#watch me delete this when my anger settles

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Conrad deserves better than Belly. After he sees Jere and her kiss, he get his ass to Stanford and meet this cute and smart maybe tutor girl (Haley James style) and falls in love with her and then they show up at Jere's wedding years later and Belly is jelly

I've spent the last five days working on this one.

p.s. it's 2k words...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When Conrad finished his exam, he went back to Jeremiah and Belly. He was going to tell and confess his love to her before she had to get home, but when he got to his car, the scene Conrad walked on made him sick to his stomach: Belly and Jeremiah were full on making out against his car. He stopped short of the car and cleared his throat, causing the two to spring apart from their heated kiss and see Conrad looking right at them. 

Conrad’s face was white. He would rather have had someone shoot him in the head with a nail gun, repeatedly, than have to watch the two of them kissing.

He didn't know who he was more angry at. Belly, who, not even a day ago, had told him she would have fought harder for him if she knew he loved her that much. Or Jeremiah, who, although he knew how much Belly meant to his brother and how fucking in love he was with her, seized the opportunity to kiss Belly the moment he was alone with her.

‘’Conrad—’’ Belly started, guilt settling in her guts. 

He cut her off, his voice cold and cutting. ‘’I don’t want to hear it.’’ 

His gaze shifted from Belly to Jeremiah. There was so much hate in his eyes. How could Jere do that to him? They agreed to stop hiding things from each other and talk, but Jeremiah must have forgotten already. 

‘’You broke up with her, Con, remember? We did nothing wrong,’’ Jeremiah said, pulling facts in his favor to make himself feel better — less guilty — for kissing his brother’s ex.  

When Conrad kissed Belly on the beach last summer, he didn’t know she and Jeremiah were a thing — if he could call it that — or that he liked her. If he had, he wouldn’t have kissed Belly or confessed his feelings to her. Had the situation had been in reverse, Conrad wasn’t sure Jeremiah would have backed off. 

‘’I’m done.’’ Conrad's voice was resolute, his heart heavy as he turned away, unable to bear the sight of them any longer.

Jeremiah moved to follow, calling out Conrad's name. He didn’t stop, needing to be as far as possible from the painful scene. His mind was racing with a jumble of emotions. Anger, betrayal, and a profound hurt gnawed at him. He had trusted both Belly and Jeremiah, yet they pulled this shit behind his back. 

‘’Why do you always have to act like that?’’ Jeremiah said as he quickened his pace to catch up. 

Finally, Conrad turned to face Jeremiah, his expression a mix of sorrow and resentment. ‘’You don’t get to tell me how to react, Jere. You kiss the girl I love outside my school, against my car while she’s wearing my sweatshirt. If you don’t see how disgusting and messed up it all sounds—’’

‘’She kissed me,’’ the younger one quickly defended. 

 Hearing this made him want to pack his bags, get his ass to stanford and focus on school. He needed to turn the Belly page, and in order to do that, he needed to be away from both she and Jeremiah. California seemed far enough, right?

*

The first days and weeks were tough for Conrad, struggling to accept the definite end of the relationship. She was still all over him like a wine-stained shirt he couldn’t wear anymore. 

He blocked both Belly and Jeremiah’ numbers. If he wanted to move on, he had to keep his distance from them. For a while, at least. Then, he deleted all the old pictures he kept of Belly on his phone. There was no going back for them anymore. 

He was done.

*

You met Conrad a little before Christmas break. Just like those cliché rom-coms, you walked right into him and spilled your chai latte all over his sweater. You wanted to break the cliché and not fall for the victim of your clumsiness, but after one look into those beautiful blue eyes, you knew it would be impossible. 

 After that day, you kept crossing paths around campus and, one afternoon, you asked him out. He was so surprised, but he said ‘yes’. 

Although you had sealed the end of the night with a few kisses, you decided to take things slow. You had a very busy schedule with the tutoring lessons on top of your regular program, and Conrad was unsure if it was too soon to get in another relationship, if he was ready for it. The scar Belly had left on his heart was healing, but was he ready to open his heart to someone again? 

‘’Have you ever been in love?’’ you asked one night in his dorm while studying. 

Your question had caught Conrad off guard. It was visible on his face. 

‘’Have you?’’ he returned, not taking his eyes off his textbook. 

He was trying to dodge the question. 

‘’I asked you first,’’ you said, seeing through his plan.

‘’Then yes.’’

‘’How many times?’’

‘’Once.’’

His answers were flat, annoyed he was by all your questions. He wished you would stop and get back to studying in silence, but you kept going. 

‘’On a scale of one to ten, how in love were you?’’

‘’You can’t put being in love on a scale,’’ he said, lifting his head with furrowed eyebrows. ‘’Either you are or you aren’t.’’

‘’But if you had to say.’’

Conrad started flipping through his notes. He hadn’t thought of Belly in months. He missed her — in a different way he used to. She was his friend before they got tangled into this mess.

He didn’t look at you when he finally said it. ‘’Ten.’’

*

The more time he spent in your presence, the more Conrad was — unknowingly — letting go of his past. 

The pictures he deleted months ago became pictures of you, filling his phone until there was no space left. The smell of your perfume lingered on some of his clothes and in his car. He had your coffee order memorized, along with your favorite study-break snack, which he made sure to have in stock in his dorm. 

You became part of his routine — part of his life —, brightening his days even on his darkest, saddest nights. 

He didn’t want to bother you, but nothing was calming the ache in his chest. He tried getting some air and smoking weed, he even thought of calling Laurel, but it was almost 2am in Pennsylvania. Conrad didn’t want to scare her. 

So he pulled up your contact and called, the weight of his grief still heavy in his heart, wishing Susannah was still there. He couldn't believe a full year had gone by since she took her last breath. 

You were about to slip into bed when you saw his name flashing on your phone. You almost didn’t pick up, but you got a gut feeling that he needed you. 

When you opened your door, a saddened look was etched onto Conrad's face, his beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears. The sight pulled at your heart and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him for the whole night.

Supported each other through finals and all-nighters.

‘’Getting tired?’’ you said, catching him actively fighting against his own eyelids. 

Conrad shook his head, taking a long gulp of his coffee. ‘’No time for sleep. I have this huge exam first thing tomorrow and I still have a lot of chapters to cover.’’

‘’You can take a short nap if you want. I’ll wake you in thirty minutes,’’ you kindly offered, flipping through your notes for a specific annotation. 

‘’Nah, I’m good.’’ He flashed you a soft smile, then returned to his studying. 

A few minutes later, and you couldn't help but notice that Conrad's eyes had begun to droop. They would halfway close and then he would either blink a bunch of times, or widen his eyes until they were bug eyed. It was cute.

‘’Con? Conrad?’’ you called out gently. 

‘’I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes,’’ he mumbled defensively, fighting fatigue.

There was no way he was getting through the night, so you put your notes down and slipped on Conrad’s flannel shirt that was on the back of your chair to shield you from the night air. ‘’We’re gonna need more coffee.’’ 

As you came back with two fresh cups of coffee, you found Conrad fast asleep on your pillow, still clutching his pen.

And held his hand through the rainiest times — literally.

‘’Isn't California supposed to be the sunniest state?’’ Conrad asked, watching the downpour through the windshield, drenched from head to toe. ‘’The seats are all wet...’’ 

‘’You gotta learn to live with the consequences of your own actions, Connie baby.’’ 

It was his idea to get waffles when the sky was looking very gray and angry. He insisted that it would clear out, but a loud clap of thunder echoed on your way back to the car and rain started pouring. You took the road back to campus, but it got too dangerous, forcing Conrad to stop the car on the shoulder of the road and wait for the rain to calm. 

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie and a smile curled on Conrad’s lips, still the most beautiful to his eyes despite your wet hair and the slight smear of mascara under your eyes. 

 ‘’Rain happens everywhere. Even in the dryest desert,’’ you reminded him, pulling out your phone to check the weather app.‘’Unfortunately, this one isn't gonna stop anytime soon.’’

You toed off your sneakers, making Conrad draw his eyebrows.

‘’What are you doing?’’

‘’We’re gonna be here for a while.’’ You peeled off your hoodie — also wet from the rain —, leaving you in your skirt and dainty bralette. ‘’Might as well occupy ourselves,’’ you explained before leaning over the middle console and kissing him, fastening yourself to him with a stitch. 

The kiss took him by surprise, but he wasn’t complaining. He could spend hours kissing you and never get bored. 

You crawled over the console and on Conrad’s lap without breaking contact, your hands easily finding grip on his hair as you felt his hands all over your body, caressing and pulling. The windows were fogging quickly around you, creating a veil of privacy as more layers were peeled off.

Conrad once believed he had found love, that Belly was it for him, but the feelings he felt back then were nothing compared to how he felt right now. 

‘’You’re the best thing that happened to me,’’ he confessed, his forehead pressed against yours. 

*

The invitation came in a few weeks before the wedding. Conrad couldn’t believe his brother was going through with this. Everything was happening so fast and seemed rushed. Him and Belly weren’t even twenty. Who gets married so young anymore? 

He arrived in Cousins a few days prior to the wedding, surprising everyone — and stealing the attention from the soon-to-be-weds — when they saw a girl with him. 

The only person who knew exactly who you were was Steven. A few months ago, you had posted a picture with Conrad at the beach and tagged him, leading to Steven finding out about his friend’s new girlfriend. He was surprised when he saw it, but very happy for Conrad. He deserved better than someone who plays between two hearts. 

Laurel put down the table-center she was holding and went over to pull Conrad in a hug. She turned to you, making quick introductions, and Conrad held his breath. He’s always been close to Laurel and her approval meant more to him than his father’s or Jeremiah’s. 

While the two of you engaged into a conversation, he saw her. Belly. Dressed in a white sundress and talking to Taylor, she looked just the same. The only difference was, Conrad felt nothing. No pain, no old feelings rising back. 

For the first time, what’s past was past.

‘’Belly, come greet Connie and his girlfriend,’’ Laurel called out to her daughter. 

Although you had never met her, you could tell exactly who she was in the room — and not only because her dress was white. The jealousy filling her eyes when they fell on you gave her away.

—

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[lcriedlastnight]

Y/n claims to hate Oscar and be constantly annoyed by him, but is the first to comfort Oscar when something bad happens

this is so me core. you are inside my mind anon, ily.

tw: fem!reader, swears, reader takes a trip to egypt to visit a famous river! lmk if you want me to add anything. kinda half proof read ig.

w/c: 863

you were unsure why mclaren even invited you to their garage anymore, after all you did was say how much you hate their australian driver. you never shut up about how much he annoys you and how he constantly thinks he's the shit when he's not. the other mclaren driver has teased you multiple time for never shutting up about him. "for someone who claims to hate him, you're constantly yapping on about him." comes along with that stupid teasing smirk and you then think that the mclaren drivers are your least favourite on the grid.

but by some miracle, you were invited to watch the austrian grand prix with the famous papaya. the free practise and sprint had gone amazingly for the two young drivers. of course it had, the team was on fire at the moment and was getting everything right.

coming off the back of a double podium in the sprint for the boys, they had the race qualifying. now as much as you claimed to hate oscar you could admit that he was a pretty great driver, especially for his second year in f1.

you watch as both of the brightly coloured cars race around the track, their times through q1 and q2 were amazing, but max was just a step above. if mclaren were flying then god knows what max was doing.

you watch as the cars return to the garage and prepare for the most important of them all, q3. lando rushes over to give you a high five which, although it confuses you a little, you are quick to respond. you stay clear of oscar who watches the interaction from his side of the garage. you take your protective headphones off to chat to lando for a second before his race engineer is quick to steal him away. you leave oscar alone as you wait for the beginning of q3.

your headphones are back on as q3 starts. you watch as the cars take their turns racing around the track. you feel like your heart has sunk down to your stomach as you watch the orange enter the pits, before leaving again soon after. as the qualifying comes to close, you are embarrassed to say that as you seen oscar's name slip into second place, right in between lando and max, you felt ecstatic. you would never tell anyone though.

just as that feeling was about to settle in your guts for the rest of the day, it's ripped away from you harshly. or ripped away from oscar, you should say as seconds later his lap time is deleted for exceeding track limits. you feel a burst of anger and frustration race through you as you watch the screens and see his name slide down to seventh. you felt like crying so you could not imagine how oscar felt. you knew it was the sport but god the fia got on your tits sometimes.

you watch as max, lando and george converse with each other waiting for their interviews and you feel bitter as fuck. that should've been oscar. speaking of him, you see his papaya race suit, with that all too familiar helmet walking into where the fia worked to speak with him. you watch as the camera man follows him halfway then retreats. you want to find oscar so badly, you don't think you can wait until he's out of there.

around ten minutes later you catch sight of him, probably heading towards another interview. you head over to him and watch as he retells his feelings to another reporter, explaining how it was from the drivers point of view.

once you are sure he is finished with his interviews you pull him aside to a quiet corner of the mclaren garage, semi-private. it is was as private you could get with cameras all around the place.

"you alright?" you whisper to the boy. oscar's eyebrows jump up in surprise as you ask him about how he is feeling, the question very unexpected from you seeing how much you tell everyone how much he annoys you.

"yeah, nothing i can do about it now. fia have done what they thought was right even though i don't agree. just have to do my best tomorrow to improve on that." oscar tells you, his back straight and tense. you frown, if he was trying to hide his feelings he was failing miserably. the australian was an open book to you. you hum, clearly not believing his response.

"why don't we go somewhere where isn't a shitload of cameras and you can tell me how you really feel?" you ask, voice soft and kind. it's the first time oscar has been on the receiving end of this kindness and it makes all the screws click into place in his brain. the boy grins at you.

"please. that would be great." his smile is enough to make you smile as you place a comforting hand on his shoulder, walking alongside him to the driver rooms. you might have done a good job hiding your feelings from everyone else but oscar was smarter than you gave him credit for.

[shitsndgiggs]

Can we get something with Marc Guiu? Maybe where she is a long-time Chelsea fan and she was the one who enouraged him to move to them which was met with a lot of hostility towards her by his fans?

HATE FROM THE FANS - MARC GUIU

In which Marc’s fans are assholes

Marc Guiu x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The crisp London air felt invigorating as I made my way toward Stamford Bridge, my heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Today was a big day for me, and for Marc. We had spent countless evenings discussing his move from Barcelona to Chelsea, and I had been his biggest supporter throughout the process.

It was a dream come true for me to see him play for Chelsea, but the journey had been far from easy.

The move had been a huge decision for Marc, one that I had wholeheartedly encouraged.

I’d been a Chelsea fan for as long as I could remember, and seeing Marc join the team was a dream I had hoped for, not just for him but for me as well.

But the transition hadn’t been smooth. Many Barcelona fans had directed their anger at me, blaming me for Marc’s departure and calling me a traitor.

On social media, I had become a target for a wave of anger and resentment from some Barcelona fans.

The vitriol directed at me online had been overwhelming, but I had tried to ignore it, focusing on supporting Marc and celebrating his achievements.

As I settled into my seat, I glanced at my phone, where the notifications from social media were relentless. I opened one of the many apps, dreading what I might find.

I scrolled through the comments, each one a harsh reminder of the backlash I faced.

It was painful to see how my support for Marc had been twisted into something negative by those who didn’t understand the situation.

Despite the harsh words, I knew that the love and respect I had for Marc were genuine, and that’s what mattered most.

The match began, and I tried to push aside the negativity, focusing on the game. Marc’s performance was spectacular.

He played with a passion and skill that lit up the pitch, and when he scored a stunning goal, the stadium erupted in cheers.

I was overwhelmed with joy and pride, my earlier anxieties momentarily forgotten as I cheered him on.

As the final whistle blew and the crowd’s cheers echoed around the stadium, I couldn’t wait to congratulate Marc.

I hurriedly made my way to the player’s tunnel, eager to share in his joy.

When I reached the tunnel, my phone buzzed with a new notification. Glancing down, I saw a new flood of messages and comments from social media.

As Marc approached, his face was lit up with joy. He spotted me and grinned. “Did you see that goal?” he asked, his eyes shining.

“I did! You were incredible out there!” I exclaimed.

We hugged tightly, and as we pulled away, my phone buzzed again. I fumbled to silence it, but Marc noticed.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at me with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just—” I started, but my words were interrupted by another notification. I quickly grabbed my phone, but Marc’s hand was faster. He gently took it from me before I could react.

“Let me see,” he said softly, his eyes scanning the screen.

His expression shifted from confusion to a subtle frown as he read through the comments. The hurt and anger from the online attacks were evident in his eyes, but he remained silent.

“I—” I began, but Marc cut me off gently.

“Let’s not let this ruin tonight,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “You don’t need to deal with this right now.”

I watched in confusion as he began deleting the social media apps from my phone.

“What are you doing?” I asked, feeling a mix of surprise and gratitude.

“You don’t need this right now,” Marc said, his tone gentle but resolute. “Focus on the positive. You’ve been a huge support for me, and that’s what matters.”

I felt a lump in my throat as I watched him work. The weight of the online hostility was heavy, but Marc’s gesture of deleting the apps was a small but powerful act of kindness.

It meant he was looking out for me, even when things were tough.

When he finished, he handed me my phone back with a reassuring smile. “Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

I nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. “Thank you, Marc. I just didn’t want to burden you with this.”

He pulled me into another embrace, his warmth comforting. “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”

[professional-yearner]

Hey! So now you've put scenes and idea's in my brain, like da brain worms. So I thought to share.

And now I'm thinking of the darling who gets bullied and picked on by the yandere troopers, and they bite and snark and push back, but eventually they're reputation is ruined, their friendship with the yandere's Perfect Beloved is severed, they lose their job and home and possibly their money/savings (slicers are terrifying and don't get enough credit). So they move away, to a whole other system/planet and start a new life. Cut all ties, close any accounts, remove any real way to contact them and go off to somewhere no one would think to look for them (not that anyone would, they believe). Nobody knows them, they don't know anybody, and it's pretty off-the-grid but quiet and peaceful. They rebuild their life, their confidence, and find peace and joy in this simple existence.

Meanwhile, the troopers are... conflicted. They have their Perfect Darling all to themselves, removed the problem, but... they're disappointed when there's no snarky greeting when they visit their Beloved at work and spend the entire shift just hanging around. There's no back-and-forth while they wait for their shift to end and they can take their Perfect Love out on the town or to the barracks or back to their place.

They... well, they miss the other person. What a shocking revelation it is! To miss their rival, the threat, the person they hated. Or, well, thought they hated. The group is confused, until one of them learns the phrase 'puppy love'.

Yes. That's what it was. Just puppy love. They didn't know better, and seeing someone so new and nice and kind and perfect blinded them. Sure, puppy love can bloom into genuine love, but as they watch their Perfect One, they find themselves... disappointed. Uninterested. Their responses are rote, behaviour predictable, there's no fire or spark in their eyes, no flare of emotion beyond kindness and understanding. They're nice, yes, but now that the initial feeling have settled and faded, they find they preferred the more stimulating company of their friend.

The friend they chased off.

What had started out as dislike, hostility, anger, jealousy and even hatred, had morphed into something else without any of their notice. Their cranky, clumsy, funny, earnest little rival that had matched them word for word and insult for insult, and yet had turned around and defended them against bigots and idiots in the same breath.

Their darling little rival, their lovely antagonist, the one they thought was the villain... but was really the victim in all this. They had been too hasty, too cruel, and did not give their daring darling the chance to show that they were the better match. Not their perfect friend.

They tried to find them. Desperate to make amends, to beg forgiveness, to show their wayward darling that they had learned their mistake and wanted, needed, to make up for it. And oh, they would gladly spend the rest of their lives making up for their foolishness, their cruelty, for being so blind as not to see their perfect match in the imperfect one.

But they couldn't find them. They had erased themselves digitally, and whenever they had left they had done so (unknowingly, luckily) when camera's had been down or things deleted or lost or files corrupted. No records, no trace or trail to follow and find them. The troopers despaired, but would not give up. Once the war ended, they would set out and find their beloved.

Perhaps this was a test...? Yes, a test. To show their devotion, and their dedication to righting this wrong. The first step in their atonement, to prove that they were serious. To prove they were worthy of their Darling. The moment the war ended and their brothers had settled, they would set out.

They would hate to keep their darling waiting.

God you're a genius! I love this scenario, I hope you don't mind me using it!

Tw! for: yandere themes, stalking, slight infantilization, past cruelty and bullying, unreliable narrator

Vay's face dropped once more as he watched you from his place across from your apartment window.

"Oh, cyar’ika..."

You had thrown out another one of their notes, looking terrified, tears welling in your eyes as you checked the locks on your door once more.

You never wrote back, no matter how many gifts, heartfelt apologies, and professions of their love he left on your rickety desk.

What? Did you want him to beg? He would! Gladly.

God, he would love being on his knees for you, in any way.

At one time, the thought would have disgusted him. Him? Bowing to scum like you? A gross little whelp who was trying to take his sweetheart from him? But now, he saw you for what you really were. Not blinded by that bitch who had tried to take their attention away from you.

Perfection.

He needed you. They needed you.

Looking back on your snarky remarks had become a fond pastime of theirs. Instead of infuriating, they had shifted into something adorable. Like and angry tooka kitten hissing and spitting when you approached.

Since they had finally found you again, watching you had come to make him anxious every time he was on shift. (Not that he didn't enjoy seeing you, your time together was the highlight of his week!) He just couldn't stand to see what your life had become without them! You went to your little job, then came home, occasionally went out with your idiotic friends (who were in no way fit to be anywhere around you), sometimes even going out by yourself (which gave Vay a heat attack, what would you do without them there to keep you safe?), but that was about it.

You had no real connection, as happy as you made yourself out to be. No one to take care of you, protect you in the way you obviously needed.

It broke the trooper's heart.

Luckily, it wouldn't be long now. They would place themselves back in your life soon enough. They only hadn't sooner to give you time to get used to the idea. They knew their behavior before had been unacceptable and cruel.

Poor thing, they had stung you so badly you felt the need to run away! To test their devotion to you by hiding away on the outer rim. Luckily, they were expert trackers thanks to their search and rescue training.

But honestly, what did you expect? You couldn't ask anyone to let a cute, fiery little thing like you go. No, this had to have been a test, silly girl.

Don't worry, once they get you settled in their new base and off of this dump of a planet, once they deal with your new "friends", you'll never want for anything. Surrounded by the protection and love you so desperately need.

Don't worry, love, they'll take care of all of it.

They'll take care of you 💙

[abiiors]

corruption ❤️‍🔥 // matty healy x reader

a/n: not entirely happy with this idk why. had to edit the original snippet to fit better into the context?? but ugh yeah hope you enjoy. there's a very real possibility that this might be deleted later cw: overstimulation, ass play if you squint really really hard, fingering, slight cumplay, mean matty and degradation, oral, gets a bit sweet in the end because it is me afterall wc: 3.5k

the office is in disarray. people running around, files and folders stacked tall in their hands as a nervous hush settles over the entire building. when your phone dings with his message that night, you know you’re in for it. well, you’ve known that since you watched the live debate really. 

matty is livid. 

it’s not that he lost, it’s that he managed to scrape through barely and he is not a man who does things barely. 

you could see it so clearly even through the large plasma tv screen in the party offices—the way his mouth was pressed in a tight line. and how when he did smile, it never reached his eyes. instead all you could see in them was cold anger. 

tomorrow your boss might get fired for this but tonight it’s you and your sanity that’s on the line.

the message glares at you through your phone screen – 8 pm. 1205. the grand. 

you don’t type a response to it because it doesn’t need one. he’s not asking, he’s ordering. involuntarily, you clench your thighs together in anticipation of what’s to come. tonight is going to be rough, you don’t need to anger him more by being late. so you quickly pack your bag and run out of the offices to hail a cab. 

7:57. that’s when you find yourself outside of his hotel room, your heart thudding in your chest, panties soaked through from all the scenarios you couldn’t stop repeating in your head—his hands gripping the mic, the podium, knuckles so white. maybe you could ask him to grip your throat like that tonight. 

you lift your hand up, shaky and fidgety, about to knock just as someone grabs you by the waist, pushing you against the door. you open your mouth to yelp but matty’s already turning you around, capturing your mouth in a hungry kiss. 

sharp teeth clashing against soft lips—his fingers dig into your waist, wrinkling the cotton shirt tucked into your figure-hugging skirt. it takes him only a second a untuck it. another to push his hands inside and rub his thumb over your peaked nipples. 

his hair is askew—not so neatly combed as it was on tv—as if he’s been running his hand through it in frustration. his suit jacket has already been discarded somewhere, white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing veins and a few scattered tattoos. 

“my obidient little slut,” he grunts against your neck, mouth already sucking on your sweet spot. you squirm against his touch, nervous that someone might walk in on you. and oh, what a scandal that would be…

“relax…” he breathes. behind you the door clicks open. “we have the whole floor to ourselves. need to hear you scream my name tonight.”

you get lost in his words and forget to breathe, to nod. he’s pushing you back against the wall, fumbling against your shirt buttons until he gets so frustrated, he rips it off you. the buttons go flying everywhere, clinking a few times before the room is filled with your gasps once again. 

“be my good little pet tonight, won’t you?” his words are murmured against your clevage. you nod on autopilot. his good little pet. yes. 

“words…” he warns. 

“yes, s–sir,” you gasp out, somehow managing to two little coherent words. and it’s good enough for him. 

matty pulls away, almost making you stumble and lose your balance but the wall holds you up. “on the bed,” he commands. his hands are at his throat, loosening his dark blue tie. the soft silk looks inviting, promising. so you walk up to the bed on shaky legs, watching his every move and how he slowly takes the tie off, taking his time to smoothen every little crease on it. 

“on your stomach, pet,” he commands again, less patient this time. “ass up.”

the two words are enough to make you whimper. you know what’s about to come. the man in front of you has a penchant for ruthlessness. especially when things don’t go his way. and yet the fear in your body feels more like excitement, the ache between your legs superseding every other need, as you lie there for him exactly how he’s asked—face smushed the soft pillows, ass up and your still-clothed pussy in his view, for him to use and abuse as he pleases. 

you know your skirt has ridden up enough that he can see the red thong you’re wearing, perhaps even the damp spot on it. 

“you know why we’re here, sweetheart?” his voice comes from somewhere in the room. perhaps he’s moving, walking around and looking at you from all angles. you wouldn’t know, your eyes are already closed tight, bracing yourself. 

“because the debate—”

“didn’t go so well,” he finishes. suddenly, there’s a hand on your back, undoing the buckles on your bra with deft fingers until it falls off you and onto the bed. cool air brushes against warm skin and goosebumps erupt all over your body. but matty doesn’t stop there.

next him hand moves down to your ass, stroking it. and just when you think he’s about to spank, a tearing sound rips through the room—your tights, now on the floor in tatters. 

“and why didn’t it go well, pet?” he asks, a ghost of a touch against your inner thigh, moving up and up and making it difficult to focus on anything. “cat got your tongue?”

“because—” you whimper, unable to finish because his fingers slide your thong aside at that exact moment, collecting the wetness, brushing against your clit. 

“yes?”

“bec–fuck! um—”

“dumb little slut, aren’t you?” his voice carries a dangerous edge, matty is not to be trifled with tonight and yet you struggle to form a coherent sentence, stuttering the words like a bumbling idiot. “but i didn’t think you were a dumb little slut at work…”

“m’not!” you whine. this little secret aside, both you and he knows that when it comes to work, you’re diligent and focused as a shark, your ruthlessness rivaling that of his. except he’s the shining star. the sun around which everything else revolves.

matty’s hand is back on your thigh, tracing dizzying circles. “i told you i wanted your ideas, didn’t i?”

you swallow. 

that he did. explicitly. not once but twice. 

“and yet you disobeyed me, pet.”

another muffled sound of protest tears out of you but you know there’s no point in arguing with him. telling him that your boss rejected your ideas. you should have been more assertive, more dominating. but you weren’t. and now it’s time to face the music. 

“what should i do first, hmm?” his fingers are back at your entrance, neglecting your clit entirely and spreading your folds for him to see. 

reflexively you try to clench your thighs together, too embarrassed that you’re already so excited, practically dripping onto your thighs but matty is quicker. a sting blooms onto your ass cheek. 

“what did i warn you before, hmm?” you gasp into your pillow, still reeling from the spank, trying to remember his words. “be–be a good pet.”

“and what do good pets do?” you struggle to keep up with his words, too wrapped up with how animalistic his voice sounds, how it reverberates through your entire body. the air whooshes as his hand cuts through it. another spank. another yelp from you. 

“th–they listen.”

“good girl…” his hand caresses the spot again, soothing some of the sting before matty climbs onto the bed. the mattress dips, his fingers are back at your entrance, back to parting your folds and swiping through them lazily as if he has nowhere else to be. as if he has all the time in the world. 

this time you let him, desperately trying to hold yourself up on shaky limbs. 

without warning matty plunges two fingers in. 

“fuck!” it’s more a hiss than an actual word. your entire body zings from the sharpness of it, trying to adjust to the sudden thickness between your legs. matty let’s you breathe through it, gives you a reprieve of just a few seconds, before he’s moving them deeper. 

“colour?” 

“green. green!” 

he chuckles condescendingly, moving his hand and pumping his fingers faster. “so eager for me, such a slut.”

the ring on his middle finger touches your clit over and over again, the cold gem brushing against your heated core, making you hiss and cry. the orgasmic feeling builds deep inside you, slowly spreading through your entire body, taking you higher and higher with each pump for his fingers, each brush against your clit. 

“please mat–sir! please,” you cry out, sobbing almost a damp spot grown on the pillow. you want to cum, want to feel that euphoric high. 

“please what, pet?” he tsks.

“let me cum, please…” 

you expect him to deny it, expect him to turn this into a power play and watch you squirm under him and beg for a release. to your surprise, matty presses a thumb against your clit, uttering just one word—cum. it’s the shock that pushed you over the edge, legs spasming as you gush onto his hand, relishing the way he keeps fucking you through the orgasm, through your chants of oh my god…

and his fingers don’t stop moving. 

instead matty settles behind you, your ass raised up right in his face and presses his tongue against your core, sticking it inide and lapping up your release that has you squirming in place and crying out as the heat bubbles up inside you again. 

the tip of his nose presses between your asscheeks, making you yelp. it’s a new sensation… not one you’ve experienced before. matty only laughs at your reaction. 

“did i startle you, sweetheart?” he speaks right near your entrance, the vibrations from his words building up the familiar feeling once again.

“matty…” you whimper, not even caring that he wouldn’t like that. and his displeasure becomes evident a moment later when you feel a nip at the soft skin of you ass, teeth sinking into your flesh. 

“what are you good for, huh?” he growls, “need me to fuck you into being a good girl?”

“yes…fuck—” whatever you were about to say is cut of by his tongue sliding inside you again, thumb flicking roughly against your clit. with his other arm, matty holds you up, stops you from sinking onto the mattress entirely. 

his tongue and his thumb create a dizzying rhythm, altering pressure against your insides and on your clit until you’re cumming all over his tongue, practically on his face with his lips still attached to your entrace. matty takes it all, lapping up every last drop and holding you by your waist to keep you upright until you’re panting and sobbing, unable to handle the euphoria. 

you get a few moments to breathe in between, just a few seconds to pull yourself back together before his fingers are plunged inside you. the rhythm repeats, cold metal, wam skin, rough thumb, your body that jolts from his electric touches, matty who coaxes another orgasm out of you in minutes. this time his fingers form a v inside you, stretching you out more. 

it hurts at first as your body desperately tries to adjust to it. the sound of his fingers pumping in and out of your wet cunt is too much, the filthy, obscene squelching sounds, that he seems to get off on. 

you bite onto the pillow so hard that it rips. seconds later, matty’s laughter rings out in the room as he realises what you’ve done. 

“look at you, sweetheart,” he taunts, “so feral.” his fingers part inside you again until you are capable of nothing else but screaming his name over and over again, begging for just one more orgasm. another one and the you’ll be satisfied. just one. 

“please, sir,” matty mocks in a high pitched voice, an exaggerated pout on his face. it borders on cruelty. it’s a shame your body confuses humiliation for more pleasure. “made you cum multiple times, wasn’t it enough? greedy cockslut,” he spits. 

you know you’re close to cumming again, waiting for his permission. your body strains from the effort feeling too full. until his fingers slide in deeper and something clicks. 

“go on then,” he grunts again but you already are… 

wet hot liquid gushes all over his hand, practically drenching his face that’s so close to your cunt right as you cum—no, right as you squirt all over him. 

his arm’s not enough to hold you up this time. not that he tries to as you finally fall onto the mattress, trembling and breathing hard. a sharp intake of breath behind you tells you how astonished matty is. 

he recovers quickly, though, flipping you onto your back and then matty’s pulling you up and into his arms…

this is a first. not just the squirting but being held in his arms while you tremble from the aftershocks of the intense orgasm. 

“that was…” he is speechless, you realise. in all your time knowing him, he’s never been speechless. certainly never while stroking your hair after an orgam. 

“such a good little pet,” he mumbles into your hair. “what’s your colour, sweetheart?”

through the haze you try to make sense of what he’s saying. somewhere behind a fog, your mind knows the concept of colours, you know it and yet it takes you a full thirty seconds before you can answer him in a hoarse voice that you barely recognise as your own. 

“green.”

shakily, you try to fumble with his shirt buttons, wanting nothing more than to feel his skin on yours. you need to feel closer to him, to look at him while he’s buried deep inside you. even as you feel like you might float away if he lets go of you, you need him. more that before. 

“hey, hey, hey,” his big hand wraps around your wrist, still wet and sticky from your release but you don’t care. “what are you doing?”

“need you,” you whine. it’s desperate and pathetic. “please, just… need you—”

“fuck, sweetheart,” he curses against your hair, finally letting you undo all his shirt buttons with shaky and unsure hands. matty sits still, letting you take your time. “do you even know what you do to me?” 

you?? to him?? you want to ask if he knows what he does to you. how he has you thinking about him day and night, has you desperately seeking out your pillow on lonely nights, imagining it’s his hand between your thighs, his body weighing heavy on top of yours. 

“let me fuck you, baby.” for the first time, matty’s voice is gentle… the edge of it doesn’t go away though, it’s still there, even if it’s barely noticeable. “been so good for me today. just lie back down and let me make you feel good, sweetheart.”

the words do something funny to your chest, make tingles spread all over your body and you wait for him, lying on your back and desperately clenching around nothing. 

“come back,” you whine, even when he’s hurrying to shed his clothes, to pull your skirt off of you. all in all it takes him a minute to be back between your legs, his hard cock pressed against you and making your hiss, but your body feels cold from the absence of his body heat. 

“my needy little thing,” he murmurs. even when he seems tender, his particular desire to torture you stays. 

matty doesn’t enter you just yet, still keeping his fingers on your clit, drawing figures of eight on it until your mind is floating, your body loose and completely malleable in his hands. you barely even have the energy to open your eyes and look at him, at his curls plastered to his forehead. 

“i ne–need you,” you cry out again, getting squirmy and desperate, writhing beneath his touch. he doesn’t oblige, he just keeps building up another orgasm in you. even when you’re getting too sensitive to his touch. 

“you’re my little toy, aren’t you?” his words keep falling onto your ears from all sides, nothing compared to the haze of ecstasy you’re in. “cum for me again, baby. just one more time and then i’m yours. then i’ll do whatever you want.”

you know better than to trust his promises. 

outside of this bedroom, his entire job hinges on his ability to get people to believe in his promises. to fall for his sweet words. 

and what had he called you before? a dumb little slut? because he might as well be right. 

within minutes you’re falling apart around his fingers again. you have no control of your body anymore, no control over your orgasms. all you can to is cling onto him, wrap your legs around his waist to keep him close. to keep holding onto the last thread of your sanity. 

“there you go,” he breathing onto your skin before you’re even done coming down from your high, sliding inside you before you can catch your breath. 

it’s maddening in the best of ways—to be so full of him that you forget about your own existence. 

“matty…”

“sound so sweet when you say my name like that, baby.” his voice comes from somewhere on top of you. he’s bottomed out now, hard and thick and filling you in so much more than his fingers did. 

the soft sheets of the bed rustle against your skin as he moves—slow at first and only ramping up at the pace when you nod at him and squeeze him between your legs. 

your long nails dig deep into his shoulders, sinking into his skin and leaving scratches all over his unmarred skin but you need to hold onto something. his cock hitting that spot deep inside you feels too good. his hips ramming into yours has you on the edge so much quicker that you can ever imagine. you aren’t going to last much longer and matty’s only just getting started. 

“look at you,” he tuts, “fucked dumb and practically drooling onto your chin. is that what my cock does to you, hmm?”

you nod like a puppet on a string. a whine builds deep in your chest and each of his movements has you clawing his back. matty takes it all—the pain from your sharp nails, you clenching tightly around him over and over again, squeezing his body between your thighs. 

his hips ram against yours, body tensing the more he moves, stomach muscles pulled taut. 

“fuck,” he grunts, “‘m close, sweetheart, gonna cum inside you, okay? gonna pump you full of my cum.”

“ye–yes, ‘m close too, shit, so–so—”

matty shushes, sparing you the effort of constructing an entire sentence. he’s twitching inside you, moving in an erratic rhythm. sweat drips off him and onto your chest. and it’s the one particularly hard thrust that gets you before you’re clenching around him tightly, cumming with everything left in you, dizzy and disoriented. 

that must have pushed him over the edge too because you feel something warm and thick filling you up, dripping down your thighs. his arms shake with the effort of holding him up on top of you but you’re too far gone to care. too far gone to even relish in the groans that echo around you. all you can do is quietly whimper his name and hold onto him tightly, to keep him inside you, close to you for as long as possible. 

exhaustion weighs on you like a tonne of bricks. if only you could close your eyes for a second…

“hey!” matty sharp voice jerks you out of your thought. 

“tired…” is all you manage to say. but a moment later he’s pulling out of you. the emptiness you feel has you whining softly, barely even paying attention as matty dips his mouth between your legs again. 

“lemme clean you up, pet,” he whispers, tongue already on your thigh, “been so good to me today, let me clean you up. then you can sleep.”

you’re fairly certain you give him a nod, writhing under him as matty proceeds to clean between your legs with his mouth, both yours and his release now coating his tongue. but you hiss in pain when his tongue makes contact with your clit again. your eyes well up. this time, they’re not tears of pleasure.  

you gather up all your strength or whatever’s left of it to clench your thighs shut. “yellow, matty, please… please.”

in an instant, he moves away, shushing you while stroking your head. “it’s done, baby, no more. i promise.” 

his voice sounds firm and you have a vague memory of the feeling of a wet cloth between your legs some time later. all you know is he’s there, pressing a glass of cold water to your lips, urging you to drink from it. all you remember is him ringing up room service to order some food. and then the feeling of being pulled into someone’s arms. 

lemme know what you think <33

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add yourself to the taglist

[lost-in-lamentation]

i'm actually going mad over the fact that i may have lost my nb acc forever

you push the door to levi's room open, disregarding the password and opting to head straight to his bathtub. levi doesn't even realise that you've entered until the door slams unceremoniously loud behind you, making him jolt out of his gaming chair and whip around to face you. he stutters an incoherent sentence, but quickly falls quiet when you flop down into blankets that cushion the porcelain walls.

"they deleted my devil craft account! i spent so much time on that world too!" the outburst leaves him shocked, causing him to set down his controller and slowly roll himself over to you. "jeez, you don't log in for like, two months, and they take it as a reason to delete all your data."

levi leans his elbows on the edge of the tub, hands twiddling above your face as searches for the words to say. finally, he settles on an offer rather than comfort. "if you want- and you don't have to say yes! but if you want, i have an alt account on devil craft. there's not as much stuff on there as your main had, but i think you might like the world i started building." levi's words taper off, confidence wavering when he sees you blink up at him in disbelief.

but then a grin breaks out on your face, and levi feels the relief flooding through his veins. "will you share your other worlds with me if i say yes?"

"i-if you're okay with sharing, then i'll share anything you want me to share."

"deal."

you reach your hands up to close around his, and before levi has the chance to pull away with a scream, you drag him down into the tub next to you. levi falls next to you with a dull thud, pressing into your side as he slides down onto the blankets. you can't help but laugh at his expression, all anger forgotten as you watch levi debate internally about whether he should run away or finally give in.

so levi icon what do we think everyone

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

[salemcantupdate]

hi returning the favor of sending me an ask for the dragon age oc ask game ^-^

for your warden: 13 16

for your hawke: 17 6

for your inqy: 4 10

Ok so I tried answering this once and everything got deleted, time to try again. Anyways, I’ve already answered 13, 6, and 4, but I’ll add them and try to add bonus info for the specific character requested! Now then let’s get to it.

13. What are Warden’ thoughts on the Grey Warden Order?

Surana at first likes the wardens a fare amount, but things get harder as he becomes more official and learns of other sects. The fact that it is traditional for each group of wardens to only have 1 mage? The fact that many of the warden higher ups were angered by his decision to spare the Architect? What he learns during that time? And now he seeks a cure. It's complicated, but at the end of the day they are his people, and he is a warden before he is a mage, a warden before he is an elf. [Additional Information:] He loves the Wardens, but in many ways they disappoint him. The fact that Wardens who receive their callings are so quickly sent away, the fact that if a Warden is injured they’re sent on their Calling early, the lack of research, how blood magic is so finicky, that mages are rarely remembered in the history books for their importance in each Blight, the fact that they don’t put more Ghouls through the Joining. He is upset that the Grey Wardens can’t openly stand with mages. But really he just feels that he is pulled in so many different directions. The elves, the mages, the Crown, and the Wardens. He is tired.

16. Does my Warden get sentimental about armor/weapons?

Yeah! Kind of, but he’s more attached to jewelry that he has received. The Ring of Study from the Circle, the Warden’s Oath pendant, the necklace ‘Reflection’ from “Jowan” in the Urn of Sacred Ashes quest, the earring Zevran gifts him, and the ring that Morrigan gifts him in Witch Hunt. But he did also grow a fondness for Wade’s armor and his specific craftsmanship, especially since he wore that same armor since he got it through all of the DLC’s.

6. What is my Hawke’s attitude towards the Qun?

Hawke considers them inhuman monsters, rather racist about it all tbh, but he hates them. [Additional Information:] He had a strong distaste from the beginning of the game, back in Lothering. All due to the Qunari that killed Bethany’s friend and her family (yes, Sten). His opinion worsened as he spent more time with Anders, who obviously hated how they treated mages. But, during Act 1 and early Act 2, Hawke knew better than to actively anger the Qunari and actually grew a begrudging respect with the Arishok. This went down the drain with the attack on the city. Either way Hawke does the duel with pleasure, after all I got Red Hawke who lives up to his Killer nickname.

17: What was my Hawke like as a child?

He was a very quiet kid, especially since he was basically raised to be constantly scared of the possibility of gaining magic or his father getting caught somehow. When he didn’t gain magic and Beth and Carver was born, he was instead taught and damn near trained to watch the twins like a hawk (haha) for any signs of magic to ensure that he could get them to safety if things went wrong. Essentially, he was being trained to act as a Templar for the family since he was little. He was forced to be an adult from a very young age and essentially parent-ified, more often than not the twins would go to him to settle disputes between them rather than going to Leandra or Malcolm. Another thing, Hawke actually trained Carver how to fight!

4. What is my Inqy’s view on Andrastianism?

Cadash goes through an arc. At first they're overall pretty neutral, it's just the human religion, but as they become the Herald they start to believe it, kind of. But yeah they end up having a way more complicated relationship, which makes sense! They are the Herald after all. [Additional Information:] Cadash actually did consider Andrastianism early on in their career in the Carta, they were feeling guilty as shit and they found some comfort in a Chantry Sister. This didn’t really work out though so they’ve long since shrugged that off by the point of Inquisition, but when they’re suddenly made the head of a Chantry organization is does lead to a bit of an internal crisis. Especially since the Chantry teaches that the Maker didn’t create the dwarves. Why would they be His chosen? They never fully convert I don’t think, and they aren’t really sure if He exists, and even if they aren’t really the Herald they feel a strong kinship with Andrade. But they do end up just accepting the comfort that faith sometimes provides.

10. Is my Inqy good at horse riding?

HA, no, they’re a dwarf. Too short and too heavy at the same time. Plus they’re lowkey scared of horses, freaky buggers. They do however end up getting and riding a nugalope, which they much prefer, they’re just more comfortable for their dwarfy self. They’re still not great at it though.

[sunshinechay]

Okay I finally had time today to finish watching your video and my god thank you!!!

You perfectly explained all of the reasons I dropped Only Friends half way through and only watched the specific scenes lots of the fandom talked about after that. The fandom had way more to do with why I dropped it than anything the show ever did and it only got worse the longer the show went on.

Like you explained in the video, I also had figured out towards the beginning of the show that it likely wasn’t going to be as messy as we all wanted it to be (myself included) but I still settled for a good ride and for Jojo and Den and Ninew to tell as true a story as they could (and I think they succeed) but watching the fandom take a tail spin into anger made me want to watch it less and less, to the point where I tried to stay off tumblr as much as I could the day the finale aired because I KNEW the reactions were going to be bad. Now watching some people go after Jojo like they go after Mame has just made me never want to interact with some people ever again. It’s frustrating and I love so many people in this fandom so I mostly tried to stay quiet about my dislike of it.

P.S. The stuff about TopMew and ForceBook. Couldn’t agree more. I like TopMew more than most I think (because I love the bickering married couple trope I’m not sorry) but the fact that there were times (from what I watched and other specific scenes from the episodes I didn’t) that I genuinely wondered why they were together and why they shouldn’t break up and the awkward chemistry is a testiment to ForceBook and abilities and yet people just went after them and the people who liked them and just made me go “big yikes” and also “please don’t do that” (also would like to echo that MJ please don’t delete your account I love you so much)

P.P.S. thank you for the stuff about pathologizing characters and especially about whether or not actions should be considered abusive or not. While you were speaking specifically to OFMD (which I have not seen) as well as your own experiences, it also spoke to me with regards to the way some of the fandom has treated Ray in OFTS. Week after week I would have sit and try to calm myself down after the show aired because of it. Because no he does not react well when things don’t go his way and yes he will resort to insulting/mistreating people he does genuinely care about when he is upset and he will absolutely say things he does not mean and will later regret but he does it anyway because he has no better way of expressing himself. While I do not think he has ADHD and the often resulting RSD, he definitely has trauma (likely stemming from parental neglect) that makes him react the way someone with ADHD (and RSD) would. In my most bitter moments, I sat here and just went “tell me you’ve never suffered from low self worth/self esteem, depression and suicidal ideation or never suffered parental neglect of any kind without telling me you’ve never suffered those things” because it felt like so many people were invalidating my own lived experiences and calling me abusive for also having done some of those things. (Because ADHD/RSD and depression/anxiety/passive suicidal ideation are a bitch of a combination I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy). Ray’s lived experiences with his mental health and parental situation (at least in terms of parental neglect) are pretty similar to my own (barring addiction) and watching other people simplify it and call him abusive towards others (especially Sand) to justify why they don’t like him or why they think another character has the moral high ground above him (which they do not, that’s the whole fucking point of the show) felt a lot like people telling me that they have the moral high ground on me and I’m a terrible person for having suffered those things and having reacted in similar ways to him. Ray might not be a perfect character and he does treat a lot those around him like crap because of his issues, which is not okay, but the fact that he gets help towards the end and hopefully starts becoming a better version of himself makes me feel hope for my own continued work on myself but seeing so many people just continue to shit on him makes me even more scared to interact with people in the fandom then I already was because what if they realize I can be like that too and thus decide they don’t want to know me at all?

made a video dissecting Clexa, Izzy's death, the messy ending of Only Friends, and Gaylors. please pray for me 🙏

[ultralightpoe]

Mistaken Hatred - Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: This was a request, but I might have accidentally deleted it! If this was something you requested sorry for the lateness! Idk what happened 

Word Count: 4748

Warnings: angst, aemond is a loud-mouthed asshole 

Description: Aemond is sure that you are enemies and stuck in a marriage of convenience 

Aemond could remember the days when you hadn’t hated him. 

You had both been young, far too young to understand the war brewing between your mothers or recognize any of the vile things that had been said. He could still smell the oils in your hair from all the times your would wrap your arms around him, still taste the strawberries he would steal from you as you both lazed under the weirwood tree together. 

He remembers his heart beating faster at every smile you would give him. 

But something had changed in the both of you somewhere along the way, and though he could not pinpoint a certain moment you became enemies he knew for a fact that he hated you just as much as you hated him.  

“Tell me, bastard, how does it feel knowing you will never live up to anything?” He sneered, watching as your eyes narrowed in on him. 

“Are you sure you even know who you are speaking to? Can you see out of that rock?” You snap back, giving a false cringe to his eye that makes him blush. “Aemond…… It’s me, it’s Y/n. You are speaking to Lady Y/n.”

  His jaw tenses in anger as you continue to tease him, rolling his eye. “I do still believe that you and your brothers owe me an eye….”

“An eye for an eye? What’s next? You take your mothers balls?” You laugh, walking past him in your riding leathers, making sure to hit him with your hair as you throw it over your shoulder. “Tell me how that goes will you? Always enjoyed watching you cry.” 

The day his father broke the news of the peace treaty Aemond could feel nothing but relief. A tension released as he had the greens and the blacks forge the peace treaty. His half sister, Rhaenyra, would get the throne and after her it would pass to her son. 

But there were things needed to ensure the alliance lasted past his fathers dying wish, a marriage for example. 

His brother had already been married of to his poor older sister, Aemond only feeling pity for his closest friend as she struggled to survive. His nephews had been arranged to marry the Velayron girls to ensure that peace, and his baby brother Daeron would still be in Olde Town until the end of summer. That left him…….and you. 

When Viserys made the announcement Aemond had already been looking to you, waiting with baited breath for you to argue. A wave of embarrassment already clinging to his being at the thought of you outright denying him. 

Not that he cared, you were a constant thorn in his side. 

“Tell me, do people ever make eye contact when they speak to you?” You snipe, sitting across from him at the septas library, smirking. “Would you feel better if I went cross eyed?”

“I would feel better if you left. Or if you and your siblings were finally taken from the world. ” He sighs, refusing to look up from the book he had grabbed for the day. “You have a terrible habit of absorbing all the energy and patience of a room.”

“Good to know I have such a large effect on you.” You laugh, snatching the book before he could process what you were doing. “Thank you.”

“I was reading that you bastard-”

“Oh here we go with the bastard- Aemond, darling, I look exactly like my mother. You have no evidence.” You stick out your tongue before moving to stand.

“Give the book back!” He sneers, launching for it until you hit his forehead with it lightly.

“I need it, you ghost. Go find a romance somewhere.” 

“I was reading it-” “I take precedence-”

“No you absolutely do not-”

“I do indeed, my matter is more important than yours.” You say it bluntly, with such a straight face that Aemond finds himself intrigued.

“What do you need it for?”

“I need it to impress a boy.” You smile, moving to leave. 

Aemond clenches his fist as an unknown feeling settles in his gut, watching you leave with his book. 

You hadn’t looked at him that day, but you hadn’t argued either. You merely stared at the floor in quiet surrender that had his jaw clenching. 

You were acting sad when it was him that was being thrown up like a fucking pawn? Would it really be so bad to be married to him?

Rhaenrya and his mother met in the middle of the throne room, hugging softly as all the children watched, you refusing to look up while you held your youngest brothers hand tightly. 

Jace and Luke stood on either side of you while Joffrey stood right by Daemon, who was holding young Aegon to his chest. 

“May our families join as one, once more.” Viserys smiles, the cue taken soon enough as everyone began to mingle. 

“Let us see the future lovers closer together!” The elder Aegon slurs, snatching your shoulder to drag you closer to Aemond. 

He takes a moment to slap his brothers hand away from your shoulder, shoving him back and mumbling “Don’t ruin this peace treaty Aegon.”

When he turned to speak with you it seemed you already disappeared, spotting you in the hallway with your stepfather Daemon arguing. 

The blistering heat seeped into his skin as his riding leathers seemed heavier with each step he took, hair beginning to mat to his neck. 

Aegons 18th name day was to be celebrated by a tourney, every knight lord and noble of the realm having traveled to compete or attend, including all the beautiful females.

Not that the last fact would ever matter to Aemond, who had been completely ignored by every female since he had his eye carved out as a boy. All except one, one constant pain in his side. 

“Lord Baratheon, this is my-.....this is Prince Aemond.” You correct yourself, a sweet smile laced on your features as you keep a hand rested in the lords elbow. 

“Prince Aemond! A pleasure to meet you!” The lord smiles, bowing slightly, giving Aemond the chance of making quick eye contact with you before the lord stands to his full height once more. 

“We’ve met…. My 13th name day, 3 years ago.” He says tightly, hands crossed behind his back as he turns to look away from the both of you.

“Right… the um…. The year that you….”

“The year my nephews tore out my nephew and you and your charming followers through dirt in it on my own name day?” He reminds, turning just in time to see a look of shock cross your features. You obviously hadn’t know, having been dragged back home to Dragonstone for your parents to marry in secret. 

“I…. must have been far too into the ale My Prince.” The lord lies, trying not to look irritated or embarrassed. “Lady Y/n was allowing me to escort her to the-”

“Princess Y/n.” Aemond reminds, finally looking to the lord. “Bastard or not her mother is the heir.”

“Aemond-” You snap, turning to the boy in a panic as Aemond laughs. “My lord, I do apologize-”

“So it’s true? You’re a bastard?” The boy snaps, eyes narrowed as he looks down at you. For a second Aemond gets a rush of irritation looking at how the lord was using his height as a weapon against you, taking a second to step between you two.

“I- Lord Baratheon, the words my uncle speaks come from anger and not truth- you must believe me.” You try to ease the situation and the lord gives you a skeptical look. “Let us get back to our walk, you were just telling me about the difference between dear and elk?” 

“Is that why you picked the book up the other day? To try and hide your half title from any suitor?” Aemond snaps, finally scaring off the other male as you whip to look at him. 

“That was not funny-”

“Shouldn’t you be sitting with the rest of your fucking bastard family?”

“What is wrong with you today?” You snap, turning to walk away but he follows.

“You are my problem, walking around just like your mother had.”

“What does that mean?” You whip around to glare, a smirk crossing his features as he finally pinpoints how to irritate you.

“It means you and your mother are whore-” A hand snaps across his face making his head whip back, a shocked look taking over. “Wha-”

“I suggest you fix your tone and implications the next time I see you. Prince.” You snap, storming off. 

You don’t make any eye contact at the wedding. 

Not when you slice your hand open as well as his, not when he rubs his bloody thumb over your forehead and you do the same to him. 

Aemond can’t do anything but stare. 

You had worn one of the finest gowns in westeros, hand stitched by 4 people to fully celebrate the union between blacks and greens. Your hair had been done into one of the most intricate braids he had ever seen, pearls and diamonds braided in. 

He mutters the respective words of the Targaryen wedding tradition before you do the same, leaning to touch your nose against his as told, finally looking at him. His heart stops in his chest as he attempts an easy smile. You ignore it. 

You sit by him at the feast, smiling at all the guests that had come to congratulate you both on the union and peace treaty. 

Though when once a particular lord comes up he feels your entire being tense as a faint recognition travels through him. 

“I congratulate the two on a blessed union, and I hope them well in the children department.” He mutters, head bowing as Aemond nods, trying to remember where he had seen the man. “Let us hope that Y/n carries the bastard blood to save her from the Targaryen curses with pregnancy.”

The room silenced almost instantly, everyone holding their breath as Aemond finally recognized the man in front of him. It was the lord from a couple years back, the one he had mocked your legitimacy to. 

“Hold your tongue Lord Baratheon-” His father snaps, casting a look to Rhaenyra who was holding her own stomach. 

Targaryen pregnancies were a curse indeed, for his fathers first wife had gone through multiple and the only one to come was Rhaenyra herself. 

“I wouldn’t worry about any future heirs , Lord Baratheon, it’s not my style.” Aemonds entire tone is tart, casting a side look to see you clenching your fist and biting your lip. 

You must have been embarrassed from the bastard comment the lord made, and for the very thought of being bred like a horse. Aemond hated the thought himself, he would not be providing an heir unless you yourself asked for one.

The lord is dismissed with a group of guards under the pretense of them taking him home, but Aemond knew that Daemon had already ordered he wasn’t to leave the grounds alive. The second the group disappears through the doors the festivities begin again and Aemond finds himself standing up when you do.

“Did you want to dance-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you slap his outstretched hand away. 

“I’m not feeling well. I shall be going to my chambers.” You reply, moving to walk past him but he stops you with a hand on your elbow. 

“People will talk-”

“Oh please. They have been fed enough gossip to last them months. Lord Baratheon implying that I am a bastard in front of the court and my new husband stating I was not to his taste? I’ve been made a laughing stock tonig-”

“I did not say you were not to my taste. I meant forcing an heir was not to my taste.” He rushes out, getting extremely defensive without meaning to. “When did you become so weak? I can remember multiple times where your tongue was as silver as a snake.”

“Or maybe I just finally realized that you were being serious all those times.” You seethe, hitting his shoulder. 

“And you weren’t?” He is absolutely dumbfounded. You two had been enemies for years? What could you mean you weren’t serious?

“I was a fool who thought we were jesting. And I soon realized that you were just a monster.” You reply cooly, finally making your escape and leaving Aemond at your wedding. 

“Don’t tell me, little princling, you don’t have any friends?” You giggle, coming around the thick tree to see Aemond hiding and reading. 

His eyebrows knot together as a scowl takes over, turning to you. “I hadn’t realized the brothel would be moving into the keep….. Please tell me they put your rooms far away from mine. Only the gods know what I could catch within dragon space of you.” 

“Mmmm. Thinking of ways to catch something are you? Want to ride-”

“What do you need, bastard?” He snaps, a heat traveling his skin as he watches something twinge in your features. 

“I was hoping we could discuss the other day,” You say, tone sounding all too serious. “When I slappe-”

“I remember quite well.” He interrupts, slamming the book shut. The same book you had stolen him a mere 2 weeks before. 

“It was a terrible reaction, I am aware. I just- well you see…. I was trying to impress Lord Baratheon for my moth-”

“Is there a reason I should care?”

“I’m trying to explain why I am upset, Aemond. So that I may apologize correctly” You sigh, looking completely puzzled. “I feel we crossed a line the other day and I had no idea-”

“Crossed a line? How so? It is well within my right to call a whore when I see one.” He snaps, standing so he wasn’t looking up at you. The sunlight perfectly framed your figure as he moved closer, waiting for your retaliation that never came. “What? Don’t you want to make a comment? Something humorous to go and laugh at with your lowlife wasteful siblings.”

“Watch your tongue-”

“Or what?” He snaps, stepping closer. You instantly shove him back with a hurt look. 

“You……this entire time you meant everything….” You looked absolutely torn, some of your hair falling out of your braid as you watch him. “I… oh how foolish I have been.”

You are storming off then, hands clenched as you march past Aegon and go to where your eldest brother waits for you. 

“RUN AND CRY TO YOUR FAMILY THEN! MAYBE YOU CAN TELL YOUR REAL FATHER ALL ABOUT IT SOON!” 

Jace whips around to charge at him and Aegon but you catch your brothers arm, pulling him harshly and muttering something under your breath before you both disappear from sight.

Before Aegon can make a snappy comment Aemond storms off, leaving the book under the tree.

Aemond doesn’t see you for three days after the wedding, but he doesn’t mind that, his brain is still trying to wrap around the confusion of your words. 

What had you mean that you thought it was all a jest, had you been mocking him for a reaction all those years? Had you not been trying to fight him? 

“Prince Aemond, Princess Y/n has sent a-” He snatches the note from the pageboy instantly, unraveling it to read the contents inside. 

‘Heading to Dragonstone to help with the rest of my mothers pregnancy. I will send word before I return.’

“Has she left already?” He asks, standing to get to the door and find your chambers, needing to talk to you before you left. Just to sort some of his thoughts out. 

“She took flight this morn, with her brothers, to follow their Princess Rhaenrya back home.” The page explains. “Left that in the room, maids brought it to me.”

A sigh escapes Aemond as he nods, heading out of the room to find one of his own siblings. He would send a raven asking for a word later, right now he needed to finalize some of the peace treaties issues. 

He was ashamed to admit he sat in the library and waited for you to come in just as you always did and bother him. He waited to start a fight with you, already thinking of insults that would keep up with your own. 

He pretended to read the history book he had snatched that morning as he listened for the door, trying not to seem too excited when he heard it groan. 

It had been a week since the day under the weirwood tree, and neither of you had gone this long without mocking the other. He was beginning to get an anxious feeling. 

“Prince Aemond-” His head snaps up when he realizes it’s not you, angry that it wasn’t your smug voice about to mock him. “Your mother has requested your presence-”

“Tell her I am busy.” He says quickly, turning to the door to make sure you don;t enter without him noticing. 

“She says that she will not let you hide in here all day. She says I must take you to her or the trai-”

“Fine.” He sighs, grabbing his sword and storming out. 

He sees a dash of y/h/c and straightens as he leaves, disappointment filling him when it was just a trick of light. 

Your mother had lost the babe, naming the child Aemma in honor of her own mother, and you had sent word that you would be staying to care for your mother in her time of need. 

That hadn’t annoyed Aemond, what had annoyed him was that you sent word to his mother and not he. 

“Page?” He calls the young boy as his mother stares. “Are you sure I haven’t received any news from dragonsto-”

“Just the one raven My lord. I accepted it myself.” The page says, bowing. Aemond feels a wave of dread and embarrassment fill him as he turns back to his mother. 

“Are my ravens not reaching there?” 

“As far as I am aware they are, dearest.” Alicent sighs, standing to rub his cheek.

“Please let my lady wife know I am patiently waiting to hear from her.” He sighs, teeth rubbing together as he leaves the room. 

“Is there any word on Lady Y/n?” Aemond asks one of the guards, trying to seem casual. “I have not seen her around the keep in a couple days.”

“Lady Y/n has traveled with her father to grab a dragon egg for her future sibling,” The guard explains. Aemond feels a wave of relief at the fact that you had been gone and not avoiding him. That is until, “They left this morning, Prince.”

“Why did she go at all?” 

“Princess Rhaenrya is due to labor soon and they were hoping her dragon would help find the eggs.” 

Rhaenrya was about to have her first child with Daemon, and as Targaryen tradition held the babe would get an egg, the only issue was the lack of eggs. 

There had been a dragon on the island eating all the unhatched eggs, the people beginning to call him Cannibal. 

“Will you notify me when they return? I believe she has a book of mine-”

“It is to my understanding Prince, that Lady Y/n will be staying at Dragonstone with the rest of her family.”

Aemond is at a loss for words, storming off. 

Another week had passed and Aemond had debated flying out to Dragonstone himself and demanding answers, but he quickly remembers that this is a marriage of convenience to you and he does not wish to look like a fool. 

King Viserys dies, and although he is minorly upset, Aemond is delighted that you will have to come back to Kings Landing. 

He waits for your dragon to land, watching you closely as you dismount the dragon and climb down the ladder you had, eyes meeting his instantly. 

He is ashamed to admit that his heart beat wildly as you made your way closer, wearing black for mourning. 

“I am sorry for your loss, Husband.” You say lowly, moving to walk by him but he turns to keep walking with you. 

“As I am yours, Wife.” He mumbles, trying to keep up with your quick pace. “I have not heard from you, I had assumed you to be dead.”

“I do know you wish me to see my father, how very thoughtful you have always been.” You mutter, words sounding venomous as you trail along the courtyard. 

“I was hoping we could discuss-” He could not understand why he was so nervous. What was freaking him out so much? “I must go and attend to my ladies at court, much to do before my mother's coronation.” You interrupt, strutting off and leaving him behind. 

He barely sees you at your mothers coronation, for you were standing with the rest of your siblings to watch closer than the rest. 

While you were watching your mother with wide eyes, Aemond could not drag his eyes away from you. 

His chest ached as he prayed for a chance to talk to you, just for a moment. 

You’re gone by daylight, Aemond asking for you and your father telling him you were caring for an issue left on Dragonstone. 

He is agitated at the news but doesn’t have time to think before Rhaenyra is asking him to fly to Winterfell. “Lord Stark is the final signature needed to back my coronation, I need a good rider to get there and back.”

“After that may I have your permission to head to Dragonstone.” He snaps, trying to keep his cool as Daemons head whips to look at him. “I wish to see my wife and I am aware that Dragonstone is not-”

“You are permitted.” Rhaenyra smiles, patting his shoulder before moving to where his mother stood. 

He does as told, heading to Winterfell on Vhagar to receive the final signature. He stays there for a week as they go over all the final details before a messenger races in, running straight for Aemond.

He doesn’t say anything as he tears it open, reading the contents inside over and over before apologizing to Lord Cregon and rushing for Vhagar. 

It takes nearly 2 days of flying before he gets to you at dragonstone. Landing Vhagar and jumping down from the saddle while racing behind a guard to get to you. 

He doesn’t waste time thanking the guard or waiting to be announced as he burst into the room, making you jump from where you are sat in a bed. 

“Aemond? You should be in Winter-”You begin to yell, moving to sit up. He crosses the room in three strides, softly pushing you back down as you look at him skeptically. 

“I received word that you and your dragon had been hurt.” He states, stepping back to check all the injuries while keeping his hands on your shoulders. “There had been a wild dragon?”

“I was merely trying to protect a batch of eggs.” You explain, trying to remove his hand. “It was fine, you should not have been called-”

“I should not have been summoned after my wife was nearly killed?” He snaps, confusion littering his face as he spots a familiar book on the nightstand. “I knew you stole it.”

“Did you honestly fly out here to accuse me of stealing a book?” You snipe, reaching for it before he can grab it. But you were slow from the injuries and he was already lunging for it. 

“I flew out here because I was terrified you would die-”

“And you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to celebrate it properly?”

“I was afraid that you would die. No snide comments were going to follow that sentence.” He states bluntly, sitting on the edge of the bed to peer into the book. “It’s still so odd to me that you picked this book to impress Lord Baratheon-”

“You think I took that book to impress that trout-faced ass?” You laugh incredusly, still looking nervous at his presence. “I took it to impress you.”

His head snaps up with a blush, smiling softly. “You took the book to impress me?”

“A terrible thought out plan considering I hadn’t quite realized you actually hated me. Did you ever consider that I had been talking you up to Lord Baratheon that day?” You mumble, looking away and messing with the cover of the bed. 

He lets silence consume you both as he flips through the book, stopping when he comes across sketches of himself, all extremely detailed. “D-did you draw these?”

“Awhile ago, yes.” You whisper. “The septa found the book and returned it to me that day-”

“You had been joking all those years, and I had been an ass.” He speaks, voice tight at the truth, watching your face.

“I never meant to offend you-”

“But I had. I had always meant to offend you while you were merely thinking of me as a friend. A friend that you thought was pretty enough to draw.” He states, fingers tracing over one of the sketches. “That entire time I had been a monster.”

“Aemond-”

“That’s why you avoid me now? Because I had acted that way?”

“I figured you’d still hate me.” You sigh, wincing in pain as you try to sit up. Within moments he has one arm wrapped around you torso for support, the other sitting in between your neck and shoulder. 

“How foolish and terrified I have been….”

“You should be in Winter-” You don’t get to finish your words, his lips coming to meet yours soft and slowly. 

You hesitate for a moment before kissing back, hands moving to his hair. 

“I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry.” He whispers in short moments when you both try to catch your breath before lunging back in for another kiss. “I’ve wasted so much time.”

“Aemond…” You breathe out as he pulls you closer, kissing you like a man possessed. He moves you gently so that he his kneeling between your legs and you are resting on the pillows, kissing your jaw with content. 

“I’m sorry..”

“So am I.” You mumble but he shakes his head. 

“I’m a fool. All this time I have wasted trying to hate you and you were merely reaching a playful hand out.” He sighs, kissing down your neck. “Forgive me, please princess, forgive your foolish husband.”

“Forgiven.” You whisper, pulling him back up softly. “It is all forgiven.”

“I do not wish for this to be a marriage of convenience. I wish for you, it’s all I have ever wished for whether I realized it or not. Please- Give me a chance-”

“Accepted.” You smile, pulling him closer and tugging him to kiss you. “You have been granted one more chance.”

He smiles, leaning down and dragging his own lips against yours in a possessive kiss, eye glinting in the soft light. 

Once you are healed he prepares Vhagar, watching you mount your own dragon carefully.

“You feel even the slightest twinge of pain and we head back-”

“Instantly. I know. You worry wart.” You laugh, hair blowing in the wind as he looks at you with a raised brow. “Gonna keep AN EYE on me, Lover boy?”

“Keep taunting all you want…..” He smiles, “You’ll pay for it all tonight, you old maid.”

“Old maid?!” You laugh. “That makes you a corpse!”

You take flight, leaving him to curse and push Vhagar to go, racing through the skies as you begin to track the wild dragon Cannibal. 

It wouldn’t be long before he would need to find a dragon egg for his child, and he needed to make sure there was an egg to procure.

“Come on grandpa! You’re slowing down!” You laugh, looking back to stick your tongue out at him. 

It takes him a moment to catch his breath as he smiles at you, and to think that he missed all of this by being a twit. But he doesn’t apologize again, knowing how you’ve come to hate it, instead he pushed Vhagar faster and calls “Loser won’t be allowed to finish tonight!”

You looked shocked for a moment before he has his dragon sweeping under yours and taking lead. “But considering how much I love you, dearest wife, I will consider giving you at least one orgasm.” 

He laughs and flies off, leaving you desperate to catch up.

(REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND WILL BEGIN BEING POSTED ON MONDAYS)

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AEMOND TAGLIST 

@Schniiipsel

@Sluttyaemond

@Lovelynerdytraveler

@Rosaryos

@Bbyhangman

@Winxschester

@Neenieweenie

@anthonys-viscountess

@Ggglitch-exe

@Shnadaidas

@Gaisse-blog

@Dudfahsn

@Afro-hispwriter

@Ghosstbb

@Nerdy4itall

@Gawabby

@Abrielleholland

@Chevyharvelle

@Gloryekaterina

@Immyowndefender

@Ichanelvxgue

@Dangerousbluebirdpoetry

@Destroyingdestiny

@Minaxcarter

@Lawlerek

@Tivedetek4869

@Shawin02

@Maplumebleue-blog-blog

@Applepyesworld

@Solacestyles

@Xinsonyax

@Crazylokonugget

@Mrswhitethornbelikov

@Yu3kkii

@Mell-bell

@Justsumtuffstuff

@Icarusignite

@Nellanottevedote

@Princessmiaelicia

@Ciaraguy9

@m1ndbrand

@bregarc

@justsumtuffstuff

@lilbug139

@Valhallavalkyrie9

@Disturbing-love666

@Kittykylax

@Padfooteyes

@ultralightpoe

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[sadlysoulx]

HAIKYUU CHARACTERS THINKING YOU'RE BREAKING UP WITH THEM

(part 3 w/ Kita and Suna)

Part 1 | Part 2

⚠️ Warning⚠️: Angst

Holy shit. Did I just left a request for almost a month and a half. GOMEENNNN IM SO SORRY TO THE PERSON WHO REQUESTED IT. I forgot about it since I deleted Tumblr because y'know ✨storage✨ and because school is almost ending here and that means more school work. Im so so so so sorry, i hope finally posting the request can make it up to u. . .😔

Kita

He swung open the door, frowning. He isn't tired.

No.

He is exhausted.

The momment he went in your shared apartment, he was met by your crushing hug. Kita sighed, and slightly pushed you off.

"Hi. . ." You breathed out. "How was your day?"

Kita wanted to sarcastically say that it was the best, but he doesn't but to ruin your mood just because he had a very bad day.

"It's fine. . ." He simply said.

You laughed.

"How about let's go watch a movie?" You smiled, as you followed him into the bedroom. "I found a  good one, it's called Ocean's 8!"

You watched as Kita slipped into his pajamas, not really noticing a deep frown on his face.

"It's about a heist, I know you like those," you carefully set the CD on to the player and turned on the TV, smiling when the movie started playing.

You strutted back to the bed and your eyes landed on Kita, who was already laying down on his side of the bed, back turned to you.

"Hey!" You nudged him playfully. "C'mon let's wat—"

"Cut it off!" Kita frowned.

Your smile dropped immediately.

"Stop it okay? God your so fucking annoying," he sighed. "You know sometimes I wish I didn't asked you out. I'll waiting for you to break up with me, I have no problem with that,"

Your eyes teared up. A heavy feeling settled at the bottom of your stomach. The way he didn't stutter and the way he sounds genuine only made it painful.

But he didn't really mean it.

Right?

"I'm sorry," you got off the bed and took out the CD from the player, trying to hide you shaky voice. "I won't bother you anymore,"

He really wished he didn't say that.

But it was too late.

He woke up to you packing your things. Surprised and confused, he slowly got up, waking to you.

"Love, what are you doing?" You froze for a second before continuing to pack your things faster. "Love?"

You went out the bedroom, leaving Kita confused. Memories came flooding back in his head. Slowly but painfully, panic settled him.

You came back in the bedroom to pack up your other things.

"Love," Kita took the bag out of your hands, eyeing the half-empty closet of yours nervously. "Stop,"

"Kita!" You tried to grab the bag back but in your disappointment, he raised it up, out of your reach.

"You used to call me 'Love'," he smiled sadly, his eyes starting to water. "What happened to that?"

You stopped your attempt to get the bag back and stared at him, your own eyes starting to water. He dropped the back and his arms fell in his sides limply.

"You know I didn't mean what I said yesterday right?" He tried so hard to not to cry and tried so hard to keep his composture.

"So tell me. . ."

He let his tears fall.

"Why are you leaving me?" He sobbed out. "Y-you— We promised we won't let each other go!" he screamed, tears falling down continuously, not stopping. "What happened to that?!"

You sobbed and looked at the side, not having the courage to look at him at the eye.

"Don't leave me!" He begged and fell on his knees, head hanging low.

You slowly kneeled down and took his head on your hands, crying because you hated seeing him like this.

"I won't," you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "I won't, love,"

He sobbed and hugged you, crying onto the crook of your neck.

"Don't do that ever again," he cried, body shaking furiously.

You closed you eyes, smiling as you try to stop your tears.

"I would never,"

"I love you," he sobbed.

More tears fell.

"I love you more," you whispered, hugging him tighter.

Suna

Waking up from your sleep, you turned to the side, trying to feel for the familiar warmth. You opened your eyes, and saw that Suna wasn't actually there.

Again.

Squinting in the dark, you felt for your phone. Pressing the contact, your fingers flew over the letters of the keyboard.

'Where are you?' You sent.

There was no reply.

After 20 minutes of laying back on the bed, your phone lit up again, flashing a notification from your boyfriend.

'I'm coming home,' he replied, yet he didn't answer your question.

After a couple of minutes waiting, the door opened, revealing Suna who looked very tired.

"Where were you?" You asked.

He didn't answer and went in the bathroom. Sighing, you lay down on your bed, scrolling on your phone. Your mind wandered off.

Where would he even go at this late times like this?

A dreadful thought, made your stomach drop.

He isn't cheating, is he?

You shook your head, he wouldn't do that. He would never will because you trust him.

Suna came out of the bathroom, hair wet and droplets falling on the floor.

"You didn't answer my question," you pointed out, back turned to him.

Suna groaned out and lay down on his side if bed, back also turned to you. "Chill, I had a volleyball practice with the twins,"

"At this late time?" You scoffed.

"What do you want me to say?" Suna frowned and turned off the night lamp. "That I'm cheating on you?" There was a rustle as he lay down on the bed. "Y/N, please stop, okay?"

"I never pointed out that you are cheating on me," you said, anger starting to take over you. "You're the one who mentioned it,"

You stayed silent.

"You're probably giving me a hint that you actually are,"

Suna laughed, it wasn't the usual one that he lets out that when you say a cheesy joke, but it sounds like a stressed one, not a genuine laugh.

"See?" He said. "You're suspicious of me. Stop thinking that I'm cheating on you or else I'll actually will,"

"Unless I break up with you before you even can," you spat, you tried to hide your tears but let it out because you realized he won't see you in the dark.

There was a few momments if silence. Not a comfortable one nor the awkward ones but the heart breaking ones because none of you are brave enough to speak out your feelings.

"You're gonna leave me?"

You tried to stay still to pretend you were sleeping, but it didn't work because you were already shaking from holding your sobs.

"Please don't," he softly said, there was a waver in his voice, and you know, you just know he was already crying.

"I love you, you know that," he said, he turned around a hugged you from your behind, spooning you. "So I'm begging you. . ."

"Don't leave me," he whispered, sobbing afterwards. Suna wasn't the type to cry infront of others and the type to try not to cry infront of you. You turned around, kissing his forehead and wiping his tears.

"You don't need to tell me that," you smiled, tears still falling as you pressing your cheek on his chest. "I won't do that anyways,"

"I love you," he croaked out.

"Shut up, I love you more,"

Requests are closed for a while because I can't risk one to be hanging for a long time like that. Once school is over, I'll open it again.

Follow me on Wattpad.

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THANK YOU FOR 202 FOLLOWERS 😭💕

[yeah-i-like-to-write]

TOKYO REVENGER MANGA SPOILER DEATH CAUSED BY A TRUCK

Can I request Hanma s/o comforting him after he found out Kisaki died

Disclaimer: I binged the entire Tokyo revengers today because I had nothing to do. So yeah you don’t have to worry about spoilers anymore :]

Hanma Shuji - Headcannons

When you heard the light knock on your apartment door you immediately knew it was him.

Opening the door you saw him. His face was slightly bruised and bloody but he looked so exhausted.

“Han,my god come in.” You urged the man into your house and ushered him to the couch. You left to the small kitchen and grabbed the led kit you often used for him. Pacing back to him you crouched to where your face was infront of his. Hanma’s eyes were red and looked as if he wanted to cry. “What’s wrong,Hanma?” You asked as you took out a wound cleaning pad. “Kisaki..he..” his lips were lightly quivering. You placed the cleaning pad onto his cheek where a cut was before looking up at him confused. “You don’t mean..” you realized what could’ve happened and that’s why he’d been crying. “He’s dead..YN. Kisaki is dead!” He yelled in anger,his voice cracking. You lunged forward wrapping your arms around his neck. “I am so..sorry..” you were hesitant on your word choice,not wanting to upset him more.

He hated pity. He hated when people pitied him as if they were looking down on him.

But from you,his boyfriend it was different. He found comfort in your words knowing you didn’t think of him any less.

So he accepted your hug and leaned more into it. His face buried in the crook of your neck.

God he hated being vulnerable infront of others,it embarrassed him and made him seem weak. He had no choice but to let himself go in your arms.

No he didn’t cry,but rather stared into space as he processed what was all happening. How his work partner and “friend” had just died not long ago.

“Hanma,I’m your boyfriend. I’d never judge you for feeling sad,after all you are only human. .” He stayed quiet before replying him a low hum. He pulled you into his lap then flipped to the side. You were both laying on a tiny couch hugging eachother,trying to comfort your boyfriend who was currently in denial of his friend’s death and his emotions.

After laying down with him you eventually heard soft snores coming from him. You figured he was sleep already,the amount of stress he felt putting him to sleep.

You slowly made your way on top of him and began cleaning and placing the cutesy bandaids on each wound.

He laughed every time he saw you put them on him,so you hoped this would maybe help him laugh just a little.

You lastly cleaned the dirt he had on exposed skin before closing your med kit and putting it on the floor next to the couch.

You slowly moved off of the sleeping boy and watched as his face twitched every now and then. He probably was having a dream right now,maybe even a nightmare. You sighed before turning around and grabbing an extra blanket. Covering him,he twisted and turned before settling in getting comfortable. You bent over and placed a kiss to his temple and left to your bedroom to sleep. around three am you randomly woke up. Looking around for what could’ve woken you up. Your eyes landed on a tall figure in your door way. Screaming in pure terror you quickly looked for something to defend yourself with,but hanma’s laugh came from it. “Angel,it’s me” his voice was heard between his chuckles. “Why are you just standing in my door way!” You scolded the ravenette which only made him laugh again. “I just got here,I was going to wake you up..to see if I could..sleep with you” his voice sounded nervous as he looked away. “Of course,Han.” You patted the area next to you and he came shuffling all the way to your bed and laid next to you.

The atmosphere was comfortable,Hanma had laughed a lot and was obviously starting to take his mind off the bad things which was a good sign.

And he was comfortable enough to ask to lay next to you because she didn’t want to sleep on his own.

Your thoughts paused when you felt his hand grab your own under the cover. “Promise me you won’t leave me.” He whispered,his voice struggling to stay a whisper. You looked over at him and gave a soft smile while squeezing his hand. “I promise,Hanma.” He replied with a hum of content before closing his eyes. The both of you fell asleep hand in hand,how cliche is that?

.

.

.

.

.

Request are open.

(PS i broke my tumblr and had to reset my phone and for some reason it deleted all my request,I had this one saved in drafts luckily)

[venusiangguk]

may we see the fight tae oc scene pls pls please!!! u can delete later🤔🤔🤔🤔😳😳😳😳 i’m really curious. i mean ofc u don’t have to. still 😧🙃

idealizations concerning real life relations: deleted scene

>>pairing: jungkook x reader / icrlr!couple

>>genre: fwb, angst, rated PG

>>word count: 2.5k

>>warnings: alcohol, implied smut

>>notes: this is a deleted scene from icrlr, that i omitted simply because of the length of the final fic!! feel free to skip or ignore, it doesn't change anything, but since u guys are curious about it, i'll post it as a lil ty for helping me hit that milestone <3 it takes place after the tattoo party scene, and before the lecture scene.

this does NOT provide an alternative ending.

>>summary: taehyung tries to make you see things for what they really are, but it's hard to see through the rose colored glasses.

Winter break has been long awaited and it is finally, finally here. The snow has coated the ground thick, making the town look like a winter wonderland. The air is sharp and cold but not to a miserable extent. Just chilly enough to bundle up, to hold a hand a little tighter and soak up their warmth.

Your favorite season is fall, but the later months are a close second. You love seeing the way everyone’s faces get red when snow flurries come down to kiss their nose and cheeks. Love the way pom poms bounce atop little hats as children play and have snowball fights. Winter is surprisingly one of the warmest, sweetest times of the year. Like the hot coco Jeongguk has been swapping your regular macchiato with lately.

There’s a greatly anticipated party tonight- a mashup of Taehyung’s birthday and New Year’s Eve. Anticipated for the simple fact that said birthday boy has steadily been ignoring you for weeks, and tonight was a night where he couldn’t evade your attempts of reconciliation. He hasn’t returned a single call or even sent a text back. You can’t even be mad at him really, you know it’s justified. You know you fucked up. The coffee date you had with Yoongi last week let you know what you did.

Over an iced coffee, you learned that you had unintentionally skipped out on your best friend's Winter Showcase. The important one that he mentioned multiple times. The one you promised to attend no matter what.

It wasn’t on purpose; you wanted to go, to support him. But you just got caught up. In life, in school, in Jeongguk. It happens.

When Yoongi asked you why you had missed it, when he told you how hurt Taehyung was by your absence, your heart dropped, sank deep within your chest as your mouth fell open before closing, a small pursed frown on your lips. You didn’t have a good excuse. You went to get tattoos with Jeongguk and then to a party where you fucked him, and then home after that? You were too tired to make it? You just simply forgot? Those excuses weren’t good enough for you and you knew they wouldn’t be good enough for Taehyung.

Whereas Yoongi was okay with distance, long periods in between hanging out and talking, Taehyung wasn’t. He was the kind of friend that needed support, reassurance that you cared. He liked quality time and hangs outs that were planned ahead so he could look forward to them. He was looking forward to you being at his showcase.

The party is packed, even more so than usual. Students, drop-outs, alumni, and randoms alike, all congregate to bring in the new year, to celebrate the end of finals, and a certain art majors birthday. Bodies are on bodies, music is loud and deafening. Cups, bottles, and small baggies litter the floor and the smell of weed is nauseating.

Jeongguk’s hand in yours is sweet, though. Enough to ebb the distaste in your mouth as you watch the stereotypical disaster that is a college party.

“I’m going to go find the drinks, okay?” you lie, squeezing Jeongguk’s hand lightly.

He squeezes back, kisses the side of your head as he says, “Bring me one back too?”

You nod, and slip out of his view. Scanning the crowd until you see a familiar face.

Jimin is laughing, red cup in his hand, eyes curled and happy. He’s sitting on the arm of a couch, legs swinging as he laughs with a group of people. He takes a drink from his cup and let’s his eyes roam the room like he’s looking for someone.

The way his face changes when he sees you approaching is like a punch in the gut. It goes from happy, and carefree to stony- only a small, irritated, close-lipped smile on his face. Eyes harsh and cold, no longer holding the mirth they were just seconds ago. He says nothing when you step in front of him, he just looks you over like he’s bored and waiting for you to get on with it so he can be done with it.

You shift on your feet under his scrutiny. “Where’s Tae?” you ask.

Jimin narrows his eyes at you and tilts his head. “Now you want to know where he is? Haven’t been concerned with his whereabouts for months. Definitely weren’t worried about it last week.”

You wince but carry on swiftly. “Listen, I know I fucked up. I’m here to apologize.” You look at him expectantly, but he holds his ground. When he doesn’t falter, you resort to begging, “Please, Jimin. He’s my best friend… I miss him.”

You must look pitiful, because Jimin’s indifferent facade fades, and he clicks his tongue like he’s annoyed at himself for giving into you. “He’s getting us drinks in the kitchen.”

A smile takes over your face as you rush out a ‘thank you’, quickly turning on your heel to head in the opposite direction, before Jimin calls after you.

“Yeah?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

“If he’s your best friend, maybe treat him like it, yeah?”

You continue to the kitchen without replying, and you can’t help the little simmer of annoyance that bubbles in your chest. Taehyung has been your best friend for years. And even though Jimin had a point, who was he to tell you anything about yours and Taehyung’s friendship?

Before the thought can fester, however, you see the boy you came looking for, two bottles of vodka in his hand like he’s trying to decide which to use. You see the little party hat atop his shaggy hair before anything else and your heart aches a little. You really did miss him. He lets out a small annoyed sound, and knowing him, he’s probably trying to figure out which has the highest alcohol percentage. You come up next to him, and say his name gently. He jumps, but when he realizes it’s you, the ghost of a smile curls on his lips like he’s happy to see you.

Until it’s replaced with resentment just as quickly. His sharp eyes squint at you before turning back to the bottles in his hands, scowl still in place.

“So you decided you could pencil me in between getting your heart toyed with and your back blown out?” He gives you a side glance and sees how your jaw drops in surprise. He carries on, unbothered. “Or did this just work out because it coincides with New Year’s and because he was invited? Only because he’s Jimin’s friend might I add.”

“Tae-” you try, doing your best to keep the hurt whine out of your tone.

“Save it, __. I don’t want to hear the excuses you have. Just-” he looks at you again, and you think that maybe he softens when he sees your crestfallen features. He sighs like he’s tired. “Just leave me alone. Just for a bit, okay? I’ll get over it eventually,” he finishes, finally deciding on the vodka he wants.

You know his request isn't unreasonable. But it’s already been so long that the distance in your friendship has been eating away at it, that you’re scared ‘eventually’ might take too long and by the time he comes around, there won’t be much of a friendship left. That the damage done, will be irreparable.

“Tae… It’s already been months, can’t we-”

Like night and day, the softness that you were able to pull out of him is immediately replaced with that resentment and anger you were met with when you first stepped into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he seethes, strong brows furrowed. “And whose fault is that?”

His words are sharp and the sting from them makes you take a step back. That is, until you feel anger of your own creep up your throat like venom. “You’re one to talk, Taehyung. You could have reached out to me, too. You’re no better than me when you’re in a relationship.”

He groans, gives an exasperated laugh before shrugging. “You know what? Maybe I am just as bad as you, but at least I’m actually in a relationship,” he spits, “You’re just fucking someone that doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

You know he’s hurt because of the distance. That he doesn’t intend to be so mean. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, and it doesn’t stop the angry tears from pooling in your eyes.

And although you’re angry, almost shaking with rage at the feeling of being cornered and blamed, your heart aches at hearing his words.

Jimin, who started seeing Taehyung after you started seeing Jeongguk, had already made your friend official. Had given him the title, the commitment, the relationship that you had been patiently and understandingly waiting for with Jeongguk. The bitterness that bleeds into your heart makes you feel gross and ugly.

You know what they say; that labels are superficial and don’t mean that much. But when you don’t have them? It makes you wonder. If a label really isn’t that important, like everyone says, why is Jeongguk so reluctant to give one to you?

“Jimin’s your boyfriend?” you whisper.

Taehyung gives you a short nod. “Month and half ago. You would’ve known if you got your head out of Jeongguk’s ass.”

Almost like he was summoned, the topic of debate waltz into the room, coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He nuzzles into your neck.

It’s instinctual now, the way your body responds to him. The way you melt into his chest like second-nature, how your hands settle over his like they are keeping them in place. How immediately in his presence you feel calmer; the panicky, hurt feeling you were experiencing moments ago vanishing as if it were just a fleeting thought and not something that’s always in the back of your head.

Not in a possessive, ‘I need him to be mine’ kind of way, though.

More like, ‘Why won’t he be mine?’

“Hi,” he murmurs into your neck.

“Hi, baby,” you respond softly, out of habit. The room shirks around you whenever he’s near. Makes you feel like you’re in your own bubble with him.

Jeongguk’s about to reply, ask where the drinks are, but then he hears an annoyed scoff sound in front of you both. Jeongguk bristles as he looks up and sees Taehyung taking a big swig from his cup.

“Uh- am I interrupting? Should I go?” he asks hesitantly, looking between you and your friend.

“No-” you say at the same time that Taehyung says, “Yes.”

You cringe, and turn in Jeongguk’s arms, hands resting on his chest. “Just give me a couple more minutes okay? I’ll bring the drinks.”

Jeongguk searches your eyes, before looking at Taehyung one last time before giving you a stern nod and a quick kiss.

You turn back to Taehyung, ready to apologize for Jeongguk’s interruption, when he talks over you.

“You’re pathetic,” he starts, and you roll your eyes with an irritated sigh before he continues, “but I know you love him. And that you can’t help it,” he shrugs. “But as your friend, I have to tell you that it’s not going to end well. You probably don’t even need me to tell you that. You probably already know and are choosing to ignore it for the sake of the delusions you’ve made up in your ‘pretty little head’.”

You pout at him quoting you, and your brows furrow. “He cares about me. And he���s Jimin’s best friend. He’s a good person, you don’t even know him,” you argue defensively. Though you know your arguments make little sense and are flimsy at best.

Taehyung frowns. Pauses like he’s thinking.

“I didn’t say he was a bad person, and maybe he does care about you in his own messed up way. But he doesn’t care about you in the way that you want him to.” His lips are still down turned when he speaks again.

“And the difference between him with you and him with Jimin is astronomical; it shouldn’t even be a comparison, but I will humor you,” he rubs a hand up and down his face like he’s tired. “The dynamic is completely different, for obvious reasons. For one, Jimin is a safe relationship. You are not. Jimin isn’t in love with him, Jimin isn’t sucking his dick, and Jimin doesn’t want things from Jeongguk that Jeongguk cannot give, or does not want to give,” he says with a raised brow as he takes a sip of his drink.

It seems that the anger has died down some between you both, a semi-civil conversation finally being had. You wrinkle your brows in confusion at him. “What are you talking about?”

He rolls his eyes. “Cmon __. Why do you think he hasn’t made you his girlfriend? Why do you think he literally has not been in a serious relationship since high school? Why do you think he never agrees to anything more than 2 months out?” He waits for you to answer but you just purse your lips stubbornly. “He’s scared. Dare I say terrified of commitment, and that’s exactly what you want from him right?”

You stay headstrong and quiet for a moment longer, ignoring his question in favor of asking one of your own when you finally do speak up. “If I’m so scary, why hasn’t he left?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Fuck if I know? Maybe he does care about you like you say he does. I don’t think so, but hey,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, like he is throwing in the figurative towel. “Maybe you’re right and maybe I‘m wrong. Or maybe there’s some fucked up codependency fermenting between you both when you copulate. I genuinely have no clue, and frankly, I don’t care to find out. Don’t text me until you come to your senses. And don’t get mad when I tell you ‘I told you so’.”

And with that, he turns and leaves you to make your own drinks. You hope the smile you give Jeongguk when you find him is believable.

That night when you go back to his place, you voice your concerns to him in between sweet, heated kisses that taste like hot cider. You tell him hesitantly how Taehyung voiced his concerns about Jeongguk not caring about you and Jeongguk got a little irritated, a little miffed as he unlatched his lips from your neck. He asked what Taehyung knew, how he even came to that conclusion when he’s not around you both.

He assured you with gentle touches and tender words that of course he cares about you. He reminded you that he always makes time for you, he always answers your calls and your texts, he takes you out every now and then, too. He asks you what you think and when you contemplate your answer, going over what he said, you can’t really argue with him. Even if an uneasy, dismal feeling settles in the pit of your tummy.

~~~

hellooo!! again, this is just a scene and part of the plot that i chose not to use because i felt like the fic was already so long. i wish that i had ended up including it tho, so i hope you enjoyed even though its nothing special <3 feel free to do the things if you liked it: like, comment, reblog, send an ask~~ love u, ty again for helping me reach that milestone <3

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

In This Lifetime And The Next (S.CB)

Warnings : talk of past life, mention of death

Word Count : 5040

Synopsis : they just wanted to learn about their past lives, but found friendships and love that have lasted lifetime after lifetime.

Author’s Note : honestly i kept deleting and rewriting this before settling on this. it’s not exactly what i had in mind, but i still hope you enjoy! thank you for all the love recently! 

A sense of déjà vu took over her mind when his eyes met hers; it was so strong she was tempted to ask him if they had met before, but there was no sense of recognition in his eyes, so she didn’t. She couldn’t help but notice how extraordinarily handsome the familiar stranger looked. Muscular but not too much, with a bright smile that seemed to calm her heart. She felt at home. “Do you have anything to help learn about past lives?” He asked. His voice was so unique she would recognize it even in a crowd of screaming people.

           “Depends on what you’re looking for. If you’re looking into past lives in general, I have some books in the back corner. But if you want to learn about your past life specifically, I do readings.” His smile seemed to widen at this new information. His smile was addicting; so much so she would have done anything to see it again.

           “A reading would be perfect! Anyway to set up a reading for 8 people?” She looked through her schedule really quickly before deciding to schedule him and his friends in on the upcoming Sunday. “We’ll be here! Noon you said?” She nodded and then watched as he practically ran out of the store into the only car in the parking lot. Business had been rather slow the past week, but she no longer seemed to mind, her mind drifting to the handsome stranger she couldn’t wait to see again.

           When she pulled into the parking lot right before noon on Sunday, she was surprised to see the 8 boys already there. The clients that usually booked readings with her would usually be late, if they showed at all, so seeing them all there before her was quite a shock. “My apologies, I’m usually here earlier.”

           “No apology needed. We were early because we’re excited.” The handsome stranger, Changbin she would soon learn, replied. The 9 of them piled into her shop, moving to the back room where she had a round table set up specifically for her readings.

           As everyone took their seats and she began to set up, her eyes grazed across each new face, the same sense of déjà vu taking over her mind. It felt as if she knew these men, as if they’ve sat around a table like this before. “I’m used to doing readings for one or two people at a time, so this may take a couple of hours, is everyone okay with that?” She began, trying to make eye contact with each person at the table, but her eyes seemed to drift towards Changbin. She was nervous, but every time their eyes met, she seemed to calm down. It was only their second meeting, but he felt like home.

           “There’s no rush. We figured it would take a while so none of us made plans for the day.” One of the other guys spoke up. He too seemed to have a calming smile; one she couldn’t help but return. “Does anyone want to volunteer to go first?” He then asked, his attention turning to his friends. He seemed to be the dad friend, the guy that keeps everyone in line.

           “I’ll go.” The man with the long, brown hair tied in a half pony spoke up, standing from his seat and take the one beside her.

           “After the reading is complete, you may have a headache due to your brain trying to unlock these forgotten memories.” She explained before holding out her hand for him to take. “Let’s start with your name.”

           “Hwang Hyunjin.” He answered as he slid his hand into hers, taking note of how soft they seem to be. Holding her hand seemed comforting in a way, and he relaxed with her touch.

           “It seems as if you were a prince in your very first life; set to marry the princess of the neighbouring kingdom.” She began, a smile taking over her face.

           “I wish we did not have to wed.” The princess complained as her and the prince took a walk through the gardens, careful not to speak too loudly so no one would report back to the king. “Do not mistake my words, Hyunjin, I do love you, but I love you the way I love my brother.” He chuckled, taking a short glance towards her before continuing to look forwards, appreciating the work his gardener had put in.

           “I am not offended, princess. I too love you the way one loves a sibling.” She was delighted to hear his words, knowing that the two of them were on the same page. “Unfortunately, we must wed and join our kingdoms. I am happy it is you, though, princess. I quite enjoy your company around the palace. It is less lonely with you around.” She beamed up at him before looking down to her hands clasped in front of her as she walked.

           “My heart does belong to another.” She admitted, now afraid to meet Hyunjin’s eyes. “Before I left my palace to come here, I was seeing my chef.” She confessed, daring a quick look into Hyunjin’s eyes.

           “You love him?” He asked, not even a hint of anger in his voice. She seemed to glow as she answered, and Hyunjin couldn’t help the happiness that seemed to swell inside of him. “Tell me your love story, princess.” She excitedly told her story, Hyunjin listening to every word. He loved the princess, he truly did, but it was a platonic kind of love, a protective kind of love. “Shall I hire him here so you can continue your relationship?”

           “You would do that for me?” She asked, looking up at him with wide, puppy dog eyes. He would gift her the entire universe if she asked while looking up at him like that; if it was a possibility of course.

           “I would do anything for you, princess.”

           “The platonic love you two shared seems to have lasted many lifetimes.” She continued, meeting Hyunjin’s wide eyes.

           “You mean to tell me I was a prince, and my princess chose a chef over me?” He jokingly asked, causing everyone to let out a chuckle.

           “He was her soulmate.” She answered simply. Her attention then turned to everyone at the table, closing her eyes as flashes of what seemed like past memories came to her. “It seems that you all have shared your first life together.” They all exchanged looks. “You’ve shared all your lives together.

           The room fell silent as the 8 men exchanged looks with each other. She sat there, her eyes still closed as more and more memories flash across her mind. It felt as if someone was standing on top of her chest as her eyes popped open. Changbin’s eyes were the first ones she met when her eyes opened, a look of concern lacing his features. “Are you alright?” He asked, reaching as far across the table as he could.

           “I’m just fine. My apologies. Shall we move onto the next person?” Hyunjin stood from the chair beside her as the blond boy on the other side of the table moved to take the seat. Just as she did with Hyunjin, she held out her hand and asked for his name, taking in his facial features. His small nose and cheeks seemed to be covered with freckles, similar to those she covered on her own face.

           “Lee Yongbok, but I go by Felix.” He answered, sliding his hand into hers. She smiled warmly at him as a new set of memories flooded her mind.

           “It seems as if you were also a prince in your first life. You were the twin brother of the princess set to marry Hyunjin.” She began, delving into the memories flooding her brain.

           “Yongbok oppa!” The princess exclaimed as the butler announced his arrival during breakfast. A bright smile took over his face as his eyes met his sister’s. “What brings you to the palace?”

           “Why I missed my sister of course.” He beamed, opening his arms for a hug that she happily accepted. Hyunjin stood from his spot at the head of the table and walked towards the siblings, greeting his future brother-in-law with a handshake. “I am delighted to see my sister is being well taken care of.”

           “Of course. She is my princess and a future queen; she will be treated as such.” Hyunjin said matter-of-factly, a warm smile taking over his handsome features as he gazed at the princess standing next to her brother.

           “How are the wedding preparations? I have been told the wedding is only a couple days away.” The two of them nodded before going over all that has been done and the little that has yet to be done.

           “It shall be a grand wedding. Only the best for my princess.” Hyunjin held out his hand for the princess to take. When she slid her hand into his, he brought it to his lips as placed a short kiss to the top of it. “Would you like to join us for breakfast?” With his free hand, Hyunjin gestured to the large table next to them.

           “It would be my pleasure.” He beamed, taking the seat directly across from his sister’s as the chef brought out an extra serving. “Is that not the chef from Father’s palace?” Yongbok asked, recognizing the manly features of the chef that disappeared back into the kitchen.

           “The princess spoke very highly of him, so I asked if the king would mind if I hired him here.” Hyunjin and the princess exchanged knowing glances, ones that Yongbok noticed but didn’t mention. He went on pretending as if the lie he was just told was true, not even bothering to look into it further. As long as his sister was happy, he was happy.

           “Though in other lifetimes the two of you may not have been siblings, everyone around you seems convinced that you are. You two have always been much too similar, and you always put her happiness before your own. But she does the same.” She explained, her heart swelling with joy when her eyes met Felix’s.

           “I hope I’ll meet her in this life too!” He exclaimed with the brightest smile she’s ever seen, comparable to the sun.

           “It’s destined of course. Just as the 8 of you have lived all your lives together, this girl has also been apart of every life. She’s an important part of your lives.”

           “I can’t believe our friendship was written in the stars.” Felix beamed as he switched seats with a cold looking man.

           “This sounds like a load of crap, but let’s do it I guess.” He shrugged, holding his hand out for her to take. “Lee Minho.” He answered before she could ask.

           “I understand the skepticism.” She said nonchalantly as she slid her hand into his. As their hands connected, more memories flashed before her eyes, memories of secret dates and stolen kisses, memories where the girl’s face is blurry, but is slowly becoming clearer. Maybe they were brought to her so she could help them find their missing link; the girl in each of their forgotten memories. “You were the butler at Hyunjin’s palace.” There was a few snickers that died out just as quickly as they came as Minho shot them each a glare. “You were actually quite close to Hyunjin, and even closer to the princess.”

           “Sit with me, Minho.” The princess ordered, patting the seat next to her on the couch. Since she’s been staying at the palace, she’s grown close to Minho and his young son. They give her a sense of family that she misses.

           “What is the itinerary today, princess?” He asked as he sat beside her. She smiled as she spoke of the things she needed to get done before the wedding the next day. “It is hard to believe that the wedding has already come. It seems as if just yesterday you arrived at the palace.” Minho beamed at the young princess who returned his heartwarming smile.

           “I will never be able to thank you enough for making me so comfortable here.”

           “Your friendship and kindness towards my son is more than enough.”

           “It is time for the final dress fitting, princess.” One of the many maids announced. The princess nodded, standing to follow her before asking Minho to come along.

           “I would appreciate a male opinion.” Minho hesitated, but there was a soft spot in his heart for the kind-hearted princess that made him unable to say no to her.

           “I do not know much about women’s fashion, but I will do my best.” He smiled as he followed the princess and the maid into another room. He sat on one of the chairs as she disappeared into yet another room and got changed into her dress. It was a dress specifically made for her, fitted to her exact measurements, and it was obvious to Minho when she stepped out. He was absolutely speechless at the beauty she possessed. “Absolutely breathtaking, princess.” A blush rose to her cheeks as she hid her face in embarrassment.

           “I own many gowns, but none fit me quite like this.” She said out loud, mostly to herself, as she stared at herself in the mirror. For the first time in her life, she truly felt like a princess.

           “You will steal the show. Eyes will not be able to leave your figure tomorrow, princess.” Minho said, taking her side and looking at them in the mirror. “You are a true beauty; no one can compare.”

           “Oh my god, Minho was trying to steal my girl!” Hyunjin jokingly exclaimed, his hands clapping over his mouth in his usual dramatic fashion as laughter erupted from the table.

           “What did I say?” Minho asked, glaring at Hyunjin, who’s laughter quickly faded as he answered.

           “20 minutes at 180 degrees; that’s how you cook Hyunjin in the air fryer.” Minho seemed pleased with his answer as he turned back to the girl holding his hand, waiting for her to continue.

           “Hyunjin isn’t too far off.” She giggled. “You actually date her in a few of your shared lifetimes, though you both realize the love you share is strictly platonic.” Minho’s eyes widen.

           “Have we dated in this lifetime?” He asked, his skepticism fading completely.

           “I can’t tell for sure.” She answered honestly.

         “My turn!” Another one of the boys stood excitedly, a wide smile on his face causing his eyes to almost disappear completely. She felt a sense of protectiveness for him take over her body. She knew that if anyone were to hurt this boy now sitting beside her where Minho once sat, she wouldn’t hesitate in fighting. “Yang Jeongin!” He practically shouted his name as he grabbed her hand and looked at her with a sense of wonder, as if she had just told him she put all the stars in the sky.

           “Looks like we have another prince.” She smiled as his forgotten memories floated in her mind. “You were actually Hyunjin’s younger brother in your first life.”

           “Jeongin, are you bothering the princess again?” Hyunjin scolded from the doorway from Jeongin’s room where the two sat on the couches set up across from his bed and gossiped.

           “Of course not! If anything, you are bothering us!” Jeongin bit back with a teasing smile on his face. Hyunjin scoffed, holding his hand over his heart in feigned pain, causing the princess to let out a giggle.

           “We were just talking.” The princess explained with an innocent smile on her face. “In fact, he was in the middle of telling me some very interesting stories from your childhood.”

           “Yah!” Hyunjin exclaimed, stalking towards the younger boy who stood up quickly, many apologies leaving his lips as he laughed. It was the first time the princess had seen Hyunjin act so carefree and casual, and she quite liked it. Watching the brother’s interact as if they were just regular people instead of royal blood warmed her heart and reminded her of home.

           “Please do not harm him!” She exclaimed with a giggle. “I was rather excited to hear how it ended.” Both boys turned to look at her; Jeongin wearing a wide smile while Hyunjin wore a look of embarrassment.

           “What story was he even telling?” He asked as he took a seat next to her. Jeongin took his original spot across from her, a smirk on his lips as he took a sip of the tea in front of him. “No, not that one.” Hyunjin whined noticing the smirk on his brother’s face.

           “I already told her of the time you fell off your horse into a pile of his poop.” He chuckled, as did the princess when she remembered the story.

           “Is that all you two do when you get together? Gossip about me?” The princess reached over and took his hand in hers, rubbing small circles into his hand with her thumb, calming him down almost instantly.

           “Laughing about your misfortune is how we bond, yes.” Jeongin answered with a teasing tone laced in his voice. Before the princess could say anything in defence of Jeongin, Hyunjin was already up and chasing Jeongin who stood as Hyunjin did to run away.

           “You two have always had a teasing relationship whether you were brothers or friends. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the same in this life as well.”

           “It is.” The other 6 answered in unison, causing her to let out a soft giggle, shaking her head. Some things really never change, and that gives her a sense of home. The longer she sat with the 8 of them, the more she felt at home with them, as if the 9 of them belonged together, sharing stories, and laughing at the memories.

           “Can I go next?” The boy with adorable chubby cheeks, comparable to a squirrel, asked. She waved him over, patting the chair Jeongin stood from not long ago. He nervously sat down, holding out his hand for her to take when she was ready.

           “You nervous?” She asked softly, hoping the others wouldn’t hear, but the room was near silent as each of them waited for their turn. He slowly nodded his head, barely meeting her eyes. “You don’t have to do this.” She told him.

           “I want to!” He quickly exclaimed, his eyes widening. “I’m a little nervous, but I really want to know. My name is Han Jisung.” He smiled and she took his hand, returning his smile with one of her own.

           “You were a gardener.” She spoke slowly, allowing the memories to come to her. “The royals spoke highly of you, but you refused to leave Hyunjin’s palace, even when offered more pay. It seems like you may have had a crush on the princess.” Jisung’s cheeks tinged with pink as she spoke.

           “It gets prettier and prettier out here.” The princess beamed as she approached Jisung. “No wonder all the royals speak greatly of you, Han Jisung.” The boy met her eyes with a rosy blush dusting his cheeks.

           “I am happy you like my work, princess, but the beauty of the all the flowers can never compare to the beauty you possess.” She gave him a sweet smile as blush dusted her own cheeks at the sweet compliment.

           “You flatter me, Jisung. I hear every flower has a meaning.” He nodded and watched as her face lit up as she asked him to go over the meaning of each of the flowers in the palace garden. “If you have the time of course.” She added, not wanting him to extend his work day in account of her curiosity.

           “I will always have time for you, princess. Shall we start with this one?” She nodded excitedly as he took her around the garden, explaining the meaning behind each flower. The prince watched them from afar, a content smile on his face. It has been so long since he’s seen the princess smile this way.

           “You look so pretty when you smile, my dear princess.” Her and Jisung met Hyunjin’s eyes as he walked towards them, his hands behind his back. Jisung greeted him with a quick bow, apologizing if he overstepped. “If the princess is happy, I believe there is no reason to apologize. You have worked here for a while now, Jisung. You are like family.” Jisung thanked Hyunjin with a smile. “Though, I must steal the princess. Your parents shall be arriving for dinner soon.” She nodded and bid Jisung goodbye.

           “I hope we can continue another day.” Jisung nodded, saying she is welcome anytime.

           “It’s truly an innocent crush that never develops past that, and a beautiful friendship is created in each lifetime.” She finishes, looking at the adorable man in front of her with a soft smile.

           Not much is said as they move on to the next; Bang Chan as he introduced himself. The dad friend that explained they had the day for the readings. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a break?” He asked, looking at her with worry in his eyes.

           “I’m fine, thank you though.” As she grabbed his hand, memories that seemed to belong to her filled her head. Memories of Chan taking her into his arms as she cried, memories of him bringing food to her place because she was working too hard. She had to force herself not to yank her hand away and search through these memories of hers to find the ones belonging to him. “You were the leader of the palace troops.”

           “Princess, it is too dangerous for you to be out here alone.” Chan called out to the princess who sat on the wide, wooden swing, staring up at the stars littering the night sky.

           “I am not alone if you are here, Chan.” She smiled, patting the spot beside her. He hesitated but sat down regardless of the voices telling him not to. “Doesn’t the night sky look absolutely stunning tonight?” He looked away from her side profile and looked up to the night sky, agreeing almost immediately with her observation. “This is why I love this palace more than my own. The night sky does not look nearly as pretty as it does here.” Their eyes met as they both looked away from the sky.

           “You really should not come out here alone, princess.” He warned her again, knowing deep inside she wouldn’t follow his instructions. She’s different than the other royals, but he finds her quirks rather endearing. He finds her a perfect match for Hyunjin, already noticing a difference in the prince he’s known for many years. She brought out the best in Hyunjin, glimpses of the Hyunjin Chan once knew before responsibilities fell into his lap with his parent’s sudden passing.

           “Then will you join me when I want to look at the stars?” She asked with a look of hope in her eyes. A look so innocent, so pure, Chan couldn’t seem to say no. “Shall we go back now?” Chan nodded, standing from the swing, and offering her his hand to help her stand. She took it with the same grace she’s been taught from a young age. “I will see you tomorrow, then. There are rumours of a meteor shower.”

           “Tomorrow.” He smiled as she turned and headed for her room.

           “You protect her in every lifetime.” She whispers, tears welling up in her eyes as she slowly comes to the realization that maybe, just maybe, she’s the princess. Maybe she is the missing link to their group.

           Her eyes drifted towards Changbin once again, wondering if he would be the infamous chef that is the princess’ soulmate. Maybe the sense of déjà vu she felt when she first saw him, the sense of feeling like she was finally home, was because he was the soulmate she’s been waiting for. He was right in front of her, and she didn’t know how to tell them; so she didn’t.

           The man who goes by Kim Seungmin took the seat beside her after Chan stood up. He slowly slid his hand into hers, hesitant in hearing what she would have to say about his past life. “You were the princess’ tutor.” She explained, her smile lost in the memories she can’t get out of her mind.

           “This story was absolutely delightful, Seungmin! Please tell me there are more like it.” The princess exclaimed, sliding the book across the table towards Seungmin. He glanced down at the title before reaching into the bag he brought with him, pulling out a similar story, one he knew she would love even more than the previous one.

           “I brought this one for you today, princess. I do believe it is just your taste.” She clapped her hands together as she took the book from his hands, her fingers tracing the words that make up the title.

           “It sounds marvelous.”

           “What was it about the previous story that you enjoyed so much?” He asked, the work they were supposed to do leaving his mind completely as he wondered more about the princess they call an oddball.

           “The idea of running away with the love of your life that the world does not think is your match. It seems so romantic. A part of me wonders what it would be like to be on the run with your lover by your side.”

           “Does the princess have a lover that is not the prince?” He continued to pry, knowing he was crossing a line he shouldn’t, but in this moment, the two seemed more like friends. He was truly curious about the princess who doesn’t act like a princess.

           “Do not be silly, Seungmin. I truly love Hyunjin.” He could tell she was lying, and he wondered who had stolen her heart. Maybe it was the gardener he saw giving her flowers before a tutoring session one day. Or maybe it was the butler that seemed to shower her in compliments and look at her like she puts the stars in the sky while she plays with his son. Could it possibly be the infamous chef he hears about? The one Hyunjin hired from her old palace? There was even the leader of the palace troops who seemed to have a soft spot for her as well. Hyunjin’s younger brother is also a likely candidate.

           She seemed to collect hearts just by being herself and not conforming to what society deems as appropriate for a princess. Anyone that comes into contact with her seems to gain a soft spot for her, Seungmin included.

           He knew she was lying but pretended he didn’t. “The two of you make a beautiful couple. I hope for a long, happy marriage.” She nodded with a smile that wasn’t as bright as before.

           “You could say you knew her better than she knew herself, even if you two didn’t consider each other close friends. There has always been things you can read from her reactions that others can’t decipher.”

           “Like the way I can tell you aren’t fine?” He asked as he raised a brow. She tried her best to fake a smile, but Seungmin could see right passed it. “Don’t bother with the fake smile, Y/N.” Her heart began to pound as she blinked back the tears that so desperately wanted to fall.

           “I’m just tired.” She lied. Seungmin knew she lied, but he didn’t say a word. He just gave her a knowing look as he stood, letting the final man take the seat. Changbin grabbed both her hands, meeting her eyes.

           “If you’re too tired, I can come back another time.” Her heart seemed to calm in his presence. In that moment she knew.

           “You were the chef.” She whispered, no longer able to hold the tears back, allowing them to fall as Changbin tried his best to wipe them away. “You’re the one the princess fell in love with. You’re her soulmate.”

           “How does this taste, my love?” He asked with a smile, holding a spoon up to her mouth for her to taste his newest experiment. Her eyes widened with shock as the delicious flavour took over her tastebuds.

           “Absolutely magnificent.” She beamed, leaning forward, and pressing a quick kiss on his lips. “The food you make is always spectacular. Worry not!” He returned her bright smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

           “I just want the food for your wedding to be memorable.” Her heart dropped at the thought of marrying someone who wasn’t Changbin, while he watched in the shadows.

           “If it is made by you, it will be.” Her voice softened. “But I do not want to spend our time talking about my marriage to another.” She looked to the ground, tears welling up in her eyes. Changbin softly grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger, bringing her eyes to meet his once more.

           “Then we will talk about how irrevocably in love with you I am, princess.” He smiled, connecting their lips in a passion filled kiss that last a second too short. “How I could spend eternity kissing you and loving you and never get bored.” He kissed her again. “No one in this world can ever compare to you, my love.” Another kiss. “I will love you in this lifetime, and the next.”

           “And all the others after that.” She added before pressing her lips to his in yet another kiss.

           “It’s a love that lasts eternity.” She whispers. “A love people write stories and songs about. Everyone searches for a love that’s as true and as strong as the one you share with the princess.”

           “You’re the princess, aren’t you?” He asks, both his hands cupping her face and wiping the tears that have yet to stop falling. No one at the table makes a sound as they’ve all come to the same conclusion. The sense of déjà vu they felt when they saw her making sense. Memories that were once forgotten flooding all of their minds as they watch a love that’s lasted centuries blossom once more.

[thefanficmonster]

Just thought about this as a story or headcanons, maybe the lords in re8 have a child, which is the reader and they are somewhere around 7 in the beginning. You can do them all separately, like first part would be Heisenberg, then Dimitrescu, Beneviento, and then Moreau, so the reader would accidentally do something and they are scared that the lord that is their parent would be super mad and they run away and the lords reactions to their child being gone and maybe the reader goes back to the village older, maybe 14 or 15 and the lords are emotional when they finally reunite with the reader. Maybe at first they don't recognize the reader at first, thinking they are just an outsider until they see something that they gave the reader as a birthday present and they recognize them. And it's just full fluff in the end? This has also been bugging my mind for a while 🤣 sorry if this ask was complicated to read

Heyy ~ lovely idea as always hun! I changed it up a bit, hope you don't mind and still enjoy reading it nonetheless 💗

Alcina Dimitrescu

- Being the youngest Dimitrescu, you were expected to be a bit of a spoiled brat since our mother and sisters looked after you like the most precious and rarest gem in this world - Surprisingly though, you were a very well behaved child - A shy, quiet, well-mannered kid that followed their mother's rules like they were the law - But even you weren't immune to that childish curiosity that every kid possesses - So you had to go on and break a rule or two eventually - However, the biggest one you broke, the one that had you sweating nervously, was sneaking down into the basement where the wine your mother and sisters were so proud of was kept - With trembling hands you picked up one of the bottles, the one with the most interesting pattern on the bottle, and began to expect it - That’s when a noise suddenly echoed throughout the basement, causing you to drop the bottle which broke as soon as it the ground, sending the red liquid splashing everywhere - You were mortified - You were only six at the time, you couldn’t think of a strategy to fix the mess you had made - So instead, you chose to run and hide, convinced you’d get in A LOT of trouble when your mother would find out - The place you chose to hide in was a run down part of the courtyard where you were least likely to be spotted by anyone or anything - Your plan started backfiring only about an hour after you settled in your hiding spot - The cold was starting to be painful on your skin but you refused to go back in - Before you knew it you had passed out, deleting any memory of what was to happen afterwards - Upon waking up, you found yourself in your room, changed in a new set of clothes and void of the chill you were suffering from before you lost consciousness - It didn’t take you long to notice your mother sitting in a chair next to the bed, struggling not to drift of to sleep, her face looking like she had aged about ten years in the span of a few hours out of worry   - “Mom?” You spoke up weakly, startling the woman who was on her feet and crouching down closer to you within a second - “Y/N, darling, why’d you do that? You had me worried sick.” Alcina said, her hand gently caressing your hair, none of that sternness she was known for left in her - “I’m sorry, mama. For scaring you and for the wine bottle. I didn’t mean to...” You tried saying but got choked up by your tears - “The wine be damned. Nothing is as important to me as you are sweetie.” She said, planting a soft kiss on your forehead before climbing in bed with you and wrapping her arms around you, her embrace so warm and comforting - You never doubted your mother’s love for you, but that moment only made you more sure in it and made you love her triple the amount you already loved her

Donna Beneviento

- Donna had always been generous with the amount of dolls she allowed you to have and play with - Although, the ones she gave you were not infected with her Cadou and couldn’t move or speak on their own as to not scare you - However, you were still allowed to play and talk with Angie who you were raised to see as a sister - And just like sisters, you and Angie also fought every now and then - But, this one time, she really angered you and with all the strength of a six year old that you possessed you threw her across the room - She hit a wall hard enough to loosen one of her arms and it fell off - That’s when you knew you were practically dead in trouble and ran to hide under your bed - As you were climbing up the stairs though, you could still hear Angie’s screaming and crying from downstairs and Donna could no doubt hear it as well - So as to avoid running into her, instead of hiding upstairs, you went into the basement - Where you had never been in, by the way - Meaning you had no idea what horrors awaited you there - Mannequins, doll parts, terrifying dolls which moved on their own - In your eyes it was a pure nightmare - Seeing the dolls turning their heads to follow your movement, some even raising an arm as if to greet you almost made you scream several times but you didn’t want to give away your hiding spot - And that’s when the laid out mannequin on the table, one you were already terrified of, turned it’s head to look at you, opened its eyes and mouth - The radio on the other table turned on simultaneously, all of it being too much of a scare for you to be able to suppress the scream you let out - That’s when you felt a hand on your shoulder and screamed even louder, even beginning to cry - The hand turned you around and you were suddenly facing your mom who looked scared and concerned, a little paler than usual too - You took no notice of that though, seeing as how you ran right into her, hiding your face in her hip - “I’m sorry mommy! I didn’t mean to hurt Angie! Just please don’t let them scare me anymore!” You cried, your tiny hands balled up in fists, clutching to Donna’s dress as if for dear life - The woman was relieved to see you were safe although still a little confused as to why you had even run down to the basement in the first place - And then she thought a bit more about what you had said - “Oh dear, you thought you were in trouble? Angie’s perfectly fine, Y/N. Her limbs come off loosely all the time. You didn’t even actually hurt her.“ - Seeing that your distress was showing no sign of decreasing, Donna picked you up and proceeded to carry you up to where Angie was so she could apologize for making you feel guilty in the first place

Salvatore Moreau

- Being a young kid, the Reservoir was a rather dangerous place for you to wander around in unsupervised - Usually you’d stick to the safest area, aka the one furthest away from the water, and would only be allowed to see the rest of your dad’s property with him by your side, holding your hand to make sure you wouldn’t fall - But one day, as you were sitting in at the entrance of the Reservoir, in the small body of water by your feet you saw a golden fish - Mesmerized, you foolishly ducked down to try and touch it but it, of course, swam away - Oh but you were far from prepared to let it go - So you chased after it, watching its glimmering skin rush under the surface of the water, going further into the dangerous parts of the property - You were mindless to the fact you were entering a territory that was originally forbidden to you - That is until a wooden board on the dock broke under you, causing you to fall in the water - And being only barely six years old, you didn’t know how to swim so before the panic had even worn off completely, you started screaming for help, praying your father would hear you - And boy were you in luck - A giant fish emerged from the water from underneath you, carrying you on its back to the dock you had fallen from - You scrambled to get to the safe half of it and sat on the ledge - By the time you were able to look around with clear vision instead of the blurred with tears one you had been struggling with seconds prior, the monster fish was gone - And your dad was standing on the dock next to you - “You see no why you aren’t allowed here, child?” - You nod, sniffling and running to hug him, relieved to be in your dad’s safe embrace - Despite the efforts to be stern, Moreau crumbles back to his usual loving and caring self, being the best father in the world in your eyes  - He carried you, piggy-back style back to the safe space of the Reservoir

Karl Heisenberg

- It goes without say that, growing up in a factory as dangerous as Heisenberg’s, there’s certain amount of rules you have to respect for yours and your father’s safety as well as the successfulness of his experiments - But there was no force that was able to keep you away from this one machine that looked far too interesting for you to overlook - You couldn’t help but go up to it every now and then to look at the blinking lights and the tempting colorful buttons - And then there was one day when just looking didn’t satisfy you - So you went on to press a few buttons, in the order of your favorite colors - It didn’t take long for you to realize how poor that decision was - When sparks started flying from the machine was when you finally decided to back away and that satisfying your curiosity wasn’t worth it - But it was already too late  - The whole process had stopped, the conveyer belt of murder machines pausing mid-movement suggesting the whole operation was hindered - “Y/N? What on Earth are you doing?” - Your dad’s voice had never terrified you so much - All excuses and apologies you wanted to say died down in your throat at the sight of your mildly agitated father standing behind you with an unimpressed look on his face - He wasn’t angry by any means but your vision was too blurred by tears for you to be able to see that - “Dad, I’m so sorry!” You cried, running to hug him, back turned to the malfunctioning machine you believed you damaged beyond repair - Wrapping his arms around you, he gave you a quick hug before stepping around you and approaching the machine, fixing it with the press of a few buttons - “Hope that teaches you a valuable lesson not to break the rules kid.” He said with a crooked smile, ruffling your hair while you still stared at machine in disbelief

[storiesforallfandoms]

tabloid bs ~ eminem

word count: 1822

request?: yes!

@imaginesforjohnnydepp​ “hi! i was wondering if you could do an age gap eminem x reader imagine where the reader is a singer and is the daughter of a very successful actor and singer and there are rumors of her parents not liking marshall making the rounds in the tabloids?”

description: in which she decides to shut down bullshit tabloid rumors regarding her boyfriend and her parents

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing, age gap (totally legal though, we’ll say the reader is about 25)

masterlist (one, two)

Being the daughter of two incredibly famous actors meant you were in the spotlight from a young age. Paparazzi, crazy fans, fake friends, none of it was new to you by the time you decided you wanted to try your hand in singing.

You were nervous at first, worrying that either you’d only blow up because of who your parents were, or that everyone would shut down your career because of who your parents were. You were happily surprised to learn that everyone genuinely liked you and your music, despite your parentage.

As your career began to skyrocket, you were contacted by none other than Eminem asking to make a song with you. Apparently he was so impressed by your talent that he wanted to get in contact with you and ask you himself for a collab, something that he only did with people who ended up becoming close friends of his (Skylar Grey, Rihanna, 50 Cent, Ed Sheeran, etc. etc.).

You ended up following this trend, except in a much more extreme way. You did end up becoming close with him, but not as just a friend. Within a month of doing your collaboration you found yourself going on a date with Marshall, and within a year you were basically living with him.

The press had a field day when they found out. You were 20 years younger than Marshall, and he was only two years younger than your mom. Of course people didn’t react to kindly to this at first, but it wasn’t as hard to ignore these things as you expected it to be.

The thing that was hard to ignore, though, was the constant stories that were published about your parents hating Marshall, and hating your relationship.

This couldn’t be farther from the truth. Your parents loved Marshall, both as a musician and as their daughter’s boyfriend. Your dad and Marshall got along really well, and your mom basically viewed him as a new best friend from the moment he walked through the door.

These rumors were harder to ignore when they were brought up so often in interviews and during livestreams or Q&As. You were starting to get annoyed with it and you wanted to make it stop.

Lucky for you, the person interviewing you at that moment gave you the perfect segway to shutting those rumors down.

“I know this is a bit of a private topic,” she started, “and if you don’t want to talk about it we can just move on, but there’s something circulating in the rumor mill regarding you and your boyfriend.”

“Of course there is,” you said, rolling your eyes in a playful manner. You were trying to remain lighthearted about it all, but you were feeling the annoyance bubble up inside of you already.

“There’s a story going around that you blew off your dad’s birthday because he wouldn’t let you bring Eminem to the celebration.”

You felt your face heating up with anger. Oh, so now the media was trying to present you as a bratty singer now too? Saying you skipped your own father’s birthday due to your boyfriend?

No, they were not getting away with that one.

You pulled your phone from your pocket and quickly opened it. The interviewer looked at you in confusion as you scrolled through your pictures before holding your phone towards the nearest camera.

“Here’s a picture of me and my dad two days after his birthday,” you said. “It was taken by Marshall, because the three of us had a special celebration alone. My flight home was delayed and I had to miss my dad’s actual birthday, in which my boyfriend was actually invited to, by the way. Dad specifically asked if Marshall would be coming, even jokingly told me that I had to take him. So no, I didn’t purposely miss my dad’s birthday because of my boyfriend, I would never miss dad’s birthday on purpose.”

“All you had to say was no,” the interviewer mumbled, regarding her notes to move along to the next question.

“No,” you said. “I’m not keeping this one short and sweet. I’m tired of all these stupid, untrue things being said about me and my boyfriend and my parents. Mom and dad don’t hate Marshall, I don’t purposely not see my parents because of him. There’s no hate at all between any of us, and it makes me angry that tabloids make those accusations without any evidence just for clicks. This is someone’s real life, not just some fiction for someone to fuck around with.”

“You sound very passionate about this.”

You scoffed. “Of course I am! Ever since Marshall and I have started dating people have been saying shit about him and my parents and I don’t understand why. There’s never been any ill will between my parents and Marshall, not even any implied ill will. People just like to make up stories so they have a good headline to get views and get people talking.”

“Well, although nothing has been ever been confirmed, you can’t say you don’t understand where those rumors came from. No one wants their kid dating someone who is basically their age, no matter how famous that person is. It’s only natural for a parent to be protective over their kid, especially from such an older person that may just be taking advantage of them.”

Your eyes were wide with shock. You could barley believe what this bitch was saying. She was really trying to spin the story and say that Marshall was trying to take advantage of you, a literal 25 year old adult?

You stood from my chair then and began trying to pull the microphone off of yourself. The interviewer looked at me with concern before trying to stop you.

“I’m done here,” you declared, pulling at the wire once I found it.

“You’re going to break the mic!”

“Send the bill to my people,” you retorted. “I’m not sitting here and having someone tell me that the guy I’m dating is trying to take advantage of me just because he’s older, or hearing you spill some bullshit about my parents. Newsflash: if someone is happy publicly with their relationship, then maybe they’re actually happy. No tragic behind the scene stories or ulterior motives, just two adults who are in love.”

You finally got the microphone off and basically threw it at the interviewer before turning and leaving the room.

~~~~~~

You stayed at Marshall’s place that night, still partially fuming from the interview. You didn’t tell him specifics (especially not that you walked out in a fury the way you did), but you told him it didn’t go well.

You were awoken the next morning to your phone ringing. When you checked it, you saw your dad’s face and name light up your screen. You groaned when you noticed how early the time was before answering. “Hello?”

“Good morning sweetie,” came your dad’s voice. “Have you been online yet?”

“I haven’t even been out of bed yet,” you responded. “Why? What’s going on?”

“You’re trending for walking out of your interview.”

You sat up in the bed so quickly that it woke Marshall. He rolled over and looked at you in confusion as you put your dad on speaker and started frantically opening your Twitter app.

“Dad, you’re on speaker. Marshall is here,” you told him as you started looking.

“Good morning, Marshall,” your dad said.

“Morning,” Marshall responded, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s going on that has (Y/N) wide awake at 8am?”

“She’s trending.”

“For what?”

There it was, your name at the top of the trending list. When you clicked on it, the first thing that popped up was your interview from the day before.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “I can’t believe they actually posted. It was so bad, I thought they’d just delete the footage and never think of it again.”

“You think too highly of people looking for a good scoop, honey.”

The title of the video read Singer (Y/F/N) Goes Off On Interviewer while Talking About Parents and Boyfriend Eminem. The entire interview was included, luckily enough, including everything leading up to your storm out. Marshall watched over your shoulder as your dad waited, silently, for you to see it all.

“You didn’t tell me what was said,” Marshall said. “Why didn’t you tell me they were saying that shit to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you responded. “I mean, it did matter, but by the time I got here I didn’t think it would matter anymore. Like I said, I thought the footage would be deleted and long forgotten.”

You were nervously biting at your nails as you scrolled through Twitter to see what people were saying. You were expecting a wave of hate and people believing that you truly were a bratty singer, until you started to see how much praise and love you were getting.

“Imagine trying to frame (Y/N) as the bad one in this situation when the interviewer literally said Eminem is trying to take advantage of her”

“Never believed those rumors about (Y/N)’s parents and Eminem. They’re all too tightknit for (Y/N) to date someone her parents hate”

“The way she told the interviewer to bill her for the broken mic that’s QUEEN SHIT”

“It doesn’t seem too bad,” you said as you continued to read. “A lot of people on my side.”

“Oh, I knew no one was against you on this one,” your dad said. “I just wanted to let you know you’re trending, and let you know I’m proud of you for finally putting an end to those rumors. It was getting really tiresome to read why I hated Marshall on any given day.”

You chuckled slightly. “Thanks dad. I’ll call you and mom later. Love you.”

“Love you, too, honey.”

Your dad hung up and you decided it would be for the best to put your phone away for a while. Even though you weren’t getting any negative attention for this, you were still overwhelmed by the fact that the interview went up at all.

You settled back into bed beside Marshall, taking your place in his arms where you loved to be the most.

“I’m proud of you, too,” he said, kissing your forehead. “I didn’t realize my girl was so badass.”

“Yes you did.”

“Maybe I did.” You giggled as you nuzzled your head into his chest more. “You know how much I love you, right?”

“Of course I know, babe. Don’t let that shitty interviewer and her bullshit get to you.”

“Oh she’s not,” he said. “I’m well aware your parents love me and I’m not taking advantage of you. I just wanted to remind you.”

I chuckled and shook my head. Shortly after, I drifted off to sleep, feeling proud of myself for what I had done.