#we heard it briefly at the end of Ghost when she just let her quiet vocals echo out

[lab-gr0wn-lambs]

The tv trope of “Badass Rockstar Only Makes Cool Music Because They’re Sad And Starts Making Exclusively Boring, Sappy, Singer-Songwriter, Sugar-Water Music At The End Of Their Arc” drains my life energy. You can be happy and keep your taste in music. I still really like My Chemical Romance. I'm more likely to listen to them when I am happy and just sit there in the vibe

[callmelyc]

Written for Twitter julance

#2023JuLance

Week 1: sharpshooter PART 2- Life of the Title

Pridge groans "there is it AGAIN, that's the fifth time this week!"

Lance pauses his game from his place hanging upside down off the bed "there's what again?"

"Is it that code name again?" Hunk ask coming in with all their movie snacks leaning over to read pidges screen.

"I think so?" She's typing again trying to get to a good stoping point "we don't actually have any proof it's a name, the galra just talk about it alot...it keeps coming up & its in almost all the logs now."

"What's the name?"

She huffs "again, no proof it's a name- and it's Ghost Rite"

Lance snorts "that's so lame for the galra no way that's a name"

Hunk just frowns a bit "well whatever it is isn't invited to this sleepover, can we just watch the movie...please?"

As movie night goes off without a hitch lance can't help but feel like this won't be the last time he hears that name.

~*~

They're having a meeting with the blade today to discuss Keith's return to team Voltron when the name gets confirmed as a name.

"Kolivan, do you happen to know why the Galran keep discussing a Ghost Rite?" Allura says since she knows everyone has been worried about it and knowing something like this could be beneficial to them.

If lance had been daydreaming before he sure wasn't now, the moment the not name was mentioned the blades behind kolivan stiffened.as miniscule as the difference might have been lance has good eyes for a reason, he noticed things he knows no one else will. His focuses zeroed in on them, they knew something and based on kolivans pause at responding he'd say they might even know more than they'll let on.

"The Ghost Rite has become a marker of fear for the galra these last few pheobs. Their name alone has become a threat of sorts..." Kolivans eyes stay forward but some of the men behind glance briefly towards lance so quickly most wouldn't notice "has...Voltron not heard of this?"

Shiro frowns a bit "we've only been picking up on the name in the data we've collected from missions and stray com signals. Until today we didn't even know if it was a name."

This time kolivans eyes look towards lance "This individual is a key player in this war, we only ask Voltron keep him in check."

With a few more subtle glances noted and diplomatic goodbyes the meeting ends with only more confusion. No one comments on the way the blades kept looking towards lance but one thing they do focus on is the confirmation it's a name.

"Do you think it's a vigilante?" Hunk ask nervously "y-you don't think he's a bad guy right? The blade asked us to keep an eye on this guy and the galra fear him he's gotta be terrifying!"

Shiro pats his shoulder "calm down hunk, I'm sure whoever this Ghost Rite is will be a good ally if we ever meet. He might even be part of the resistance."

"I can ask mat to keep an eye out for the guy?" Pidge suggest.

Shiro smiles "that's an excellent idea"

Lance watches everyone from afar unable to shake those glances the blade gave him. He feels like he's missing something...oh well, how important can it really be?

~*~

That thing lance thought he was missing? Yeah, turns out it was really important.

They're on a mission split into three teams: shiro and allura handling the diplomacy, Keith and hunk handing evacuation, and pidge and lance doing some sneaky infiltration to rescue some stray prisoners that managed to get captured and sent off planet. Easy right?

/Wrong/

This ship was a maze, unlike any they'd seen before and the only thing bringing comfort to lance right now was the fact he had red who could get them out of here the fastest. It was eerily quiet, full of upgrades and still far too easy to sneak into.

"You think this is a trap?" Lance whispers to pidge while she hacks into the door systems "I mean...this is too easy, right?"

"That's what ur here for loverboy, your the fighting force here-" her fingers fly across the keys then there's a audible click to go with her triumphed woop "and I'm the brains!" Pidge swats at lances arm "let's go!"

The moment they get to where pidge needs to be all hell breaks lose. The galra aboard the ship come rushing down the halls flanked by sentries "pidge lock yourself inside the control room, I'll distract them while you get ur data-"

"Oh it!" She shouts "and lance?...good luck"

Lance is flying around the corner listening to the door latch itself shut with an override faster than you can call him sharpshooter. He's ready to face these galra head to head, ready to be the wall protecting pidge a meer wall away!

But when those galra get around to face him and lance materializes his Bayard into his trusty blaster? they stop rushing forward. Lance holds his position, Bayard pointed directly towards the line of galra that came to a stop and a stare down commences.

Not letting his gaurd down at this strange behavior, lance observes. This is when he starts to realize what that important thing was.

The galra before him aren't just at a pause, they're terrified. Their hands are trembling, faces pulled into a defensive snarl, some even take cautionary steps backwards to get further away.

The back of lances mind is itching with an answer, it's right at the top of his tongue-

"It's the Ghost Rite" one whispers, voice as shaken as his clawed hands that grip his polearm. Then it clicks-

All the times they've talked to the Blade glances have been thrown lances way, every time they go on a mission the mentions of the name increase. When pidge asked her brother to keep an eye out for the Ghost Rite he looked confused-

It's him, God lance can't believe they all missed this! He can't believe the galra gave him such a lame name when he's been trying to get sharpshooter to stick- /no, focus! Now is not the time!/

Looking back at these men and seeing how shaken they are about lance standing here, he thinks maybe....maybe he should test the waters a little?

Ya know, for science.

Lance steps forward making them step back twice the distance. He repositions his gun causing the weaker to flinch while the rest to either drop their weapons or hold theirs unsteady.

He smirks....someone whimpers.

/Oh/ lance thinks trying not to laugh /this will be fun/

The rest of the mission goes off without a hitch, with lance using his newly acquired info to get them to bend to his whims a little things went faster than usual. Data collected, prisoners saved, planet freed and another win for voltron all the while lance is the only one to know about the Ghost Rite.

Of course, he didn't tell anyone about it not when he has no proof. Who would believe him anyways? His entire team thinks he's great with people, super kind and an all around great guy! Of course they think him capable, they saw what went down on Euble and all the other missions they go on, but that doesn't mean they'd think him a sign of fear for the galra.

So with every mission they go on lance watches the galra freeze or stutter at spotting him, he smirks or lets them know it would be on sight- they drop things or put up much less of a fight, then they all go on their merry way!

It's been a lot of fun. Some ships don't even leave actual galra stationed anymore, there's been more and more sentries and less intense battles. Lance counts it as a win.

The name even spreads past the galra, soon enough any criminals in general know about lance, even the ones trying to take over part of their own home planets. All lance has to do is stand behind his lovely team during diplomatic missions and the secretly horrible ones will glance towards him, freeze up and excuse themselves.

He's becoming a master at subtle threats too. When these people recognize him he just has to wave his hand a certain way and they blanch faster than the vegetables Hunk preps.

In the end these people are almost always working with the galra...but still lance is having a blast with it. There's nothing quite like being the secret weapon.

When doing meetings with the Blade he can tell they've noticed that Lance is...aware of his title. The next time it's brought up lance smiles at their inevitable glances his way, kolivans eyes alight with recognition then things continue forward as if a revelation didn't just occur.

The next time the blade are physically aboard the castle kolivan pulls lance aside alone "you are aware now."

It's not a question this time "I am" lance confirms meeting kolivan eye for eye.

"I trust we are in your good graces?" He ask lance reluctantly as if worried for his response.

It's the first time lance remembers the blade are all galra too "yeah, you guys are on our side...I trust you."

Kolivan looks at him a little longer like he's making sure lance isn't just lying to have an edge "this will be beneficial then."

Lance watches him leave wondering just how deep this all goes.

~*~

He's protecting a small group of civilians in a diplomatic mission gone wrong when their hiding spot he chose is blown. Well...sorta.

The galran throw down a group the planets higher ranking individuals right Infront of lances hiding spot. Each and every one of them is tied up, disarmed and panicked. Standing before them is a huge burly beefcake of a Galra, seriously this guy is massive, all snarls and glower.

And this guy Is clearly not happy, nor are his little henchmen.

"Where is he?" The burly one lance has dubbed boss man ask, brandishing his sword.

"Where is who?" One of the council members voice, he's terrified lance notes but the Galra man only growls.

"The Ghost Rite!" He shows his teeth "we know he's amongst you and we want revenge"

The civilians next to lance start to shake "We don't know who that is!"

Lance lays low, calling his Bayard to his side.

"Lies! He's rumored to be a member of Voltron, where is he!" A blade is held to the counselors neck now and that's when lance decides to act.

He ignores the hushed begging from the people beside him asking him not to leave. He steps into the open.

"I heard you're looking for me?" Lance says with a smile

Boss man turns eyeing lance up and down taking notes of the V on his chest and blaster in hand "So it's true then, the sniper of vld is Ghost Rite"

"You've killed almost all of my men-" he takes a fighting stance growling at Lance "you've ruined everything!"

"What, like it's hard?" He distantly hears the few of the prisoners off to the side curse under their breath but that's ok they don't know how good lance is at games like this "maybe you should've trained them better to not get spotted so easily"

He watches the henchmen start to tremble and shoots them a smirk. If he can buy enough time maybe his team will be able to get here, either way the prisoners will be freed even if he has to do it himself.

The Galra growls and tells his last two men to stand gaurd for the prisoners. He charges at lance "they only fear you because you can kill at a distance!"

He's clawing at lance viscously, at every dodge he makes "you are NOTHING in close combat!"

Lance spins changing his stance to go towards the galran coming at him. Everyone shouts terrified before a light zings through the air a sharp polearm taking its place and stabbing through the commanders chest.

"The Ghost part of my name comes from people never getting away to tell others I can defend myself upclose too" lance says low enough that only the one infront of him can hear "I won't be the only ghost here."

"You-" he gargles in response.

Lance pushes him off the polearm with his leg before spinning around to the final two "do you wanna try me or will you yield for arrest?"

When he turns ready to free the prisoners he finds his team looking back at him slack jawed in a mix of pride and shock.

The final two men are detained, practically begging to be away and that was the day his team discovered he was the Ghost Rite all along.

(it also meant them freaking out bc the galra are afraid of him "lance! Even the blade are a little scared of you wtf!")

(Allura taught him the polearm she's so proud)

Part 1

[the-dream-team]

Can I Try Again

Another ridiculously fluffy one-shot for @efkgirldetective's summer of jily week four prompt: picking berries // I know I've kissed you before, but I didn't do it right // the entire song, pink in the night <3

She is beautiful and he is in a perpetual state of falling. Down and down and down the goddamn rabbit hole, but somehow the further James plummets, the brighter his life becomes. It’s the kind of brightness that blinds him- somewhat painfully- and leaves his vision spotty, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lily Evans walks ahead of him, a spring in her step, sunshine pouring through her hair. She’s cut it short for the summer, just above her shoulders, and he’s mesmerized by the way it bounces around her neck as she walks through the gardens of his family’s home. It’s an image he’s played over in his head an infinite number of times, but his rosiest daydreams don’t hold a candle to the real thing. The afternoon light hits his glasses just right and suddenly there’s a halo of glowing stars framing her as she tucks a dark red strand behind her ear. He can’t even see her face, but it doesn’t matter. I could stare at your back all day.

He is the luckiest boy in the world and every moment is made up of the sweetest form of torture. Agony and exuberance whipping his heart back and forth like a rogue Bludger.

She must know, he thinks. Must have some sort of clue that she’s occupied every corner of his mind for well over a year now. Even more so now, after the platform. He wishes more than anything for the ability to read minds as she glances over her shoulder with those startlingly green eyes, that friendly grin.

He can’t help but smile back- or maybe he was already smiling before she even turned around. It doesn’t matter. By some miracle, she’s here, and he can only marvel at the kindness of fate.

***

It had been a passing comment. One of those early morning conversations as his friends frantically scribbled out unfinished essays while shoving waffles down their throats. Chatter muffled by mouthfuls of eggs and yawning. Remus had commented offhandedly about the fruit bowl being passed around, and then-

“Oh, raspberries are my favorite.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already looking at her when she spoke. But truthfully, he was always looking at Lily, a habit he’d long since stopped fighting once he realized how fruitless his efforts were. She was beautiful and he was hopeless. Simply lucky to be in her presence. She was the sun, and he, but a lonely planet, entirely reliant on and endlessly seeking out her light.

Sirius spoke the words James should have if his mind hadn’t gone fuzzy from hearing her voice.

“You know, the Potters have a raspberry patch in their gardens.”

“Oh, really?” She glanced from Sirius to James with a brilliant smile and excited eyes, so purposefully glued to his that he had to duck his head and rake a hand through his hair to hide his heating cheeks.

“That’s right,” he said more to his plate of sausages than to her. “They’re usually ripe to pick by early August.” When he peered back up, she was still looking his way.

“You should come over this summer and take some off our hands,” said Sirius casually, turning towards James as if it had been his idea.

“Yeah,” he jumped in a little too eagerly. “I mean- if you’d like, you’re more than welcome.”

Her smile widened, rounding the apples of her cheeks in a way that made his stomach flip pleasantly. “That sounds like fun.”

He assumed she’d forget the conversation, it had been just another morning, just another casual chat among housemates, but that didn’t keep him from daydreaming about the potential of a far-off day in August rather incessantly during the following months. But then as the school year ended and summer rolled on painfully slowly (and Lily-less), an owl arrived. And her handwriting crawled across the page like a message written in the clouds.

***

Lily swings the woven basket back and forth in her pursuit of the best raspberries. There’s already an impressive bounty growing in her basket, far more than he’s managed to collect- too busy watching her kneel down and pluck berries off their delicate branches to pick any of his own.

He turns to a leafy bush, green and lively and swaying slightly in the warm breeze, and quickly pinches off a handful of berries in an attempt to catch up with her. When she spins around, he’s thankful for the distraction. A minute earlier and she would have caught him staring. Again.

She smiles pleasantly and brushes her fringe off her sweaty forehead with the back of her wrist. James’ heart leaps into his throat.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says, but not accusingly.

“No I haven’t,” he responds, voice gravelly from underuse. “Just been busy picking raspberries.”

She glances at his measly basket, then back to his face with arching brows and an amused smirk.

He can’t help his own guilty grin. “Alright, Evans, I’m sorry we can’t all be unreasonably talented at everything we do.”

“It’s berry picking, Potter,” she laughs, “not advanced Arithmancy.”

In retaliation, he plucks a raspberry off of the nearest branch and playfully throws it at her. She somehow has the gall to lean her head back and catch the goddamn berry between her teeth. His brain short circuits. He’s quite certain his jaw is on the ground. She acts as though this is no big deal, swallowing the fruit with a satisfied smile, her tongue brushing her lower lip before tossing another into her mouth.

“Oh, these are delicious!”

He can’t form a response even if he wants to. Even if it was a matter of life or death, which it sure as hell feels like. He can only stare at her mouth, at her lips stained raspberry-pink, and lose himself in the knowledge that he knows how they feel against his own- even just briefly.

***

The platform teemed with students stretching their legs after the long journey home from school, saying their goodbyes to friends as their families greeted them for the summer.

A pit sat in James’ stomach- heavy and demoralizing- the entire train ride back to London. He knew she’d be gone soon. Back with her parents in Cokeworth for two excruciating months before their seventh year began. He’d taken their close proximity for granted during the school year, and as he faced a summer without the promise of her warmth, he wondered if it was even possible living in the dark.

He laughed loudly at a joke Peter told, overcompensating for the fact he’d missed the punchline while his thoughts were spiraling over her. Sirius shot him a look that suggested he wasn’t doing a great job of masking his emotions. Had it been so obvious the entire way home? Could she have noticed the despondency in his eyes, heard the heavy thumping of his heart? He rolled his eyes at Sirius and mustered up the most unbothered smirk he could manage.

But then, without warning, she was in front of him.

“Alright, Potter, don’t let your head overinflate while I’m not around to keep you grounded.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Evans,” he laughed, thankful his voice sounded steadier than he felt. “Just so long as you promise to consider switching your loyalties to Puddlemere. There’s no way the Harpies even make it to the semi-finals this season, and I can’t bear seeing you heartbroken again.”

“Oh, piss off, Potter,” she replied, but the way she threw her arms around his neck seemed to argue she didn’t mean what she said. Instinctually, he hugged her back, and thank Merlin he had her to hold onto as the wind was knocked out of his lungs at her touch. An overwhelming warmth sparkled across every surface their bodies met, and it took every ounce of control he had to restrain the truly pathetic sigh that threatened to escape his throat.

“And I haven’t forgotten,” she spoke into his shoulder, breath hot thorough his t-shirt, “you promised me berry picking this August.”

It would be impossible to miss the rapid beating of his heart through his chest pressed up against hers. “I’m already counting down the days.”

When she pulled back, hands resting on his shoulders for a beat longer than expected, his body moved faster than his brain could keep up with. He leaned forward, aiming for her cheek, but miraculously landing against her mouth- connecting for the briefest of moments before parting again, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them. If it weren’t for the ghost of her lips still burning against his own, he might have thought he’d dreamt it.

“Lily, I’m not waiting any longer, we’re leaving, now,” came the unpleasant voice of her sister from across the platform.

Lily’s disoriented smile faltered slightly before she composed herself again, meeting his eye. “I’ll see you in August?”

“Yeah, August,” he somehow said with his mouth still tingling, forever changed by what they now knew.

***

The memory of her lips, how they feel pressed between his smile, is harder to ignore when they’re in front of him. He can remember the warmth where they touched him over a month ago and absentmindedly he brings a raspberry to his mouth so he can imagine how she must taste.

His emotions were hard enough to control before he knew what he was missing, but now they are impossible to reign in. He forgets how to breathe, and as a result, his head spins maddeningly. Unsure of how much longer he can stand up straight without making a fool out of himself, he walks forward and lays a hand on Lily’s back- partially to lead her forward, partially because the desire to be connected to her in any way is driving him mad.

She lets him guide her through the rows of bushes, under an ancient wooden archway, and across a courtyard of blossoming poppies and forget-me-nots enclosed by walls of hedges. Yellow and purple petals reflect brilliantly in her green eyes, creating their own fields of wildflowers within her irises. He walks her towards a wide, circular fountain in the middle of the grass where bubbling water spills over onto stone tiers and pours into the basin below, its floor littered with glinting coins, dancing under the water’s rippling surface.

He sits down and she follows suit on the stone ledge surrounding the water, partially shaded by an impressive plum tree. Cool droplets spray off the fountain, refreshing like summer rain singing I love you, I love you, I love you. Lily glances his way and he wonders if she can hear his thoughts.

“Are we finished picking berries?” she asks, eyes squinting and nose crinkling in the sun.

“I figured you had enough to feed a village.” He reaches over and grabs a raspberry from her basket and she gasps in faux outrage.

“Are you really stealing my raspberries, Potter?”

He adores his name on her tongue. “My apologies,” he says, pulling a silver Sickle out of his pocket and sliding it over to where she sits. She looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “For your troubles. Go on then, make a wish.”

“Oh!” Her eyes light up and she takes hold of the coin, lifting it to her heart as she closes her eyes in search of a wish.

He thinks he could look at her forever. Happy, sunkissed, an unconscious smile playing across her lips. With her eyes shut, he uses a minute to take a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing heart and compose his dopey grin. They’re sitting close together, knees almost touching with the basket of berries between them. As she tosses the Sickle behind her shoulder, he smells the faint scent of her vanilla shampoo.

She noticeably tries to hide her smile when her eyelids flutter back open.

“What did you wish for?” he asks, unable to stop himself.

She freezes with her eyes locked on his. A pink blush spreads across her cheeks, growing darker the longer he stares back at her. “I can’t tell you,” she says, words sounding choked, “or else it won't come true.”

Her flushed face awakens something in his chest, a confidence that blooms magnificently, turns his nervous, pattering heartbeat into a steady, powerful drum.

His voice drops to a hoarse whisper when he asks, “Can I guess?”

Her breath hitches. “I think you might already know, James.” Her words, the sound of his name, melts him down to a puddle. By some miracle, she continues speaking. “Look, I know I’ve kissed you before-”

“But I didn’t do it right,” he says frantically, his hands finding her face and brushing through her hair. He starts to understand why people advise against looking directly at the sun because being this close to her fills him with such astounding emotion he thinks he might explode. She stares up at him, blush deepening, lips parting, and he takes a ragged breath. “Can I try again?”

This time, when she smiles, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

He leans in slowly, letting their breath mix together, their noses bump lightly before he closes the space between their lips. She’s soft and warm and beautiful and radiant and he’s never felt a happiness quite like this one, never experienced a kiss this perfect. His fingers travel over her scorching skin and brush her neck as he deepens the kiss, tasting the raspberries on her tongue, his heart soaring as she responds blissfully until they’re both left breathless.

“And again?” she asks, pulling him back with a smile against his lips.

“And again,” he smiles back, marveling, once again, at the kindness of fate.

[babylooneytoonz]

Curly Hair and Blue Eyes, Just like yours

Pairing: Clark Kent x Fem! Reader

Summary: You decide to tell Clark Kent about the daughter he never knew he had with you, and he only wishes he had found out about her in a better situation.

Warnings: Kidnapping , Violence, Angst

[My Masterlist]

"Baby, we gotta go, come on out now," You called from the kitchen, having stuffed Piper's lunchbox into her tiny little bag that you had now propped on your shoulder. Little feet raced down the staircase of your home and you smiled, when you saw the little blue eyed girl, her hair neatly settled into two pigtails on either sides of her head, poked her head in. You knelt down in front of her, helping her put her bag on.

"Mommy? I wanna have Uncle Jerry's apple pie— " You smiled as you stood back up, quickly kissing the top of her head, as you took her hand in yours, your fingers clasping against the five year old's tiny ones.

"Well, if you are a good girl at school today, mommy might think of baking you one instead for dessert," you smiled down at her as the two of you walked out of your tiny two bedroom apartment in a tiny, cramped street in Metropolis where you had lived for years. You buckled her into the passenger seat, laughing to yourself listening to her as she had decided that now was the time to speak to her doll.

Being a single mother, there was so much on your plate always. Your days started with leaving Piper at Kindergarten, heading straight to the grocery store where you worked after leaving her. Four hours later you drove back to her school, picked her up and brought her back to the store with you, where you fed her and let her play around at the back, until 4 pm when finally, you ended your shift and the two of you drove your way back home.

You straightened the crease on your shirt, leaning against the fence along with the other young mothers who were waiting to collect their wards from kindergarten, just like you were until the bell rang somewhere inside, and a flurry of kids arrived, like bees floundering in the air.

You knelt down, throwing your arms out at the sight of your daughter who pushed herself into you, and you kissed her on her nose, and she giggled.

"Mommy, guess who vi- vitit— " She stammered, trying to say the word but she couldn't.

"Visited?" You asked, smiling at her, and she nodded.

"Visi- ted today."

You pulled yourself up, taking her hand in yours as you began walking with her towards the car parking, glancing down at her every ten seconds or so.

"Superman!!" She excitedly screamed, clapping as you opened the car door for her. The smile that was earlier on your lips dropped at the mention of him, and instead, a hollow look now ghosted your eyes as you regarded her briefly, giving her a fake smile and nodded, buckling her into the passenger seat, "Hm, I see. Why was he there?"

The car ride back to the store was a quiet one from your end, where only Piper spoke telling you of how the Superman had visited the kindergarten today, spent time with the children, telling them how they all were strong enough to grow up and be Supermen and Superwomen themselves. There were times when you snorted, not win disbelief, quickly masking it with a fake laugh, listening to your daughter talk about him.

You hated him, atleast you thought you did. You realized, the more you listened to her describe, Clark Kent was just the same— just the way you remembered him to be six years ago, when you had last met him.

How were you supposed to tell the innocent little child what Superman used to be to you?

Six years back, he had left you, leaving you broken hearted, and had walked out of your life, without giving you a reason as to where had you gone wrong in your relationship with him. No matter how much you tried, pleading and begging him to reconsider, it appeared as though he had already made up his mind.

"[Y/N], this will hurt for a while, and then you will be okay, trust me."

How the hell were you supposed to trust him when he was the one responsible for the excruciatingly painful heartbreak that you had witnessed?

You watched him, followed the news, watching every single success that Superman attained, his face plastered to your television screen, his charming boyish smile tugging at your heartstrings but you still felt happy, knowing how he was saving the world. Although, ironically, he had done nothing to save your crumbling relationship.

You would have still forgiven him, had you not found out, just a month after he had left you, that you were pregnant.

At first, you thought that Clark deserved to know— after all, he had every right to be in his child's life, and you were no one to take that boon away from him, or your child. Sucking it up, you had forced yourself to go to the Daily Planet building, to talk to Clark, to tell him what you had found out.

You didn't. You couldn't. Because he looked happy with Lois Lane. So you left.

Your home smelt like a freshly baked apple pie, as you stood against the kitchen counter, the baked goodie laying in front of you just like you had promised your little girl. Outside, in the living room, you could hear the television on, as Piper watched her favourite cartoon, her chuckling audible to you, which made you smile. Your golden retriever, Berry, nudged her head against your leg, causing you to bend slightly so you could pet the top of her head before she scampered off to be with her best friend once more.

"Piper, baby. Berry wants to go out."

The little girl dashed into the kitchen upon hearing your words, her excited eyes glimmering with delight as she began looking up at you.

"Mommy, can I take her out?"

You thought for a minute, planning to refuse at first but then you gave up, because the two of you, your baby girl and your furry baby both looking at you with big, googly eyes that you couldn't resist.

"Fine but stay close to the front gate, and inside. There's a lot of traffic outside, love. Mommy's gonna be watching you from the window here, alright?" You gave her a smile, watching as the two of them walked off, the dog first, followed by the girl— smiling at how considerate the big dog was around her tiny form.

While you were readying the plates, setting the dinner table, you momentarily made sure to glance out of the window, from where you could see them both, running around, being the big goofballs the two of them were. What you failed to see, was a dark hooded man, standing by your fence, watching the girl carefully, observing.

A few minutes passed by, and you decided that it was time to go out and fetch the two back inside, when you heard Berry mediating between loud barks, and pained whines. Your eyes widened, as you ran out of the house, on bare foot, the pads of your feet grazing against the grass when you saw two men, throwing your daughter into the back of a car, Berry having tied ruthlessly by her neck to the tree, the hold so hard that she was almost suffocating. By the time you ran to the gate the car was already turning down the street, until it finally disappeared out of view and you fell to your knees, screaming, crying, your heart pounding inside your chest. Someone had taken your daughter.

Finally, after two minutes of screaming your heart out, you leapt to your feet freeing Berry from the leash that had her pinned to the tree, tears still streaming down your face as you ran inside, grabbing your phone and your car keys.

There was only one who could bring her back, and there was nothing stopping you from asking from his help, because only he could do it— find her from whichever corner of Metropolis they were hiding her and bring her back.

At some time between you driving recklessly through the streets of Metropolis to the time you finally reached the Daily Planet building once again, the sky started pouring, heavily. You parked your car in the parking lot opposite to the building and without caring, you stepped out into the rain, racing your way into the building.

"Clark Kent, please, it's urgent," you literally slammed your moist fists against the desk of the office receptionist, her eyes widening when she saw the condition you were in— your hair and your outfit drenched in the rain, sticking to you, your body trembling with cold.

"Uh, sure, but who do I say is asking for him?"

"[Y/N], and please, tell him it's urgent."

You began rubbing the side of your arms fervently, trying to keep yourself warm, as the receptionist pulled the receiver to her ears, and looked up at you briefly, "Mr. Kent, a Miss [Y/N] is here. She, uh, says it's urgent, and it does look like she is in a state of.. emergency."

The receptionist disconnected the phone, slowly placing the receiver back. She looked up at you, and informed you that Clark was on his way now to see you. You began biting the insides of your cheeks— a sudden nervousness killing you from the inside. How were you going to tell him? What if he refused to help you? Where was Piper? All kinds of depressive thoughts began to sneak into your head when his silhouette finally appeared, his eyes falling on you as he was walking towards you.

Clark Kent pushed his glasses nervously over the bridge of his nose, his heart racing. He wasn't sure, why after all those years you were here to see him, and that too, this urgently. He hoped you were okay. When he stepped out of his office, his eyes fell on you. His heart broke, yet again, on the sight of you— you were dripping from head to toe, your body shivering due to the cold. His pace increased, until he was literally running towards you, his eyes fixed on yours.

"Clark." You began, only to find yourself give in, to nerve wracking sobs as he pulled you into his embrace, letting his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him, as he soothingly rubbed your back, thousands of memories flooding back into both your minds.

"Listen to me, there's something you should know," you hicupped, still crying hysterically. Clark slowly walked you away from the crowd that had now gathered around you and him until the two of you were in an empty cabin. He lowered you in a leather chair and pulled one in front of you, letting his palms rest on your knees, "Whats wrong?"

"I didn't know who else to go to, I -- Clark," you swallowed the lump forming in your throat, you didn't know how to begin. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, or tried to, but the heaviness of your chest couldn't let you breathe, "Someone took my daughter, right from in front of my eyes. Two men, dressed in black, they came and they took her, stuffed her into their car, Clark, I don't know where to find her, what to do."

Clark's face fell— it was as though someone had cut off his oxygen supply— what else was he expecting? That you would wait for him all your life? He looked at you in a strangled way, his eyes narrowed at you, but he wasn't angry. He just looked hurt. The hands that were resting on your knees slowly pulled away and you winced at the loss of the contact, looking up at him through your teary eyes. He pressed his lips together and parted his lips, "Do you have any idea who could have —"

"No, I— Who could mean harm to an innocent little five year old, Clark? She can't even hurt a fly." You cried.

"Five.. five year old?" Clark croak, as if something was lodged inside his throat.

"Five years, and a few months to be exact.." you whispered, as your fingers gently pulled out your wallet, and inside was a picture of your beautiful little girl, her long black hair, just like Clark's curled atop her matted head. She was a true replica of him, having his luscious curls, big blue eyes and the kindest of the smiles. You slowly extended the wallet towards him, your hand trembling as your heart beat like a supersonic train. "That's— that's her, Piper ..Kent?"

Clark stepped abruptly from the chair, his fingers clasping your wallet. Weakly, he looked down at the photo, the realization sinking into him. The eyes that looked back at him from the photo were the same eyes, he didn't need proof to believe that she was his.

"Clark, I know you have questions but this isn't the time, please help me, they took her! I — I need Superman.. she needs Superman.." You pleaded him, with your eyes, looking at him.

The next minute, Clark had his hand on your shoulder, as he was walking you out of the cabin, his eyes not meeting yours.

"Get back home, incase they call for ransom or something. I will get her back."

What you didn't see when you were on your way out, was the way Clark broke down after you left. He lowered himself to his knees, watching you walk off until he had both his hands pulling at his own hair, his eyes glowing with the heat vision, his body suddenly on fire.

Two days passed, and with these two days, whatever sanity that was left within you, drained out, anxiety taking over completely. You went to the Daily Planet, looking for Clark, but he wasn't there— of course he was out looking for her. But it still didn't let you rest any easier.

By the time it was nightfall, you were pacing around in your living room, your kitchen a mess, dirty utensils from two days back still soiling the sink. Your hair were a mess as you had not bothered even running a hand through them, for you were completely shaken and distraught.

Just when you thought that your mind will probably burst with the amount of worry that was eating at you, the doorbell rang. You ran— it was like running a life marathon— as you unlocked the door, finding Superman standing at your doorstep, holding Piper in his arms, the little girl having her arm locked around Superman's neck, her face glimmering with excitement.

"Oh my fucking—" you cursed under your breath, sniffling in retaliation to the sight and n front of you as you threw out your arms towards her, "Piper, baby! You're okay! Jesus, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I should have been careful— "

"Mommy, do you know that Superman saved me from the bad men?" You gasped, almost wide eyed as Piper leapt into your arms, and you buried your face into your daughter's hair, nuzzling your nose against her face, holding her tight, as though if you didn't, she would slip away. What suprised you, and sort of, made you smile was her innocence — she was kidnapped and probably locked up somewhere and yet all she could think of or talk about was how Superman had saved her life. Your eyes flew to his, meeting his halfway, you could see how exhausted he looked, and a look passed between the two of you— a look of love that had been buried years back— the two of you didn't need words, and the two of you could feel how the other one felt — probably a mix of relief, anger and a lot of questions.

"Yes, he did—" You smiled, "Are you okay, Piper? Love, are you hurt?"

"She's— " Superman began speaking, and you looked at him once again, "She's fine. She isn't hurt, I made sure."

You bit your lip, your fingers toying with your daughter's curls. Finally, you stepped inside, leaving the door wide open, glancing at Superman with the corner of your eyes, "I know you want to to talk. Please, come in."

"Mommy? Is Superman staying with us tonight?"

"Piper, darling, would you go and check on Berry? She's not feeling well ever since you left—" You placed her on the floor, carefully eyeing her for any injuries, but much to your relief, there were none.

"Alright, mommy."

"You should have told me, [Y/N]. She's mine too!"

You gasped, almost inaudible, trying to suck in a mouthful of air as you fixed yourself by the window, looking out, almost cautiously, your mind still in a state of alert. When Clark saw this, he walked up to where you were, staring out of the window, and you saw his reflection behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he turned you around, "they won't come back, [Y/N]. I made sure of it."

"Who were they? What did they want?" You frowned, his hands still on your shoulders but you didn't seem to mind.

"They weren't anyone of importance, they did it for ransom, having randomly decided to kidnap her and ask you for money. How were they supposed to know they kidnapped my daughter? Like hell, I didn't know I had a daughter," he almost froze, letting his hands drop, his eyes now looking at you for answers.

You took a deep breath, running your hands through your hair, almost pulling at them in an attempt to straighten them a little, but Clark grabbed your arm, his grip on your wrist as he lowered it, showing you how his patience was wearing thin.

"You left me, Clark. Just because I was pregnant, it didn't mean I was selfish to use her as a means to get you back, or to burden you with her responsibility." You hissed, trying to pull on your wrists, but of course, how were you to match the Kryptonian's strength?

"I would have never left if I knew—"

"And this, Clark, is exactly why I didn't want you to find out. I didn't want you to decide to stay with me because.. of a baby," you had begun pacing in the living room now and Clark just stood by the window, his arms crossed against his chest, "You would have hated me one day." Suddenly, you stopped speaking and your eyes widened, your head sharply turning towards him and a thin frown appearing on his sublime features. The next minute, you were glaring at him, poking him in the chest with your index finger, "Before accusing me of hiding this from you, how would you justify you leaving me without giving me the reason? You didn't care about me, you didn't care about the fact that I cried myself to sleep for weeks, inwardly tortured for months. How very hypocritical of you, Mr. Kent."

He grabbed your hand, however his hold remained gentle on you. Very slowly, he twisted your arm behind you, stepping closer, in a way pinning you to the wall behind, looking down at you. He then scoffed— a dry, sarcastic scoff.

"I left you because I had no choice. Luthor took Lois—"

"Oh, great, Lois, and that's why you left me—"

"He took Lois because he thought Lois is the woman I'm with. You realize what this means? If he knew or find out it was you, he would have thrown you off that building. I couldn't have lived with that. I did it for you!"

Tears streamed down your face, his words finally sinking in. You parted your lips and all that came out was a gush of air. Clark placed his hand on your cheek, reluctantly, half expecting for you to push it away, but you didn't. His fingers felt hot against your skin, like embers as he cupped your face, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek.

"I came..one month after you left me .. to your office ..when I found out.. wanted to tell you," He nodded, blinking as he waited for you to continue. "I saw you with Lois. You looked happy, the two of you."

"Lois is just a friend, I never—" he frowned, his hand dropping from your cheek as he ran his fingers through his own hair, his exasperation evident, "It was always you."

"I can't believe this, Clark. I fucking cried myself to sleep thinking you hated me," you sniffled, falling back against your couch like a lifeless corpse, bringing both your palms to your face as you buried yourself to those, hiding yourself from his intense eyes, "That girl—" You looked up, your cheeks now stained with your tears, "she is more you than she is me. In every single way. I needed you Clark Kent."

"I'm sorry, I should never have —"

"Six years, Clark. You missed her birth, you missed watching her grow up, she was without you, and we were okay, you know? And now this happens and my life is a mess once again—"

He looked at you, dejected, his glances mediating between the floor to you and then back down to his hands. Finally, he cleared his throat, and you looked up at him, looking at the beaten Superman in front of you. He was everything but the strong superhero you knew in that split second. He was a broken man— just a man— in a spandex costume.

"If I could go back and change what I did, I'd do it in a blink of my eye."

You smiled, and replied, "It's easy to say. It wasn't your fault, though. It was perhaps, we were never meant to be."

His face fell, and he didn't try to hide it from you. You bit your lip, tasting the metal on your tastebuds as he slowly took a step away, his eyes moving from you to the stairs, perhaps hoping that he could see Piper before he left.

"If something ever happens, if you need me, I'll be there, [Y/N]. I couldn't be there when you needed me, but I'll be there from now until you don't need me anymore."

Would it ever happen when you won't need him any more? You never truly moved on, no matter how hard you tried. The void remained, in your heart, in your life and in your cold bed. Six years , and you couldn't make yourself fall in love with anyone, because no one was Clark Kent, they could never be him.

"Leaving us again, are you?" You wiped your tears with the back of your palm, and he looked at you, suprised as though he had heard you wrong.

You smiled and you looked down at your hands, they were trembling as you rubbed them fervently against the fabric of your thigh, and stood up, hesitantly at first, before a little confidence built up inside you when you saw the softness in his eyes as you walked towards him. This time you pinned him to the wall, and the taller man let you, without even trying to attempt to escape or show you just strong he was. He let himself be entrapped as you grabbed his chin, rather unceremoniously, yanking his head so he was looking down.

"Don't you want me to—" he stopped talking, finally realizing what you were trying to say to him.

"Six years, I watched you on TV, and that's just it. That was the nearest I had to feeling anything. Is this what true love is? You know someone isn't coming back yet you can't stop loving em?"

He smiled, but didn't reply. He just kept gazing into your eyes.

"Go on, go. The world needs you, Superman."

You smacked him on his chest, watching his eyes to shift to confusion once again. Awkwardly, he tilted his head to his side and shook his head, only his chin moving.

"And you? You don't?" He asked.

"No." You smiled smugly, watching his face fall, so you hurriedly added, "I need Clark Kent, not Superman. He is very broody, and I am scared of him. I would rather have my Clark back."

He gave you a toothy smile, and in that minute, he wasn't Superman anymore. He was your Clark Kent, only in a spandex costume. He wrapped you in your arms , pulling you to him, bringing down his lips to the side of your jaw, as he kissed your chin at first, and then moved on to your lips. Your lips met his, after a long time, and your insides exploded, your hands flying to the back of his head.

"Mommy!"

Clark cleared his throat, and you immediately pulled away wiping your lips and the two of you looked at each other, both your cheeks a slight crimson. You two felt like a child again, having been caught stealing cookies and Clark smiled, sitting down until he was squatting on his heels. He threw out his hand towards Piper and she ran up to him, settling herself on his thigh.

Clark looked up at you, and so did she, and you couldn't help but give them a warm smile back, because the sight was melting your heart. It was like a mini me, Clark and his little female version, looking right at you with that big blue eyes.

"What?" You asked Clark.

"Shall we tell her? Shall I tell her?"

"No, Superman." You changed your voice, grabbing him by his Cape as you pulled him up, "I don't want targets on her back. Why don't you just go on out, change into some human clothes and then we can tell her who her father is."

"But sweetheart, it's a little too late for that don't you think?" He pointed towards Piper, and your head shot towards her, you jaw almost dropping when you saw her eyes turn orange due to the heat vision, just for a bit before they turned blue again, and Superman slid his arm through your waist.

"It's okay, let them find out, Superman has a family. They still can't touch a hair on your head, not until I'm around. And I'm not..going anywhere."

"No, sweety," you gave him an apologetic smile, "that's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried she's gonna go to school and boast around how her dad's Superman."

"Well, they are going to find out, one day or the other."

"You're right, Clark." You nodded, as the two of you watched her scamper off, chasing Berry, you leaning on to him.

A/N- Fuck, I realised I really got carried away with this one. I think this is the longest one shot I've ever written? I thought I'd break it into parts but oh well. I hope you guys liked it.

[corvusalbus93]

The Thin Line

We may not have gotten a Nightmare for the Guardian in the “Season of the Haunted”, but a few years back I feel like it would have been Cayde haunting them, given the cutscenes we see in “Forsaken”. Maybe it’s the RPG-player in me, but wanted to see a bit more...so I wrote it. This takes place during the “Forsaken”-campaign.

...

It was a quiet in Spider’s hideout, with the exception of whispered conversations between some Eliksni and the occasional creaking of metal. The Guardian had found herself a somewhat hidden corner to clean her weapons, a time-consuming task, given what she’d brought with her to the Shore. Outwardly the Exo seemed calm, though that was terribly far from the truth.

Cayde’s death was weighing heavily on her, and every time her thoughts drifted to what had happened in the Prison of Elders her emotions became a storm of anger, guilt and sorrow. She had hoped that dealing with his killers would help her cope, six Barons had already fallen, but deep inside she knew what she did here would not heal that particular wound. But what else could she do?

With a twinkle of white light her Ghost materialized himself at her right shoulder. He looked down to the various weapons before her, and she noticed that for a moment his eye lingered on the sniper rifle she’d used to kill Pirrha, the Rifleman. The Baron, who had destroyed Sundance.

“Are you alright?” he asked carefully, flying down to her hand, as if he wanted to make sure that he had her attention.

“I’m fine, Hermes. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m just concerned, because…” Her Ghost paused briefly. “We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we? We’re here to serve justice.”

The Exo stopped working. For a moment she looked at him, setting back the two flat spikes at the side of her head, like elongated ears. “We have to do this. Not just for Cayde.”

Hermes looked at her curiously.

She sighed. “Look at what happened here; Fallen getting turned into Scorn, prisoners roaming the Reef freely, fighting for dominance. And the Barons? Even if we had no personal reason to hunt them down, they are too dangerous.”

“Do you think they intend to leave the Reef?”

“I’m...not certain, though I wouldn’t rule it out.” Earth, the Traveler; they just seemed to attract every other power in the galaxy, the latter especially. The Exo couldn’t believe that the Scorn would be the one faction that wouldn’t eventually show interest in that big ball.

“Well, I guess that means the city is a little saver for now,” her Ghost noted, trying his best to sound cheerful.

“I hope so.” Frankly, she doubted these undead would be so easily dealt with, but at least the immediate threat would be contained. Perhaps.

Hermes hesitated for a moment and lowered his voice a little. “What about Uldren?”

The mentioning of that name made the Exo clench her fists. She could almost feel flames licking over her finger, just like whenever she unleashed her light-given powers. In the end, no amount of rationalizing could distract her from the fact that she was here for Cayde. The other reasons were but additions, excuses to appease her own conscience, even if she didn’t want to admit that, to herself and to Hermes.

But there truly were reasons to pursue him besides vengeance, weren’t there? “You heard Petra. He's gone mad.  He slaughtered his own people, those who bowed to him. That alone would be reason enough to hunt him. Helping Awoken may not have been our reason for coming here, but I’m not about to let more die, not if I can do anything about it.”

“Then it’s not revenge?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Perhaps there was no point in trying to deceive herself, and Hermes should be the one person she could confide in. Who was closer to her than her own Ghost? “You know how much Cayde meant to me,” the Exo said, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Then you know that I’m anything but impartial, when it comes to this task. I do this for him, every time I pull the trigger on one of these damn Barons, I do it for him. I do it because I wasn’t there for him, when he needed me, I do it because I was helpless, when I had to watch him die, because it’s the only thing I can do for him.” She looked at her Ghost, certain that if she were still human, there would be tears in her eyes. “Because ever since you found me and gave me this new life, killing has been the one thing I’m good at.”

“That’s...”

Hermes backed off, when the Guardian suddenly leaped to her feet. “How many times did he joke about me taking him with us, getting him out of that tower. How often, when we told him about our adventures, did he suggest joining him one of these days?” Her voice was shaking more and more with each word.  “And finally…finally, we’re actually doing it and I...I let him die. I let my friend die. He asked me to have his back…and I didn’t have it. I wasn’t there.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Ikora said so.”

“She wasn’t there…”

But Hermes cut her short. “Cayde said so. He told you, remember? He told you that it wasn’t on you.” He flew closer, his blue eye illuminating her metallic features, though she looked down, avoiding his gaze.

Once more the Exo’s voice was little more than a whisper. “If I had been faster...”

“You were trying to catch up with him as quickly as you could, and when Sundance died nothing could slow you down. Not even that hulking abomination, whatever it was.” Hermes paused, slowly floating down, allowing his Guardian to cradle him in her hands. “I wish I could be of more help. But there are things I cannot heal.”

“I know.” Slowly, she sunk back to her knees. “Hermes?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think there is a clean-cut line between justice and vengeance. Not here. Hunting Uldren, the Barons...it’s a bit of both really. And I know revenge isn’t gonna fix anything, it will not bring Cayde back. Honestly, I don’t even believe it will grant me peace. But doing nothing, letting them roam free and unpunished, bringing more death across the system.” She closed her eyes. “I think that would break me. I’m sorry I’m not the noble hero you probably hoped to find.”

Hermes stared at her. “After all you’ve done these past few years? All the adventures we had? You’ve been more than I imagined in all my centuries of searching. I’m proud to be your Ghost.”

The Guardian looked at him, finally mustering a smile. “Thank you.” She sounded earnest.

“And I’m with you. I just don’t want you to...”

“Lose myself?”

“Something like that. You’re right, all we’ve done these past years is fighting, yet it was always to protect humanity, the city and our friends. But you’re still human.” She quirked an eyebrow, at least as much as the metal plates allowed. “You know what I mean. What I’m saying is, you shouldn’t be ashamed to feel this way. I was just worried. I’m sorry I doubted you, I mean our reasons for coming here.”

“No need to apologize. I’m glad you’re looking after me, little light.”

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” he huffed.

“And I asked Cayde repeatedly not to call me ‘Goldie’. Not that I ever thought I could actually dissuade him.”

Both chuckled for a moment.

“For Cayde?”

She nodded. “For Cayde.” And gently tapped his shell. “And Sundance.”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Potions and Constellations // G.W.

Summary: The job offer landed on George Weasley’s doormat on the second Tuesday in March. As he bent down to grab the thick, cream envelope, George knew immediately who it was from, having read the handwriting every summer from the ages of eleven to eighteen.

A/N: Professor George Weasley anyone?

Warnings: mentions of grief, missing someone, pining, mutual pining, post!war, fred is dead.

Word count: 4.8k

The job offer landed on George Weasley’s doormat on the second Tuesday in March. As he bent down to grab the thick, cream envelope, George knew immediately who it was from, having read the handwriting every summer from the ages of eleven to eighteen.

The letter then remained on the kitchen table for a week, going unanswered as George battled with his head and his heart. Teaching was never a profession George had wanted to undertake, but Professor McGonagall sounded adamant in her letter that he would make a worthy addition to the staff at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The war between his head and heart raged on and on. On one hand, he wanted to take the job. George was desperate for a change of scenery. The sight of the shop, no matter how loved it was, had become stale without Fred’s presence. However, how could he leave the legacy of his twin brother? How could he walk away from the walls that screamed Fred’s influence?

The decision is made by Ron. He stops by George’s flat two weeks after the letter first showed up. As brothers are wont to do, he nosed through the papers on George’s kitchen table before his eyes fell on the letter from McGonagall.

After that, a long and winding conversation took place between the two brothers who had grown closer after suffering the loss of a sibling. Ron explained that he would look after the shop; that George could always come back in the school holidays and the odd weekend to check in. The shop wouldn’t be the same without him, Ron admitted, but he made sure to tell his older brother that he would live to regret not taking the opportunity McGonagall was offering.

So that was that.

George replied that very afternoon; accepting the job that would start that September and offering his apologies for how long it had taken to reply.

----------

Over the course of the last four years, Molly has cried exactly four times. In one year, she cried twice. Once out of fear for her husband’s life, and then again over the lifeless body of her darling boy.

After that, Molly very rarely cried, feeling as if there was nothing else that could draw out her tears. That is, until George turned up at the Burrow holding the letter written from the new Headmistress of Hogwarts; the very one offering him a teaching position.

She had cried out of joy and out of fear. She couldn’t help but be scared for her son; returning to where his twin brother died. It took a different sort of bravery to return to such a place, but for George, she would be brave.

George moved to Hogwarts in the last week of August, wanting to settle into his quarters before getting to know the students he would be teaching. All through it, he thinks of Fred, wondering and wondering whether his twin resides with the ghosts of the enchanted castle.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on the though, not wanting to be disappointed when the ghosts return to school when the students return. Instead, George focuses on getting his classroom ready. Being asked to teach Potions was no small feat, and whilst he had little to none teaching experience, he felt confident he could pull this off.

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

It had been an age since you had last clapped eyes on George Weasley. It was completely possible in that time that he had grown another foot, towering above the students. His robes were just as colourful as the last time you had seen him; the fabric settling around him comfortably as if he was made for a teaching role.

Everything about him has changed, yet he still remains the same. The corner of his eyes now have the beginnings of wrinkles lining their corners; they become more prominent as a large smile breaks across his face, his gaze solely directed on you as George shuffles through the throng of students, stopping in front of your seat at the staff table.

“It’s been…” He starts, a breathtaking smile taking over his face.

“Years,” You finish, cutting him off in one breath.

He smiles, and your heart starts to race uncontrollably. “How have you been?” He asks, voice genuine, eyes bright.

You fiddle with the sleeve of your dark blue robes, representing your house in the sorting ceremony. “I’ve been good,” You murmur, casting your gaze across the Great Hall, taking in the faces of the new students who you would be leading through their magical education. “How have you been, George? I know you’ve had a rough couple of years.”

George frowns, nodding, “It hasn’t been easy, but we all came together as a family and helped one another.”

Silence falls between you both; minds wandering back to that fateful night all those years ago when the school suffered the worst of crimes. So many lost in such a short amount of time; so many lost and the school was still feeling their absence. More ghosts wandered the halls of Hogwarts now, each one becoming a guiding light for the students who were fortunate enough not to know a magical society divided by blood status and family names.

“How long have you been teaching?” George queries, shifting the subject away from the grief that still ravages his soul.

“Since the end of the war. McGonagall offered me the position once Hogwarts had finished reconstruction,” You answer, thinking back to the mild summer day that McGonagall’s offer landed on your doorstep. It had taken you less than an hour to decide; half an hour to reply, and a week to pack up your belongings and move.

George blows out a long breath, nodding as he does so. “What do you teach?”

You laugh, quirking an eyebrow, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get to know me.”

George laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, “That’s it – you’ve caught me red handed.”

You snort, rolling your eyes playfully at the man you haven’t seen in years. “I teach Astronomy,” You answer, gesturing to the silver moons and stars sewed into the hems of your robes.

“The only reason I remember those lessons was because of you,” George admits, briefly wondering whether he’s said too much in his first hour of seeing you again.

You duck your head, clearing your throat as you ignore the small voice in your head, reminding you of the teenage crush you had on the redhead all those years ago. Gesturing to the empty seat next to you, you offer George a seat, wanting to catch up more before the sorting ceremony begins and anxious First Years are settled into their houses.

George folds himself down in the seat next to you, immediately reaching for the pitcher of water, pouring a glass for you and him.

“George Weasley,” You tease, “You are a gentleman.”

He snorts, shaking his head, “Molly Weasley’s education was more thorough than anything else I’ve experienced.”

You hold your glass up, toasting the matriarch who you remember with nothing but fondness. George copies your movements, feeling a pang of homesickness as he thinks of the woman who had dedicated her life to her children, and who had experienced the incomparable loss of a child.

Quiet conversation is made between you; earning far more glares than deserved from Professor Flitwick as George makes you laugh so loud; your snort of humour is heard across the Great Hall.

Soon after, McGonagall dismisses the students, wanting them to get an early night, ready for the first full day of lessons tomorrow. As the students file out of the Great Hall, the Professors follow behind, ready to catch any stragglers.

As you turn to the stairs, fingers curl around your wrist, keeping you in place. Wide-eyed, you meet the fierce gaze of George Weasley. “Will I see you again?” He asks; the words blurring into a mess as he rushes to get them out.

You smile softly, nodding your head, “I’m sure you remember the way to the Astronomy classroom.”

George’s answering smile takes your breath away. Reluctantly, he lets go of your hand, breaking the connection between the two of you. Your whole body suddenly feels cold at the loss of contact, as if George’s touch set your whole being alight, bringing it back to life after so long lying dormant.

Turning from the redhead, you hurry away, your steps loud on the stone floor of the corridor. It’s a moment; that’s all – a simple moment, but you turn around, wanting one more look at him before you retire for the night and begin the new school year.

A moment: one moment to find that George is watching you go.

----------

The last time George Weasley had seen the Astronomy Tower there had been fire and screams raging all around him. It had been a shock to return to the school after such a long absence. He never thought he would return; not after leaving his education, and not after losing Fred in the manner he did.

George didn’t think he would ever come back, but on a Friday night, three weeks after lessons start, he finds himself climbing the tower’s steep stairs.

He doesn’t say anything when he lands on the top step; taking a moment to catch his breath and silently admire your form by the telescope. You stare into the instrument intently, your mouth partly hung open as if in constant awe of what the night sky can offer.

Clearing his throat, George announces his presence politely, not wanting to scare you by remaining in silence.

“I was wondering when you were going to come see me,” You tease, eyes bright with happiness at the sight of your unexpected visitor, “I was beginning to think I would have to journey all the way to the dungeons to find you and coax you out.”

Despite himself, a laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms against the cold that rages through the tower and leans against the wall. “I would have come earlier, but I didn’t realise how much work goes into teaching,” He states, gesturing with his head to the piles of paper littering the floor, close to flying away in the wind.

“That isn’t school work,” You clarify, steeling yourself to be made fun of, “That’s my own research.”

“Your own research?”

You nod, “I want to write a book eventually, but it’s also ideas for future lessons.”

George huffs out a breath, thoroughly impressed at your devotion to your subject. He steps further into the tower, “I don’t think I could imagine loving a subject so much.”

“I like the stars,” You offer as explanation, “Did you enjoy it at school?”

“I dropped it after Fifth Year,” George admits sheepishly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he refuses to meet your eyes.

You laugh, shrugging off your teaching robes and depositing them on a nearby chair. “I never thought you were inclined towards the subject, George, don’t worry,” You snigger.

He rolls his eyes, “So what do you teach to Seventh Years?”

You grin, beginning to gesture wildly as you explain your long term plan for Seventh Year witches and wizards. In their final year at Hogwarts, witches and wizards develop their knowledge from Sixth Year by studying further constellations such as Orion the Hunter and Cygnus. “I like to focus on the stories behind the constellations. We focus on one constellation a week, and I round off the week by telling the story of the constellation to the students,” You round off, feeling your face begin to heat as you realise how long you have rambled about the stars.

George doesn’t seem too bothered, however. Instead, he looks rather bewitched by the idea of it. At this point, he wishes he had paid more attention in this particular class. “What constellation did you look at this week?” He asks, unable to stop himself, wanting to hear you talk more about the subject you find yourself so in love with.

“Perseus and Andromeda,” You reply, automatically pointing to the night sky

“I don’t know that one,” George admits, eyes scanning the sky to find the stars that make up the named constellation.

“Would you like to hear their story?”

“You know it?” George ask, feeling immediately silly for asking such a question, worried that he might have insulted you.

You laugh lightly, your smile lighting up your whole face. “Just as well as you know your potions. Don’t think I don’t know you’re smart, Weasley,” You laugh again when George’s face descends into a blush, “You would have had to have been good at the subject to make your skiving sweets.”

“I like Potions,” He admits, knowing full well that three weeks into teaching Potions, he could see him doing this until retirement. “Will you tell me the story?” He asks, desperate to know the story of Perseus and Andromeda.

You gesture to the blankets you keep piled on the floor, wanting somewhere comfier to sit when your back begins to protest the chair at your desk. George all but throws himself on the blankets, eagerly awaiting your retelling of a story he wishes he heard long ago.

Taking a deep breath, you begin, “Perseus was travelling back from killing Medusa when he found a princess chained to a rock in the ocean. For Perseus, it was love at first sight. He saw Andromeda and knew he was in love.

“Andromeda had been chained to the rock as punishment to Cassiopeia, her mother. Cassiopeia was so vain about her beauty, she claimed to be even more beautiful than the daughters of the God of the Sea, Poseidon.

“Poseidon, who was known for his short temper, reacted furiously. The God chained Andromeda to a rock in the sea and sent the sea monster, Cetus after her.

“Perseus was flying home on Pegasus, his winged horse when he came upon Andromeda just as she was about to be devoured. In a hurry, Perseus struck a deal with Cassiopeia and her husband, Cepheus. If Perseus saved Andromeda from Cetus, he would win the right to marry her.

“Unfortunately, the fates were not on their side. After Perseus slew the monster, he came to learn that Andromeda’s hand in marriage had already been promised to another man. Soon, the two men were locked in battle for the right to marry Andromeda. Perseus was initially outnumbered, but at the last moment, pulled out the head of Medusa and turned his opponent to stone.

“Perseus and Andromeda married soon after and lived to old age. When they died, the Gods placed them in the sky as a love story for the ages to come.”

“I think you’re incredible,” George breathes out when you finish the story, but he quickly backtracks when he realises exactly what has been said, “I mean… you’re incredible at your job. I remember you in class, and your love then shines through now.”

“Thank you,” You laugh, “Enough about me. I want to hear about you, George. Tell me about your joke shop in Diagon Alley.”

So he does. George regales to you tales of the shop; the customers he gets to meet. And the ones who have quickly become regulars. He tells you about Ron; how he stepped up after the war, choosing not to become an Auror and instead, help George run the shop. George admits his guilt over leaving Ron to run the shop alone, but he has utter blind faith in his younger brother and knows the shop will be fine.

He speaks of how odd it is to be back at Hogwarts without Fred; to be teaching Potions without Fred and living his life without his twin. The pain of Fred’s loss is still very much alive and evident in his voice as he falls into an inevitable silence, dragged into memories that pricked at his mind like thorns.

That evening, a friendship is forged between the two of you. Through your time at Hogwarts as a student, you had known of the Weasley Twins, and had spoken to both George and Fred on multiple occasions but had never found yourself being friends with them. Now, the beginning threads of a friendship have been weaved between you and George, and the both of you felt it was going to stick.

“Can I come back?” George asks out of the blue, breaking the comfortable silence.

You jump at the sudden sound of his voice but recover quickly. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, Professor Weasley,” You smile, a joking tone to your voice.

He parts with one last smile, leaving you at the top of the stairs to the tower, your mind in a muddle. It was going to be one interesting friendship, you thought to yourself, staring at the space George stood only moments ago.

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

Winter falls into Spring, giving way to new blossoms and a new leash of life – even the Whomping Willow is serene enough to bask in the early morning sun, not wanting to thrash about angrily.

A friendship with George forms quickly; the two of you becoming dependant on each other much faster than you cared to admit. Every Friday evening, George would climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower where you would both catch up on the week before he inevitably asks to be told a story from the stars.

Weeks passed where this was the routine. Sitting together at meals when your schedule allowed it; night classes meaning your sleep schedule was much different to other teachers. However, Friday evening would be dedicated for George.

Your feelings for George Weasley started slowly. It would be your heart beginning to race by being in his presence, a simple smile from him pulling you close to the edge. That was then followed by daydream after daydream; hopeless wonderings about the touch of his hands against your skin, and the feel of his mouth pressed against yours.

Countless times you had been pulled out of daydreams by students; each one of them knowing full well that the person on your mind had to be important to you to distract you from the stars and their stories.

They hit you full force when you interrupt his lesson on a Wednesday in February. Knocking gently on the classroom door, you had entered upon hearing George’s invitation.

His robe is discarded on his desk and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow as George gestures animatedly, lecturing about the properties of powdered root of Asphodel in the Draught of Living Death.

The sight of him teaching; commanding the classroom, demanding the attention of every soul in the room – it has your breath quickening and your heart pounding in your chest. He paces the front of the classroom, keeping the attention of all students as he explains what the tasks for today’s lesson. His eyes are bright with passion, and his smile is great as he urges his class to simply try their best – they do not need to get it right the first time.

Upon noticing you stood by an empty desk, George flashes you a wide smile before sending the class off to gather their ingredients and heat their cauldrons. “To what do I owe this visit?” George asks, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and leaning back against the desk.

You swallow thickly, ridding yourself of all thoughts to do with George and the desk and the outfit he is currently wearing. Regaining your composure, you smile shakily at the redhead, “What? You can visit me, but I can’t visit you?”

George laughs, “Of course not. You’re always welcome. We’re brewing Draught of Living Death. I’m sure you remember that lesson with Snape.”

You snort, “How could I forget? He used my brew as the perfect example for how not to use a cauldron. If I recall correctly, he called it an abuse to perfect potion brewing equipment. I had detention for two weeks!”

“Well” George states, barely repressed amusement sounding in his voice, “I remember your brew. There were very few things that Snape had right, but that was one.”

For a moment, you think he’s serious, but his famous smile soon spreads across his face and you have to repress the urge to jinx him in front of students. “Professor Weasley!” You gasp, faking offence.

George rolls his eyes, “You know it’s true.”

You wait a second before bursting into quiet laughter, trying not to disturb the working students. “It is true,” You giggle, “I was awful at Potions, but your class looks to be in good hands.”

He smiles softly, “So what did I do to deserve a visit from my favourite professor?”

“I’m your favourite?” You ask, placing a hand on your chest, touched.

“Only if I’m your favourite.”

“Then you’re my favourite, Weasley.”

He smiles; the grin lighting up his face as he shuffles on his feet, wondering what to say next that won’t make him look like a fool in front of his students.

Sixth Year Potions watch the exchange; their brews long forgotten as they observe their two favourite professors clearly flirt in front of them. Eyes meet across the room, and all students have the same thought – how long would it be until they got their act together?

-----------

Months pass.

Months pass, and you do not confess to your feelings.

Months pass, and something changes between the two of you. The friendship develops, becoming deeper, meaning something more to the both of you. You’re teetering on the edge of a knife, hands gripped tightly in the others as you try to decide which side you’re going to fall over.

It’s as if the both of you know that over the course of your short friendship, friendship would never be enough. It was as if you were destined for each other; George feeling understood by you in a way he hadn’t felt since Fred died.

Feelings remain unsaid; yearning growing inside the both of you until you simply push that boundary of your friendship further, becoming more comfortable with each other. It was hard to remain quiet on the subject when you often caught George’s eyes on you, watching you with an expression on his face that you’re sure is mirrored on your own.

----------

“Are you sure you want to hear tonight’s story?” You ask, a light note of concern in your voice as you watch George’s face for any reaction.

“What do I have to be worried about?” He asks, face adorable scrunched up as he peers through your telescope.

“It’s the story of Castor and Pollux,” You murmur gently, reaching a hand out to brush against the back of George’s hand gently.

George freezes. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, he knows those names. A brief memory washes over him; the astronomy tower, a flash of a Gryffindor tie and the sound of a laugh he hasn’t heard in nearing five years now.

“The Twins?” He whispers, voice hoarse as unexpected emotions wash over him. George turns to you, finding nothing but concern and worry alight in your eyes and written across your face. His heart doubles in size at the sight of it; your clear apprehension at telling this story for the fear of hurting his feelings only deepening his feelings for you.

You care, he realises. You truly care about him.

“George,” You whisper, “I don’t have to tell this story. I can tell you another one – the Seven Sisters, or Altair and Vega. The choice is yours.”

George shakes his head, stepping away from the telescope and settling down on the blankets that were spread across the floor. He had to hear this, he realised. He has worked and worked through his grief; he had spoken about it, he had ignored it, he had written about it. It hadn’t gone away; it had simply evolved into part of him – something he would carry around until his very last day on this planet.

No, he had to hear this. He had to hear whether there was another way his grief could be addressed. Meeting your gaze, George smiles reassuringly, holding out a hand for you in a gesture signalling for you to join him on the blankets.

“I want to hear it,” He asserts as you settle next to him.

“Are you sure?”

He nods once more, fidgeting on the blankets, getting comfy.

“The constellation Gemini is made up of two twins named Castor and Pollux. To this day, there is debate of their lineage. In some accounts, they are written as if divine, but in others, they are simply mortal men.

“Castor was born to the mortal king, Tyndarus while Pollux was born to the King of Gods, Zeus. Being identical twins, Castor and Pollux were inseparable. They were two halves of a whole. Castor was a great horseman; Pollux was a born warrior. So great in fact, that they travelled with Jason on the Argo and saved the ship from a terrible storm that would have killed them and the crew.”

You take a deep breath before plundering on with the story, “Castor was killed in battle. He wasn’t to survive; not being the mortal son of a mortal king. Pollux was devastated at the loss of his brother, his closest friend. He begged, pleaded with his own father, Zeus. Pollux asked the King of the Gods to bring Castor back, to bring him back to Pollux so they could have more time.  

“Zeus agreed. He immortalised both Castor and Pollux in the stars, creating the constellation Gemini. To this day, the twins are still together – no longer separated by the veil of death.”

Neither of you speak as you finish your story. You refuse to utter a word, barely even breathing as you wait for George, all the while thinking that this was not the story to have told a man still grieving the loss of his twin brother. In this metaphor, George seems to be Pollux. Fred, the mortal Castor.

“He’s still with me,” George whispers into the night air, “I swear I sometimes feel him around me. It’s been years, but I swear I can hear him tell me to stop being a prat when I need to hear it.”

You smile softly, “He isn’t ever going to leave you. Those we love leave a mark on us that won’t ever fade; their love remains with us even when we think we don’t deserve it.”

“Thank you for telling me the story of Castor and Pollux,” George comments, reaching for your hand across the blankets and squeezes tight.

“You’re welcome.”

“I want to repay you,” George states, sitting up further.

“For what?” You ask, entirely puzzled.

“For Castor and Pollux, for Andromeda and Perseus, for Altair and Vega. For coming to my classroom and making me laugh,” He lists, counting off the reasons on his fingers, “For helping me with my grief when I didn’t know I needed help.”

“You don’t need to repay me,” You comment, “It’s what friends do.”

“I think we’re more than friends at this point, (Y/N),” George states bluntly, “Friends don’t spend their Friday nights regaling the stories of lovers in the past. They don’t tell each their darkest secrets and deepest worries like we do. Friends don’t make my heart race the way that you do.”

“I’d hope not,” You joke, “Otherwise Flitwick is going to get a shock when he’s told.”

“Let me take you to dinner,” George prompts, ignoring your attempt at humour, grasping to his straws of confidence before they fall through his fingers and he loses his chance.

“You want to be more than friends?” You ask, needing clarification before you answer.

“I want to be friends with you, but I want to be the one you wake up to, and I want to be the one you tell the stories of the stars to,” George admits; eyes shining with honesty, voice close to breaking with the sheer scale of emotions running through his body.

“I want to tell you the stories of the stars too,” You whisper, “So long as you teach me how to brew a decent potion.”

George throws his head back at your unexpected answer, laughing as he does so. “Let’s make a deal,” He begins, “Go to dinner with me, and tell me more stories of the stars, and I’ll teach you how to brew a potion.”

A slow smile spreads across your face as you start nod your head, wordlessly accepting his terms. George’s answering grin in breathtaking; relief flooding his body and affection for you rushing to his heart.

He thinks back to that second Tuesday in March when he initially read McGonagall’s job offer, and he wonders whether the last year of his life had always been written in the stars.

****

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[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,577 (Another long update!) Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, mentions of abuse, violence, sexuality, nudity, typical TWD A/N: This one is long and I really think ya'll are gonna like it! A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Daryl and Y/N run an errand outside the walls to help Alexandria prepare for the fight against the Saviors.

Your name: submit What is this?

The first errand Rick had asked of you and Daryl since you’d come back to Alexandria was to check out a place he had a hunch had been owned by a survivalist type. Rick had stumbled on it while out hunting with Michonne, but a small herd of walkers had started to come through and the two of them hadn’t been able to explore.

You’d both agreed that you would go and search the place.

“If it is what I think it is, there’s a bunker out there somewhere. And there should be a cache of weapons and ammo that we need, along with medical supplies, food, all kinds of gear,” Rick drawled.

You glanced over at Daryl and he was nodding. “Ya. We had a neighbor like. Crazy hermit, but that bastard had a stockpile of automatic weapons the military would envy. Even had landmines, grenades, IEDs, all kinds of shit. Merle and I stumbled on it when we were lookin’ for moonshine. Booked outta there scared shitless he was gonna find out what we’d seen and hunt us down.”

Rick nodded. “I hope this is a stockpile half as well supplied as that. Even that much would go a long way against the Saviors.”

“What about that herd on the highway? The one we talked about using?” you asked.

“All taken care of. Tara is on it,” Rick said. “Just don’t be seen. Don’t take any risks. No weapons cache is worth them getting their hands on either of you again.” He gave you both a long, stern look and you nodded.

“Alright,” Daryl said, lightly touching your back. “We’re on it. We’ll be back before dark. If we ain’t, somethin’ went sideways.”

Rick grabbed his shoulder. “Make sure that doesn’t happen.”

The archer nudged his nose up in a final nod and the two of your climbed onto his bike and set out.

The ride was uneventful but slow. You had to cut through pastures, fields, woods, trying your hardest to avoid the roads, and the whole way you kept your eyes peeled for any sign of anyone or anything that didn’t look quite right. You knew the Saviors used a lot of lookouts and your stomach churned the whole way, even after stopping and scanning with your binoculars cautiously.

Daryl suddenly slowed the bike and flipped out the kickstand.

His palm grazed over your hand briefly before it slipped from him and you climbed off, already on high alert.

“I think from here we should go on foot. Looks like that sign Rick mentioned up ahead.” He unstrapped his crossbow from the back of his bike as you shouldered your pack and rested one hand on the handle of the gun at your hip.

“Yeah, I think your right,” you agreed. You could feel Daryl’s eyes on your and you stopped your searching over the surroundings to meet them. “Hmm?”

He shook his head a little. “Nothin’. Just… I always feel split between bein’ glad you’re with me out here because I know how ya can fight and wishin’ ya were back safe behind the walls.”

You laughed a little sardonically. “Yeah… I feel the same way about you,” you replied, unsnapping the leather loop on the sheath of your knife in case you needed to draw it quickly.

“Alright. C’mon. Let’s see if we can find this asshole’s stash,” Daryl said, starting to lead the way through the underbrush.

You walked in silence together for a while. Shadowing him was easy as you had spent so much time outside the walls (and inside) that you could almost anticipate his every footfall ahead of you. Daryl’s eyes were narrowed and focused on the ground. You knew he was looking for any irregularity in the soil, any out of place branches or vegetation. He was intensely focused and despite your nerves you loved watching him work. Your eyes swept from side to side and back over your shoulder as you ghosted behind him.

Finally, he stopped dead in front of you abruptly. You peered around him and you thought you knew what he was seeing. There was a slight unevenness in a patch of soil ahead. It looked odd.

Daryl moved steadily toward it, stepping even more deliberately and carefully. You had discussed that a true prepper-survivalist type may have felt inclined to install some booby-traps to guard their bunker and supply caches. You stepped right where he had, stretching forward with your front foot to match his long strides.

Daryl knelt down and glanced back at you over his shoulder. You gave him a nod to tell him you were fine and rested your hand on your gun again in its holster. He dug his fingers into the earth and you watched as he froze again. The next moment he swept a patch of the soil and forest litter aside and you saw gray metal beneath it.

It was definitely something.

It was a long while before you finally opened the lid. You had checked as best you could for any kind of booby-trap or trigger mechanism on the hatch, but you knew that you couldn’t anticipate everything. Sweat was pouring off both of you by the time Daryl had snipped off the last heavy-duty lock and grabbed the handle.

He glanced back at you and you drew your gun, nodding and let out one last exhale. Just in case.

Daryl heaved the heavy lid open and hurriedly stepped away. There was no sound coming from the underground space. He cautiously nudged forward and you did the same. “Holy shit,” he uttered. He glanced up at you and you watched as a smile grew on his face. “Fuckin’ jackpot,” he said.

You moved up so you could look down into the space. The walls were lined with shelves and cabinets and they were stocked with weapons and ammo and supplies. One whole wall looked like it was just different kinds of grenades and bombs. “Well, this will help,” you said softly, your eyes round as you looked at the cache.

“Hell yah,” Daryl said, still staring down into the space with some disbelief. He climbed partially down the ladder and grabbed a semi-automatic rifle for himself and handed you one too, along with a box of ammo. He moved further in and you followed down the narrow staircase. One cabinet was entirely stuffed with medical and surgical supplies. You slipped your pack off and tucked in some basic supplies. Daryl lifted a large bottle from the shelf in front of him. “Goddamn.” He looked at you. “Narcotic painkillers and antibiotics. This guy was definitely prepared for some shit to go down.”

You caught a bottle of antibiotics Daryl tossed to you and stuffed it into your pack too before shouldering it again. “Yeah. Didn’t save him though. He’s just a skeleton in fatigues at this point,” you said, referencing what Rick had told you he found that led him to believe there may be hidden supplies.

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed. “Alright,” he said, tucking some more ammo into his bag. “Let’s button this place back up and go bring some good news home,” he said, glancing over at you with one corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. That look got you every time and you smiled back warmly at him.

You both climbed back out into the open air and Daryl locked the hatch with heavy duty locks that would at least defeat bolt cutters. You helped him cover the hatch over with soil and litter again, and you both erased your tracks as best you could as you started the walk back toward his bike.

You were about halfway back to the motorcycle’s hiding place when you suddenly froze. The hair on the back of your neck was standing on end. Daryl froze beside you, his eyes narrowed and whirring over the foliage around you both. “Daryl,” you said quietly. “I feel like someone is watching us.” Your heart was racing.

“Mhm. I feel it too,” he drawled quietly. “C’mon. Quick and quiet.”

You started to move through the brush again but you had hardly gone five steps when Daryl stopped dead. He had heard something. The next thing he knew a bullet whizzed past his ear. “Down!” he threw himself over you, pushing you to the ground as more bullets struck the soil and brush nearby. You gasped in panicked breaths. “Shit!” he growled. “C’mon. Let’s go!”

Daryl grabbed your hand and the two of you ran, hunched over as you heard more bullets, obviously fired from automatic weapons, flying through the air close to you. Daryl pushed you gently ahead of him. Glancing back over his shoulder, he could barely make out four figures rushing toward the two of you. “Go! Run!” The archer spun around and fired off some rounds back at the men, hitting one who went to the ground.

You readied your own gun and raced through the brush as fast as you could. You were almost back to the bike. You hazarded a glance over your shoulder and could see Daryl checking behind him every few seconds. There was a pile of downed wood and debris ahead and Daryl grabbed your hand and pulled you over behind it, sinking down on his knees beside you and hastily putting a new magazine in his gun. “Didn’t think we’d be usin’ these guns so damn soon,” he whispered harshly.

You nodded in agreement. “It has to be them, right?” you asked, meaning the Saviors. Daryl nodded.

“There were four of ‘em. I hit one and he went down.” He frantically peeked back around the wood you were hiding behind. They were getting closer. They definitely had some kind of vehicle, maybe an ATV, because he heard an engine turn on. He glanced back at you desperately. The two of you obviously couldn’t outrun that on foot, and even on his bike, with you behind him, you’d be a perfect target. He gulped. “Alright. Stay here. I’m gonna lead ‘em away from ya,” he said, readying his gun again.

“What?! Daryl! No! We do this together!” you argued.

“Nah. With you on the back of my bike you’d be right in the line of fire. That ain’t happenin’,” he said. “I’ll draw ‘em off, circle around and come back for ya. Just stay hidden!”

“I can shoot back! Hell, you know I’m a crack shot. Stop! No!” you said frantically, grabbing his arm. “I’m not letting you do this!” Your eyes were wide and fearful.

His blue eyes flitted over your face. “Wasn’t a question.” He peeked out again and he could hear the engine of the ATV coming closer.

“Daryl. Daryl—” you hurriedly tried to reason with him one more time. “Don’t!”

But all the archer did was give you one last look before he clasped your face in both hands and kissed you. He slid his hands down your arms and gave you a final look. “I’ll come back for ya. S’gonna be okay.” Your eyes flitted between his, your brow drawn down low.

“Daryl—don’t—!”

You tried to grab hold of him to stop him, but just at that moment you heard a stick snap to your right and you spun around reflexively to look. When you glanced back, the archer was already disappearing in the opposite direction through the brush. He was surprisingly fast, even crouching and moving as silently as he was. “Fuck!” you swore to yourself. You left the shelter of your makeshift cover and as soon as you had stepped one foot out you were met with a hail of bullets that pinned you back in, one of them almost grazing your calf. “Son of a—” You raised your rifle to your shoulder and tried to heave in a few steadying breaths. You shifted some of the large branches that were leaning up against an old oak tree, the central support for most of the downed wood. When you had nudged them just enough you could see out. There. You saw him. One asshole with an automatic weapon. You raised the rifle and when your cheek was settled against the stock, you let out a slow exhale, lined up the man’s chest with your gun sight and pulled the trigger. He dropped immediately, a crimson stain spreading out on his chest. You sank back against the rough bark of the oak and let out a relieved breath.

You peeked around the barrier of rotting wood and downed trees and strained your hearing. You heard an engine suddenly revving in the distance followed by some shouting and more shooting. “Fuck! No, no, no!” You left your hiding place and started to race almost blindly through the woods toward the sound. But now you heard a second sound, and it was Daryl’s bike. You ran toward it and broke into a slightly more open understory. You could tell that the sounds were moving away from you and when you skirted around another patch of brush, you could barely make out two men on an ATV speeding after Daryl on his bike, one driving and one shooting. He was leading them back toward an old logging road. You tore off after them, pausing to fire off a couple of shots at the backs of the men before they disappeared in the vast woods. Your lungs were on fire and there was a stitch in your side, but you kept running. Soon enough though, all sounds had faded and you were left terrified in the eerie stillness that followed. There was nothing to do now except conceal yourself somewhere safe and wait and worry. You felt horribly helpless.

Your stomach churned as you tucked yourself into a thicket of blackberry briars and dogwood, clutching your rifle so hard your knuckles were snowy white. It was agonizing waiting and you were almost in tears as the worst-case scenarios ran through your head. You knew Daryl could outrun and out-maneuver an ATV on his bike, but if the man on the back shooting managed to hit him… You felt like you could be sick. If you’d been religious, it would have been the hardest you ever prayed about anything in your entire life. Instead, you sat in anxious agony.

Finally, after what felt like hours and hours, you heard the faint drone of an engine and you got up onto your knees, keeping the rifle stock tucked tightly into your shoulder. You strained your eyesight and hearing as you peered through the brush. As it came closer, you recognized the sound.

Not an ATV. It was Daryl’s bike. But still you waited. “Please be okay. Please be okay,” you whispered to yourself in a mantra. The sound came closer and closer until you could hear the snap of every stick beneath the heavy wheels. At last, a figure on the motorcycle came into view. It was Daryl. He was scrutinizing the ground, obviously looking for a trail to pick up that would lead back to you.

You let out a huge gasp of relief and jumped to your feet, leaving your place of concealment and rushing into view. Daryl stopped the bike and climbed off. You barreled into him and pressed your face into his shoulder, your arms around his neck. “I am so pissed at you right now but so relieved you’re okay!” You squeezed him more tightly and that’s when he couldn’t stifle a small noise of pain anymore, more of an exhale than anything. You drew back immediately and really looked at him, your brow furrowed. The leather gear he always wore to ride was torn and shredded on his right arm from shoulder to hem and across the right side of his back. He’d obviously had a reasonably significant fall and slide.

“Oh my God. Are you okay? How bad—” you asked desperately, now noticing that you could see some dark splotches staining the black leather jacket.

“M’fine,” he said, brushing it off. “I took out that one in the beginning and those two on the ATV but there was a fourth one.”

“I got him,” you said, searching his face which also had an abrasion on the right side near his hairline. You lightly turned his chin so you could look at it.

“S’okay. It’s nothing,” he said, gently taking your hands in his. “We gotta go. Let’s get outta here in case there are any more around…” he drawled, turning back toward his bike. “Lucky my bike ain’t fucked up,” he growled. But you caught his hand gently and he turned back. You arched up onto your toes and Daryl registered the fear in your eyes before you pressed a kiss to his lips, your eyes shut tight as you let the anxiety that had plagued you in his absence finally diminish. Daryl drew you into him and kissed you back.

“Okay,” you sighed when you broke apart, the worry line near your left eyebrow still quite pronounced as you met his blue eyes again. “Let’s go.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

When you made it back to Alexandria, Rick was the one at the gate. He rushed to climb down from the lookout post and hauled the gates open to you. Daryl paused and turned off the bike as Rick seemed to take in both of you and your condition.

He saw the blood staining through Daryl’s jacket and a shadow grew on his face. “What happened?”

“Take a wild guess,” Daryl drawled.

Rick let out a sigh that was part growl. “How many?”

“Four,” you said, your arms still wrapped gently around Daryl’s waist as you sat behind him on the bike. “We got all of them.”

Rick closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. “You alright? You need a doctor?” Rick asked Daryl, nodding toward the dark splotch of blood on his right arm.

“Nah. Just caught a good slide. Bit of road rash. I think I’m okay,” he drawled.

“We’ll see,” you said pointedly.

“New guns,” Rick said, his expression turning hopeful.

“Mm,” Daryl hummed. “Ya were right about that place. We found a cache. Enough explosives to blast every one of those sons’a bitches to Hell and back three times. More guns. Ammo. Medical supplies. It’ll be a huge help.”

Rick actually cracked a smile and nodded. “It’s a good start. A great start. I’m sorry you two ran into trouble. You sure you’re alright?”

You nodded. “It was a little dicey… but we’re here,” you sighed.

Rick nodded, his expression serious once again. “Alright. Go on and get cleaned up. You two have done more than enough. Thank you.”

Daryl started the bike and drove down the street, parking it in Aaron and Eric’s garage as usual. Then, the two of you started back to your house. You kept glancing over at him the whole way and finally Daryl met your eyes. “What?” he prompted.

“I’m trying to decide how mad I am at you for that shit you pulled out there,” you said.

“Now ya know how I felt when I found out ya had put yourself back in there with him,” he countered, and you realized he had a point. You pressed your lips together thoughtfully and nodded before gently lacing your hand with his, your fingers fitting between his perfectly and feeling like that’s where they were meant to be. Daryl gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

You were both exhausted and Daryl was more than a little sore. He really wasn’t looking forward to peeling his gear off and seeing the damage. You dumped your pack in the kitchen and busied yourself with pulling out the supplies and sorting them, some to go to the clinic and some to keep. Daryl carefully started trying to pull off his leather jacket, wincing at every muscle twinge. You looked up and saw him struggling and were reminded of how he had helped you with your jacket and flannel under similar circumstances, and then stayed to stitch up your arm, so long ago when you were practically strangers. You made your way over to him, your hands surprising him a little as they landed gently on his sides. He froze and glanced down at you, his jacket not even halfway off.

“Can I help?” you asked him softly. He nudged his nose up at you in a grateful nod and ceased his struggling. You gently pulled off his outer layer, letting it fall to floor in a soft pile. Your eyes took in the large bloodstains on his shirt, the cotton fabric wicking the crimson up easily. Daryl watched your brow furrow with concern again and he sank down heavily on a nearby stool. It suddenly settled over him just how bad things could have gone with those Saviors and he allowed himself to realize how terrified he’d been. It weighed on him and you easily saw the change.

You moved close to him again and Daryl’s arms immediately circled around you, pulling you into him until you were standing between his legs, as close as he could get you. He hugged you to him and breathed in your smell, his head resting against you just at the bottom of your breastbone, his touch needy and desperate. Your fingers immediately stroked through his hair and the archer listened to the steady rhythm of your heart beating in your chest. “We’re alright,” you said gently. “We made it.”

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed vaguely.

You both stayed frozen like that for a long while, each needing the other’s touch, until finally Daryl straightened up with a sigh. He glanced at the crimson splotches on the right sleeve of his shirt and anxiously chewed on his bottom lip. “Should probably just go up and shower,” he murmured. You nodded, withdrawing from him slightly. Your eyes immediately caught sight of the red stain across half his back again. Your stomach twisted.

“Y/N,” he said, interrupting your train of thought and drawing your eyes to his again. “Would ya, um—would ya—” he stalled out, his heart racing with nerves.

But there was sudden realization and surprise in your eyes and then your expression softened, and Daryl thought he saw a soft flush in your cheeks. “You want me to come with? Help you get cleaned up?” you asked softly.

He nodded, this time his eyes meeting yours and staying there. “I need ya,” he drawled.

You nodded at him and Daryl watched as your lips curved gently. “You’re okay with that?”

He nudged his nose up in a nod again, still holding your eyes. “Then, of course,” you murmured. “Come on.” Daryl stood and laced his fingers with yours. You trailed behind him upstairs and into the master bathroom. He sank back against the counter, not releasing your hand and pulled you into him again, studying the slope of your nose and all the flecks of color in your eyes.

You stroked a finger along his strong jaw and looked up at him. He released your other hand and wrapped his arms around you. You easily saw that he was nervous, the prospect of you seeing his old wounds looming so immediately in front of him, not to mention the normal nerves that come with another level of intimacy, and you wanted to put him at ease. “Hey—I don’t care about your scars, remember? I care about you. Every bit of you. Okay?”

Daryl leaned in and kissed you. It was sweet and gentle and a little pleading, and when he pulled back you found yourself wanting more, but you needed to patch him up. Your fingers went to the buttons on his shirt and you paused at the first one. “You’re sure?” you asked him, one more time, and the archer nodded, and clasped your face in one hand, his fingers tangling into your hair.

“M’sure,” he said quietly.

You nodded and unbuttoned his bloodstained shirt, your fingers occasionally brushing his bare skin underneath and sending goosebumps rising on his skin. Daryl’s heart fluttered at the sensation.

You pushed one side of his shirt back and it fell away from his left side as Daryl slipped his arm out. Your eyes hitched on the uncountable scars across his strong chest and stomach and your heart ached even while anger burned in your stomach that someone, anyone, could do such horrific things to a child, let alone their own son. Let alone Daryl.

Daryl gulped as he saw you taking in the sight of his bare chest, your eyes seeming to catch on the ugly scars crisscrossing his skin. But you quickly refocused and did your best to gently pull away the remaining fabric of his shirt from the swaths of road rash across his back, shoulder, and down his right arm. The cotton was sticking to the wounds and you apologized as it tugged a little as it came off. He was finally free of the fabric and you examined his injuries, your fingers so light they could have been the kiss of a breeze on his skin. The abrasions were large and you could tell he would be bruised and swollen from the fall. His muscles were already sore and tight from it.

When you finally straightened up and met his anxious blue eyes again, you gave him a small, reassuring smile, clasping his face and planting a gentle kiss on his lips, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. His arms draped around your lower back again, capturing you.

He gulped at the tightness in his throat. “Told ya they were worse than most,” he drawled quietly, ducking his head, self-conscious.

But you pressed your hand flat over his chest and felt the beating of his heart. Your thumb ran the length of one of the scars on his chest, your expression sad and thoughtful, and you leaned in and planted a kiss on it. Daryl looked up at you like he had never in his life expected anyone to even think of doing such a thing, and the surprise in his eyes left you aching. Your fingers found another scar and you repeated the action, leaving a kiss there before meeting his blue eyes again. They were a little bewildered. You felt the fingers of one of his hands tap a little anxiously on your lower back where they rested and he was still chewing on his bottom lip. You moved beside him kissed the end of one of the long scars that cut across his back, before resting your chin gently against his shoulder and carefully draping your arms around him.

“I see you, Daryl. I just see you.”

He was almost overwhelmed at your tenderness and just as he was struggling to come up with something worthy enough to follow all that, you broke from him and turned the shower on, testing the temperature of the water on your wrist until you were satisfied. Daryl watched you in disbelief as you came back to him with a small smile.

You leaned into him where he was still leaning against the counter and he watched as your fingertips floated to the hem of your shirt and you swept it off over your head and discarded it on the floor. You were sure your cheeks were a little extra pink, but at the same time you were amazed at how safe and comfortable and natural this all felt. Daryl pulled you more tightly into him, drinking in the sight of you, needing to feel your skin against his, his hands wandering over you with no fabric to keep his fingers from you. He pressed you against him and left a kiss in your hair. Soon the two of you were both all just skin, jeans and boots and underthings discarded on the floor. Daryl felt like he was in a daze as you gently pulled him toward the shower and under the warm torrent of water with you.

He held you against him and you both enjoyed the warmth cascading over your bare skin. Daryl shut his eyes and leaned his head back under the hot stream of water and you watched as some of the weight that had been on his shoulders since the scramble outside the walls suddenly lifted.

You grabbed a soft washcloth and gently passed it over his wounds, watching the dirt and dried blood wash away, tending to his arm and his back. You could see a tinge of deep purple bruising already forming where his body had collided most heavily with the ground. You looped your arms around him from behind, fingers splayed out on his strong stomach, watching the rivulets of water flow over his scars, and Daryl’s hand landed over yours. He turned and pulled you into him, needing to see you, his fingers gliding over your smooth skin, following the edge of your shoulder blade and down the curve of your spine, his eyes closed, learning you by feel. You looked up at this strong man, a true protector and warrior, yet who was capable of being so soft and your heart swelled. Daryl’s eyes opened and he looked down at you, the heat of the water bringing a rosy hue to your cheeks.

You lingered in the heat of the shower, smoothing the soap over each other’s skin, drinking in the closeness and intimacy. You washed Daryl’s hair and he thought he could fall asleep standing up with how relaxing it was. He returned the favor and you laughed as he almost got shampoo in your eyes. He smiled at you apologetically. “Sorry,” he drawled. “Almost blinded ya.”

You grinned at him. “It’s alright. You just need more practice.”

One corner of Daryl’s mouth quirked up and stayed there. He nodded. “I’m in.”

“Alright,” you said softly. “I think we’ve used enough hot water for now.” You leaned into Daryl, reaching behind him to shut off the tap. He watched the droplets rolling down from your collarbone and he felt a familiar bloom of warmth in his chest.

He pressed his hands gently into your lower back and met your eyes. “Thanks,” he said. “Just what I needed.”

You nodded and gave him a small smile. “Me too.”

Daryl reached out and grabbed the towels you had set out, wrapping you in one first before using his own. You stepped out into the bathroom and he watched as you wrung out the water from your hair. He still felt like he was in a dream, bewildered that with each step of intimacy between the two of you that he felt more and more safe, more and more sure of his feelings. There was a dark part of him that still doubted this, still expected you to run at some point, but it was shrinking. You were constant and continually showing him how important he was to you.

The archer moved against you as you stood in front of the mirror, combing out your hair, and his hands landed on your hips, sinking into the terrycloth material of your towel. He placed a kiss on the side of your neck, gentle and sweet, and your heart skipped a beat as you met his eyes in the mirror and smiled.

“We’ll just patch you up a bit,” you said. “Antibacterial ointment. Then… I’m tired,” you admitted.

“Me too,” he agreed. “Want nothin’ more right now than to be in bed with ya.”

You nodded. “Then let’s finish taking care of you and make it happen,” you smiled. You both pulled on some clean, comfortable clothes and Daryl sat on the edge of the bed as you finished tending to his wounds. Finally, when you were satisfied, you collapsed into bed beside each other. Daryl draped his arm over your waist and his fingers drew absent circles on your back. You smiled at the sensation, your eyes shut, and focusing on the feeling of his chest steadily expanding with each breath. You slipped your hand underneath his shirt so you could rest it against the bare skin of his side.

“Thank you,” Daryl drawled quietly.

Your eyes fluttered open, questioning. “Hmm?”

He shrugged a little. “Just thank you. You’re the most important thing to me,” he said, his tone warm and soft.

You studied the look in his blue eyes and nodded. “You’re the most important thing to me too. Thanks for being right here,” you said, moving in closer to tuck your head into the crook of his neck.

“Never want to be anywhere else,” he said. And soon the two of you drifted off to sleep.

[wheres-everyone-going-bingo]

Withered Roses

Requested by: @astheticsofwritings

Pairing: Lee Eun-Hyuk x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: none

Darkness filled the halls, only a small golden flame fought back with light. Shadows danced on the walls to some unheard melody, almost sinister in their synchronization. Quiet footsteps echoed through the empty halls, the only sound in the suffocating silence. I turned the corner, a singular door coming into view. A hollow knocking sounded out as I wrapped my knuckles against the surface, still holding my candle in my other hand. 

The door soon opened, revealing an exhausted looking Eun-Hyuk, the candlelight casting shadows over his face. “May I come in?” I asked, watching Eun-Hyuk step aside, gladly letting me into the security room. 

Warmth left my hands as I blew out my candle, not wanting to waste it. Seeing as Eun-Hyuk had already placed one on a wooden table. I brought my hands to my jacket pocket, bringing out a container of food that I handed to him. “I was about to get some rest when I realised you hadn’t eaten anything, so I brought you some food” I explained, seeing Eun-Hyuk place the container next to his candle. 

“I’m not hungry, we can save it for someone else” He mumbled, eyes dropping to the ground upon seeing my concern. 

“Eun-Hyuk, you haven’t eaten anything today, you need to eat something. How are you supposed to do all that planning and logic when your brain doesn’t have any energy?” I scolded, adopting an authoritarian voice, a hand on my hip and another poking Eun-Hyuk’s chest. “You need to take care of yourself, and if you don’t, I will” I picked up the container of food, opening the lid and giving it to him. A half sigh, half chuckle fell from Eun-Hyuk’s lips as he observed my determination in making sure he was looking after himself. Picking up the chopsticks, he began to eat his meal. 

Seok-Hyeon’s unconscious body was dragged across the floor, his face still caked in dried blood. The ‘holding cell’’s door locking shut behind him, our only available effort to keep the infected detained. Eun-Yu watched the whole thing from afar, finding it somewhat amusing that Seok-Hyeon was the next to be infected. She scanned the hallway, being met with an abundance of panicked and miserable faces. A smile spread across her face as Eun-Yu spotted me sitting away from the others, a book in my hand. 

Darkness was cast over me as I looked up to see Eun-Yu standing over me. I stood, an uninterested greeting being said by the both of us. I couldn’t keep it up anymore, my face cracking into a wide grin, a smirk appearing on hers. Our giggles contrasted with the other resident’s despair, Eun-Yu being trapped in a strong embrace as I slightly spun her around. I had been concerned for her well being, not being able to find her when the outbreak first started. My concern now melted away as I made sure she wasn’t hurt, quickly checking her for wounds, much to her protest. “Eugh you’re becoming like Eun-Hyuk, I thought you were cool Y/N” 

“Hey! I am cool! There’s just y’know, an apocalypse happening and I don’t want my favourite member of the Lee family dying on me” I joked, mocking offense to her accusation of not being cool anymore. Eun-Yu rolled her eyes, although a ghost of a smile shone through her tough guy act. 

“We all know I’m not your favourite member of the Lee family, Y/N” Eun-Yu stated, pointing her finger at me accusingly “Everyone knows you have the hots for my brother” She jabbed her finger into my chest, grinning at my embarrassed state.

“I-” Is all I managed to stutter, earning a hearty laugh from Eun-Yu, clearly enjoying how her detective work was working out. 

“I knew it!” She triumphantly stated, laughing harder. I only stood there, not entirely sure what to do with myself. 

Eun-Yu’s laughter stopped, her face still holding a smile. “You know I have something to tell you” She beckoned for me to move my head closer “He likes you too, and honestly it’s disgusting” 

“He- I- He what?” 

“Like you’re cool about it, even though you’re still kind of a dork, but come one Eun-Hyuk is such a loser. It’s constantly ‘Y/N this, Y/N that’. Like can’t he think about something else for a second?” Eun-Yu complained, putting on a whiny voice for her impression of Eun-Hyuk. 

“Eun-Yu, I’ll be right back” I excused myself, patting her on the shoulder as I made a beeline towards the camera room. Eun-Yu watched me with amusement clear on her face, although deep down she was happy that these two lovesick dorks were finally going to make a move. 

Residents sat along the hallway walls, some were conversing and making jokes, trying their best to raise morale. Others were staring into nothingness, their reality still taking time to sink in. I walked hastily past them, a few raised their heads towards me, wondering why I looked so determined to get where I was going. Paying them no mind, I continued to make my way to where Eun-Hyuk was most often seen. 

The metal door handle turned with some protest in the form of a metallic groan. My eyes swept the room, landing on the visual of Eun-Hyuk’s back turned to me. I made my way over to him, gently saying his name as I grew close. Eun-Hyuk turned, his glasses slightly askew, a withered rose nervously clutched in his fist. This took me by surprise, taking the words from my mouth in confusion. “Eun-Yu said she’d kill me if I didn’t do this” He explained, tweaking his glasses back to their rightful place. A small chuckle left me as I pictured the visual of Eun-Yu furiously shaking Eun-Hyuk and threatening him. 

“So that’s the reason she said what she did” I said under my breath, realising her plan to threaten Eun-Hyuk then send me to him, putting an end to our eternal tail chasing. 

“I couldn’t find any proper flowers, I know it’s kinda silly but it’s all I could do-” Eun-Hyuk rambled, filled with nervousness as he fiddled with the half dead plant.

“Eun-Hyuk, it’s lovely” I beamed, taking the flower from his hands as he offered it to me, our hands briefly brushing against one another. 

Silence hung heavy in the room, both of us holding our breaths. Eun-Hyuk’s eyes scanned my face, searching for any sign that he should doubt himself. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for possible rejection. “I love you Y/N, I have for a long time but was always too afraid to say anything” Eun-Hyuk had taken my hands into his, looking down at them as he stroked his thumbs over my knuckles. Every second I didn’t respond let the seeds of doubt grow more and more. 

“I love you too Eun-Hyuk, since forever” Eun-Hyuk swiftly brought his gaze to meet mine, almost unbelieving of what he just heard. The confession of love took a moment to sink in but when it did, Eun-Hyuk’s face split into a wide grin, picking me up by the waist in a hug. Laughter rang out in the small camera room as  I was spun around by an overjoyed Eun-Hyuk. 

Even in the apocalypse love blossoms.

[silkenstarlight]

a night in crimson valley

Summary: Reader is a bartender at the Crimson Valley Motel. After she is accosted by a drunk John Walker, a familiar face offers her protection and comfort.

Pairing: Biker!bucky x bartender!reader

Warning/s: language, violence, alcohol use; sorta fluffy end

Word count: 5.6k

Author’s note: I’m unsure whether I want to turn this into a series; please let me know your thoughts!

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Her nose burned with the scent of blood and cheap vodka, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

In the early days, when she had first been stationed at this bar, she had stocked the cupboard beneath the register with supplies. Lemon-scented bleach, candy-blue windex, a dried up tube of wet wipes. Every night before closing, she had tugged on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and gone to work. Rubbing, scouring, swabbing away every spilled shot, every stray fingerprint. The dirt and spit and grime seemed to accumulate instantly, and yet, she continued her sisyphean housekeeping, trying to paint over the bar’s run-down reality with a layer of chemical gloss. But, all of that effort was to no avail; this was a roadside establishment, so there would always be sloppy drunks, and there would, most assuredly, always be bar fights, new stains to replace old. No use in hiding it.

Now, she’d grown numb to it, the cleaning supplies below the register covered in an ever-thickening coat of dust. The once shiny, lacquered surface of the bar now reflected dully beneath the low light, encrusted with old dirt and sour deeds. The floor was sticky, a years’ worth of spilled cocktails accumulating in a tacky glue trap. The mirror behind the bar, its surface cloudy and warped, reflected the late-night debauchery of men in desperate need of respite.

Every night, she wiped foggy glasses with the same gray, fraying rag, watching the same blurred, bearded faces pass through. The Crimson Valley Motel, owned by (Y/N)’s father, was a dependable option for truckers looking for a night away from the cramped quarters and lumpy cots of their vehicles. With its low nightly fares and extensive parking, and her father’s promise of discounted drink prices at the attached bar, customers returned without fail. Even still, she tried not to grow too attached to any patrons. They were just passing through, after all, with separate lives waiting for them beyond the road and the walls of the motel. But, sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself. 

Bucky Barnes was one such case.

The first things she had noticed the moment he walked into the bar two years ago were his eyes. Piercing blue, stern and ever-watchful, set beneath the overhang of his perpetually furrowed brow. That first night, he had nursed his whiskey glass with two gloved hands, staring at the bar’s surface as if he were trying to memorize every intricacy and flourish in its woodgrain. She had appreciated his presence ever since, so quiet and watchful, a stark departure from the raucous drunkards and wild military men who usually frequented the Crimson Valley Bar. And, despite the fact that he drank as much as the other patrons, he never seemed affected by the alcohol, his gaze as clear and haunting as ever, even well into the dark hours of morning. It almost made her laugh, his perfect stoicism and strong  jaw, the classic image of unperturbed masculinity. But she could sense the ghost of some deep sadness in the downturned set of his mouth. His shoulders always seemed tense, and he continually shifted his weight in his seat, peering over his shoulder every once in a while, as if suspicious that he was being watched. It made her swallow any skepticism about his demeanor, instead deciding that he was likely a very broken man, deserving of the space and quiet his countenance demanded. For that reason, she never asked him any questions, never made a move to satiate that burning curiosity within her. Better to keep a respectful distance than stir up unwelcome memories. 

She had never even really spoken to him, and only knew his name because she once caught his signature on a receipt. By the time she read it, he had whisked away to spend the night in his motel room and prepare for departure early the next morning.

Whenever he came back, it was like she could sense his presence, could feel his steely gaze sweeping the bar. It was comforting, a sweet bubble of solace beneath the humming neon and peeling rock n’ roll posters, a space of quiet surrounded by the pressing screech of electric guitar and deep boom of drums. She never knew when he would return, his trucking routes and schedule difficult to predict with such minimal information, but she secretly looked forward to it. Another day, another opportunity to unwrap the quiet mystery of Bucky Barnes.

Tonight, the bar was crowded. Hopeful thoughts of seeing Bucky retreated to the very back corner of her mind as she poured sparkling streams of amber liquid into lines of waiting glasses, shaking and stirring and swirling again and again in the rote, mindless motions that a full house required. She had no room to daydream, not on a Saturday night, when more lonely truckers sought out the bar for company, and when the local military base flooded in on their night out. In a room full of loud men with wanting mouths, she needed to work quickly.

On nights like these, the men mostly left her alone, too absorbed in their own festivities to take much note of her. Beyond the simple “pleases” and “thank yous,” they seemed to recognize that any attempt to strike up a conversation would interrupt her flow and leave her begrudging, frustrated, and not exactly an ideal conversation partner. But, some men couldn’t take a hint.

She had been cutting lemon wedges, concentrating on creating an even slice and avoiding her fingertips with the dull knife blade. She counted each slice before pouring the wedges into a chilled metal bowl, her movements precise and rhythmic. 1, 2. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3--

“Hey, bartender! I asked you a question.”

She knew it was John before she even bothered to look up. She sighed heavily, placing the knife on the counter and wiping her hands before tilting her gaze upwards.

John Walker was another regular here, but her opinion of him was very different than the tentative infatuation she harbored for Bucky Barnes. To put it simply, she did not like John. Whenever he swaggered past the bar’s threshold, flanked by his two favored cronies, she shuddered. Unlike the relatively polite regulars who frequented the bar, John was demanding, expecting (Y/N) to cater to his every whim without complaint. He was, apparently, a favored recruit at the military base. She just thought he was a privileged asshole. One time, he refused to tip her because she didn’t smile at him when she served his drink. And, another time, he broke his glass on purpose just to watch her clean it up.

Now, he was staring at her, head cocked and arms crossed, expecting an answer to a question she hadn’t heard him utter.

She sighed again, leaning against the counter. “Sorry, John. Didn’t catch your question.” Her voice was flat, lacking in genuine sympathy. “Mind repeating it?”

“Can’t even listen,” he said to himself, shaking his head in disappointment. “As I asked earlier, did you water down my fuckin’ snakebite?”

She stared at him, eyes boring into his cold blue ones, and she thought for a second. She was annoyed by his interruption, but this could go poorly if she didn’t handle it with care. If she said the wrong thing, he could get offended, and she was the only woman in a room full of men. She could hold her own in a fight and had some experience with self-defense, sure, but that wouldn’t hold up against a man with John’s stature and training. She couldn’t predict if any of the other men in the room would come to her rescue if things went south, but she couldn’t really blame them. He was tall and strong, and had a temper to boot. But his fragile masculinity, which compelled him to talk down to her and order such ridiculous drinks as a snakebite, wouldn’t survive if she talked back. So, her decision was made.

“Well, John,” she said, her voice low as she smirked. “Usually, you’re already plastered by the time you make it to my bar. I always have to water down your drinks because you can’t hold your fucking liquor.”

His face darkened, brows drawing downwards in a chilling expression of anger. He gritted his teeth together and pushed back from the bar, motioning to turn away from her and back to his friends. “I can handle my liquor just fine, thank you.”

She cleared her throat, catching his attention. “Actually, just last weekend, you threw up all over the parking lot. My poor Pops had to clean it up.” She chuckled at the memory of her father, grumbling with a bucket and mop in hand, as John sat with his head in his hands in the front office. “You might not remember it, John, but I do. We all do.” The incident had occurred well before closing time, so many of the bar’s customers had seen it with their own eyes. One or two had surely caught it on camera.

“Are you fucking mocking me?” A vein popped out on his neck, his face growing read and hot.

She felt her pulse rise in fear, but she ignored it, hand resting next to the knife on the counter. “Maybe I am.” She leaned forward, leering at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do about it?” He laughed incredulously, picking up his half-full glass and examining its amber-colored contents briefly before hurling it at the mirrored wall behind her.

She ducked, shielding her face from splattering liquid and broken glass. “Shit.” She dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled, frantically clambering below the bar for the cleaning cupboard. She knew how this encounter would go, but she was starting to realize that she shouldn’t have pushed it. He had never actually threatened her physical harm before, resigning himself to simply being an asshole. Tonight, that had obviously changed.

“Nuh-uh, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice was still loud enough to pierce her eardrums over the pulsating music. He reached down to where she was, grasping for Windex in the dusty, cavernous cabinet, and roughly gripped her hair in his fist. He pulled up harshly, causing an unpleasant sting to radiate down her scalp. The breath caught in her throat. 

She had fucked up. Badly.

He wrenched her close, until their faces were just inches apart. He examined her face, his own visage arranged in an unpleasant sneer. She looked straight into his eyes, unwilling to back down, even though she was frightened of what he might do. 

“I should put you in your place.” His voice was quiet, only audible to her. She shuddered, lip curling in distaste. The sour taste of bile rose on her tongue at the violating way his eyes scanned her face, as if he were a predator examining his prey. A few patrons were watching, pausing their conversations to watch the show. But, none were helping, jumping up to arrive at her aid. A dark pit grew in her stomach at the observation.

He loosened his grip on her hair and she moved to pull back, but before she could, he spit in her face, a thick, hot wad of saliva landing on her cheek. Her mouth gaped in disgust, nose flaring, and she stepped back, wiping the insult from her face with her sleeve and slipping the knife she had been using earlier into her hand, concealing it behind her back. She retreated until her back was flush with the mirror behind her, eyes flitting wildly, trying to find a gap in the crowd where she could disappear and distance herself from him. But all she could see was his face, his hooked nose and hooded eyes, that awful, sneering expression, as he prepared to jump over the bar and bridge the gap between them. 

But, before he could, his head slammed into the bar’s wooden surface with a sickening crack!

Her mouth dropped open in confusion, the rushing bout of adrenaline quickly waning in her veins as she took in the sight of John, head pinned to the counter by a gloved hand. Wait, is that--?

Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up from John’s floundering figure to find Bucky, his hand firmly wrapped in John’s hair, his face contorted in an expression of rage. She had never seen him like this, nose scrunched, eyes dark. His eyes briefly flickered to hers, and when their gazes met, his face softened slightly, as if to provide her with some sense of reassurance. The breath stalled in her throat, but before relief could flood into her limbs, she saw John stirring in Bucky’s grip.

“What… what the fuck, man?” John turned his head, cheek pressed against the bar’s cool surface, to stare at Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

“Watch yourself, buddy.” Bucky’s voice was gruff and uncaring.

“Buddy?” John scoffed. 

“Well, what’s your name, then?”

A laugh rose in John’s throat, bubbling over into a bitter, joyless sound. He was trying to intimidate Bucky into backing off, shifting his weight below him in an effort to distract him.

It didn’t work. Bucky simply pressed John’s face even harder into the counter, until the breath whooshed from John’s lips in a muffled, defeated gasp. 

“I asked you a question.”

“Fine-- fine. Name’s Walker.”

“Well, Walker,” Bucky replied, leaning in close until his face obstructed John’s vision. “Keep your fucking mitts off my girl here.”

“What?” She couldn’t help it as the question left her lips in a surprised gasp. Bucky’s eyes flicked up to her again, lips pulling down in an embarrassed grimace, as if he hadn’t meant to call her that. 

That moment was enough time for John to act.

Bucky grunted and stumbled back a couple of steps as John pushed out from under him. There was no time to think, no time to act, before John strode towards Bucky and socked him straight in the nose, Bucky’s head whipping violently to the side.

(Y/N)’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She stayed anchored to her spot in front of the mirror, unable to move. There wasn’t much that she could do. Now that John had initiated a physical fight, he likely wasn’t going to stop throwing punches until either he or Bucky collapsed. And with Bucky eliminated as a threat, there would be no one standing between John and her. With that thought, she brought the knife out from behind her and clutched it to her chest like a lifeline. She watched Bucky and John with rapt attention, waiting for the fight to turn back in her direction again.

Blood began to gush from Bucky’s nostrils in a thick stream, staining his lips a wet scarlet and dribbling down his chin. But, he smiled, shaking his head slightly and chuckling darkly. 

“You’re really askin’ for it now, Walker.” 

Before (Y/N) could even blink, Bucky sprung, landing a jab and a right cross that hit John square in the chin. He grabbed John by the collar and slammed him into his knee, the pure force knocking the wind out of John’s chest with a meek groan. Bucky pushed John roughly into a table and John stumbled, causing a chair to clatter and fall, but he remained upright, leaning heavily against the table.

“You going to fight back at all?” Bucky’s goading tone took (Y/N) by surprise. Why was he egging him on?

John snorted and cracked his neck, trying to shake an encroaching sense of uncertainty from his limbs. He pushed off from the table and began a slow, circling orbit around the center of the room, sizing Bucky up with a violent, wolflike gaze, pushing the other customers flush against the wall. Bucky simply stood in place and watched, trying to anticipate John’s next move.

John stopped circling when he was directly across from (Y/N), Bucky between them. She felt John’s gaze slide from Bucky to her, his eyes languidly raking over her body, sensing out her fear. When he saw the knife in her hand, he raised an eyebrow in disapproval, shaking his head. Her heart pounded, adrenaline beginning to thrum through her veins once more. 

John widened his stance and bent his knees, assuming an athletic stance in preparation to tackle Bucky.  Bucky imitated his movement, planting his feet firmly into the floor. John inhaled deeply through his nose, once, twice, and then, he took off, running towards Bucky at full speed.

The room watched in silence, holding a collective breath. The only sound was the pounding of John’s boots against hardwood, the music paused long ago.

He hit Bucky with the force of a mack truck. It was enough to knock anyone off their feet, even someone who had fared as well as Bucky in the fight so far. John hit him so hard that they went flying, suspended in the air for a moment. For (Y/N), it felt so much longer, watching her savior struggle against the grip of his opponent in midair, uttering a quiet “Shit!” as his back slammed into the floor. And then, Bucky was still, John crouched over his immobile form, a triumphant smile plastered on his face.

(Y/N) felt her body move off its own accord, pushing away from the wall, past the safety of the bar’s counter, towards the aftermath of the fray. Her legs quivered, a hard lump rising in her throat as she pushed towards the edge of the crowd. She couldn’t see Bucky’s face, his head concealed by John’s hulking body. A shudder wracked her body, her hope waning.

It was like John could sense her presence. He looked up, his sickening grin showing glistening, too-white teeth. She flexed her fingers, adjusting her grip on the knife. John’s eyes caught the movement, sensing the glint of low light against the blade, and he smirked. He was about to rock back onto his knees, to get up and finish what he started, when Bucky’s head slammed into his.

Disoriented, (Y/N) stepped backwards, once again flush with the crowd. One moment, she had been preparing to fight, to let the blood-soaked evening devolve into even more violence. Then, the next, Bucky had suddenly reanimated, an almost superhuman force driving power into his limbs. He bucked John, still reeling from the unexpected headbutt, off of him with an aggressive, thrusting twist. John tumbled and collapsed on the floor next to Bucky, who slowly knelt, then stood, eyes on John the whole time. When John didn’t budge, splayed on the floor with a distant, vaguely dazed expression, Bucky turned his gaze to (Y/N).

The room was dead silent, save for John’s labored breathing and the sound of Bucky’s boots against the hardwood as he slowly walked towards (Y/N). The room seemed to fade around the two of them, the confused, awed, and fearful faces of the spectating patrons blurred together in an anonymous mass. It smelled of sweat and rust and spilled liquor, but she didn’t care, because Bucky was okay.

“Anyone else?” Bucky asked the rest of the room, not taking his eyes off of (Y/N), even for a moment, lest she disappear, or worse. But she didn’t, staying rooted to the same spot, eyes glistening with gratitude. And no one responded to Bucky’s challenge. 

When Bucky came to a stop a foot in front of her, the other customers began to quietly file out, afraid to utter any remarks that may provoke another altercation. John’s two cronies picked him up from the floor, hefting his arms over their shoulders and bolting for the exit, his boots dragging on the floor. (Y/N) watched them exit, watched them stuff John into the backseat of their car before they peeled out of the parking lot and took off with the screeching sound of retreating rubber.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice soft in spite of the evening’s violent course. “You don’t have to worry about using that. You’re safe with me.” He pointed at the knife, still clutched in (Y/N)’s hands.

She looked down at the knife in her hands and then looked up at him, formulating a response, when she noticed that he had a gash on his jaw, as well as a still steadily-flowing nosebleed. The knife clattered to the floor as she reached for his hand. “You’re bleeding.” Her voice was thick with worry, regretting the fact that he had suffered for her sake.

He shook his head. “I’ve gotten worse.”

“Let me help you.” She glanced urgently around the bar, now empty save for the two of them. “I can close up and bring the first aid kit to your room. I owe you, after all of that.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He paused for a second, considering. “But, sure. A couple of bandaids wouldn’t hurt.”

She smiled. “I’ll be there in ten.”

His brows creased together slightly, a chagrined smile curling his lips upwards. “Oh, I’m not leaving you alone just yet. We didn’t see where Walker went. He could be waiting just outside with those two other guys.”

She knew that both she and Bucky had seen them drive away, but she nodded anyways. “Alright. Just let me grab the first aid kit and my keys.”

“Deal.”

She picked the knife up from the floor and walked back to the bar, placing it gently in the sink. As Bucky walked towards the entrance, surveying the parking lot outside from the small, frosted window, she reached into the cabinet of cleaning supplies, pulling out a rusted, white box with a blaring maroon cross emblazoned on its front. She blew off the thin layer of dust that coated it and stood, grabbing her keys from the hook next to the mirror and joining Bucky at the entrance.

He turned towards her, noting the first aid kit, and grinned. “Room 102, here we come.”

She returned his smile as he opened the door, midnight air washing over them in a brisk, drafty waft. They stepped outside, engulfed in nighttime chill, and she shut the door and locked it, fumbling with the cold metal of the keys. Bucky stepped closer to her, his arm brushing against hers, his body emanating an intoxicating warmth. She welcomed his proximity, wondering if he could sense the fact that she was cold, as they walked across the parking lot to his motel room.

He pulled his key from his back pocket and slid it through the card swipe, the door unlocking with a crisp click. She was looking out at the parking lot, at the trees and darkness beyond, wondering if John and his friends were in fact lurking out there somewhere, biding their time for the right moment to strike again. He was definitely the type to hold a grudge for a night like this. If he didn’t retaliate tonight, he would soon, would let her soak in the fear for a few days and then arrive at the bar unannounced with dues to pay.

Bucky cleared his throat, and (Y/N)’s attention snapped back to him. She looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised, and found that his smile was gentle and knowing. 

“You’re safe with me. Come on, let’s get inside. It’s cold.”

When they stepped inside, they were greeted with a welcoming warmth. The door shut behind them. He walked over to the little oak nightstand next to the single queen-sized bed and turned on the bedside lamp, its bulb washing the room in a dim, glowing halo of amber. She sighed, muscles relaxing, seeming to melt into the warmth, into the comfort of being somewhere besides the bar. She placed the first aid kit on the bed and shrugged off her cardigan.

“So, doc,” Bucky teased, approaching her at the foot of the bed. “What’s the plan? How’re you going to fix me up?”

“Well,” she said, squinting as she examined his face. “We’ll have to wash all that blood off first, so I can assess the damage.”

He gestured to the bathroom with one hand. “Lead the way.”

They walked into the bathroom and he flipped the light on, its white fluorescence a stark contrast from the soft light in the other room. She grabbed a bleach-white washcloth from the shelf above the toilet and turned on the faucet, dampening the cloth under the steady stream of water. She turned off the faucet and stepped back as Bucky leaned against the sink, crossing his arms.

“This might sting,” she said quietly, stepping into the space between his legs, his stance framing hers. He simply nodded in response. She tried not to think about their sudden proximity, the fact that she was alone in a motel room with a man who had risked his own safety to protect hers, a man she had been secretly pining over for a while now. Instead, she smoothed the wet washcloth in her hands and brought it up to his face, dabbing gingerly at a stream of blood that had dried on his cheek. When she brushed against the cut on his jaw, he winced, a sharp huff of breath leaving his nose.

“Sorry,” she apologized, trying to handle the cloth with light fingers. “He really got you there.”

“Even if that’s true, part of me thinks I should thank the guy.”

(Y/N) paused. “W-what?”

“Well, he’s an absolute ass. Deserved what he got,” he chuckled. “But now, I’ve got the pretty girl who works at my favorite bar taking care of me. It was definitely worth a couple of scrapes.”

“I--” her response died in her throat, choked by the deep blush that was creeping up her neck. She paused dabbing at his face, looking at him quizzically.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, noting her creased brow and parted lips. “Too soon.”

“No-- no. It’s okay.” She shook her head and smiled, moving the washcloth to his upper lip as she wiped away the evidence of his bloody nose. I just didn’t think you felt that way, too.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, (Y/N) trying to avoid direct eye contact the whole time, lest her blush return, his face was clean. She stepped back and examined her handiwork before throwing the bloodied washcloth in the waste bin and leading Bucky back into the main room. She sat down on the bed, its springs groaning in a rusty bounce beneath her, and she opened the first aid kit, searching for a suitable bandage for his jaw. He knelt on the floor in front of her, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her, caging her in with his arms but refusing to let his touch drift any closer without permission. He watched her fingers flit indecisively between the different band-aid choices. 

Finally, she plucked one from its box, carefully unpeeling its wrapping. Bucky tilted his head slightly, allowing her easy access to the cut on his jaw, and she delicately placed the band-aid over it, careful not to press too hard against the tender skin. Her touch unconsciously lingered a moment longer, lightly caressing his face with the pads of her fingers. But after a few seconds, when she didn’t pull away, they both inhaled sharply, his face quickly growing hot. Their eyes met, and she dropped her hands to her sides, his piercing blue gaze boring into hers.

 He blinked and stood, walking over to the door and hunching down to glance at the parking lot through the peephole.

“I should get going,” (Y/N) said, voice hushed as she snapped the first aid kit shut. She stood, grabbing her cardigan, preparing to meet the cold outside and run to her permanent room. “Thank you. For everything.”

He turned away from the door. “Hold on.” His voice was grave, a stark contrast to the light, flirty turn of the evening since they had entered his room. “We still don’t know if he’s out there.”

(Y/N) bit her lip and shifted her weight, silently grateful for his hesitancy to let her be alone. “What are you suggesting?”

“You can take the bed.” He gestured to the spot on the carpet between the bed and the door. “I can take the floor.”

“A-are you sure?” 

“If I was in your position, I wouldn’t want to be alone,” he said, voice rough and quiet. “But, it’s your decision to make. I can walk you back to your room, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

She thought for a second. She agreed with Bucky’s observation that John may still be out there, lying in wait, and he had been spot-on with the remark that it would be frightening to be alone after tonight’s violence. So far, Bucky had proven himself to be good. She felt comfortable around him. He didn’t try to touch her, and he still gave her options, despite the fact that he seemed oddly protective of her. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he wouldn’t try to slip into bed next to her in the darkest hours of morning. He was a good man. He would live up to his promise and give her space, acting as a blockade between her and the outside world. For tonight, he would be the promise of warmth, of comfort, of safety.

“I think I’d be more comfortable here. With you.”

“Alright.” He offered a simple reply, walking over to her and taking the first aid kit and her cardigan from her, placing them on top of the dresser. “You’ll be safe with me,” he reassured her, bending down to look her in the eyes when he said it, uttering each word with heavy truth.

She nodded and bit her lip. When she felt her blush creeping back up her face, those stern, icy blue eyes of his fixated on her, she turned away, directing her attention towards the bed, hands smoothing over the covers. She grabbed a pillow, its blanched case stiff and rough from continual washing, and handed it to him. He smiled and took it, humming a low laugh and placing it on the floor next to the bed.

She pulled back the sheets as he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Her eyelids were suddenly heavy, her body absolutely exhausted, but grateful for a safe place to rest after the day’s peril. She felt herself lull into a hypnotic state of rest before she could even pull the covers over her body, listening to the rumble of the motel’s heater and the whoosh of cars driving past on the distant highway.

Bucky finished in the bathroom and tiptoed to the closet. He grabbed the extra blanket from the top shelf, its woolen fabric starchy and coarse, and plopped it onto the floor next to his pillow. Then, he looked down at (Y/N), curled up on the bed, already halfway into a dream. He sighed, a soft smile gracing his lips, and he reached for the blankets on the bed, pulling them up over her sedated form. She shifted under the covers, settling into their warmth, and he turned off the bedside lamp, the room submerged in a sudden, but not unwelcome, darkness.

                                                             ✧

She woke to light streaming through the gap in the curtains.

The room smelled of lavender detergent and carpet cleaner, and of something distinctly masculine and unfamiliar, the scent of mint toothpaste and rainfall. She stretched, her body grateful for a restful night as memories of the previous day trickled back in. John’s threats, Bucky’s heroism. Her shyness, her inability to tell him how she felt, despite the fact that he so clearly reciprocated those feelings he had hinted at.

She sat up in bed and looked around the room. On the floor next to her, the spare blanket was folded neatly, the pillow she had given to Bucky the previous night stacked on top of it. His duffel was gone from its perch on the dresser. Any trace of him had disappeared, save for the scent that hung in the air and the memories that clung to (Y/N)’s brain.

She sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up. She had a lot of work to do today. She supposed that she should probably clean up the bar after last night’s incident, and should break open the cleaning supplies that she had left untouched for so long. She wished that she had had the chance to say goodbye to Bucky before he left, a faint sense of longing gripping her throat. But, at least the cleaning would take her mind off of that, for the time being.

As she stood, she brushed through her hair roughly with her fingers, gathering the first aid kit and her cardigan. She surveyed the room one last time, bathed in soft morning light, when a square of white on the nightstand caught her eye.

Brows furrowed with confusion, she walked over, abandoning her things on the bed. On the nightstand was a notepad, an uncapped pen sitting next to it. A brief note was scribbled on it.

Call me if he comes back. 

Or, if you need me. For anything.

-Bucky

The message was followed by a phone number.

(Y/N) ripped the note from the pad and stared at Bucky’s slanted, spiked handwriting for a moment, noting the sharp angles and rushed script of his letters.

She stuffed the note in her back pocket and smiled.

[xoluvx]

seasons; zendaya

Loving her was like a summer day; peaceful and endless. Filled with possibilities and pleasant delights.

“I wish we never had to get out of bed,” Zendaya whispered as your eyes adjusted to the soft morning light. Her hand was resting on your head, partly wrapped around your shoulder as one of your arms limply draped over her torso. She was warm to the touch, even though she was partly nude.

Nuzzling your head into the curve of her body, you nodded agreeing with her statement. You lived for mornings like these. Where it was just you and her basking in the morning sun. Bodies warm, comforting one another.

It was soothing like hot chocolate in the winter. 

This was the very best. Nothing could get better than this.

Nothing apart from maybe what followed after.

Her fingertips gently caressed your neck until they were digging into the bottom of your head; they softly massaging your scalp, turning your head slowly until you were looking up at her. Her lips grazed yours, noses brushing with every calculated move. All until you were fully linked; your lips tangled in a passionate kiss.

The warmth of her skin pressed against yours scorched your body filling you up with a fiery desire to make love to her regardless of it being six in the morning. Your hand cupped her face pulling yourself up so you were eye to eye; your limbs now tangled as she turned your bodies.

Her long legs rested on either side of your body. Your hands inched up her silky smooth thighs until they were cupping her ass, moving her gently against your body. Her lower half matched the rhythm of her lips on yours. Slow, but precise and knowing.

But then you’d quickly switch, bringing her body down to the end of the bed. Her soft shocked gasp and laugh filled the quiet room as her hair sprawled along the mattress; you were between her legs, hovering over her.

The thin tank she was wearing was soon discarded; her nipples instantly hardening, despite the warm temperature of the room. The tip of your fingers brushed against her pulsing core, teasing what was to come.

But she knew it was only a matter of seconds before your head would be buried between her legs charging her body with electricity; tiny needles prickled at her feet as her toes curled. The promise of an orgasm in the horizon.

That. Nothing could get better than that.

But even summer has to come to an end eventually and you’re left with autumn; with the hazy remains of warm days and nights as the leaves start to fall. As you helplessly try to hold on to the small parts of summer.

“I’m not in the mood,” Zendaya whispered as you approached her from the side. Your arm wrapped around her torso before she stepped to the side. The presence of her body in your arm vanished as she grabbed her phone answering the call.

You knew it was work.

And what was worse was that you were nonexistent in that world. There was little you could do or say to comfort her when she was stressed.

Nothing compared to winter. The harsh cold; the darkness. 

The door slammed; the sound of the loud blow rang in your ear as you turned your head to see the door shut.

Your eyes stung as you hung your head back trying to prevent the tears from coming out, but it was too late. You fanned your face trying to cool your burning cheeks, but it was pointless. Your throat was tight as you watched the door. Still shut.

She didn’t come out the rest of the night.

The guest room was cold as you tucked yourself under the sheets. They weren’t soft, not like the ones in the room you shared with her. In the middle of the night, your arm extended to where she’d be. But she wasn’t there. There was only the ghost of her; cold to the touch. You shut your eyes tight feeling the warm tears rush down your face as you clung to the sheets tightly letting it all out.

It felt like hours before you climbed out of bed. Your feet softly piter-pattered on the cold floor as you made your way to the room. Cracking the door open, you glanced at the bed. You could see the silhouette of her body from the faint light pushing past the curtains. Though her back was to you; she’d heard you come in.

Her arm stretched out to you; you crawled into bed hugging her tight. Your intertwined fingers rested on her chest as your arm wrapped around her. Burying your head into her neck, you could smell the comforting scent of her shampoo. That familiar smell that let you know she had entered a room before you even laid eyes on her. The one that felt like home. Like warm summer days.

 And nothing reassured you more than the fact that winter never lasted long. Eventually it’d be over and spring would blossom and restore your hope. 

Your arms wrapped around her small waist as you rested your head on hers. Just standing close to her got your heart racing; it calmed your nerves. Knowing you were okay. Zendaya silently cut the fruit on the cutting board as she tried hard not to smile like a shy school girl. But your arms wrapped around her, just as they usually were, still made her giddy and warmed every part of her body.

“Mm,” she hummed bringing a piece of strawberry to your lips. Gently you took it in your mouth, your lips lingered on her fingertips as you chewed; she didn’t pull them away.

The sweet tangy sweet fruit coated your tongue. She relished in the way your face brightened when you swallowed. Her own lips curving as she took a bit of the strawberry.

You watched the way her lips moved calmly. Her arms moving carefully as she continued cutting fruit. Her fingers softly caring for the diced strawberries as she placed them in a small bowl decorating the sides with raspberries and blackberries.

You briefly untangled your arms from her waist so she could put away what she wouldn’t use anymore. She grabbed the bowl with one hand, intertwining your fingers in the other as she led you to the couch which was lit up by the soft spring light peering through an open window.

The smell of fresh grass and budding flowers accompanied by the smell of her shampoo and body wash seared in your mind. Storing it for a rainy day.

She settled next to you, nuzzling her body into yours like she was carved to fit next to you like a piece of a puzzle.

She smiled warmly, laughing softly, as you dropped a piece of fruit. Her face lit up brighter than the sun rays flashing across her honey coated eyes and you felt the petals of your heart blooming. Her lips captured yours in a bashful kiss and you found yourself falling in love with her all over again.

Because even if you had to go through autumn and winter, nothing compared to the warmth you felt every spring and the quickly approaching summer.

She was your summer even in the uncertainty of winter.

[stealingpotatoes]

The Thorns of the Crown

ao3 link

summary: After everything Corvo’s family has been through in the past six months, he’s not so sure the throne is worth it all. (Emily doesn’t take the throne back au)

--

The Loyalists had been fools to think they could kill him and take his daughter, and still get away with it.

Corvo had silently fought his way through the Lighthouse, putting guards to sleep as he forced his way to the very top, where he knew his would-be murderers were. Where he knew Emily’s now-captors were.

He entered the foyer of the highest part of the Lighthouse as quietly as a ghost, and was immediately met with the grotesque sight of a golden statue of Hiram Burrows, standing proudly in the middle of the golden-gilded room. It was ironic to lay eyes on the false sight of the traitor Corvo had defeated, while on his way to deal with the very traitors that had ordered him to do it. The Loyalists had not learnt from the mistakes of those before them, it seemed.

A grand staircase wound around the circular walls that surrounded the beastly statue, leading to a room above. That was where they had to be.

I’m coming Em.

Corvo lifted his mask off as he quietly ascended the winding stairs. There was no point of hiding behind the face of Death; the Loyalists knew who he was. Or, at least they thought they did.

Corvo finally drew up to the entrance to the war room, and put his back to the wall beside a bust of Burrows. With a deep breath in, he channeled the Void through his hand, and watched the world shift into muted reds.

He looked over his shoulder, through the wall.

There were only two yellow shapes -- two men -- in the room ahead. Not guarding, but sitting at a table. No, slumped against the table. Are they sleeping? Or something else?

Corvo checked his crossbow, making sure it was loaded with sleep darts, and rounded the corner fast.

A dead man’s silence lay over the room like a heavy shroud, interrupted only by the harsh patter of rain.

The top of the Lighthouse was a purpose-built war room. It was finely wood-panelled like the rest of the building, but the left wall was covered with a huge map, places circled and labelled with smaller papers. There was a lit fireplace at the far end, with chairs surrounding it.

At the room’s main centre was a large war table -- where Burrows had no doubt spearheaded his campaigns and his war on the common people of Dunwall.

But it was not being used to plan any wars now; at the end of the table, fine foods had been served with expensive-looking wine. The food had not been eaten -- but the drink had been poured.

Martin’s body was slumped in place, and Pendleton had fallen half-off his chair. Neither of them were moving in the slightest.

Corvo slowly began to lower his crossbow, keeping a firm grip on it, and skulked towards Pendleton.

He put two fingers to the pulse on Pendleton’s neck, and heard the crunch of boots on glass. Corvo stepped back.

Shards of glass were shattered about by Pendleton’s limp hand, with drops of blood-- no, wine spilt around them.

Corvo glanced back up across the table; Martin had a glass in his hand too, and Corvo was willing to bet he had no pulse either.

Corvo stood up straight. From the glasses and past experience, he did not have to guess what had happened to them. Poisoned -- but with no boatman to save them.

But where was the man that had done this?

Corvo activated his dark vision again, scanning for any more yellow shapes that might have been out of range before.

His dark vision melted back away, unsuccessful -- but as it did, Corvo’s eyes halted on a purple shape on the floor behind Martin.

He moved over to it, a new sense of dread filling him, and crouched to pick it up. He inspected it for barely a moment; he didn’t need any longer to recognise it. It was Mrs. Pilsen, Emily’s favourite doll, the one Corvo had given her back upon his return to the Tower.

Corvo ran a thumb over a new, small crack in the doll’s painted porcelain face -- Emily must’ve dropped her. But she had been here. She had to have been. So where is Emily now? And where is Havelock?

A little girl’s scream was Corvo’s first answer.

Corvo’s eyes widened. Emily.

The voice had come from above, and-- outside? Corvo looked around the room again, and he zeroed in on the second set of stairs, behind the wall. She had to be up there. She had to.

As he rushed up the stairs, he noticed the small splashes of blood on the wood of the stairs and floor. If so much as a speck the blood is Emily’s, Corvo thought, running, then I am going to make damn sure Havelock wishes he had never been born.

The trail of blood continued into the office at the top of the stairs, out onto the metal balcony that began out of a door in the glass-roof and wall. Corvo continued his pace, unfolding his sword as he burst into the pouring storm once again.

There was no sign of her there. Corvo raced to his left, up another set of stairs. He paused on a landing -- the trail stopped there, on a maid, dead, surrounded by her own blood. It was no relief.

“NO! Let me go!”

Corvo’s eyes darted up.

On the walkway far above, two people were moving-- struggling, silhouetted against the sky. One far larger, one far smaller.

“Quiet now! And move already, child!”

Havelock.

A hundred words of vengeance filled Corvo’s head, but he said none of them. He only darted to his left again, bounding up the rest of the staircase to the entrance of a sheltered stairwell. The voices were audible again as he entered.

“Hold still you stupid girl!” Havelock’s voice boomed through the rain.

“Let me go! I am the Empress!”

Corvo kept running up the twisting stairs.

“Didn't you learn anything in your short life?” Havelock yelled seethingly. “Empresses are pieces on the board. And Empresses can sometimes die--”

Corvo stepped out of the shelter and onto the walkway. He didn’t need to announce his presence -- Havelock looked up the second Corvo laid more than two steps on the metal.

Another bout of thunder and lightning struck somewhere in the storm.

“No! Stay where you are Corvo, or I jump,” the Admiral yelled over the rain.

“Corvo! Save me!” Emily screamed.

Corvo stopped walking.

“That’s right,” Havelock said, a maniacally grim satisfaction rising in his voice at Corvo following his orders. “If you take one step closer, we’re both off the edge.”

I don’t need to take a step to get to you, Corvo thought.

He made a show of folding his blade back up and sheathing it, before holding his hands up slowly in a surrender. The rain was beating down on him.

Corvo let himself lock eyes with Emily -- but only for a moment. Then he fixed his blazing-ice gaze on Havelock, who wore the grin of a man that thought himself entirely in control.

Havelock opened his mouth to begin some taunting speech. Lightning struck beyond the edge of the walkway.

Corvo curled his raised left hand into a fist, feeling that sharp pins-and-needles sensation on the Mark and called the Void forth. It heeded his demand with a sharp whisper. Time ground to a complete halt around him.

The lightning behind Havelock and Emily stopped its descent half way down, looking like a harsh rift of pure light in the sky. Water droplets stood in place, small gems floating against the dark storm clouds.

Everything was still.

Corvo didn’t waste a second; he ran forward and at once pulled Emily out of Havelock’s unknowing grip, shoving the Admiral hard as he did it

Corvo took a short, undeserved moment to take in the frozen sight of Emily, half in his arms, before releasing his taxing hold on time.

The grey scream of the dragged-out present disappeared. and the world resumed its pace. Emily almost tripped onto the metal floor with the force of time’s discharge, but Corvo held her safe.

Havelock hung for a moment, as if time wasn’t yet properly flowing, his footing just lost and surprise written all over him. He had expected one last piece of control -- control over his own death. But he had fallen into the same trap as all those before. He had become too comfortable in his position, and he had forgotten that Death belonged to no man, and followed no man’s orders. No matter their station.

Havelock fell.

Corvo, still holding tight to Emily, peered ever so slightly over the edge. He watched the Admiral’s screaming descent until he hit the jaws of the rocks below.

After what felt like a moment too many, Corvo turned to his daughter, still holding onto him for dear life. He held her back, and tucked a drenched strand of messy hair from her face. The rain still beat down on them, ceaseless, soaking their already-soaked clothes and hair.

“Are you okay?” Corvo asked hurriedly.

Emily gave him a shaky nod, eyes still wide with fear. “I-- I think so.”

Corvo nodded in return. “We need to get out of the storm.” Logic was slowly returning, replacing the blood haze seeing Emily in such danger put him in.

Corvo made himself let Emily go for the moment, and she ran ahead onto the covered metal stairwell he had just come from. Corvo followed just as swiftly. They both traversed down the small stairs, the sound of Emily’s little shoes on metal filling Corvo with more and more relief.

He had only paused by the bottom doorway for a second when Emily barrelled right into him for a hug. “I knew you’d save me! You’re my hero, Corvo,” she said, voice half-muffled by his wet coat but slowly coming back to herself.

When she pulled away briefly, Corvo knelt down to just below her eye level and pulled her into a proper hug. He knew was probably hugging her too tight, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything but the feeling of his daughter in his arms. She was shaking and freezing-wet, but still warm enough. But still alive.

The storm raged on on the walkways outside of their small shelter.

Eventually, they both pulled back, and Corvo took Emily’s tiny hands in his. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“You-- you already asked me that,” Emily said, still shivering from the cold and the fear. When Corvo’s worried expression didn’t change, she told him, “I think I’m alright. I’m alright now you’re here.”

Corvo nodded, feeling some small part of the weight on his shoulders go.

“Is it going to be okay now? Will I-- will I be Empress?” Emily asked, almost eagerly.

Corvo glanced down.

He thought of Jessamine. Of her cold dead eyes in the Gazebo. Of her blood on his hands.

Empresses are pieces on the board. And Empresses can sometimes die.

The Heart was beating, an unrelenting pulse in the back of his mind. An incessant reminder that what Havelock had said was true; Empresses die. And who was Corvo to be able to stop it? He had failed once; he could fail again. Death followed no one’s orders; not orders from Empresses, nor those from Lord Protectors.

I know what it felt like to drive a blade into your Empress.

Empresses die. And for what? So men could take control of the damned city of Dunwall? This city didn’t care about them. It didn’t care about anyone. It ate everything alive. It would not let an Empress be safe, no matter how good or pure of heart she was.

The crown and throne were nothing but a curse and objects of desire for ambitious men who thought themselves the better of people. The curse of power nearly took the last of his family from him -- the family that, because of the crown and its rules and its curses, he had never been able to openly call his own.

Empresses die. And so did Burrows, and Havelock, and Pendleton, and Martin. And so did everyone else that tried to hold that kind of power.

Now I want nothing but to leave this wretched city, and fade from the memories of those who reside here.

Emily was just a girl. She was Corvo’s girl, his baby girl. She wasn’t meant to be a piece on a board, a piece in Dunwall’s deadly game of power. She wasn’t meant to hold an Empire in her small hands.

She wasn’t meant to die.

If they went home, if Corvo let Emily take back the throne… what fate would he be damning her too? She would be forever caught in the crossfire of power-grabs and the schemes of conniving politicians. All it took was one wrong move, and Corvo would lose her to that crossfire. That was not the life he wanted her to live. That was not the death he could ever let her die.

This was the only way he could protect Emily. He wasn’t sure if Jess would ever truly approve of it, but she had not been through what they had been through. He hoped what was left of her would understand.

Empresses die. But Emily wouldn’t. Not if Corvo could help it.

The Heart continued to beat.

Corvo pulled Emily closer and planted a kiss on her forehead, “It’s going to be okay now. I promise.”

A relief seeped into Emily’s big brown eyes, and Corvo felt something squeeze in his chest at her expression. “Are we going home then?”

Corvo swallowed. He shook his head.

Confusion knit itself between Emily’s furrowed brows. “What?”

“We can’t go home, and you won’t be Empress,” Corvo said slowly, forcing the words out. This was how it had to be. I can’t protect you from this city. Nothing can, Corvo thought. “Dunwall and Dunwall Tower-- they aren’t safe,” he said instead. “They aren’t ever going to be safe.”

Corvo had expected Emily to show more resistance, or be more upset at the idea they couldn’t return to Dunwall Tower -- but maybe he still expected Emily to be the girl she had been six-and-a-half months ago, before this all happened. But she was not that girl; Emily merely nodded, with a look she was too young to have in her eyes.

“So where are we going to go?” she asked.

Corvo tightened his grip on her hands. “We’re going to take a ship out of here--”

“Like a pirate ship?”

Corvo huffed out a half-laugh, relief at really having his daughter back hitting him hard. I love you so much, he thought. “Yes, like a pirate ship,” he said with a small smile. “We’re going to take a ship out, and-- and we’re going to make a new home, somewhere else. Just the two of us.”

“Three of us,” Emily corrected. After seeing Corvo’s confused expression, she made an obvious face. “Mrs Pilsen! I grabbed her when they took me, but I left her downstairs.”

Corvo shook his head, half-laughing again. All that had just happened, and Emily’s first concern was her favourite dolly. It filled Corvo with faith. They could do this. They could live a normal life, where Corvo could just be a father and, Emily could just be a daughter. Where she would be allowed to be a child, and not a piece to be manipulated.

He squeezed Emily’s hands. “The two of us and Mrs. Pilsen. We’ll make a new home. How does that sound?”

Emily’s eyes drifted to the floor below, and she bit her still soaking-wet lip for a moment. “I…” her gaze returned to Corvo, and she slowly gave him a small smile, “I’d like that.”

Corvo pulled her into another hug.

---

Emily woke up to the slight sway of the sea beneath her.

They had been on this boat more than a week now. It wasn’t like any boat she had been on before -- far less fancy, and far more dirty.

Emily knew a smuggler was a lot like a pirate, but this boat didn’t look like the boats from Emily’s story books. This was a big metal steam-ship, not a pirate’s sailboat with a flag of skull-and-crossbones.

And the pirates in the stories never had to check themselves for signs of the plague, or make certain no rats had come aboard, but the smugglers had had to. So had Emily and Corvo.

Emily wasn’t sure “Slackjaw” was a real name, but apparently it was the name of Corvo’s friend who set this all up. He owed Corvo one, because he had saved “Slackjaw”'s life. Which made sense -- Corvo was good at saving lives. He’d saved Emily’s life more times than she could count. He’d been saving Emily’s life since before she could even count.

But Corvo had saved Slackjaw’s life, and so Slackjaw owed him a favour. Corvo used that favour to get him and Emily on a smuggler’s ship with new clothes and made-up papers.

The papers didn’t have Corvo or Emily’s real names on them, but Corvo had said that he and Emily would need to take new names, to stay safe.

Emily hoped they could come up with something better than Slackjaw.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up in her cot-bed, before glancing to the other side of the tiny cabin.

The cabin -- if it could even be called that; oversized cupboard seemed more apt -- was flakily-painted metal, like the rest of the ship. The tiny room was almost empty, besides Corvo and Emily’s few belongings, and the two foldaway cots pressed against the walls.

The size of the room allowed very little space between the two cots -- and so Emily had a very good view of Corvo, sitting on the far end of his.

He was fully dressed already. It still was funny to see him in something other than a long coat, but Emily supposed the roughspun jacket and shirt he was wearing now suited him well enough. His folding sword was somewhere underneath the jacket, and that gave Emily no small amount of comfort.

She squinted in the near-dark. Corvo was looking down at his hands, clasped as if they were tenderly holding something. He mumbled something at his hands, entirely fixated on the empty space.

“Father,” Emily started, barely able to stop herself from grinning as she did every time she called him that. Corvo said she was allowed to now. “Father?”

“Mm?” Corvo hummed in an almost-startled reply, quickly looking up from the nothing in his hands.

“What time is it?”

“Early enough that you can go back to bed,” Corvo said fondly.

“Is it early early?”

“What does that mean?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Is the sun out yet?”

Corvo glanced back ahead, as if he could see through the walls of the cabin. “No,” he said, turning back, “but it will be soon. The crew’s beginning to wake up.”

Emily perked up. “Can we watch the sunrise? Please?”

She thought Corvo might say no for a second, but instead he smiled and nodded. “If you really want to.”

Emily nodded gingerly, then shuffled to the end of her cot and pushed herself onto the floor.

Corvo stood up too -- bent over slightly, unable to stand to his full height under the cabin’s short ceilings. He’d moved his hands apart now, as if he’d put the nothing he was holding back down somewhere. Emily paid no mind to it, only grabbing her coat from the back of the door and putting her shoes on, before giving her father a big smile to say she was ready.

Corvo returned the smile, and quietly opened the door, letting her pass into the cramped metal hallway.

He didn’t have to tell her to try to be quiet too. Emily knew that some of the crew would still be asleep, and they needed to be nice and courteous to the smugglers, as any guest would be towards their hosts.

Part of that meant Corvo had to help around the ship a bit, so he and Emily were more worth their while. The smugglers seemed to like him; they’d told him that if he ever wanted a solid job, he could join their crew. Corvo didn’t seem that interested.

After a short time of quiet footsteps in the hall, Corvo and Emily reached a heavy metal ship-door, which Corvo opened with ease.

The fresh not-yet-morning sea air hit Emily with a gentle breeze as they stepped onto the side deck of the boat. It had been getting warmer every day, as the ship got further from cold Gristol, and closer to sunny Serkonos.

The sea ahead was almost dark, but a peaking of the sun on the horizon drove a warm streak across the water.

Emily walked up to the ship’s metal side railing and peaked over it, but didn’t look off the edge. She had done that on the first day on the ship, and promptly regretted it, needing Corvo to calm her down and remind her that they weren’t at the top of the Lighthouse anymore. That she was safe.

“I can’t wait to be in Karnaca,” Emily said. “Will you show me everything you told me about?”

Corvo nodded with a small smile, a fond and loving look in his eyes. “I’ll show you whatever you want to see in Karnaca.”

“And can I go swimming in the bay, like you said you used to? Ooh, or climb the big trees? And-- and--”

Corvo chuckled, “You can do all of that, and more.”

Emily grinned giddily, and looked back to the sea ahead.

The sun was beginning to rise over the waters, painting the world around them hues of orange. Emily wondered if the sun was rising just the same in Dunwall. She supposed it didn’t really matter; what mattered was that it was rising, and that she had her father by her side to see it.

A new day was dawning for them both, and Emily found herself apprehensively excited. It would be a strange new future ahead, one that she did not know, but she had decided it would be a good future. She knew Corvo would make sure of that.

Emily leaned in closer to Corvo, who too was partly leant on the railing, and rested her small head on his arm. In response, he lifted his arm up and pulled her closer to his torso, before settling his arm on her shoulders in a warm half-hug.

Emily smiled, snuggling nearer and keeping her eyes on the rising sun ahead.

[random-of-random]

The Secret - Chapter 3

The Apartment

A/N: Hey lovelies! Again, thank you for reading and liking! I have a procedure tomorrow so I may take a few days off, but I will try to have the next chapter up as soon as possible!

When Y/N helped Graves onto his couch, she let out a small huff of annoyance. He had complained all the way from the car.

“We should have apparated.” His voice was still weak, but full of judgment.

“You're too weak to apparate.” She reminded him, for the third time.

“Well that no-maj torture device wasn't any better.”

“That was an automobile, and it's one of their newest major inventions. It’s just starting to get popular. You have to admire how they get around.”

“I don't have to admire anything.” He grumbled causing her to roll her eyes. “Besides, you didn't need to help me walk into my own house.”

Her eyebrows raised. “I'm sorry your majesty. Next time I will let you crawl.” It was going to be a long three days. She could feel it. Even knowing him for a year, she was sure he wouldn't do well being on forced bed rest.

“If you wouldn’t mind, in my office are some files. I can, at least, get some work done.” Yep, there it was. He pointed to a closed door to her left.

“Percival, it’s after midnight.”

“Yes, and?”

“You really need some sleep.”

She saw his jaw clench and his eyes narrow. “Miss Y/L/N, I am going to be forced to get plenty of sleep. As long as I am home I don’t want to be useless.”

“You’re not useless you’re-“

“The files. Mrs. Y/L/N.” It wasn’t a request anymore, and she knew if she refused again he would be up on his feet, getting them for himself. So, as she headed for the door she allowed herself to roll her eyes.

Percival’s apartment would surprise a lot of people. It was warm. A decent size, they had passed a kitchen and dining room before getting to the living room. At the opposite end of the living room was a hallway, she could only assume to the bedroom and bathroom.

As the door swung open she almost laughed to see it was as disorganized as his work office had been. Turning on a light she let her eyes adjust a moment before focusing on the stack of files on his desk. The whole room smelled like him, and it was likely this was where he spent most of his time. There were accolades hanging on the wall, and a pair of reading glasses on his desk. She let out a sigh before grabbing the files and heading back to the living room. Setting the files on the table he leaned forward and opened the first one.

Y/N checked her watch. “Mr. Graves you need to take your next dose of potions at 2.” He looked up at her and slightly smiled. She must have been frustrated with him if she called him Mr. Graves. “If you are alright I’m going to quickly go to my apartment and grab a few things.”

“That’s fine.” He said, turning his focus back to the case he was working. Y/N nodded and was gone with a pop.

She landed in the middle of her, much smaller, living room. Everything was pitch black for a second until she switched on a lamp. She allowed herself a moment to just lean against her chair and take a few shaky breaths. When she had gone to Percival’s office to retrieve his effects before they headed for his home, she had allowed herself to cry, briefly. The idea of losing him had become painful, though she was sure she could never tell him that. Sitting down, those feelings washed over her again, never listening to his stories, seeing his small smile, catching him off guard and making him laugh. She felt the tears pouring down her face and she let out a small sob. Pushing the feelings away she stood and headed into her bedroom. Grabbing a bag she quickly picked a few clothes, wiping her eyes periodically. Once she felt she had enough for a few days she used her wand to turn off her lights and back to Percival’s she went. She appeared near his front door, not wanting to startle him.

He was still working on the same file, his eyes focused on the paper in front of him. She set the bag down at the end of the couch.

“What are you doing Miss Y/L/N?”

“I figured I would be sleeping on the couch.”

“No need. There is a guest room. First door on the left, down the hall.” He answered quickly. “Though, were there not a guest room, I would be taking the couch.”

“Were there not a guest room you would not. You’re injured and need rest.”

Percival finally looked up at her, more to argue, but stopped. “Y/N, are you alright?” She realized her eyes must have been red.

“I’m fine, sir.” She assured him. “I should put this bag in the spare room, sir.” He watched her walk away, not taking his eyes off of her until she had turned the corner.

The spare room was about the size of her bedroom at home. Simple: a bed, dresser, lamp, and a nightstand. She set her bag down and looked at the mirror next to the dresser. It was no wonder he noticed. Her eyes were puffy and red. It was clear she had been crying. Taking in a slow breath she pulled her wand from her jacket and quickly hid what she could, before placing the jacket on the bed and heading back to the living room. Percival was no longer engrossed in a case file, in fact the file was closed and back on the pile.

“Can I get you something, sir.”

“What’s wrong?” He asked sincerely.

Y/N shook her head. “It was momentary, I’m fine. Would you like something to drink or eat?”

“Y/N? Please be honest with me.”

Y/N looked to the floor and back up into his eyes, choosing her words carefully. “Tonight was just frightening that’s all. I was worried, and emotions built up.” Percival began to stand, and she was next to him in a second. “You really shouldn’t get up. I know, I need to learn to control my emotions better.”

He looked at her for a moment. “Do you believe that’s what I was going to say to you?” Y/N was stuck, unsure of what to say. Percival wrapped his arms around her, and her pulled her softly against his chest. “It’s okay for situations like this to be frightening. You did everything you needed to. You held it together. No one could ask anymore of you. When you are alone you’re allowed to feel those emotions. You’re human, Y/N.” His voice was calm, quiet, comforting and she felt herself relax into him, his warmth, his words.

“Thank you, Percival.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and she could have sworn the ghost of a kiss touched the top of her head before he pulled away.

——————————

Percival had barely made it to the 2AM hour for his potions. Despite pretending like everything was fine, he was weak and exhausted.

So, Y/N dreaded waking him up for his 6AM potion. She must have stood at his door for a full minute. This would be her going into his bedroom. Even at 2 he had still been on the couch, and she had merely helped him to the door after. Taking a deep breath her knuckles rapped on the wood. Nothing.

“Percival?” She called out, knocking again.

“Come in.” She heard his voice say. Opening the door, she was surprised to find him sitting up in bed. She could see his blue and white striped night shirt, and a black blanket was pulled up to his waist. The room itself was sparse. A large bed in the center, directly across from the door, a window to her right, and a dresser and mirror to her left. On the nightstand was a small lamp, which was on, and more files. Something clunky was under the files, but she couldn’t see what.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s time for your potions.”

“I needed to be up anyway.” He said quickly. “I have to go into the office today.”

Y/N let out a small laugh. “That’s not happening.”

“I think someone is going to notice if I’m not there.” Percival didn’t like to toot his own horn, but he had worked consistently and with any luck was about to be named the next Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

“I’ve already left word with Arthur that you wouldn’t be coming in for a few days, plus your doctor has informed Madame President.” Y/N explained. “If you would like I can go in and explain it myself.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He answered and she handed him his first potion, which he drank down quickly. It tasted slightly of some sort of fruit. Not entirely unpleasant. The second one, however, tasted of metal and he worked to not make a face getting it down.

“You should get some more sleep.” Y/N suggested, taking the bottles.

“I can get some work done.”

“Percival.” Her voice was softer than he was used to and it made him look into her deep brown eyes.

“Please, for me, get some more sleep. It’s the best way to let your body heal. I promise when you wake up next I will bring you whatever files you would like.

He considered his options for a moment. “Alright, those are acceptable terms.” A small smile played on his face.

“Good.” Y/N gave him a small nod before quickly leaving his room, pausing just outside to catch her breath. She certainly never expected to be in his apartment, let alone his bedroom.

————————————

By the time Percival woke at 9 Y/N had breakfast ready and waiting. He felt almost groggy - it had been a long time since he woken up so late. Usually he was up by 5, and rarely ever slept in past 7 - even on his days off.

He slowly walked toward his dining room, lured by the scent of bacon and pancakes. He watched Y/N for a moment as she hummed to herself and continued to make food.

“You didn’t have to-“ His sudden words startled her and she let out a small shout as she jumped and stared at him with wide eyes. He couldn’t help but chuckle. “-do that, Miss Y/L/N. I am sorry I startled you.”

“Percival.” She abandoned the food for a moment to quickly walk over to him. “Please, have a seat.” She pulled out the head chair to the dining room table, and Percival tentatively sat before she headed back toward the kitchen. “And, no, It’s fine.” She tried to calm her racing heart. “And it’s my pleasure. You need to eat, so do I.” She placed a plate of food on the table in front of him. Percival had tried his best to hide how weak his body felt, he didn’t want to appear frail. Y/N saw right through it. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

“Coming right up.” She grabbed him a steaming mug of coffee, along with her own breakfast, and sat down to eat.

“I know I didn’t have the ingredients for all of this.” Percival said as he looked at the array of food. Y/N had made bacon and pancakes. Also muffins - two different kinds - and sliced grapefruit.

“You didn’t. I went out earlier.” Taking a small sip of her coffee, she couldn’t help but tease. “Tell me, Percival, how does a head auror get by day to day on coffee alone?”

“I eat at the office a lot.” He answered simply before taking a bite of pancake and letting out a soft sigh. It was delicious. “Thank you for this. It’s…. Nice.” So, flirting was not his strong suit.

“Your next dose of medicine is in a little less than an hour. Work sent over some files for you.”

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” She looked up at him and he was slowly chewing a piece of bacon, smiling at her. He tried to think of something to say, but his words were failing. He never failed to charm her when he was at the office. Maybe he was noticing how the sunlight coming through the window played in her hair. Or the fact that the bacon was the best he had tasted. Or, maybe he was realizing that she didn’t have to do any of this. She could have left him with the healers or arranged for a nurse. Instead she was sleeping in her boss’s guest room and barely sleeping, at that, so she could take care of him.

“After breakfast I would like to get some work done. Just because I’m not at the office doesn’t mean there aren’t things I can do.” He had blown it.

She still smiled. “Sure. Not a problem, sir.”

The rest of the meal was mostly in silence, but neither one of them seemed to mind, and just like she promised after breakfast Percival moved into his home office and started getting to work on the files.

He had read for about thirty minutes when he checked his watch. It was nearing 10, but no sign of Y/N with his medication. Taking a deep breath he stood up slowly and walked over to the door. He could tell the dramatic improvement just from the night before. Though it was taking a concerted effort, he was able to make his way across the room without every muscle screaming at him. Opening the door he was about to speak but saw Y/N asleep on the couch. The book she must have been reading lay forgotten on the floor. Between making sure his meds were taken on time, shopping for groceries, and cooking breakfast, Percival realized there was no way he could be sure she had gotten nearly any sleep. For a moment his plan was to just take the medication himself, but it occurred to him, he had no idea where she had placed it.

Clenching his jaw in slight frustration he made his was over to her, wishing he didn’t have to wake her up. Her breathing was slow, her face serene and Percival found himself watching her for a moment. To him, she couldn’t be more beautiful.

“Y/N..” His voice was barely above a whisper as she began to stir. For a moment she was confused about where she was and who was waking her up, until she saw him.

“Percival.” She quickly sat up. “I’m so sorry, I fell asleep.”

“It’s quite alright.” He reassured her. “I would have got the medicine myself, but I don’t know where you keep it.”

“Of course, one moment.” She was on her feet in an instant and he watched her walk down the hallway to the guest room. It would make sense for the medicine to be in there. “Again, I’m really sorry.” She was walking back toward him with one dose of each liquid.

“Please don’t apologize.” He tried to calm her. “You have been doing a lot.” Unlike this morning he took both potions as quick as he could, the metal one going first. “I am sorry I had to wake you.”

“I can help you with some files, if you would like.” She offered as she took the vials back. He was going to put his hand on her shoulder, that was his goal. His hand, however, seemed to have a mind of its own as he cupped her cheek. Y/N almost stopped breathing at his touch.

“You should rest. I am feeling decent. If I need you, I will let you know.” Percival realized he had taken a small step forward, and how close they actually were. All he needed to do was move in, but something stopped him and he, instead, pulled his hand back. Y/N couldn’t lie to herself and say she wasn’t disappointed, but she wouldn’t allow herself to believe Percival had tried, or even thought about, kissing her.

“I’ll be here if you need anything.” She promised and he have her a small nod before he headed back into his office and closed the door. Y/N sat back down on the couch and picked up her book. It was useless. She couldn’t concentrate if she wanted to.

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Me and You

(Luke Patterson x Reader) (Julie and the Phantoms)

Word Count: 1.6K

~Master~

A/N: Alrighty! So this is my first time writing for JATP! I tried y’all, I did, let me know what you think and if I should write more at some point cause I’m curious now lmao. 

This was mainly written for me, I’ll be honest. 

@hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis YOUR MOVE...

***

The constant strumming of Luke’s guitar as he practiced kept pulling your attention away from the book in front of you, one you snagged from Julie’s bookshelf. You were almost done with it, but you preferred to read in silence, something you couldn’t do with Mr. Rockstar over there.

“Must you practice when I’m trying to read?” You groaned, tossing your head back on the couch you were laying across as you stared up at the ceiling.

Luke just laughed, strumming a chord on his guitar that he’d been trying out for ages now. “Must you read when I’m trying to practice?” You shot him a look but Luke only smirked at you, making you only slightly annoyed.

“You always do this.” You said, rolling off the couch and coming to lean over the piano. “Ever since we were young, it was always you playing when I read.” Luke could tell you weren’t mad at him or upset from the small smile on your face as you picked up the paper in front of him. “New song?”

Luke nodded, leaning on his elbow on the piano as he looked at you. Your eyes were reading the paper, slowly mouthing the words as your lips slowly curled up in a smile. Luke licked his lips, never looking away from you as he cleared his throat. “Wanna give it a go?”

You had to keep from laughing at Luke’s offer. “Thanks, but I’m good. I think I’ll leave the singing to Julie and you.” you started to walk away but Luke grabbed your hand before you could, giving you a dimply smile that you knew you couldn’t say no to.

“Come on, Y/N. I haven’t heard you play and sing in a while.” He pushed the sheet music towards you. “Just give it a go.” You took a deep breath, staring at him as he squeezed your hand. You hated playing in front of people, and Luke knew that, but he also knew you were comfortable with him. If you were going to sing in front of anyone, it would be him.

You sighed, nodding your head and smiling. Luke playfully cheered as you laughed. You grabbed the paper, sitting down in front of the piano as Luke sat next to you, holding his guitar so it wouldn’t hit you.  “You sure about this?” you asked, seeing Luke roll his eyes. He took your hands and put them on the piano.

“Play.” He said, nudging you gently. Before you could doubt yourself, you started playing the first few notes of Stand Tall. Luke watched you play, a smile budding at his face as he listened. It had been so long since he heard you play, even longer since he heard you sing. He missed it.

Luke waited, hearing you play the intro again and again, but you never sang. Instead, you stopped playing, letting out a small sigh as your hands fell to your side. “I can’t.”

“It’s just us.” He whispered, grabbing your hand again. He brought your hands to the piano, placing his on top. Goosebumps tickled your skin as you turned your head, finding Luke closer than he was before. His eyes met yours as he pressed your fingers down, hearing the notes play as you both stayed looking at each other. When you didn’t start singing, Luke played the intro again, and again as he smiled at you. “It’s just me and you, you can do it.”

You nodded, finally looking away as you felt Luke’s hand remove themselves, but he didn’t scoot back. You took a deep breath. “Don’t blink, No I don’t want to miss it” you sang out beautifully as Luke’s heart soared, hearing your slight wobble before you found your confidence and your smile slowly grew on your face. “One thing and it’s back to the beginning, ‘cause everything is rushing in fast, keep going on, never look back,” Luke joined you in the next verse, helping you with the song as he played his guitar. Neither one of your smiles faded until the last notes rang out in the air, ending the song and leaving you both in a perfect silence.

Luke pushed himself off the piano bench you were sharing, spinning around before reaching forwards and grabbing your hands, pulling you up as well. “That was amazing. Y/N!” He cried out, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you in the air. You laughed at his actions and threw your arms around his neck, one of your hands finding his hair when you buried your head into his shoulder. When Luke finally put you down, your bodies were pressed together and Luke’s hold on you didn’t loosen.

You were well aware of Luke’s hands holding you close and your own that threaded so neatly in his hair. His eyes met yours and your breath hitched. “Thank you.” you whispered, seeing Luke’s eyes flicker down briefly before locking on yours again.

“I knew you could do it.” He brought a hand up to cup your cheek. You knew that look in his eye. He leaned in, pulling your face closer as you let your eyes close and your lips hit. It took years and even dying for you to manage to kiss Luke, but it was worth it. He kissed you deeply, pouring every feeling he had into it as you did the same. When you pulled away, Luke’s hand stayed on your cheek, both of you never leaving each other’s embrace.

You furrowed your brows, biting your lip as Luke asked what was wrong. “You like me?” you asked.

Luke was confused. “Why is that a question?” He laughed and his smile never left his face.

You, however, had no clue what to say. “I just- I can’t believe-“ You stuttered, pulling your gaze away from him. “I never wanted to admit my feelings for you and you not return them.” You admitted. Luke moved your head so you were looking at him again. “I couldn’t handle that.”

“You didn’t think I like you?”

“Do you?” you laughed out, trying to hold in your insecurities.

Luke quickly caught on to how you were thinking, believing there was no way that he truly liked you. “Y/N, I’ve been in love you since we were 14 and you spilled your lunch all over me at my house.”

Your eyes went wide, heat moving up your cheeks as you closed your eyes tight, taking a moment before opening them again. “That’s when you realized you were in love with me?!” you cried out as Luke and you burst into laughs, yours out of embarrassment and his out of amusement.

You tried to hide your face, but Luke wouldn’t let you, moving your hands away from your face so he could see you again. “No, I wasn’t smart enough for that.” He said and you snorted, fully believing him. “I figured that out later, but it was when I started thinking of you as maybe more than a friend.”

You nodded your head, tangling your hands with his. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been in love with you about that time too.” You admitted as Luke let out a sigh of relief, leaning forward to meet your lips again, but before he could, you were interrupted.

“Woah.” Reggie said Alex and him popped into the room, standing on the other side of the piano as Luke and you subconsciously took a step apart.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account.” Alex said jokingly as he leaned forwards on the piano, making you both share embarrassed looks.

“We weren’t-“

“Yeah, we were just-“

Luke and you said at the same time, but neither of you had a real excuse. Instead, you just looked at him and shrugged.

“We’re dating.”

Alex and Reggie laughed at Luke and your perfectly timed proclamation. “Yeah, it’s about time.” Alex joked again as you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, it only took what, 4, 5 years?” Reggie asked rhetorically as Luke forced a smile, tossing the pillows that were on the couch at them both as you laughed. They both caught the pillows, but only after it smacked them in the faces.

“Alright, alright!” Alex said loudly over everyone’s laughter. You quieted down, cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Seriously guys, we’re happy for you both.”

“Yeah,” Reggie continued, nodding. “You guys are good for each other.” He admitted and you felt Luke’s arm swing over your shoulder and bring you into his side and kissing your temple. You giggled, wrapping your arms around Luke just in time for Julie to walk in and see.

“No way!” She shouted, glancing between you and Luke. You smiled at her, knowing she knew all about your crush on Luke for a while now. “You’re dating!” Her reaction made you laugh and you wish you were able to hug her, but since you were a ghost, it wasn’t possible. Instead, you settled for watching her being excited and feeling Luke’s chest rumble as you hugged him.

“I think Julie wins best reaction.” You whispered to Luke as he nodded, leaning down to peck your lips as Julie squealed louder.

“Okay!” You called over her, a small chuckle in your words as she quieted down but still remained giddy. “You guys have to practice!” you reminded them, seeing nods around the room as you moved away from Luke, holding his hand until you couldn’t reach him anymore and fell onto the couch.

Everyone moved to their instruments, but Luke, who still had his guitar on him from playing earlier, just watched you, seeing you and Julie exchange silent cheers before the singer was finally ready to practice. You picked up your book, beginning to read again as the band practiced. You kept sneaking glances up at Luke, who was definitely still looking at you. The music did make it difficult to focus on reading, but with your boyfriend preforming right in front of you, who would want to concentrate on reading anyway?

ALL TAGLISTS CLOSED!

Permanent: @literal-fand0m-trash @nathaliabakes @colored-confetti @btsiguess-kpop @galacticstxrdust @independentgirl @hollymac79 @emcchi @rauwz @chewymoustachio @smilexcaptainx @faith-quake @johnmurphyisqueer @kettnerjanea @teenagereadersciencenerd @ladykxxx08 @annasofiaearlobe @mytreec @ananad1 @agentnataliahofferson @the-unmanaged-mischief @wonderful-writer @theonly1outof-a-billion

[amythedvdhoarder]

Three

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word count: 4.3K

Warnings: Swearing, little bit of drinking, quite angsty and fluffy

A/N: (gif not mine) So this is my incredibly late entry to celebrate  @finleyjayne reaching 100 followers. Congrats hun you deserve it. So I picked the prompt ‘Feeling blue’ with Stucky. This is not beta read so I apologise now for any mistakes. 

xxx

Bucky let out a heavy sigh as he rolled over to face Steve in bed. Another night filled with restless sleep, the extra body in the bed missing making it impossible to sleep easily.

“What’s up? Steve grumbled still half asleep.

“You know what,” Bucky replied wistfully.

Steve stretches out lazily before turning to face Bucky and smiling sadly. “We had to let her go, give her a chance at a normal life. She couldn’t have that with is Buck.”

“Why can’t she have a normal life with us Steve? Everyone accepts us? We could have settled down, got married, had a few kids. No one would have questioned it.” Bucky knew the tiredness was stopping him from keeping a lid on his emotions.

“You know that’s not true,” Steve reached for Bucky’s hand and pulled it to his lips briefly, “nobody outside of the team knew about the three of us. It wasn’t fair on her, you agreed at the time too. We let her go before it got too far and we couldn’t. We had 6 happy months together, let’s just remember that.” Steve tugged on Bucky’s arm, encouraging him to come closer. Bucky shuffled over and rested his head against Steve’s chest.

“I know, I just miss her. I love her so fucking much it hurts.” Steve closed his eyes as he felt that familiar stab of pain that Bucky was talking about. Bucky was everything to Steve, they had been through so much together. But you. You were like the missing piece of their jigsaw puzzle they hadn’t even realised was incomplete. You fitted them perfectly, after everything they had been through they were happier than they had ever been but they noticed you becoming more distant, spending nights back at your own place, then suddenly it was all over.

xxx

You missed Steve and Bucky like hell. They had woven their way into your life and now that they weren’t in it, you felt lost. The first time you met them they had come into the coffee shop you were working in. Bucky’s fingers had grazed over yours as you handed him his takeout cup and Steve’s eyes met yours making your breath catch. You witnessed the pair of them having a quiet conversation and them both sitting down at a table despite ordering coffee to go. They spent the rest of the afternoon at the coffee shop, chatting away, their eyes searching you out and finding you already smiling at them warmly. When you were finally closing up they asked you to join them for a few minutes.

They explained to you that they were a couple but were interested in spending time with you. Surprisingly you weren’t put off by the idea but in fact excited, so you accepted their dinner invitation. Two weeks later you found yourself in their bed and after that a permanent feature in their lives. You spent most nights with them at the tower. On your days off you would explore New York together, looking like a couple and their friend just having a day out. Not that it bothered you. You understood why Steve was never affectionate with you outside of the tower, he kept his distance. He had only just started to feel comfortable being out with Bucky in public. Bucky was different though, he had spent too much of his life not being himself to hide any longer. He would tease you with small lingering touches, not so innocent looks whilst nobody was watching and whispering naughty thoughts in your ears as you peered into shop windows.

Everything had been going smoothly until Steve had gone on a mission that lasted longer than expected. Before that point you hadn’t slept with either of them without the other being there or joining in. But during this week Bucky felt himself getting more and more stressed and in need of release so he called Steve and asked if it would be ok for you and him to sleep together. Steve agreed at the time but when he got back from his mission to find you and Bucky curled up with each other on the sofa his face told a different story. Of course, you instantly panicked believing you were driving a wedge between them which was the last thing you wanted to do. After you voiced you concerns to Bucky he told you that you were being daft but Steve’s demeanour changed around you.

From that point you began to distance yourself from the both, you made excuses to avoid spending time with even though it made you miserable. In that short 6 months you had fallen insurmountably in love with them but realised it had to end. Bucky and Steve were meant for each other, you cared about them too much to come between them. And after one short, teary discussion between the three of you it was over. You made your excuses about needing the chance to have a normal life where you could be open about your relationships, have some proper stability. It was all lies of course, something to avoid having to tell them the truth and potentially cause them more pain. Neither of them fought or argued with you, they looked a little ashamed but ultimately let you go.

Truth be told you missed all of the people from the avenger’s tower; Sam and Nat had become good friends of yours. They had tried to contact you after you left but you ghosted them, unable to have any sort of connection to anyone linked to Bucky and Steve. Your life seemed quieter, mundane and as you cleaned the coffee machine up for closing time you didn’t even notice when a new customer came in.

“Y/N?” the soft voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Sam? What are you doing here?” you said moving towards the counter. “You want anything making?”

“Only if you’ll join me,” he smiled.

“I can’t. I need to close up and clean.” You could tell by the way his eyebrows raised that he wasn’t going to fall for your attempt to get rid of him.

“How about this. You lock up and I’ll help you tidy up. It’ll give us a chance to talk, I miss talking to someone who isn’t over 100 or a trained assassin.” Sam knew he had won when you burst out laughing.

“Fine, but only because I don’t want to clean up this place on my own,” you stuck your tongue out at him as you walked over to the door, clicked the lock shut and turned over the sign indicating you were now closed.  

You and Sam chatted away for the next 30 minutes talking about this and that, both delaying the inevitable topic of the two super soldiers. You handed Sam his payment of a cappuccino and you sat down in an armchair opposite him, nursing your cup of tea.

“So, you gonna ask me how they are?” Sam asks an amused tone to his voice.

“Sam, I-“ he shakes his head at you.

“I’m gonna tell you anyway. Y/N they’re not good, they really miss you even if they won’t admit it to us. Bucky is miserable, he barely laughs, makes a joke. Hell, he has even stopped teasing me. For some reason he only wears this one red t-shirt all the time, he is refusing to wash it. Like it actually smells now. And Steve. Steve is worst. His mood swings would put an adolescent teenager to shame. One minute he is snapping at everyone, breaking open punch bags and the next he weirdly calm and this look of despair just washes over him.” Sam’s eyes fixed on your face.

His words had clearly had an impact, making him feel instantly guilty. Your bottom lip wobbling, eyes full of tears threatening to spill over. He jumped up out of his seat and wrapped a comforting arm around you. At this the damn broke and you descended into sobs.

“Shit, I’m sorry Y/N,” Sam crooned softly, taking the hot tea out of your hand and placing it on the table. “Take a couple of deep breaths for me,” he instructed. Once you had finally had your breathing back under control and wiped away your tears, he finally released you and sat back down opposite you.

“I’m sorry Sam,” your voice croaky and raw from the crying. “I just miss them, I don’t feel like myself anymore. It’s like I’m hollow, does that sound crazy?”

“No, it doesn’t Y/N, I felt the same way when Riley died. The difference is they didn’t die, you could have them back in your life if that’s what you want?” he said solemnly.

“I would go back to them in a heartbeat Sam, but I just don’t think that’s what they both want,” you twisted the ring around your index finger.

“Did you not hear what I told you earlier? They’re lost without you,” Sam was thoroughly confused. His plan had been to try and talk you around to help you realise what a big mistake the three of you had made.  Nat was having a similar conversation with Steve and Bucky right now, informing them what she had found out by following you around for the last week or so since you’d left. But now Sam had a feeling that there was a bigger issue at hand.

“I heard you but they’ll learn to live without me. They love each other completely, I don’t think there is room for me in all of that.” It was the first time you had admitted the truth aloud, it stung but it felt good to have finally got the big weight off your shoulders.

“That’s the biggest pile of bullshit I have ever heard,” Sam scoffed. Your head shot up immediately, your mouth open in shock. “You can’t seriously believe that?”

You were quiet for a minute, not sure how to respond. “You don’t know them like I do,” you replied quietly.

“You’re right, in some ways I know them better. I knew them before you, they were happy but it was nowhere near what they were like when you were with them,” he folded his arms content that he had won.

“See that’s where your wrong Sam. You remember that mission that Steve went on, every little thing that could go wrong did. Well when he got home something was different, he was more guarded around me. I think it was because me and Bucky got closer whilst he was away, he didn’t want me anymore. I was getting in the way,” you reasoned.

“Y/N, I was on that mission with him. We went through absolute hell and back. I was distant from everyone for a while. Did you know he nearly died?” he looked at the way your eyes widened to find the answer to that question. “So, no then. Well he did and do you know what he said to me?” You shook your head. “I’m quoting here. ‘Tell them both I love them. Tell Bucky to look after our girl’. If you were really getting in the way, why would he say that?”

You sighed. “I don’t know. But he didn’t stop me from leaving.”

“Did you tell them the real reason why you were leaving?” Sam asked already knowing the answer.

You shook your head.

“And people call me an idiot?” he scoffed.  “Of course they let you go if that’s what they thought you wanted. You need to talk to them or at least see them and find out the truth.”

You picked up your tea and took a long gulp to avoid responding to Sam’s suggestion.

“Well whatever you decide you’re going to have to see them this weekend anyway?” he said smugly making you choke and cough as the now lukewarm liquid went down the wrong way.

“Sam what the fuck?” you managed to get out in between spluttering coughs.

“It’s my birthday party on Saturday, you promised you’d come ages ago.” He folded his arms at grinned.

“That was before,’ you stammered. “Besides, I’ve already said I’ll work another shift.”

“Liar,” he said getting to his feet. “Nat will come to yours and pick you up around 7. Think about what I’ve said Y/N. They really do miss you.”

You stood up followed him as he walked to the door. “Ok I’ll think about it. Don’t think I have much choice about Saturday, do I?”

Sam wrapped you up in a bear hug. “Nope, absolutely none.”

After you had locked up after Sam you sat back down and tried to process everything. Sam’s words played over in your head. There was no doubt that Bucky was missing you; he was wearing the shirt of his that you had slept in the last night you spent with them. It was Steve you were more sceptical about. If what Sam had really said was true then maybe Steve did care for you more than he let on. Perhaps some part of him doubted your affection and loyalty to them. There was no way to be sure except to see them. You just didn’t know if you were ready for that.

xxx

Nat showed up a whole two hours early with an array of outfits for you to pick from. She wouldn’t let you get something old and familiar out of your closet, she was determined to get you dressed up and into the party spirit. She only succeeded at one of those and by the time you both pulled up to the tower you were a complete bag of nerves.

“Will you quit fidgeting, you’re making me nervous,” Nat scolded you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled before pulling up the front of your dress. “Why a sleeveless dress Nat? They are so impractical.”

“Well -” she paused to twist the thin satin material at your hip, repositioning the perilously high thigh split, “- that may be true but I can guarantee one thing, those boys will certainly realise what they have been missing.”

You frowned at her and gave one final look over your appearance in the elevator mirror before the door pinged open into the loud and bustling party. She took your hand and led you to the bar where you were greeted by Sam who promptly handed you a drink. You knocked back the amber liquid quickly in an attempt to sooth your nerves, before anxiously scanning around the room for any sign of the two men you both longed and dreaded to see.

“Relax Y/N, they’re not here yet,” Sam leaned over and whispered in your ear. He gave you a small reassuring smile which mixed with warmth the alcohol was providing finally made you relax a little. Nat and Sam caught you up on everything that happened and the latest avenger’s gossip.

“Hey kid, we missed you. How’ve you been?” Tony walked up to you, his purple tinted glasses nearly falling of his nose as he threw his arms out to embrace you.

“Ok thanks,” you said quickly. “Great party as always Tones.”

“Well we have Mrs Stark to thank for that.” He turned to face Sam. “They’re gonna short-circuit when they find out she’s here,” Tony uttered, half amused before walking over to greet some other guests.

You rounded on Sam. “You didn’t tell them,” your voice low as you tried to control your emotions.

“Not exactly,” he shrugged. “Well guess we’re going to find out any second now,” he smirked at the entrance over your shoulder.

xxx

Bucky looked around the room, wishing at that moment that he could be anywhere else. He was walking towards the bar when he realised Steve was no longer walking next to him.

“Stevie?” he turned around searching for Steve and spotted him stood stock still, his eyes fixed on something across the room. Bucky walked back towards him and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Steve?” he said starting to get a little worried, he looked like he had seen a ghost. Bucky followed his line of sight and his eyes met yours across the crowded room. His breath caught in his throat and he could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. He had thought of this moment every day since you had left and now that it was here he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Is she really here Buck,” Steve’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Bucky blinked and turned to Steve. “I think so. Steve, we have to …”

“I know” Steve said as he took Bucky’s hand and squeezed it.

When the men turned back around you had disappeared from sight. You saw them frantically searching for you but you had managed to tuck yourself behind a group of shield agents. At the sight of them part of you wanted to run to them and throw your arms around them and never let them go but there was still doubts niggling away in your mind. One thing was for certain, Sam was right. Bucky did look sad and Steve. Well Steve was the one you hadn’t ever been able to get a read on before and still couldn’t now.  

“Y/N seriously, hiding from them?” Nat shook her head at you.

“Well you found me so I’m clearly not hiding am I,” you sassed.

“You certainly won’t be in a minute” she smiled deviously before standing on her tip toes and waving at the two super soldiers.

“I fucking hate you Nat,” you hissed.

“No you don’t. If you’re still planning on hiding I would move now, they’re on their way.” You stuck your middle finger up at her and then scarpered. Sure, you were going to have to face them at some point tonight but you planned on having at least another couple of drinks before that.

Mid-way through your first vodka and coke a tall red-headed man approached you and Bruce as you were chatting at the bar.

“Hi, I was wondering if you wanted a dance. Seems a shame to be hiding that dress over here at the bar,” Bruce bit back a laugh as did you at the corny line but none the less you agreed.

You let the man who introduced himself as Tom, take your hand and lead you to the dancefloor. Thankfully the song was slow so you didn’t have to worry about your dress slipping down. Tom placed his hands lightly on your waist as you held onto his shoulders, gently swaying to the music.

Midway through the song he leaned over and whispered quietly in your ear. “Do you have any idea why the winter soldier looks like he wants to kill me?”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened. “Bucky,” you corrected. “No, I have no idea,” the tone of your voice sharp. As you spun around your eyes landed on Bucky who was gripping onto the glass tumbler in his hand so tightly you were surprised it hadn’t smashed. It was often that you saw this side of him but it sent a shiver down your spine. Your eyes sought out Steve who you assumed would be with Bucky but you couldn’t find him.

“Mind if I cut in?” a familiar voice spoke softly whilst still managing to carry an air of absolute authority.  

Tom stood still and turned to look up at the blonde man. “Sure thing Sir,” he stuttered, “thanks Y/N,” and with that Tom backed away and nearly ran from the dancefloor.

“That was mean,” your hands fell to your hips as you scowled at Steve. “Plus, do I not get a say in this?” His blue eyes flashed with panic briefly but then that classic Steve Rogers look of determination reappeared.

“So, what do you want Y/N?” you could sense the double meaning behind his question. “Because I know what I want Y/N,” he continued, his blue eyes boring into yours taking a step closer.

“Steve I…” you closed your eyes and bit down on your bottom lip trying to find the words you wanted to say. A calloused hand cupped your jaw and you opened your eyes as Steve traced the tender flesh of your lower lip. The sound of the party disappeared and all that remained in that moment was you and Steve. Instinctively you pressed your hand on top of Steve’s and inched yourself closer to him.

“I wish this were simpler Steve but it’s not,” you hadn’t even realised you were crying until Steve removed his hand and quickly wiped away the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“This was never going to be simple Y/N. But all I know is that I love you. These last few weeks have bit a shit show. I didn’t say it enough before but if you’ll have me then I will spend every day showing you exactly how much.”

“What about Bucky?” you asked quietly.

“What about me doll?” Bucky had walked up to the pair of you, a lop-sided grin on his face.

“You two are meant to be together. I don’t want to get in the way of that,” you looked from Bucky’s face to Steve’s.  

“You can’t seriously think that Y/N,” Steve said moving forward to try and get closer but you took a step back.

“I know that when you came back from that mission everything felt different,” your voice cracked as you tried to make Steve understand.

Steve’s face fell at your words. “I was scared Y/N. I realised on that mission how important you were. How much we needed you. When I saw you when I got back with Buck, I realised that you deserved so much more than someone who might not come home one day. You’re worth more than that. I was scared you were going to figure it out and leave. So, when you started pulling away I let you because I thought that was what you wanted, what would make you happy. Even if it meant we weren’t,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck.

“And you,” you rounded on Bucky, “did you think the same thing?”

“Y/N you didn’t seem happy and I thought we were to blame; doesn’t that sound familiar?” he was right of course. “All I know is it sounds as if you have been as miserable as we have. Doll, we’re not us without you. We’re a team. You, me and Stevie. We’re all yours if you’ll have us?” he shrugged.

“Maybe you need us to convince you?” Steve closed the distance between you and pressed his lips to yours with a softness you hadn’t expected. You felt yourself melt against him as his hands found the nape of your neck and held you to him, your lips moving against his as you became reacquainted.

When he finally managed to tear himself away from the sweet taste of your lips, his cheeks were flushed and his ragged breath matched your own.

“My turn,” Bucky stepped over, his hand moving to the back of your head as he crashed his lips to yours. The intensity of the kiss had both of you moaning against each other’s mouths. You wrapped your arms around him, not wanting to let go but you had to eventually.

You stood breathless looking between the two super soldiers who owned your heart, your mind made up.

“Yes,” you smiled.

Bucky was grinning like a kid of Christmas morning but Steve didn’t allow himself to celebrate to soon. “You sure about this Y/N because we won’t ever let you go again,” he said.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” and you meant it. You couldn’t imagine a version of your life without Bucky and Steve in it. “Now get over here,” you giggled at the look of pure joy on Steve’s face.

Steve was on you in a second, picking you up off your feet and pressing kisses all over your face. Bucky came up to the pair of you and took you out of Steve’s arms to repeat the whole process all over again before leaning over to give Steve a quick kiss.

Bucky finally slid you down his body back onto the floor and Steve cupped your cheek and was about to lean down to kiss you again until Sam interrupted.

“Um guys, as much as I am enjoying the reunion maybe you wanna, you know, take this somewhere a little less...” Sam waved his arm around at the crowd of people around you.

You hid yourself in embarrassment behind Bucky’s shoulder. “Sorry” your voice muffled by Bucky’s suit jacket, but you knew it was loud enough for them to both hear it.

Steve laced his fingers with yours and pulled you to face him. “What are you sorry for doll,” he stroked the side of your cheek with the back of his finger.

“I know you didn’t want people to know about us,” you looked down at the floor.

“I got nothing to hide doll. I love both of you and that’s all that matters,” he squeezed your hand and turned to Bucky. “Let’s get outta here.”

“Been waiting all night for you to say that Punk,” Bucky grinned.

He took your other hand and lead you and Steve out of the party. None of you caring what people may have been saying about the three of you, only caring about the fact that you were all together again, just how it was meant to be.

Taglist is open. Let me know if you want in or out 😊 (it is quite possible I missed someone 😬 just dm me)

@stargazingfangirl18 ,  @silentcoyotesong, @queenofstarliqht, @buckys-henley, @lonelyheartsm @alexa-lightwood-blog, @angrythingstarlight, @drabblewithfrannybarnes, @rogueheretic555 @rebekahdawkins @chrissquares @pumpkin-and-pine, @hereforbuckyandsteve, @drakelover78, @baddie-barnes   @its-izzys @thehumanistsdiary​

[sunjaesol]

written kind of caffeinated, kind of stoned, kind of sleep-deprived juke | 2043 words | pure fluff

He knew that, rationally, he shouldn’t do it. The word “boundary!” blared in his head and the whole thing was really inconsequential and it was so stupid, but Luke simply couldn’t help himself. Was it because of his crush on her? Most definitely. Should that awareness stop him from doing dumb shit like this? Yes, except here he was.

While Julie was at school, she accidentally let the lights in her room on. And so, Luke poofed from the studio into her room to turn them off. Saving power, right? Doing the right thing, being a good person, definitely not going into her room because it was her room.

There was something relaxing about the space though. A sense of serenity falling on his shoulders every time he stepped inside and let his eyes wander and settle on new nooks and corners he hadn’t discovered yet. F+J scratched in the wood of her wardrobe, a box of pretty seashells, four tubes of the exact same mascara in her vanity. It felt familiar and human and simple and so, so Julie.

He flicked the lights off, the only light source being the sun pouring in and casting the room in a gentle glow. Her pink walls were gentler now, the colour of peaches and reminding him of summer nights with his boys on the beach. (It also reminded him of Julie’s peach deodorant that always hung around her and involuntarily made him zero in on her. Alex would argue he was always looking at her, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that the thought of peaches only held fond memories - new memories that now included her too.)

Alright. The lights were off. He did his good deed. He should go back to the boys… 

His feet moved on their own accord and plopped down on her bed, sinking into the mattress. His hands caressed the soft comforter, a smile tugging on his lips that thank the fucking music gods, he could still touch and feel things. He would’ve gone insane in an instant if they weren’t able to be in contact with anything or anyone. It was unfathomable to Luke - not hugging Reggie or massaging Alex’s shoulders or grabbing Julie’s hand. To him, music was just another way to share that sensation of contact with people. Didn’t matter if it was loud and rough or quiet and intimate, a ballad or a rock anthem. Connection: that was all he ever needed. 

His fingers slid further and suddenly he was laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Oh, man. Now he really couldn’t leave. Her bed was so comfortable! Definitely better than the mattress he had at his folks or, even worse, the couch. That thing broke his back the last months. Ha, Luke noted bitterly, maybe it was better that he hit the bucket then. Rather dead and setting the stage on fire than living with a hernia, right? 

Though Luke still slept (habit? he guessed?), he has never felt sleepy. The boys just hung around or hit the streets and then eventually felt that tug of human normalcy. “Maybe we should go to sleep, guys. Big day ahead.” He didn’t dream. It was just black. It wasn’t unwelcome; just… empty. 

But here, laying on Julie’s bed and letting his eyes blur and rest, Luke felt sleepy. Sufficiently exhausted. He didn’t know where that sudden slam of the hammer came from, but he kind of liked it. It made him feel like he was the one that went to school today, or had a tiring shift at some fast food shack, or played a gig. He stretched himself like a star, grinned as all the joints in his back popped, and then rolled on his side. Fucking heaven. 

‘What’re you doing here?’

The faraway voice lulled the groggy Luke awake. He felt like he was hit by a truck. Where was he? 

‘Hmph?’

She chuckled, his mind speeding up at just the sound and realising that shit, he did fall asleep on her bed and she caught him. His eyes cracked open, coming face to face with an amused Julie hovering on the side of the bed. His brain supplied him with the thought that she looked pretty, reminding him once again that yup, he still liked her. A sheepish smile crawled on his lips. 

‘Hey, Jules.’

She rolled her eyes and then roughly pushed him to the other side of the bed. He squeaked, grabbing onto the comforter as to not fall off and gawked at her. 

‘Dude!’

‘This is my side of the bed,’ Julie said, pointing at the indent he made. ‘If you’re going to sleep here, it’s on the other side.’

He let out a relieved breath. ‘You’re not mad?’

‘Depends.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why were you in my room?’

Waving his hands towards the ceiling, he muttered. ‘Your lights were still on.’

His reply visibly mellowed her, so much that it kind of surprised him. Her smile melted into those she gave him whenever he found a gnarly lyric or impressed her with a riff or met her halfway for the mic onstage. During those moments, it was hard to deny there wasn’t more, that both knew there was more, but couldn’t really do anything about it. It was really depressing. “Yeah, Jules, I’m fucking crazy about you. Wanna make out and hope I don’t disappear the next day?” Even his impulsive streak wasn’t that extreme. 

He hadn’t expected her to smile like that right now. Not when he laid on her bed and her hair was begging for his fingers to slip through and the spot he slept on was still warm. He almost poofed away. Were they going to touch on the “more”? Was this it? 

‘Thanks,’ she eventually whispered, eyes dropping and meeting his again with a shyer smile and he knew he was sporting the exact same. A beat passed between them, eyes locked and unwavering. His fingers twitched. 

‘Uh…’ Mustering back some rationality, he said: ‘Do you want me to leave, or?’

Her hands stretched out. ‘No!’ Face twisting to something he could only describe as “cringe”, she went on a little calmer. ‘You can- it’s fine. I’m just going to do some homework anyway.’

He watched as she and her backpack found a place on the bed, both very close and very far away all at once. It shouldn’t be intimate, but it was. He was seventeen and she was sixteen and he was pretty sure his crush wasn’t completely one-sided and she just allowed him to stay. There wasn’t music or a guitar or a songbook to hide behind and it sort of terrified him. But in a good way? Like when he went cliff diving and stood at the edge, stomach whooping at the thought of jumping, or when he was at the top of a rollercoaster and the cart slowly began to tilt. It was that. The feeling of quiet exhilaration. 

All of that just cause Julie sat next to him bend over a history worksheet. Get a fucking grip, dude. 

He didn’t know how long she worked on her homework or how long he stared at the ceiling, hands weaved beneath his head, but it mustn’t been long. The weight shifted and suddenly Julie’s head fell on her pillow with a sigh. 

‘No, no, no, Julie,’ he teased, ‘gotta keep those grades up, right?’

She rolled on her side to stick her tongue out. ‘Very funny. You maybe don’t remember it anymore, but school’s exhausting.’

Luke also shifted on his side, chuckling. ‘Jules, it haunts me. That’s why I dropped out.’

‘Cute pun.’

‘Thanks.’ And then, because Luke was never one to overthink: ‘I like this.’

That smile of her came back, the one he always wanted to see. Her eyes crinkled and her lips slightly parted and so incredibly beautiful. He heard music when he looked at her. Death became sweeter if it meant he’d get to stare at the girl of his dreams. It was a morbid thought, but then again, he didn’t deem himself dead whenever he was around her. Luke probably felt so alive around her that it surprised him later on that he wasn’t. 

He wasn’t a ghost. Not to her. She didn’t need to tell him for him to know that. 

Julie tentatively held her hand out in the space between, palm up and smudged with ink. When he placed his on top, fingers barely intertwining but the sensation like a shot of oxygen, she murmured: ‘Me too.’

They didn’t plan for it to become routine, but it also felt kind of inevitable. Nearly every day, Luke would go to Julie’s room when he knew her day at school was nearing its end and waited on her. She’d come in and briefly recapitulate the day (usually some story regarding an annoying teacher and Flynn with a killer comeback), sliding down on her side of the bed and hold his hands. Some days, her fingertips quietly wandered the lines on his palms, some days his did. It was always quiet. Though the only ones in her room, they whispered. This wasn’t a secret (the boys were keenly aware where Luke spent his afternoons), but it felt wrong to speak at a normal volume when the other was so close.  

As the days progressed, they shifted closer. Not intentional, but once again inevitable. Everything about them felt like that nowadays. The longer he was around, the more he realised that this - the bond he shared with Julie - was always meant to happen. Whenever his thoughts meandered to those cosmically impossible ideas of serendipity and couldn’t wrap his head around it, Julie was always there with her smile to bring him back to earth. Or, well, to bed.

And then one day, Julie came home from school, saw him, and without saying anything, crawled right into his chest. His heartbeat didn’t pick up like he expected. It eased and relaxed, sinking deeper into the matress as his eyes fell shut from pure fucking bliss and hugged her closer. Her peach deodorant overwhelmed his senses in the best way possible, burrowing his face in her neck and her smile stretching against his sweater. She was warm and perfectly fit into the curve of his body and he was in love. The acceptance should’ve ached, but it didn’t. How could he think about tomorrow when Julie Molina was wrapped in his arms?

Time froze those afternoons. As long as she kept her head on his chest, as long as they didn’t leave the bed, their island, then nothing could hurt them. 

One afternoon, when the sun was reflecting pink and purple splotches on the walls and he was contently dissecting each curl, his heart so full it could explode, he said it. ‘I wanna do this forever.’

He felt her chuckle. ‘Inspecting my hair like a monkey, or…?’

Luke squeezed her closer. ‘C’mon, Jules.’

Her giggles quieted, chin sliding up his chest to look at him. If she found devotion shimmering behind the green, she was correct. He hoped that the warm flickering in her brown ones was the same. 

Her voice was small. ‘You do?’

He nodded, every movement too big or too loud, afraid it would ruin the perfect quietude surrounding them. The room melted away, her face all that was left. Before he let the tug in his chest (the same thread that looped them in this embrace) guide him closer, she got there first. Julie surged upwards, barely needing to close any distance to softly find his lips. He cradled her cheek, warmth brimming from every pore on his skin, love pouring from his lips onto hers. It was short and sweet, but their smiles as they did were anything but. It felt like the first flower blooming in spring. Giddy, he kissed her again. He loved her. (It was inevitable.) 

Julie hummed an unknown melody in his ear, lilting and just as giddy, her fingers circling right above his heart. It stammered to blend with hers. Luke met her gaze, noses brushing and smiles private and eyes adoring. She loved him. (It was inevitable.)

‘Then let’s do it forever.’

[sandwichrin]

Hello! May I request a Haruto angst where Y/n is a YG trainee and YG forced her to break up with Haruto and then they cross paths years later?

Hi! Sorry for the late response ;-; but here you go! (Also, I wasn’t sure if you wanted Haruto to be a YGA as well in this situation but since you said because y/n is a YG trainee and had to break up with him, I assumed that it’s because they wouldn’t let y/n date a debuted YGA)  Hope you like it <3

(Requested, Haruto x y/n, Angst)

“You can’t be serious y/n,” Haruto said, clearly not satisfied with what you said to him.

“I’m not kidding Ruto...” you took a deep breath, your eyes obviously avoiding to look at him.

The both of you were at a secluded rooftop cafe where you both have always been to for your ‘dates’ since it was the best hideout for the both of you to meet up and spend time together. 

You see, you and Haruto have been dating each other since for a couple of years now. When you first became a trainee, your relationship was definitely rocky after that but the both of you were strong enough to hold onto it because clearly, you both are deeply in love with each other. 

Your date nights become less frequent, you hardly talk on the phone or chat with each other, but that was never the case. You both were fine with it all. As long as you both knew you had each other. 

“What...” Haruto lets out a scoff, “This is absurd! I know that we’ve spent less time with each other but I also know that how we feel about each other isn’t the cause of this.”

You took a sip off your warm tea. Placing the cup down, you mustered your courage to look at your boyfriend in the eyes. 

“Fine then. It wasn’t the cause. It’s not. You know...how much I love you, right?”

Haruto leaned in closer to you and spoke softly this time, “Then what is it? You know you can tell me, right?”

Hearing him speak to you that way, made you realise how saddening this was. You were putting up a tough show in front of him and yet right now, you just want to hug him and cry your eyes out. Because this isn’t what you wanted it to be for the both of you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat before saying, “They found out, Ruto. They found out about us. You know I can’t date you. Especially me being a new trainee there and you being one of their famously renowned artist. It...just doesn’t work that way,” 

Haruto moved away from you, leaning back into his chair this time. He lets out a frustrated sigh. 

You observed him. The pained look on his face, how much he’s dissatisfied at how he doesn’t have much say in this matter.

Haruto lets out another sigh, this time it was louder. “I told you didn’t I? I told you this many times, but you just had to do this, right? You just couldn’t wait, could you?!”

You scoffed. “What?! What exactly did you tell me, huh? How was I to know it would be like this?” you cried back at him.

You weren’t sure but you thought you could see Haruto’s eyes pooling with tears by now. He was hurt. He was truly hurt by this.

“I told you not to audition at my agency! I have been supporting your dreams of wanting to become an idol but I told you to stay away from YGE! You know they don’t allow their artists to date!”

You gasped out loud at what he said, “How could you say that?! We were already dating even before I got in as a trainee! You were literally dating someone even when you were already debuted!”

“And we were fine! We were fine....” this time, tears were already falling down Haruto’s cheeks.

Your grip on your chair tightened. You couldn’t take it.

When YGE told you to breakup with your boyfriend, Haruto, because they wouldn’t allow their trainees to date, you thought Haruto would simply understand why you had to do it. You thought it would be easy. But why does this hurt so bad?

“Y/n....y/n please, please don’t leave me, please. I love you. We can do this, I’ll talk to the management about us, I can fix this,” Haruto pleads, his tears still streaming down his beautiful face.

You shook your head. You knew that was impossible. There was no way their management would even agree of you both being together. They found out about you and Haruto and immediately you were told to break off your relationship with him. What makes him think that anything he said would change their minds??

But you wanted to achieve your dreams as well. And truthfully, being a YG trainee was already a strong step towards achieving your dreams. Why doesn’t Haruto understand that?

You got up from your seat and walked over to him who was sitting opposite you. You wrapped your arms around his sitting frame, giving him a back hug to comfort him.

“Please y/n...” Haruto said softly. His sadness was still heard from his voice. 

You closed your eyes and apologised to him. “I’m sorry, Ruto...I love you, but this...this has to be the end of us.”

.2 years later.

“There she is! Ahh our shining star!” the host of the show said as he saw you entering the show’s set.

You smiled at him and bowed at the people around you, mostly towards the other guests of the show and the cameramen along with the PD crew there.

“Hello everyone! It’s me, the shining, charming y/n!” you greeted everyone there.

“Aigoo, you’re one bright kid, y/n! No wonder your fans love you so much!” the much older host said.

You simply smiled and nodded at what he said. This was your first time being on a renowned show since you debuted months ago and truthfully, since you’ve always been doing contents and shows that were smaller before, today you could feel your nerves racking.

“Oh wait, before we start with our show, we have another guest! Another YG artist too, y/n! You must’ve known him,” the host chuckled.

You smiled and looked at the host questioningly. Who was invited here aside from you? Blackpink? Ikon? Winner?

Your eyes widened when you saw him. How could you forget...about Treasure.

Haruto entered the set, smiling his handsome smile, waving at the cameras and bowing in respect towards all the elders there.

You felt your heart beat fast. How did the both of you end up as guests in the same show??

Haruto caught a glimpse of your eyes and he smiled timidly at you. You nodded briefly at him, trying to maintain composure for the sake of the show. 

All the time throughout being a trainee, and even when you debuted, you had never interacted with him. Not once ever since the two of you broke up. You avoided him in the hallways, the gatherings, and it was all perfect.

But today? You weren’t so sure as to how to avoid him now. 

The show began and all of you, including the rest of the guests starring in the show were seated side by side with one another.

And coincidentally, your seat was right beside Haruto’s. 

Lucky for you, you were deeply concentrating on the show so you weren’t paying much attention on him.

Some time passed by and the host called for a commercial break, “Okay we’ll be right back after the break!”

You waved at the camera, waiting for the director to officially give you all the break.

“And, CUT! Perfect! Good job everyone! 10 minutes break for everyone!”

You sighed in relief. You were so into the show that you had been very active in talking and responding to everyone in the room. Well, to everyone except for Haruto of course.

Your makeup artist approached you and you could also see Haruto’s attending to him as well. 

“y/n, you’re sweating a lot today. be careful okay? We don’t want to accidentally smear your mascara,” your makeup artist advised you. 

You nodded at her and let her dab the sweat off your skin.

It only took you 2-3 minutes to have you look all fresh again, thanks to your skillful makeup artist, and when she left, you realised that you were alone with Haruto, still sitting in your respective seats.

You looked down at your thighs, trying to act like you weren’t bothered with him being there beside you.

“Nervous?” you heard him say.

Your head turned to look at him.

His face was fully facing you right now. “You were really great out there, y/n,”

Your skin shivered. It’s been so long since you heard him call your name. 

“I...uh, thanks,” you muttered quickly at him.

The both of you kept quiet right after that. No one else said anything until the show started again.

                                                            *

The show ended and everyone was thanking each other and talking further about how they enjoyed the show. You were doing the same too and when you were done, you headed towards your dressing room to go check on your phone, since you were pretty sure your group members were probably asking you about how your filming went. 

You entered the empty room and saw your phone on the dressing table, laying with it’s screen face down.

You didn’t remember leaving it that way but whatever, you hurriedly took it and tried to key in your passcode.

But then you stopped. 

You realised that the lockscreen on the phone wasn’t yours.

It was obvious it wasn’t yours because....the lockscreen was a picture of you. 

You immediately placed the phone back down on the dresser. You backed away from the dresser and you felt your heart beating fast.

Whose phone was that? And why does that person has a picture of me as their lockscreen?? And what’s worst, it was a picture from when you were much younger, from when you first became a trainee at YG too!

“Y/n!” you heard your manager call out your name, which made you turn around.

“Yes, oppa?” you asked your manager, your voice a little shaky.

“Oh? What’s with you? Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something,” your manager asked, worried about you.

You forced a laugh at him, “What? No way! I’m okay oppa. I just...uh, yeah, feeling tired that’s all,” you assured him.

“Okay...our van will be here soon, so make sure to gather all your stuff before we leave, okay?”

“Alright! Oh wait, oppa, have you seen my phone?”

“Your phone?”

“Yeah,”

“Oh, you gave it to me to hold while you were recording remember? Here it is,” he said as he pulled the phone out of his pocket and gave it to you.

“Oh, thanks,” you said laughing at how silly you were for forgetting.

“I’ll call you up when the van arrives yea? I need to go talk to the PD staff for a bit,” your manager said before he left.

You nodded at him briefly and got started at gathering your stuff to bring home. 

And just then, you heard footsteps approaching inside the room as well.

You turned to see who it was and surely enough, it was Haruto. 

Both of your eyes met and yet still, no one said anything.

Haruto walked towards the dresser and grabbed the phone that was on it.

He was about to leave but then he stopped to look at you again. He looked like he wanted to say something but then he shook his head and decided to just leave the room.

He probably doesn’t know it but your eyes were fixed on him. It had been two years but that feeling you had for him, it was rushing back to you. 

You wanted to run to him, maybe talk to him more. It would be a horrible lie to say that you didn’t miss him at all. You felt it, the pain in your chest. 

The both of you were in the same show, the same room, and yet you both couldn’t say anything to each other. Why? 

And why does he have your picture saved as his lockscreen? Even after these years?

“Y/n, the van is here. Let’s head home,” your manager said at the door.

“Okay!” you said, trying to sound cheerful and unaffected by what you’re feeling at the moment.

You hurried out of the dressing room and at the corner of your eye, just outside the dressing room, you saw Haruto standing, leaning against the wall. 

He was staring at the bracelet he was wearing. You could see his finger tracing the small, white charm on it.

“Y/n, the van is this way,” your manager called out to you, as he noticed you stopping in your tracks.

“Oh, right! I’m on my way!” you called out to him back.

You decided to take a last peek at Haruto and that’s when both your eyes met again. 

You saw the look in his eyes. 

The pained, sorrow look he had like the last time you both met at the rooftop cafe. The same pained look he had when you told him that you wanted to end your relationship with him back then.

You felt your eyes sting from the tears you were holding back. The memories came flowing back to you by now. 

Feeling overwhelmed, you took a deep breath and ran outside towards your van outside.

As you entered the van, you leaned back against your seat and closed your eyes. You felt your chest beating in pain, your head heavy, and your eyes finally letting the tears overflow. Although your eyes were closed, you could feel your tears streaming down your face and chin. 

It hurts. Why does it hurt this much? Was this how he felt when you broke off things? Why does it hurt this bad when it’s been over for years??

You opened your eyes and hurriedly searched for your purse in your handbag. 

Pulling out the purse from the bag, you unzipped the coin compartment and there it was, still beautifully intact, 

The similar white charmed, silver bracelet Haruto had gifted you years back.