the best painters were kinda crazy back then.

"I apologise for disturbing you but, ah.. I don't suppose you can stop staring now?" And the mystery woman giggles lightly, her hand—a normal human hand, although her nails were manicured sharp and painted a glittering blue—moving to hover over her mouth as if to cover it politely, "I don't think I have anything of interest on my person to give you for.. emotional compensation?"

You blink, and you are drawn back to reality, "Physical, actually. You ruined my work."

"Even worse."

"You don't seem all that apologetic."

"But I am... Can't you tell?"

"It's dark, and our only light source right now are some busted tungsen street lamps." You sighed, putting your sketchbook and pencil down beside you, "Whatever, did you need something? No one's supposed to be out at the beach this late."

"Why not?"

"..Are you a tourist? Actually, no, if you were a tourist, you'd have to be real ignorant to not know... Though I've never actually seen you before."

You weren't sure if you lied just now or not. In fact, you're pretty sure you told the truth, but...

You see her stare at you, and you're unsure of what to do with the quiet.. until she shrugs, "I've been curious of what you were doing all alone at night. No one else seems to come outside."

"Don't you think that's any sort of indication to maybe mind your own business?"

"Forgive my curiosity."

You almost do, and you know not of why.

(Her gentle voice, a soothing lullaby, putting your safety to sleep.)

Instead, you relent, "People have gone missing after giving this place a visit all alone in the dead of night. Nobody really wants to die, so mornings and afternoons are when the people crowd here."

And you tear your gaze away from the stranger to look at the ever-expanding sea, "Come midnight, you won't see a single soul standing on the sand."

"But you're here," she says. "Why?"

"If I tell you, you'll think I'm crazy."

"I don't think I will."

"I doubt that—I don't even know your name."

"Kokomi."

You look back at her, brows raised slightly, "What?"

"My name is Kokomi. Yours?"

...

You tell her your name and state your purpose for coming here every single night. And from then on, the two of you talk until the sun comes up, sketchbook forgotten.

She asks you if you're going to come back now that your drawing's been ruined. You tell her that you don't know, considering your current lack of purpose, but then she says that she'll sit with you as you recreate your ruined art as if that's going to make up for the ruined days—weeks, even—of meticulously-sketched pencil art.

..For some reason, you were compelled to agree.

(Maybe it was the voice, maybe it was the eyes.)

(Maybe it was the feeling of unsettling familiarity that drew you in, or that strange feeling of fight-or-flight.)

And so you continue to go down to the beach at night despite everyone's constant warnings, putting pencil to a new page in your sketchbook after having taken out and thrown away your previous attempt. Though even then, while there are still all sorts of warnings, people have noticed that there have been less and less people going missing from the shore. Can't help but think 'no wonder', considering how you haven't been killed or kidnapped after continuously coming here for so long.

Either way, nothing much has changed in your schedule.. save for a brand new companion appearing at night, her pink hair flowing behind you before going to sit beside you and observe.

Sometimes the two of you sit in comfortable silence, other times one of you talks of whatever comes to mind and it turns into some sort of winding discussion that ends with your sketchbook completely forgotten until you need to leave.

"..If you have something to say, you may as well spit it out."

"Hm?"

"I can feel your eyes burning holes into my skull. You may as well."

"Ah, I hadn't realised that I was staring so hard!" You feel her body draw back from originally leaning onto you and you suppress the urge to pull her back next to you as she continues, "I'm just wondering... Was no one particularly interested in coming outside with you?"

You put your pencil down on the page and look at her with a raised brow, "Are you calling me lonely?"

"No? ..Well, perhaps a little, I admit. I don't ever see you outside with anyone else."

"Oh, so you've been watching me. A bit creepy, no?"

She shook her head, "The observation merely struck me just now. I haven't seen you with anyone else at night, apart from me."

Instead of giving the curious girl an answer, you look down on the pencilled page. There wasn't much that you could really say beyond the fact that everyone else was asleep at this time.. and...

"I like being alone at the end of the day."

"Mmm. Me too."

"..That so."

No one points out the fact that neither of you are alone right now.

Nothing else is said, and you continue on sketching.

Oftentimes, that's what usually happens.

And it's.. nice, being able to just sit there with soothing company—she isn't overwhelming, nor is she insufferably awkward or borderline unbearable. She was like a smooth current, her voice akin to the sound of gentle water and her touch against your skin as she leaned into you cool and refreshing.

Not like you'd admit it.

(You wouldn't because saying that to a stranger's face is, quite frankly, really lame.. though you couldn't help but touch upon the water's detailing a lot more delicately in your sketches.)

(Or think about drawing her as your muse under the moonlight instead.)

One certain topic she was particularly interested in was the iridescent visage you witnessed all those nights ago—anyone would be, of course, in an 'entertaining-the-schizo' sort of way, not.. not her way. Not with genuine curiosity laced with something much more hidden, inquisitive.

"What would you do if that thing came back?"

"Like, to do what?"

"Who knows." Kokomi wore a soft, jesting smile, "Eat you, perhaps?"

"Would you be there with me?"

"Let's start with a 'no'."

"Probably sit there."

"Really?"

As you muse on the question, you take the cap off your water bottle, "May as well die finishing this rather than live with it gnawing on my mind."

"You have no self-preservation, do you?"

"Would it be edgy if I said it was overrated?"

"Perhaps," she shrugged, letting her hair shift and cascade from her shoulders and her arms down to her back. "What would you do if I was there, then?"

You took a sip, "..Say thank you, maybe."

"Oh? Why?"

"For keeping me company? I guess? Dunno, I just feel like I should thank you if I died on this beach with you."

You turn to look at her, and before you could say anything more, you notice the look on her face; it's indecipherable, blank, as if she were sizing you up and profiling you within her mind palace.. but what for?

Her eyes are unsettling—a touch of hunger glimmers in the ocean depths—as they stare at you (and has she ever even blinked once?) but then the moment you blink, her light expression is back as if it was never taken off.

"Let's hope that neither of us die, haha."

"Right..."

You also can't help but notice the way that you are reminded of said visage whenever you look at her, especially when she's by the water.

"Join me?"

"Why should I?"

"Perhaps you need a change of pace," she says as she takes off her lavender jacket and leaves her slippers off the sand. "I get the feeling, but you've been concentrating on your work for a while now."

"I don't swim."

"Don't? Or can't? I can teach you."

"Why?"

"Perhaps being in the water may help you gain a bit more perspective with your art."

"But I only need one perspective. Plus the water would be cold."

Kokomi stares at you with a slightly tilted head, and you can't help but notice her unusual eyes softly glowing but you do nothing but dismiss it, and then ends up shrugging, "Alright. I won't force you, of course. Just..."

She turns her head, "You never know, maybe getting into the water will turn out to be your final step."

..And as she walks off into the ocean, you don't even notice yourself taking off your shoes and chasing her after a beat until--

"Wait!"

She turns around, an eyebrow raised and a gentle half smile on her lips, "Yes?"

You stop just short of her, "Fine, I'll.. I'll go. With you. But you're not letting me go. I know how to swim but it's dark. So."

"Of course not," she reassures you, "I sought you out, after all."

"Huh?"

You don't get a chance to react, not when she takes your hand in hers and leads you to the water.

You don't get a chance to react, not when the both of you submerge yourselves and you are thrown back to that very night at the sight of clustered scales on pale skin.

..Or maybe you can't react at all, not when water starts clogging up your lungs and your consciousness sung to sleep.

...

You woke up coughing your lungs out, sore and very much still full of saltwater.

You woke up alone on the shore, probably for the first time since Kokomi had decided to come up and startle you enough to ruin your focus.

And you got up and ran.

You don't tell anyone, because the only person who would have ever believed you turned out to be someone you wish you hallucinated.

(Never felt so lonely like this in so long, like you don't have a purpose--)

You don't visit the beach for a while. And when you do, you wish you hadn't.

Not when you see a crumpled piece of paper—your scrapped mistake—on the spot the both of you had always occupied at night.

Not when you see the scribbled-out 'thank you' on the back of the page.

Not when you spot that same visage at night all over again, yet with the tainted memory of your near-death and of the brief company that you kept.

And certainly not when she looked at you with those shimmering blue eyes, her claws clear of any sort of metallic red, before she looked away and disappeared into the ocean depths.

(Though you end up finishing what could have been your magnum opus forged from looking at death in the eye all those many nights, you voluntarily put a line across the page and close your sketchbook.)

(You don't end up opening it anymore, not when you feel disjointed.)

(Incomplete.)

[toxicanonymity]

Hiii how’s Ezra and his menace of a reader?? I hope he’s still fraught with guilt bc damn that’s hot

No pressure to write or whatever I just think about them half the day (the other half is for nw)

Ezra drabble 3

700, Ezra x f!reader

Last one: Ezra pt. 2, you baited/tricked him into somnophiling you

WARNINGS: I8+ AU where you can be briefly exposed outside. Degradation. Manhandling. Outdoors. Dubcon P in V. References to somnophilia. I feel like you or an anon asked what would happen if he found out but I can't find the msg sry. Unedited!

Ezra’s quiet the next day. You let him sweat it out for hours, making comments about how you’re tired, sore, asking him if anything happened. The tortured look on his face makes you tingle. He wants to confess. You can’t believe he fell for it, after all your involvement and encouragement during . . .the act. He really thinks you were talking in your sleep.

Finally, you put him out of his misery and degrade him about it. You're standing in the shade of a mossy tree when you chide, “So, Ez. . ." You lower your brow and cock your head at him. He swallows and looks at you with big eyes, and you ask, "Are you man enough to give it to me when I'm awake?"

His face changes as he grabs the fabric of your jumpsuit by the chest and shoves you up against the tree. You add, “or is the sleep what gets you off—ohhh shit, ohhhh”

He tightens his grip on your jumpsuit and slams you back against the tree. “I fear I thought too much of you, little bird. You're nothing but a common pigeon.” His nostrils flare. “And all your cooing is growing tiresome.” His eyes darken with the intent to intimidate, but you see his animal lust through the gaping black holes of his pupils. He’s right up against you. You reach down to grab his crotch. His cock is warm and semi-hard. You tingle and your panties moisten, already wet from torturing him.

You press your palm into his arousal between each word: "you. . .absolute. . .creep." He glares at you as he swells harder against your palm and you cradle your fingers around the growing bulge.

His jaw clenches, he snarls, and he shakes his head in anger. He releases the front of your jumpsuit only to forcibly remove your helmet, then unzip your suit and feverishly tears it down along with your underwear as you smirk in satisfaction. He takes off his helmet, too. He leaves it all at your feet then turns you around and shoves you chest first against the tree, the moss cushioning the harsh bark on only one side of your body. He’s pinning you there with an elbow as he unzips himself.

He presses his exposed mouth up against the nape of your neck and his breath is humid in your hair. “How sad to beg me like the filthiest fowl for a scrap of cock,” he bites as he frees his stiff manhood from his underwear. He presses his body all the way up against yours. He knees your legs apart, his jumpsuit still on, just unzipped, in contrast to yours pooled fully at your feet. Without his helmet on, you can hear every little sound he makes. He grunts as he lines himself up and as soon as he’s notched at your entrance he stuffs himself inside you with a weak groan. As your body adjusts, he pulls back his cock and says “Take your scrap, little bird.” Then he shoves the whole length into you and says, “No, take it all,” then bottoms out with a grunt. He rails you mercilessly against the tree, breathing heavily, moaning like it pains him every time he buries his stiff cock in your tight little hole.

"I suspect you would take anything," he pants. "Anywhere." He thrusts into you harder. Every word, Every moan, brings you closer until you're whimpering. "Oh Lord," Ezra breathes. "Look at you," he exhales an ill humored laugh. "Already fallin' apart between me and this bark." He braces his hand on the tree as he fucks you harder, sweating, stinking up the air.

He brings his mouth to your ear and shudders with a deep thrust. His next breath sends you over the edge. You whine as you cum on his cock. "Ezra," you moan, "god," you pant, "what the hell." You flutter around him, getting exactly what you wanted.

He slams his cock into you harder than ever and rasps, "now you'll take this seed, pigeon," plunges to the hilt again and erupts with a groan. He moans and whimpers and slowly thrusts as he empties his load into you.

As you catch your breath, you say, "you fucking creep."

-------

thank you for reading 🙏

Ezra Tags: @littlegreendove @sp00kymulderr @bearsbeetsbeskar @ezras--moon @kyloispunk

[faulty-writes]

Hello, I'm asking as an anon cuz its my first time requesting and I'm kind of nervous but I was wondering how would bakugou,deku,todoroki(+iida if you want<3) react to they're significant other doing the bumpy ride trend? where they balance a thing on their head and dance? Example : https://www.youtube.com/shorts/eWBDUeWgMXI and then they get very flustered lol love u<33

[ Oh God, is that what the kids are up to these days? Welp, best of luck to them! I know my limit for headcanons is usually three, but we all know how much I love Iida so he had to be included in this. So I hope you enjoy this rare, four-character headcanon set. P.S. Love you too, anon. ]

"What the hell are you doing!?" Katsuki couldn't care less about the 'trends' extras were trying. The only type of social media he liked was about heroes. Still, he was curiously angry when he walked into your room to see you balancing something on your head while moving around. The fact that you were having trouble keeping that thing on your head made him roll his eyes.

He thought you had enough common sense to know when to quit following this stupid trend. However, you didn't and he wasn't shy about sharing his opinion. "Why are you wasting your time doing this, dumbass? Trends are only for extras with nothing else to do!" You tried not to let him bother you, after all, you were just having fun.

He usually didn't care about anyone's safety but his own. But damn it, you were different. When you tried to balance dangerous or heavy things on your head while dancing, he'd scold you. "Idiot! Be careful, damn it!" He'd snatch whatever item away from you and quickly replace it with another before flushing as he admitted, "I just...d-don't want you to get hurt, dumbass."

Most believed Katsuki could not laugh or find humor in anything that wasn't someone else's misery. But after some time of seeing you perform this trend continuously. He couldn't help but smile. Yeah, it was a rare sight to see him smile, hell even see him happy. But damn if he didn't admire your determination and that cute look on your face whenever the particular item you were balancing on your head fell off mid-dance.

Izuku would more than likely respond to seeing you perform the bumpy ride trend with curiosity, after his initial surprise. His curiosity would lead him to research everything about this particular trend. He would even watch videos of others performing it, trying to figure out what the most effective strategy is to master it.

Naturally, due to his desire to save and protect others, he'd make sure you always performed the trend in a safe environment. In addition, he'd make sure you used safe items to balance on your head. Usually, he'd help you gather empty bottles or provide one of his All Might plushies for you to use.

You'd usually assign him to record your attempts on your phone so you could upload them later. While he was uncertain about this, he did it because he wanted to help you and show his support. Of course, he was particular about how he would record you. He'd always make sure he was standing at the correct distance, that it was the correct angle, and that the lighting was good. No surprise, you ended up getting a bit impatient with him.

"H-hey it's okay…maybe w-we can look over my notes to s-see what you're doing wrong, y-you'll get it eventually!" He'd always have some encouraging words for you whenever you failed at your bumpy ride trend attempts which was appreciated considering you usually took your frustrations out on him.

"Um…are you alright?" Shoto's initial response to seeing you perform the bumpy ride trend is confusion. He doesn't bother with social media or understand its trends. This leads you to have to explain it to him which only confuses him more.

Before jumping to any conclusion about whether this trend was safe or unsafe, Shoto would observe you performing it. This would help him determine if he should intervene or not. He knew he didn't have a right to tell you what you could and couldn't do. But as your significant other, it was his job to protect you no matter what. He'd do that even if you hated him for it.

His concern eventually led him to suggest alternative trends you could do together. He knows that you'll probably argue with him, but he also knows that it's important to do things that strengthen your bond in romantic relationships and frankly, if he could convince you to do alternative trends with him, he could keep you safe.

He would congratulate you when you finally managed to dance and balance something on top of your head without it falling. But he's unsure exactly what to say which leads him to flush as he struggles to find the words. "That's nice…I am…happy that you accomplished what you wanted to." He still wouldn't understand it, but he'd try to be proud of you in his own way.

"I strictly advise against this form of social entertainment!" It was no surprise that Tenya found social media trends to be a waste of time. The fact that said trends didn't have any academic or structural value added to his distaste for them.

Even after conducting thorough research regarding the "bumpy ride" trend, he still doesn't approve of it, but he knows his disapproval won't sway you from attempting it. So, he overanalyzes it and creates a structured plan to help you perfect and achieve your desired outcome.

Despite not wanting to share his or your "personal" life on the internet, he agrees to document your attempts at this trend. "Are you most certain you wish to perform this again?" The videos he records are typically unedited, which gains your account numerous followers who like to point out his strange way of talking and the fact he's constantly chopping his hands in front of the camera in your videos.

After some time, he finds out that your classmates know about the bumpy ride trend and your videos which he helped upload to your social media account. Even though he feels embarrassed, he explains the pros and cons of the trend. He also explains why he supports you and how he will continue to do so until you master your techniques to accomplish your desired outcome.

[literary-motif]

VIII. Num Scire Volo?

In which the night reveals its secrets and hides them away. ~6,600 words

Warnings: smoking, drinking, memory manipulation

Overview // VII. Even In Excess Of Misery

The carriage ride was unusually silent. You sat on a bench with Theodore, Elisabeth taking up the opposite one and silently glaring at both of you. She hated this, you knew. She had told you often enough, but her complaints were more for show than anything else this evening. 

Every one of you knew how important it was to maintain your standing in society. If word got out of your financial situation or your parents' sudden disappearance, you would be shunned. It was a death sentence, and you could not afford to lose public favor. 

Your career relied on the image you upheld. Nobody would bat an eye at paintings done by someone they despised. Society was vain like that. 

Being on people’s good side was a never-ending battle with ever-changing stakes and tactics. The public's interest varied from week to week. 

One week, pottery was all the rage. The next, nobody wanted to hear about the bore that was craftsmanship. You needed to smile, but not too much, or else you would be naive. You needed to be mysterious, but not too much, or you would be arrogant. 

It was a fight against an invisible enemy — one you could never win. Public opinion was based on prejudice, as adamant as every person was to deny it vehemently. 

They were enlightened, factual citizens, after all — but no amount of truth can fight the sentiment of simply disliking someone once they fell from grace. 

Of course, it was not your fault that your parents left you alone, but the people would not care about that. The family name would forever be associated with their ungraceful escape — false, deceitful, selfish.

Once bias had nestled itself into people’s minds and the associated feelings had infested their hearts, it was impossible to change their opinion of you. 

Such a fight was doomed.

The carriage halted in front of a large house. Neither of you moved, cherishing the last moments of peace.

“Off to battle,” Theodore muttered eventually, opening the door. He stepped out with a charming smile plastered on his face. 

The entryway was excessively lit with burning torches, casting the rose bushed beneath them in a gentle orange glow. You studied the placement briefly, hoping dew had made the bushes wet enough so they would not catch fire if a piece of the burning torch were to get loose. 

The windows of the mansion were open, the terrace illuminated by a myriad of candles, the light showing off the beige stone.

“That,” Elisabeth whispered to you, nodding to the open fire, “is a true fire hazard. At least I had the common sense to have a bucket of sand nearby. If something catches here, we are scorched.”

Theodore shushed her discreetly, shooting the hosts a wide smile as you entered the building. 

Lord Reddington greeted you with a raised glass, its golden liquid catching the light of the many candles distributed around the room. He stood on the other side of it, keeping his husband company as he talked to the group of people surrounding him. He gestured around animatedly, his short strands of black hair flopping into his eyes. He brushed them back every few seconds.

You looked around the room, noting the pointed arches of the windows with disdain. Elisabeth brushed past you upon finding the table of refreshments. She stalked to it hastily, snatching a glass before disappearing into the crowd, no doubt to find herself a quiet corner to linger in for the rest of the evening. 

She had never liked crowds and avoided the dancefloor and the many eyes it brought like the plague. 

While you and Theodore often engaged with idle chit-chat around various groups in whatever room you found yourselves in, hopping from small talk to small talk, she settled in a corner, usually finding one or two partners of conversation with whom she talked away the night. When she would tell you the conversations she had had the following day, you would remain astounded and sometimes a little envious of their depth. 

Lord Ellington caught your attention with a wave. You smiled back at him politely. 

“I will talk to the hosts,” Theodore whispered, leaning towards you. “Good luck.” 

“You too,” you said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly before walking towards Lord Ellington. “What a pleasure to see you on this fine evening, my Lord,” you greeted, your eyes immediately drawn to the splatter of green paint having joined those of white on his coat. 

“I extend my congratulations,” he said cheerily, fully turning away from the circle of ladies and gentlemen conversing animatedly about railway infrastructure to dedicate his attention to you. He offered you a hand to shake. “It is a pleasure and a great honor to count you among my colleagues.”

You took his hand hesitatingly. “I am not sure I understand,” you said. 

He raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes widening. “Oh, my mistake,” he said sheepishly, the blush creeping across his face only hidden by his beard. “I assumed Lord Leighton had already spoken to you. He told me he would. Now it seems I have spoiled the surprise.” He laughed awkwardly, shaking his head. “Do forgive me for that. But” — he shrugged faintly — “it was never truly a surprise in the first place, was it?”

What would the President of the Royal Academy of Arts want to speak with you about? You could guess, and the possibility of a teaching position both thrilled and terrified you. It would be a dream come true, having the means to pass on the knowledge you had spent collecting for many years and immortalizing yourself by influencing future generations of artists. 

Accepting the offer also meant remaining in England indefinitely, and the prospect of giving up your little Parisian studio for the smog and rain of London left a sour taste in your mouth. The city felt suffocating, and why you would give up your French acquaintances in the field of art to return to the mingling society of Lords and Ladies here was beyond you. 

You swallowed thickly. “I have been away for the last few days,” you said, steering the conversation from your dooming indecision about your future.

“Yes! Of course,” he said quickly. “I remember hearing about that. You will have to excuse me. My mind has been occupied with many things lately” — he cleared his throat, his mouth twisting into a sly grin as if remembering something pleasant — “I have heard Lord Claiborne talk at length about your exquisite technique and the beauty of your composition of him. Dare I say, many were envious.”

“Of the art or the artist?” you asked with a smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at you, pretending to think. “Both, I believe.”

“Not you, I hope,” you said with a chuckle. 

He rolled his eyes. 

“My landscapes are monotonous at best and boring at worst. You have nothing to worry about. I am in awe of yours. How you put a soul into a field of grain is a mystery I will never understand.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling as he looked at you fondly. “That is a relief,” he said. “It is always good to know your talented colleagues fall short at something you excel at.” 

Lord Beckwith appeared at his elbow briefly. He greeted you quickly before pressing a drink into Lord Ellington’s hand, which the latter accepted with a gaze you could only describe as loving. He cleared his throat, looking after Lord Beckwith as he disappeared into the crowd again. 

“Things on your mind, yes,” you teased lightly, breaking into a smile at the joking glare he sent your way. 

“Not a word,” he warned, taking a sip of his drink. He looked at you over the rim of the glass as if silently contemplating his retort. 

Your smile faltered, not wanting to be reminded of Lord Claiborne. 

“If my portraits looked more like people and less like featherless bipeds, perhaps I could rival yours.”

“Nonsense,” you said in false seriousness. You could not help the smile of relief creeping across your face. “All you would have to do is reveal it dramatically and call ‘behold, a man.’ The world of art would be yours eternally.”

He choked on his drink, stifling a laugh and hiding his face behind his hand. “I would take hemlock without trial,” he joked between coughs. 

“Excuse me,” Lady Spalding approached shyly, her coral dress laced with white fabric sweeping elegantly across the ballroom floor. “I wonder if I might steal a few words?” she asked sweetly, looking up at Lord Ellington, whose coughs had subsided but left him with a bright red face. 

He cleared his throat repeatedly. “I would be delighted,” he said, his voice strained. 

“Excuse me,” you said, taking the initiative to leave them to chat in private. 

You walked over to a circle of people around Lady Bingley, considerably less drunk than the last time you had met her. Lady Ogden was leaning against the fireplace, smoking languidly and nodding along to the story recounted of their first meeting. 

“—And we were snowed in!” Lady Bingley exclaimed, the crowd gasping at her dramatics. 

“Oh my god, they were snowed in,” Lady Claire Alderton whispered with wide eyes, hanging onto Lady Bingley’s every word.

“Now, of course, with the trans-siberian railway under construction, these issues will be less likely in the future, but back in the day, it was very common. Very common! Vanya, do you remember the cellar of that house?” — she looked at her companion, laughing exaggeratedly as Lady Ogden made a face of disgust — “atrocious!”

You only listened half-heartedly, not particularly enticed by the epic recount of how the two of them survived the Russian winter together. Your eyes roamed the ballroom. Only a few couples were dancing, much too little to be considered a ball,truly. Were it not for the musicians sitting in rows by the wall, you were sure it would have passed as a simple soiree, perhaps an extravagant one. 

All the candles cast a gentle glow across the room, but they swallowed the oxygen in it quickly, leaving behind a suffocating warmth that made your headache reappear painfully. You walked over to the open windows, now understanding why they were open on such a chilly night. The terrace was full of candles, their light an uncomfortable stain on your eyes in the darkness of night around them. 

You did not want to know how much wax the hosts were burning through on this fine evening, and you were once again reminded of the dangers of having this much open fire everywhere. You wondered why they had not simply used the electric light installed in their house. There was no need to threaten their property with being burnt down just for a candlelit ball. 

Leaning against the wall by the window, you sighed in contentment as a fresh breeze swept into the room. It made the flames flicker, but sadly, none went out. 

The shadows they cast along the walls were strange, and as you looked around, you noticed that despite the number of candles, they still did not manage to light the corners of the room properly. 

In one of these darker areas by the wall, you saw a head of familiar blond, nearly white hair. It seemed to glow in the light, shining like a halo around the person leaning against the wall, his ruby eyes surveying the room disinterestedly while ignoring the excited Lord Houghton, who was desperate to make conversation with him. 

Xanthus raised his drink to his lips, his gaze falling to you. 

For a moment, his eyes remained fixed on you. The intensity of his stare made you hold your breath, excitement, and fear cursing through you. A heartbeat later, his eyes had traveled further without an acknowledgment of having registered your presence at all. He continued surveying the room as if looking for someone else, gazing through you. 

His cold dismissal made your heart ache painfully. You remained standing by the window, looking across the room and trying to hide how much him ignoring you hurt. 

Had your relationship come to an end so easily after he had put that check in your hand? Had it really only been transactional? It had felt like more. It had felt like a deeper connection shared between you as you spilled your secrets and got lost in his ruby eyes.

You glanced back towards Xanthus, catching only his retreating back and the shining black of his tailcoat as he exited the room. He was walking outside into the garden. Biting your lip, you considered following after him. 

Surely, it would not hurt to confront him and force his eyes to settle on you again. You did not like being ignored, and truthfully, it would only be common etiquette to greet a former client properly. It would also allow you to thank him for the extravagant price he had paid you for the portrait. 

Would it be too obvious if you darted towards the garden now? Looking across the floor, you resigned yourself to waiting a few more minutes. In a dimly lit corner across from you, Elisabeth was doubled over in laughter, wiping a tear from her eyes. 

A person with long, flowy brown hair stood before her, his red coat rivaling Lord Bingley’s extravagant style of nearly scandalous fashion. 

In the dim light, it took you a moment longer to realize that the person now taking your sister's hands was Dontis. He bowed to her, kissing each hand before slowly coaxing her onto the dance floor. 

She chuckled, loose strands of black hair falling into her face as he swayed her, slowly easing her into the rhythm of the music. Dontis glanced around, quickly yet tenderly tucking the wayward strands behind her ear. 

He whispered something to her, and Elisabeth barked with laughter, slapping a hand over her mouth a second later and looking at him with wide eyes as she realized how loud she had been.

You observed the scene from afar, the frown on your face morphing into a tentative smile. From the brief interaction you had had with Dontis, he seemed a respectable gentleman. His connection with Xanthus worried you, but you trusted Elisabeth’s judgment. She was old enough to make her own decisions.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you caught a ruffle of white fabric. The smell of cigarette smoke followed a moment later, nearly drowned out in the stifling heat of used-up oxygen. 

Lady Laureen Alderton had settled herself next to the door that led out into the garden. She watched you closely as if daring you to go through it. 

You stared back. The both of you were locked in a world of your own, having a battle of will with your eyes alone. She did not let up, seemingly warning you again to stay away from Xanthus. Neither did you, feeling closer than ever to reveal the mystery ensnaring him.

A soft touch on your arm tore your attention away from her. 

You turned your head, finding Theodore leaning close to you. His head was ducked, but you saw the tears shining in his eyes. “A word?” he murmured, already tugging on your arm to usher you aside. 

Your brows furrowed in concern, following where he led you and gently steering him through the crowd as he threatened to bump into people as the tears blurred his vision. His grip on your arm tightened as you stepped into the courtyard, pulling you along until the bright candlelight was only a faith hue in the distance. 

He leaned against the wall of the mansion, clutching his chest with his free hand and breathing shakily as he finally allowed his tears to fall. “I cannot—” he gasped, curling into himself. He held onto you tightly, his shoulders shaking from the force of his suppressed sobs.

“Theo,” you breathed, brows knitting in concern as you felt him tremble under your touch. “Breathe, hey.” You put your hands on his shoulders to steady him. 

“Can’t do anything right,” he sobbed, gasping quietly. “Nearly— ru— ruined it all! Can—!”

“Breathe,” you said, looking around to ensure you were alone. “Nothing happened. It is alright.”

“I can’t,” he cried, leaning his head against the wall. His eyes looked up towards the overcast sky, but it did nothing to stop the flow of tears. “Can’t do anything right. Can’t—”

You shushed him, grip tightening on his shoulders as you felt him sway. “Just breathe right now, Theo.”

He only cried harder, knees buckling under the force of his sobs. You pulled him into your chest before he could crumble to the ground. Theodore continued to cry as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, keeping him upright. 

“I do not know what to do,” he gasped brokenly. 

The defeated and hopeless tone of his voice made tears appear in your eyes as well. Your heart broke as you felt him shatter in your arms, his cries muffled against your shoulder. 

“I don’t— can’t— ‘m sorry.” 

“Breathe,” you reminded him again, running your hand up and down his back comfortingly. “We will figure this out, alright? You do not need to do anything on your own. I am here, alright? Lizzie is as well. We have got you. We will get through this together.”

He shook his head violently. “It is only a matter of time until they will have my head. Until they— they—” he choked, digging his fingers into your back and holding on for dear life. It felt like his grip on you was the only thing keeping him together. “I am so— so sorry. I cannot even find some— someone rich enough to marry. I—” he hiccuped, pressing his face harder into your shoulder, “God, I miss her.”

You held him tighter, feeling a painful stab in your chest at his words. “We will figure this out,” you assured him, wiping tears from your eyes. 

The thought that he left his love because of your destitute financial situation and his unreasonable need to tackle it himself made your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. 

It was not solely his responsibility to pick up the pieces your parents had left behind, no matter the years he had on both you and Elisabeth. The weight he insisted on loading onto his shoulders and carrying alone had finally made him crack, and you hated that it had to come to this for him to ask for and accept any help at all. 

“I promise, Theo,” you said, cursing his self-sufficiency as you felt the wet stain his tears left on the fabric of your coat, “we will find a way. You are not alone in figuring this out.” 

You ran your hand through his golden locks, holding him tightly until his gasps for air turned to quiet sniffles as he slowly calmed down. 

His grip on you loosened. Theodore dropped his arms, leaning back against the wall and wiping the residue of tears from his bloodshot eyes. He cleared his throat, looking to the ground in a mixture of shame and embarrassment. 

“I can take care of things tonight,” you said, ruffling his hair affectionately. He chuckled faintly, batting your hand away. “Come on, you should get home and rest.”

“I should not—” he began, his voice strained from crying. He winced. 

You walked him to the front of the mansion, guiding him along the more shadowy part of the way to hide his disheveled appearance from any curious eye that might be looking outside. 

“I will make an excuse for you, do not worry,” you said, opening the carriage door and helping him inside. You watched him sadly as he slumped against the cushions, wiping his eyes once more.

“Sorry,” he croaked, clearing his throat. “Thank you. I will— I will see you later.”

“Do not apologize,” you said, giving him a meaningful look that begged him to comply. “Get some rest, Theodore.” He nodded in resignation as you closed the door. 

You watched the carriage drive off, feeling both hollow and relieved. 

Your problems with Xanthus seemed so meaningless when you were reminded of the enormous debt hanging over your family. The experiences you had had on his estate felt like a faraway dream, hardly of note when the very real dangers of your parents’ ample spending threatened to cost you your lives. 

Turning to one of the large torches lighting the entryway, you lit your cigarette. The drag felt choking. 

You continued walking, opting to exchange the dim conversations and stifling air around the ballroom and its many candles in favor of the fresh darkness of the courtyard. You could not see the way as the light of the moon only illuminated it dimly. Stumbling through bushes and stepping into something you hoped was not a bed of flowers, you came to a halt next to a tall rosebush. 

You leaned closer to it, letting the sweetness of the flowers wash over you and relishing the moment of peace it brought. 

A muffled moan cut through the otherwise silent air of the night. Your head snapped towards the sound on instinct, and your eyes widened as you saw a familiar head of nearly white hair back someone into the wall of the mansion. 

Dropping your half-finished cigarette in shock, you darted behind the rose bush to hide. You did not want to cause an awkward scene, so you opted to stay hidden and pretend as if you had seen nothing. Your heart was still thundering in your chest, and you took a calming breath, looking up at the thin moon.

As the rushing of your blood slowly quieted, you began hearing slurping sounds. 

Frowning, you wondered what the two of them were doing. From the sound of the faint moans traveling through the air, you assumed that whoever Xanthus was entertaining was greatly enjoying it. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, wondering if you had sounded like that as well as he— you frowned. What had he done, exactly?

You could only remember his kisses on your lips, against the sensitive skin of your neck, before you descended into warmth and pleasure you had never felt before. Curiosity got the better of you, and you turned to glance around the edge of the rose bush. 

Illuminated by the light streaming out from the tall windows of the first floor, you saw Xanthus and the figure he had pressed against the wall. His large frame obstructed you from viewing who it was, but you saw their slumped posture against the wall as Xanthus held them up with a hand around their waist, the other buried in their hair as he tilted their head to the side. His face pressed against their neck, the slurping sounds ceaseless as the other groaned in pleasure. 

You watched them uncomprehendingly. The image of sharp, white teeth flashed before your eyes. Mr. Fint’s frantic ‘Were you bitten?’ ringing in your ears. 

Suddenly, it clicked. 

Was Xanthus drinking their blood? Was Rosaria’s gaze on your neck searching for two small punctures of those teeth? Your heartbeat picked up, and you gasped in horror. 

A vampire!

Your breath stuttered, and you whirled around to hide behind the bush again. You clasped a hand over your mouth to keep your panicked breaths from revealing you. 

Was this what happened to you? Did he feed on you?

A loud pop sounded from the mansion, and you felt your hands tremble. The slurping stopped. Silence ensued, only broken by Xanthus’ sigh. He muttered something to his companion — to his meal — and you heard footsteps scurry away. 

Were you alone? You did not dare to turn around and check, instead keeping facing forward into the darkness of the estate as you stood stock still. 

You strained your ears, trying to make out any sounds coming from behind you through the roaring of blood in your veins. 

Your heartbeat was so loud in your ears that you feared it would echo loudly through the night and give you away. It was an unreasonable fear, you knew. The heartbeat was not commonly audible through air, no matter how fast it was. 

The silence was deafening. There was no rustling nor footsteps anywhere. On the edge of your perception, you thought you could make out the musicians playing Chopin’s Valse in C Sharp minor. 

You had to be alone outside. 

Cautiously, you turned your head, freezing as you heard the tell-tale sound of a match being struck. 

Your heart dropped. The smell of cigarette smoke filled the air a moment later. 

Did they know you were there? 

Of all the guests, you knew only two others who turned away from the more fashionable cigars to smoke cigarettes. Against all reason, you hoped that the person standing on the other side of the rose bush was Lady Laureen Alderton. 

You bit your lip, eyeing the darkness to the side of the house you had stumbled through. If it was not Laureen, would he catch you if you ran? 

Would you find your way through the darkness and back into the safety of the crowd? You were not sure if your orientation was good enough to make it through the labyrinth of bushes and flowers without losing your way. 

Maybe you could outrun him on your way to the door on the other side of the mansion. The windows illuminated the way. You only had to make it across the open field of grass.

What if you pretended that you had just stumbled into the garden? Would he believe you?

You felt sick with worry. The instinct to run was nearly overwhelming, getting harder to ignore with every second you inhaled the smoke of the cigarette burning down between the fingers of the vampire.

The reminder made you shudder. To your horror, a low whimper slipped past your lips and broke the silence of the peaceful night.

For a moment, all was quiet again. Maybe he had not heard. Maybe he thought it was his imagination. 

Your heart was beating so fast you thought it wanted to carve its way out of your chest. It left you lightheaded. Slowly, you turned your head towards the edge of the bush, your mind made up to run across the grass. 

A figure stood facing you at the edge of the rose bush, the burning of the red cigarette tip visible in the darkness. 

You jumped back with a startled cry. 

“I can hear your heartbeat, you know?” Xanthus said with a low chuckle, stepping towards you.

You backed away, finding an opening in the bushes and slipping to the other side of it. The light of the ballroom illuminated this part of the garden. You glanced around quickly, looking for something to defend yourself with now that you knew hiding was useless. 

Benches made of stone stood in a semicircle, plants surrounding them like flower petals. You looked back to the opening in time to watch Xanthus step into the light, showing you his bloodstained teeth and mouth. You shook, swallowing down another whimper at the sight of your nightmare. 

“And, it has just picked up again,” he said, halting his steps and raising his hands placatingly. 

Over his left shoulder, you could see the slightly arched door leading through a little foyer and into the ballroom. If you could slip past and outrun him, you could dash into safety. 

He tilted his head to the side, the light revealing the amused tilt of his lips. It felt mocking. He knew he was blocking your path of escape, his expression daring you to try and force your way past him. “Are you scared?” he asked.

You scoffed despite your dire situation. As if he needed the confirmation when he said he could hear your heart beating erratically. 

“Yes,” you choked truthfully, inching back slowly until you were on level with another opening in the bushes.  

Xanthus smirked at that, licking his lips. “Good,” he said.

You made for the opening, planning to sprint around the bushes to make it to the mansion. 

He was on you in less than a blink, halting your movements as his teeth sank into your neck. 

You felt the same wave of warming pleasure wash over you, and your knees buckled. Xanthus took only a little blood — just a taste of the delicious fear he loved so much — before releasing you.

Stumbling back, you fell to the ground at his feet. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him, trying to scoot back, get up, and run. 

“Forget the last minutes.”

You blinked, staring at the hand Xanthus offered to help you up. You looked at your hands, wiping them on the fabric of your coat before accepting. “Thank you. I—” you panted once you were back on your feet. 

You tried to hide your frown of confusion. Why were you out of breath? When did you get to this part of the garden? 

The situation made you uneasy. It reminded you of the wrong colors on paintbrushes, and your stomach churned with the worry that you were somehow slowly losing your mind. 

Xanthus wiped his mouth with a white handkerchief. “How are your parents?” he asked suddenly, looking around the garden as if making casual conversation. “I trust they are well in Crete?”

“Certainly,” you said quickly, hoping he did not notice how your hands began shaking. Your heart picked up as anxiety cursed through you. “They are traveling, uh— Greece. To Greece, yes. They have— why yes, they have gone to Crete as well.” You chuckled nervously. “They wrote, saying they will be back shortly.”

Xanthus did not reply, letting the silence hang heavy between you.

“I can tell you are lying,” he said simply, his eyes boring into you as you stepped back in shock. 

You opened your mouth to protest. 

“The right thing said to the right person tonight, and you are finished. Rumors have a way of ruining reputations, you know? So tell me the truth before I crush yours.”

You searched his gaze, a chill running down your spine as you found nothing but unsympathetic determination. “Sir!” you gasped, hiding your fear behind acting appalled, “What you are suggesting— it— I— simply preposterous!”

He stepped closer to you, making you tense. Leaning in, he whispered, “But that is the fun, is it not? It is never the truth we are after, only cheap entertainment, drama, anything to fill the void. You, as an artist, should understand that. Are you not looking for inspiration in everything? Do you not itch to create something to stuff the gaping emptiness your misery leaves you with?”

You looked at him, an uncomfortable chill settling over you as you realized that he had seen right through you.

“People like us can never be happy,” Xanthus said, “so we turn to pleasure instead, and I assure you that toying with your life has brought me ample already. Why not go further and tear it apart entirely?” He chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the tears gathering in your eyes. “Are you scared?” he asked.

You stared at him with wide eyes, a few tears escaping you and rolling down your cheeks. You nodded faintly, not finding your voice to reply.

“Answer me properly,” he said sternly.

“Yes,” you choked, pleas already forming on your lips for him not to reveal the lie that kept your family afloat. A strangled “please” was all you could breathe before his eyes darkened. 

His teeth sunk into your neck, and your head spun with pleasure again. 

“Forget the last few minutes.”

You blinked, nearly losing your footing and stumbling into a rose bush as Xanthus caught you. 

“Terribly sorry,” you said, feeling wetness on your cheeks and wiping your tears away in horror once you stood firmly on the ground again. “I do not— pardon me.”

“You like the thrill of doing something dangerous, yes?” he asked, apropos of nothing. “You like the mystery. That is why you cannot stay away from me. I entice you, and you are curious enough to follow the breadcrumbs I leave out for you. I tug you along like a puppet. It is too easy. All I had to do was ignore you and leave the room. Here you are. Do you want my attention that desperately? Well, now you have it. I am all yours.” 

You were taken aback by his harsh tone, mind still hazy as you wondered how you had gotten here. The rose buses looked faintly familiar, but you could not quite place them. You shook your head to clear your straying thoughts. 

“I wanted to thank you for the generous check,” you said in a daze, holding your hand out for him to shake. “It is a large sum, more than we agreed upon and I am honored that you consider my work to be of that worth.”

He ignored your outstretched hand, looking into your eyes intently instead. “I wonder what would have happened if I had taken away the mystery,” he mused, the corner of his lip twisting up into a smirk, “if I had told you from the beginning that I was a vampire.”

Your eyes widened. His tone was serious, but you could not tell if this was perhaps a new side to his humor that you had not previously experienced. 

You worked your jaw quietly, thinking up something to say in reply. “I beg your pardon?” you asked finally after a tense silence. 

Xanthus chuckled, revealing his sharp teeth. “See?” he asked, tapping the canine ones. “I drank your blood on more than one occasion,” he said, looking towards the sky and resting a finger against his chin in thought of all the mysteries he had dangled before you. “The room you stumbled into on your walk at night is for a werewolf acquaintance, hence the scratch marks. The fabric on the tower was from the dinner I had jump off of it. Rosaria is onto me, but she thinks she can ward me off with garlic and Christian religious imagery.” 

He threw his head back in laughter, running a hand through his hair as the wind ruffled it. He looked ethereal in the gentle glow of the moonlight, but as his face was illuminated by the candlelight of the ballroom, you saw the hardness of his features and the coldness in his eyes.

You felt your blood drain from your face as you realized he was serious. 

“An idiotic idea,” he said, “considering it was me who repurposed an ancient catholic cathedral over many centuries. As if the sign of the cross would stop me!” 

He paused, taking a moment to savor your shocked expression. 

“Tell me,” he began, trailing his tongue across the front of his teeth in anticipation, “are you scared?”

You swallowed thickly, taking a step back. “I am—” you gasped quietly, “am surprised. How— what?”

“Are you scared, my portraitist?” he purred.

“I am,” you said, “yes.”

“Delicious.” Xanthus lunged at you, sinking his teeth into your neck and swallowing another mouthful of your blood. 

Your muscles tensed at first, relaxing into his touch a moment later as he guided you down to be seated. Your head swam, the warm pleasure shooting through you pushed to the back of your mind as your thoughts swam in a haze. 

“Forget the last few minutes.”

You blinked, sitting on one of the stone benches. Looking up, you saw Xanthus already staring down at you. 

“Good evening,” you mumbled in greeting, trying to be polite despite the daze that had settled over you. 

Xanthus’ expression darkened. “You are a murderer,” he said flatly, “a monster for killing your lover. You are despicable for letting him suffer when you had the means to help him. You want to leave the past behind? The past always has a way of catching up to you. I could tell them. The world would never look at you the same way.” He paused, letting his words sink in. 

You trembled before him, breaths coming in short puffs. “How—?” you stuttered, “How do you know? What—? Who told you?” You were dizzy, the world swaying dangerously around you. 

“You did,” he said, amusement coloring his tone. 

Your head shot up, eyes meeting his. Was he lying? You had never confessed this to anyone.

He raised an eyebrow. “What is it? Do you not remember?” he mocked, “I can only imagine the terror of not being able to trust your own mind. Are you scared?”

You tore your eyes away from him, looking towards the ground to make sense of the confused thoughts swirling through your mind. You felt numb, hollow, and terrified all at the same time. 

Next to the foot of the stone bench, you saw snowdrops growing. They swayed faintly in the night breeze — a beautiful flower that wrenched your heart with tragedy. 

Calmness washed over you suddenly. The grand picture of this mystery finally fell into place, the pieces of the puzzlealigning.

You lifted your head to look at him. “You never left the past, did you, Lawrence?” you asked. “You are a relic of a time long past. How does it feel to be cheating death while the world around you withers and dies every day? You have changed into something else, Sisyphus. Your transgressions will be punished, as will be mine.”

The corners of his mouth twisted downwards in displeasure. “You had a choice,” he snapped. 

This connection was becoming dangerous, he feared. The game was up. Perhaps he had overdone it this time. 

“As did you!” you spat. “Every time you feed, you have a choice. You are cruel. You are heartless.” 

He hummed disinterestedly, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and offering you one. You declined. He lit his, letting his gaze travel across the darkness of the garden as he smoked. 

“I am as heartless as you,” Xanthus said, puffing out a lungful of smoke. Turning, he looked you in the eyes. “Now listen closely,” he said, entrancing you, “I told you I loved you. You saw me dancing with another the entire evening. It made your blood boil with jealousy. You love me.”

You blinked, your eyes lighting up with betrayal and rage. “Why?” you growled.

“I never said we were exclusive,” Xanthus answered casually, taking another drag of his cigarette. He glanced at you impassively. 

You clenched your fists, betrayal choking you. Blinking the tears from your eyes, you swallowed the lump in your throat. 

“You— You said you loved me!” you gasped, the words passing your lips with great effort as you felt your heart break.

He smiled, extinguishing his cigarette. “I lied.” 

He watched as your eyes filled with tears, shining with devastation. It brought him a twisted sense of satisfaction. 

“Pardon,” you muttered quietly, wiping at your eyes as you turned away, walking quickly towards the side of the mansion, no longer caring that you would stumble through the dark on your way home. 

Xanthus sighed in relief. “I never want to see you again,” he whispered into the night, watching your retreating figure before you disappeared into the darkness of oblivion again. 

Annotations // Epilogue