#until graves gives him a reason to hate him

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books: to go up the chain. that goes against everything we've seen him do. he bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer. there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

[houseofhyde]

in vino veri-tits!

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader. synopsis. after you stumble home drunk out of your wits, a yearning bucky barnes learns how it feels to have you fall asleep in his arms. based on this request. warnings. drunk!reader, mutual yearning, two losers beginning to crush on each other, a little bit of angst, fluff, bucky's dick continues to have bad timing. wordcount. 2.5k hyde's input. consider this my apology for the porn you were promised and never received. sorry for giving you all blue-balls, besties <3 this is technically part of the manchild au but can be read as a stand alone! manchild au masterlist

It takes Bucky three weeks to fully settle in to life on your couch.

They say that insanity is doing the same thing, over and over — and, yet, survival is found in routine. The soldier carves out space for himself within the apartment walls; he quietly lays claim over the far-left cushion on the couch, then that navy blue mug in the kitchen, and then of the top shelf in the shower. Relics of him lay scattered around a home, for the first time since the days of visiting county fairs and defending Steve against formidable opponents.

Sam had only asked for temporary — a few nights, at best — and, while you’ve yet to mention his departure, Bucky can’t help but notice the ticking of the clock.

Oh, look, it’s just past four am!

And you’re still not home, something Bucky is painfully aware of — quite literally. There’s an ache in his back, a cramp in his hand, and a sting in his eyes. Hunched over, phone in his grasp, and his sight glued to a television burning his retinas with static.

He knows the lump swelling in his throat is unjustified. It’s not like you’ve given him a reason to worry; you’re a responsible adult who got by perfectly fine before he came along and disturbed your peace. Yet, as another minute ticks by on the clock, he cannot help the way his eyes shift towards the apartment door.

You haven’t been home all day.

From the moment you woke up this morning, rushing out into the kitchen, stealing a slice of toast off his plate, and chugging down half his cup of americano — and then proceeding to scrunch your nose and question the lack of milk in his coffee — you were gone, elsewhere, mind already running ten miles ahead of your kitten heeled feet. When the clock struck six and there was no sign of you walking through the front door, all Bucky had gotten was a text.

Going out with coworkers. No need to stay up. Don’t leave key in the door.

Sleep is a stubborn thing, eluding the soldier, denying him the right to fulfil your request, and he hates it.

The last thing Bucky needs is for you to come home, find him wide awake, and laugh at his inability to sleep beneath a lonesome roof — Sam has been sworn to secrecy on the matter, prohibited from mentioning the true reason Bucky was abandoned at your door.

Something interrupts his dwellings.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise. Super soldier hearing had served him well in the days of completing missions and filling graves, but he scarcely reaches for it anymore — not since using it became an invasion of your privacy. It takes a second for Bucky to focus his hearing again but, when he does, there’s a rustle behind the door.

He stands at attention quicker than a frat boy on Viagra, sprung right off the couch and treading lightly towards the entrance. Pre-war habits seem to die hard, as his eyes scan the room for a weapon, until he remembers he is the weapon.

Fingers curl around the handle.

The noise on the other side grows louder.

A key is thrust into the lock.

The poor-excuse of an intruder moves more frantically.

One twist and- Bang!

An echo follows as the apartment door slams full-speed into the wall, revealing the one thing Bucky’s been waiting for all night.

“Hey, roomie!” You squeal with an excitement that feels foreign to the soldier.

Thus far, you’ve greeted him with a lick of sarcasm most days, and a bite of contempt on the worst ones.

A wave of stench hits his nostrils, souring his palate with the burn of booze.

“You’re…” Back. Safe. Alive. Home. “Drunk.”

“No, silly! I’m-” Whatever poorly made joke you aim to speak collapses alongside your balance, sending you teetering face first into Bucky’s chest. “Whoa, you really are strong.”

“The wonders of illegal soviet serums,” if he still believed in any god, he’d pray for his heart to slow down — it’s too eager to make itself known as you press against it.

“I read about that on your Wikipedia page!” Instead of inquiring on whatever nonsense you’re babbling against him, Bucky takes instead to manoeuvring you fully into the apartment, securing the door shut with a thud far more delicate than the one you decided to wake up the whole neighbourhood with. “Those soviets were mean to you, weren’t they?”

“They weren’t exactly a walk in the park,” and neither is handling a drunken you — his DNA may be riddled with superhuman strength but so are you, apparently, dead-weighting and resisting his attempts to get you off him.

“Mean people suck,” you sigh deeper into him, cheek squished and lips pouting. “I hate when people are mean to me.”

Something tugs at his chest, pulling at strings he thought his heart had long forgotten. The instinct to kill comes as easy to the soldier as breathing — easier, sometimes — he suppresses it with a deep breath and replaces it with a hand on your arm, forcing you off of him enough to see the solemn look on your face.

“Who was mean to you?”

“No one important, just…” You’re avoiding his gaze, eyes bouncing around the room like a DVD logo. “Some coworkers have been talking about me.”

“Saying what?” The soldier feels his brows tighten, a frown taking over his features the more he watches you pull in on yourself, confidence shot and bleeding all over the living room floor. “D’you want me to get them to back off? Could pick you up after work and-”

Your head snaps up, attention now fully his to possess, “You’d do that for me?”

“Yes,” when the truth feels too heavy, a lie can lighten the load. “So you’ll stop coming home drunk and disturbing my sleep.”

Where sober you would shoot Bucky a vulgar hand gesture and degrade him with words he’s yet to incorporate into his vernacular, the version of you that stands before the soldier now throws her head back in laughter.

The disappointment is unexpected, flooding over his soul like a tidal wave as you trade stabilizing yourself against him for stumbling blindly towards the kitchen.

He’s quick to course-correct, hands hovering over each of your arms, not quite touching as he steers you elsewhere.

“Ugh,” you groan, feet moving slowly, each step like you’re wading through water. “I think I’ve got whisky clit!”

“Whisky what?”

“Y’know, like whisky dick, but,” you halt suddenly, forcing Bucky’s front to slam into your back just in time to see you gesture towards your pelvis. “Whisky clit.”

“And why do you think you’ve got… That?” he tries to say it, he really does, but the blood rushing from his head and shooting straight for his groin at the mere thought of that part of you brings an unwelcome obstacle to his attempts at guiding you.

“Because there was this really hot guy at the bar who wanted to sleep with me,” you announce casually, like your words aren’t grabbing a fistful of his guts and twisting them up into an unusable knot. “But instead of wanting to fuck him, I just kept thinking about you.”

It’s unclear who stops moving, you or the soldier.

Either way, you’re both brought to a stand still.

A blink of the eye is all it takes for Bucky’s mind to yank him reluctantly down memory lane.

Back to last week, one of those rare mornings where you’ve awoken before him and Bucky enters the kitchen to find you preparing the coffee for a change. Nothing monumental had happened that morning, you were clad in your usual frilly sleepwear and rocking bags under your eyes big enough to make him yawn on your behalf. By every means, no inch of you appeared out of the ordinary.

But something about you had stopped him in his tracks, kept him from crossing those last few steps into the kitchen.

The window lay open, inviting in a biting breeze that nipped at the skin and rustled the soft cotton of your sleep shirt. Head turned to the side, eyes watching a struggling sun attempt to rise over the gloomy fog of a September morning, and the steam of boiling coffee dancing around your face with every sip taken — for a moment, you were something straight out of the movies, completely intangible and ethereal.

The image was ephemeral, gone as quickly as your eyes landed on his awestruck figure and you blessed the start of his day with bittersweet snark. Short-lived as it had been, it’s been weighing on his mind ever since. Quietly, patiently, with no demand to be noticed yet with no intention of going away.

You turn around and rip him right back into reality, to the here and now of a 4 am battle to get you to bed.

“I kept wondering if you ate the lasagna I left for you. If you managed to get the TV to work. If you were sleeping,” you take a pause to breathe, pinning him with an accusatory look. “Why was I thinking about you?”

The very same question he’s been wrestling for over a week, after embarking on his first mission of vigilantism since unofficially making a home out of your couch, only to wind up finding himself awake at night, unable to sleep and itching to call and check on you.

Bucky had no answer for himself, just like he has no answer for you.

Luckily, you’re one too many whatever-you’ve-been-drinkings deep to notice his redirection of your attention, hands at last no longer hovering and seizing claim over your arms, leading you backwards.

Your bedroom door is almost a sanctuary, a vision of white calling out to him in the dark of the apartment and promising him freedom from the confusing things the barrier of sobriety no longer stops you from saying. Just like…

"You smell better than sex," hummed into his chest as you let yourself go lax once more, melting into his arms and forcing him into the world’s stiffest embrace.

“And you smell like a walking hangover.”

So, this is how it feels to hold you close.

Bucky shakes the thought away before he can dare indulge in it.

“No, nooo-” you seem to have finally caught on to where he’s moving you towards. “I don’t wanna sleep in here.”

You’re digging your heels into the ground, as if the soldier could not just simply fling you over his shoulder and toss you onto the bed. He toys with the idea, until he feels that pesky blood trying to rush down to his groin again.

“Why not? You’ve got that comfy bed you’re always bragging to me about.”

“Am I bragging or trying to get you to join me?” You’re not helping his… situation, spewing words best suited for the nighttime lovers Sam warned him about, and fluttering your lashes at him. Bucky almost swears they’re pleading to him in morse code but, no, that’s just you winging out loud. “Please, Buckyyy! It’s so big and lonely in there.”

The scene is something stripped out of a low-budget comedy movie: him, attempting to wrangle you past the threshold of your bedroom door, and you, digging your nails into the wooden doorframe and anchoring yourself down as an unmovable force. In the battle of super soldier versus super drunk, you win.

His sigh is one of defeat, but you’re too busy cheering to notice.

“So where are you planning on sleeping, genius?” He asks, as you skip right past him, all the drunken swaying suddenly replaced with something more akin to the zoomies of an energetic puppy.

“On the couch,” and you’re dropping down onto it, right on the spot he’s mentally marked as his own. “There’s enough space for us both.”

Your miniature excuse of a couch is barely big enough for him to sleep on. Though Bucky knows that, it doesn’t stop him from joining you. He reaches for a safety distance, two cushions over from you and on the complete opposite end of the couch.

It’s not far enough.

“My friend thinks you’re hot,” you proclaim with no warning, voice veering off into a yawn.

When he glances at you, he’s almost sure you’ve inched a little bit closer, thigh teetering on the edge of encroaching onto the middle cushion.

When you show no sign of elaborating, Bucky opts for a one worded response, “Okay.”

Your reply is instant, your whole body turning to face him, shoulder digging into the backrest. Now Bucky’s confident you’re moving closer.

“Do you think she’s hot?”

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

Another yawn, and you’re slowly sinking down, legs curling up onto the couch and head shooting straight for his thighs. When contact is made, he feels every single one of his muscles go tense.

“Oh, okay. Good…” it’s barely a mumble against grey sweatpants, one hand perched just above his knee while you rest the other close to your chest. He wonders if your heart is moving at the same pace as his. “‘Cause she asked me for your number, but I said you don’t have a phone.”

Suddenly, Bucky feels like he should be anywhere but here — sitting as stiff as a board on your couch, with your head in his lap and resting inches away from the uncomfortable, unfortunate tightness in his sweatpants, playing audience to confessions that sober you would sooner kick him out onto the streets than admit to.

Just when the soldier thinks you’re fast asleep and he’s gotten away with not acknowledging the massive elephant you brought into the room, you call out his name.

He meets it with a soft hum.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I did that?”

“Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he feels you shrug, the hand at your chest suddenly reaching back to tug his own over your shoulder, a makeshift blanket for your sweating skin — one way or another, your system is getting rid of the alcohol, Bucky’s just thankful for no vomit. “I guess I just want you all to myself.”

“Yeah?” You nod instantly at his question, and unknowingly give Bucky the confidence he needs to do the one thing Sam’s always warning him against: speaking before he thinks. “If you remember this in the morning, I’ll finally make a move. It’ll be better than any date you let those other losers take you on. Deal?”

Whether you agree to his terms or not doesn’t matter, in the end, because you don’t remember.

Come afternoon the next day, you’re waking to a headache and a blurry night, swearing fourteen vows of abstinence from the devil’s juice for the rest of your lifetime, while Bucky puts his head down and focuses on kneading dough.

It’s much easier to make sourdough than to question what compelled him to make you that offer.

+ extra hyde !

· apologies for the lack of posting recently, life has unfortunately decided to throw some curve-balls at me every time i reach to write. it's chill though, i'm just slowly getting fics written <3

[salsakiyoomi]

sukuna hates it when you're mad at him.

because, frankly, how dare you be mad at him? he does no wrong, so you have no right to be so upset with him for absolutely no reason.

okay, maybe you did have a reason, he was just too stubborn to admit it.

sukuna was no mere man, he was a curse for god's sake, a powerful king of an entire realm and a fierce being, he could slaughter you for even just looking at him funny if he wanted to.

and yet.

he couldn't find it in himself to do so, something about you was just so…unbelievably enslaving, like no other before — those measly concubines that he slaughtered couldn't compare to you in any sense.

you were simply a goddess in his eyes — his queen to be sat on his throne. his equal.

nobody was ever his equal, until you came along.

he doesn't know what you did to him, perhaps you put a hex on him that made him so infatuated with just the mere thought of you.

or perhaps, it was an emotion, something foreign to the king of curses yet prominently there.

an emotion…such as love…perhaps?

no, that's ridiculous. sukuna doesn't do love, you definitely put a hex on him.

he stands in your shared bedroom, looking like an awkward school boy (something he definitely isn't) as he contemplates how to get you to stop being angry with him.

“y/n.” he finally speaks, his voice stern and powerful, commanding attention, attention that you don't give to him, instead, you continue to focus on your book, completely ignoring his presence.

frustrated, he grunts. he hates it when you ignore him like that.

“petal.” he tries again, this time his voice softer and gentler and he's using the nickname that he knows makes you weak in the knees.

you stiffen and he can practically hear your heart flutter.

“what do you want, sukuna?” you speak, shutting your book with a loud thud as you look at him, your expression uninterested.

“no,” he says, shaking his head, “it's not sukuna to you, you know that.”

you roll your eyes, “you lost ryo privileges the moment you decided to put yourself in danger like that.”

“petal.” he coos, approaching you slowly and sitting on the edge of the bed near you, “nothing can kill me, you know that.”

“yes it can!” you exclaim, “you may think you're invincible but you're not sukuna, you may be the king of curses but that doesn't make you immortal, you can still die or get gravely injured!”

sukuna's heart breaks, or at least something close to it — the moment he sees the tears well up in your eyes and hears the concern in your voice, something inside him breaks.

you really, truly cared?

“oh, petal,” he coos softly, shuffling closer to you and cupping your face in his hand, wiping away a tear that falls with his thumb.

“i understand your…concern.” he speaks, his voice gentle, “but know that no matter the battles i fight, or the sorcerers who dare defy me, that i'll always come back to you — nothing will get in the way of having you in my arms.”

your eyes widen slightly at his uncharacteristically gentle and reassuring words and your heart flutters in your chest.

your lips wobble and tears fall freely from your eyes, “oh, ryo.” you sob, burying your face in his chest.

sukuna's eyes widen — he had gotten used to your touches and so called ‘cuddling’ yet having you sob in his chest was so…foreign to him.

nevertheless, his hand comes up unsurely to pat your back in a way one would assume comforting.

“i don't think i can bear the thought of losing you,” you say, sniffling as you pull away from him for a moment, looking at him with glassy eyes.

sukuna stares at you for a moment, and he gets the sickening heart flutter in his chest that he oh so hates so much, yet he’s unable to make it stop.

sukuna hates it when you're mad at him, but he hates it even more when you're crying because of him, so he makes it a point that as long as he's here, he'll never have you shed a tear, ever.

“and i don't think i can bear the thought of not coming back to you, petal.” he says, his hand coming up to grip the back of your neck gently, and his fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you closer to place a soft peck against your lips, so uncharacteristically soft.

sukuna is an asshole, an irredeemable one at that, but he'll never make you upset with him again.

[pr0cyon-lotor]

BingFan where MF can scheme better and immediately catches that SY isn't SJ

After realizing that he can't undo whatever happened to his Shizun, he finds out something way worse. His shidi wants to fuck SQQ 😨😨😨😨🤯🤯🤯🤯

He can't have that. Even if it's isn't his Shizun, it's still his Shizun's body and like HELL he's letting that little beast desecrate SQQ's body. So he starts damage control.

He starts organizing events that will have SQQ busy with other potential suitors. He stops the bullying to prevent LBH from having any excuses to go to SQQ. He gets LBH a bed in the dorms. He even works on halting the Bai Zhan raids to avoid any possibility of LBH getting to either look cool in front of his Shizun or run to their Shizun for comfort.

However, he's so busy being in his head he doesn't realize how he looks like on the outside. To everyone else it looks like the haughty rich boy grew a heart after SQQ's qi deviation.

SY is patting his back because he thinks he's responsible for the change and goes off to tell his progress to [INSERT LOVE INTEREST HERE]. And LBH is staring at his shixiong with increasing adoration.

Soon enough MF is interrupted by LBH coming to him for comfort or to be the little lovable lamb (NYY is whispering in his ear like an evil advisor to get them together). MF doesn't notice because he's so out of it from damage control and tutoring. He sorta just pats LBH's head and takes care of the problem clinically to get rid of it. Little does he know that he is repeatedly shooting himself on the foot with that.

MF is eventually getting used to LBH's hovering presence, to the food LBH brings, to having to be the one to actually help LBH, to the proud expressions LBH had when showing him something that felt suspiciously like a love poem. The poor fool doesn't even realize LBH had made himself at home in his space.

Well.... Not until LBH is thrown into the abyss. He sees the shards his master brings and for a moment everything stopped as a painful stab hit his chest. He even checks if he had been injured, but there was no blood. His hand was clean. His robes were fine.

He visits the little makeshift grave. Always when SQQ wasn't there. Subconsciously, a part of him feared that if he was found out, their old master would return and he'd be punished for mourning the boy he was meant to hate. So he went in secret.

He starts to miss the footsteps that used to follow him. He starts to miss the excitement in those eyes when he would eat the other's cooking. He starts to miss the asinine lectures he used to give about the proper way to make tea and the earnest nodding that would follow.

He starts missing. He starts hurting. But he can't hurt. He has to work. He has to make sure the peak runs smoothly. His Shizun is hurting, he's mourning too. Only one of them could mourn, and MF was going to give that opportunity to his master.

Years later when HHP specifically asked for him for some reason, MF thinks he finally got over it. He was just dramatic... or something. He was supposed to hate the boy anyway. What was the point of mourning anyway? Not like he was a saint to LBH. It felt disingenuous to him.

So MF steps into HHP (absolutely not wanting to mind you) and he sees LBH for the first time in years after thinking he was dead... He might've overreacted.

Aka MF grabbed LBH by the robes and shook him while yelling and crying at him.

LBH thought it was going to be a tender reunion, now he's getting scolded for not telling them he was live. LBH honestly doesn't know how to approach any topic anymore and the demon thing will definitely mess with a few things. But for now he has to comfort his distraught shixiong.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Train Me in Resistance

Pairing: Personal Trainer!Bucky x Roommate!Reader

Summary: You finally give in to your annoyingly hot and impossibly persistent roommate’s offer for a personal training session.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of physical exhaustion; slightly suggestive themes; sexual tension; slight mention of panic attacks; mutual pining; dramatic reader

Author’s Note: Ahh omg this brought me so much joy!! I’m such a sucker for Bucky and Reader being roommates, it’s crazy. This request was amazing, my darling, thank you so much for sending it in!! Hope you’ll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

Your keys jingle as you step into the apartment with a bag of overpriced groceries and a head full of static.

You’ve been having a gut feeling the whole way home and it won’t leave you alone.

And to top it off, you’re wearing leggings - traitorous, already one foot in the grave - and an old sweatshirt that’s a little oversized.

Bucky’s eyes sparkle when he sees you and you want to turn around and slam the door in his face.

“Oh ho ho,” he exclaims, rising from the floor where he’s been doing pushups for no reason. “Is that workout gear I see?”

You open your mouth to lie, or deflect, or curse him out.

“Don’t start,” you say, tossing your keys in the bowl by the door. “They were the only clean pants I had.”

“Pants are pants,” he shrugs, a grin forming his mouth. “You’re halfway there.”

He’s got his arms crossed and his stupid trainer tank is doing terrible things to your concentration. There’s a drop of sweat on his collarbone that you hate yourself for noticing.

Your heart jumps. Stumbles. Recovers with a limp.

“I’m nowhere,” you mutter, already walking past him to the kitchen.

“Nowhere’s closer to somewhere,” he calls after you, that grin still in his voice.

“Leave me alone, Barnes.”

His laugh echoes.

Bucky has been asking you to let him train you for months.

Months of come on, it’ll be fun and just one session, doll and you don’t even have to leave the apartment, doll, I’ll bring the gym to you. He says it as if he’s Santa Claus.

Setting the bag with groceries on the kitchen counter, you begin to put the items out and away.

You’ve got exactly four seconds of peace.

Four. That’s all it takes for the sound of his footsteps to find you again.

The floor creaks. The refrigerator hums. Your spine straightens on instinct.

And there he is, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, now fucking shirtless with a pair of resistance bands as if they’re holy relics and not the medieval torture devices they obviously are.

“You’re out of excuses, doll,” he claims. Smirking.

You don’t look at him, but you close the door of the kitchen cabinet stronger than needed.

His smirk is something you can feel all over your body. It’s the kind of smug that sips your oxygen when you’re trying to breathe.

“I wasn’t aware leave me alone was a limited-time offer,” you mumble as you pick up the freshly bought cereals and use them as a momentary fortress between you and his delusional fitness evangelism until you reach the cabinet they belong in.

“I’ve asked nicely,” he says, walking around the counter like a jungle cat with a mission. “I’ve begged-”

“You threatened to unplug the Wi-Fi.”

He grins without shame. “Persuasion comes in many forms.”

You glance up and the mistake is immediate, visceral. Because Bucky Barnes is beautiful in that very specific way that ruins good sense. All tight muscle and menace and Monday-morning stubble, wearing track pants and having left his tank somewhere in the apartment unhelpfully. Gosh, you’d like to do things to his abs.

After every grocery is packed away, you make your way back to the living room and plop down on the couch.

Bucky follows. Of course, he does.

“Come on, doll. Just a small session.”

“I’m not doing a training session with you in the middle of the living room,” you counter, trying to disappear into the cushions. “This is a sacred space.”

“You eat cereal here,” he deadpans, standing over you. “Sometimes off the floor.”

“That was one time, and it was your idea.”

“You cried during some dog commercial last Thursday,” Bucky goes on. “Don’t talk to me about sacred.”

You raise an amused brow. “Yeah, and you looked genuinely worried, might I add. Even went to hold m-”

“Thing is,” Bucky interrupts quickly. “This is the perfect place for a little training session.”

You let your head drop back against the couch and groan, long and loud and theatrical enough to satisfy some deep internal need for performance. He waits. You squint one eye open.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.” His grin brightens. “Because I care. I’m nurturing. Like a plant. Or a small invasive fungus.”

You sigh so hard it could be legally classified as wind.

But you fold like a lawn chair.

“Alright,” you grumble, dragging yourself upright the same way as a reanimated corpse. “One session. But if I die, or you make me do anything that makes me hate you more than I already do, I’m keying your motorcycle.”

His face lights up like a Christmas tree. You might as well just hand him a medal for Most Stubborn Personal Trainer Alive.

“You’re gonna love it,” he beams, and you’re afraid his smile might send you to heaven.

“No, I’m going to tolerate it. Briefly.”

He’s already dragging the coffee table to the side as if it’s weightless - which, to him, it probably is. And suddenly, the floor beneath your feet turns into a battlefield of yoga mats and kettlebells and Bucky’s overachieving expectations.

He rearranges the couch, puts the TV on mute, and you eye the plants watching silently from the windowsill, already seeming to judge you.

Bucky sets up a speaker, picks the most aggressively upbeat playlist known to man, and claps his hands once as though he’s about to conduct a Broadway show.

You glare. He grins.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he begins lightly, elated. “Let’s start with some dynamic stretches.”

“I already regret this,” you groan, dropping to the mat with dramatic flair.

He chuckles warmly. “That’s how you know it’s working,” he says, stretching in a way that should be banned in a shared living space.

He begins slow. Gentle.

First, it’s breathing.

“Focus on your core,” he says calmly. “Engage.”

“And how the fuck do I do that?” you mutter annoyed.

Bucky snorts, but he’s patient. “You’re doing better than you think.”

You hate how your stomach flips at the praise.

Next, it’s glute bridges. Then something called bird-dog which he demonstrates with the kind of precision that makes you irrationally angry.

And then comes planks. And it feels like your entire skeletal system is trying to defect from your body.

Your arms are trembling and your abs are plotting a rebellion, and you’re pretty sure your spine has given up on modern living.

And you whimper. A real, honest-to-god whimper. High-pitched. Involuntary.

Bucky pauses. Only for a second.

You don’t see his face at first - your focus being narrowed to the floor, the mat - but you feel the way his breath catches. His silence seems to grow something.

And when he does speak - when he finally moves and crouches beside you, voice like a hand sliding down your spine - it’s not the same.

“You got twenty seconds left,” he says, too quiet, too calm. “Don’t wimp out on me now.”

There’s something in the way he says it. Something you’re not meant to hear. As if maybe he’s heard that sound in his head before. In a different kind of room. In a different kind of situation.

You risk a glance up.

His jaw is tight. His gaze flickers too quickly from your face to the floor and back again, trying not to look at you too hard. His towel is in his hand and he uses it to - so, so gently - swipe the sweat from your brow.

It’s a small gesture but it lingers.

You swallow hard.

“I hate you,” you whisper through clenched teeth and dying muscle.

His mouth twitches. He seems to recover from wherever the hell his thoughts went to, but his low voice is not entirely steady when he answers.

“You’re doing amazing,” he murmurs.

Too gentle. Too earnest. Too close.

His hand brushes your shoulder. Lingers again. You’re no expert in tactical touch but he might overdo it a little.

And god help you, you feel your body respond in ways that have nothing to do with fitness.

You drop to your stomach the moment the timer beeps - collapse like a marionette whose strings have been cut - and try to ignore the way your pulse is doing jazz hands underneath your skin.

Above you, Bucky exhales through his nose as if holding something in.

Then he’s continuing.

And you feel awful.

Your arms feel like wet noodles. Your thighs scream. You make dramatic noises every time he tells you to squat and whine a little too convincingly just to see if he’ll let up. He doesn’t.

“You’re doing great,” he says for the sixth time in ten minutes, voice syrupy as if trying to keep a toddler from crying.

“You’re a sadist,” you shoot back, halfway through a set of lunges, your hands flopping like fish as you try to balance.

“And you’re a liar, ‘cause I can see your form’s getting better.”

He might even be right. Your muscles are starting to shake less. Your core is actually engaging, whatever that means. You’re not entirely sure if your soul has left your body or if you’re just weirdly beginning to enjoy this.

It’s when you manage a particular decent set of push-ups that you hear it in his voice. He’s impressed.

“There she is,” he murmurs, not even looking at his timer. “Knew you had it in you.” He says it almost absentminded.

You freeze on the floor for a beat too long.

“What?”

He’s kneeling beside you now, a few droplets of sweat running down his chest, his hand brushing lightly against your shoulder to adjust it. “I said, you’re killin’ it.”

You roll your eyes to recover from the sudden tightness in your chest.

“Is this your whole game?” you ask, panting slightly. “Trap unsuspecting women in their own homes, trick them into exercise, then compliment them until they’re too tired to fight back?”

Bucky smirks. “Only the special ones.”

You blink.

He stands, offers you a hand. You take it before you can think better of it, and he pulls you up. His grip is warm and rough and entirely too solid.

Training goes on and you actually find yourself growing interested.

You stop huffing. Start asking questions. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration, not complaint. Your hands stop flopping through movements and start learning. Training.

Bucky watches. He smirks but doesn’t say anything.

He’s just kneeling beside you - half-naked and smug and proud and infuriatingly patient - with a voice so low you feel it more than you hear it.

“Alright,” he starts after a set of squats. “Take a breath, sweetheart.”

And you let yourself sink down. Only because he says it in that voice that drops like honey. Only because he’s looking at you as if this one set of squats is a moment in history.

You’re sitting on the mat, arms draped over your knees, catching your breath and trying not to look. But he’s right there. Right there. Smelling like soap and heat and something faintly woodsy. And he’s still shirtless. Skin golden in the late afternoon light. Muscles mapped out like topography.

You should look away. You don’t.

“You’re starin’,” he states without looking at you.

“I’m dying,” you correct, dragging your gaze to the ceiling. “I’m having a cardiac event.”

He laughs, and you can’t stop yourself from watching his throat when he does, how the sound starts somewhere deep and moves like gravity. “That’s just blood flow. Healthy stuff,” he eases amused, but fondly.

You flop onto your back with a breathless groan.

The exercise is not even the problem of this session. The exercise is not why you declined his offer to do some training with him for so long.

It’s him. Having him watch you this intently, letting his hands linger a little too long when he adjusts your position. The shift in his voice when he compliments you. The way his eyes dip to your lips when you aren’t looking. Except you are. You’re always looking.

You’ve lived with him long enough to know the difference between his real smile and the one he uses on the world. You’ve seen him groggy and gorgeous at 6 am, making pancakes in pajama pants, humming lowly. You know the creak of his boots when he’s home late and trying not to wake you. You know the way his laugh changes when he’s really happy - like, all the way happy. Rare. Sharp. Wild.

And now you know how he looks like when he wants to touch you and doesn’t.

He crouches beside you again and offers his hand.

You pretend not to see it.

“You said one session,” you sigh, still lying down, closing your eyes. “You said I wouldn’t die.”

“Technically,” he starts, amused, “you’re still alive. And you’re doing better than you think.”

His offered hand reaches out to brush a slightly damp strand of hair from your temple. He tucks it behind your ear. And then he lowers his voice, quiet now, serious in a way that makes your stomach flutter. “You really are doing great, doll. You’re not weak. Knew you weren’t.”

That makes something flinch in your chest.

Because he’s seen you on the bathroom floor after a panic attack. Held you through a job you hated and a breakup you didn’t see coming. He knows how messy you get when you care too much, and how you laugh too loud when you’re scared.

And still, he says you’re not weak.

You open your eyes. He’s already watching you. His expression unreadable.

Your heart is pumping so hard and you don’t think the exercise is the cause of it.

There’s too much heat you’re under right now, so you sit up, but a little too fast. The room tilts.

Bucky reaches out immediately - hands on your back, around your waist, steadying you.

And then you’re too close.

You feel the heat of his bare chest against your shoulder. You smell cedar and sweat and something that must be Bucky because it makes your heart do an Olympic floor routine in your ribcage.

You could lean in. Right now. You could just slide forward, let your mouth meet the hollow of his throat. You wonder what he’d do.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

And for a second - just one stupid, stretch-of-silence second - it feels as though the entire world is balancing on the line between maybe and almost.

Then Bucky clears his throat. Pulls back. “Alright, lazybones. Back to work.”

He offers you a hand again.

This time, you take it.

Not because you’re too tired to stand. But because you don’t want him to stop offering.

[nadvs]

home before dark (part eight) (end)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, smut, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

You can hear gentle taps on the window behind you. At some point since you got back from the marina, it must’ve started raining. You’ve been too absorbed in your time with Rafe to notice until now.

Even though you’re trying to process what he just said, your instinct is to hope for his sake that it doesn’t storm. Because your instinct has always been to worry about him. His was always to avoid you. And now, if you actually heard him right, you know the real reason why.

You’re suspended in time as you stand in front of him in your kitchen, trying to silently compel him to look at you again. But his eyes are focused on the floor.

You were just upstairs, touching in the most intimate way, giving each other the best kind of pleasure. Now, in a matter of a minute, a chasm has opened up between you again. Rafe’s chest is rising and falling faster with every second that passes.

“What’d you just say?” you ask.

“I was…” Rafe shuffles in place, his temples beginning to throb. “Fuck. I was never going to tell you.”

“What do you mean because of me?” you echo his words, your legs weakening.

Hearing your voice sound so faint, a harsh contrast from the soothing, careful way you always speak to him, makes his chest tighten.

“Goddamn it,” Rafe mutters. “Why’d you have to push me to talk when I - I said I didn’t want to talk?”

His feet carry him to the other end of the counter just to create some distance. He figures it should be easy because for so long, it’s been second nature for him stay away from you. But he hates that he can’t touch you right now. This moment is too tense, the words he said too ugly.

Rafe finally meets your gaze. Every other time he thought you looked sad or scared or broken is nothing compared to the way your face is knitted in misery right now.

His darkest secret is out. He told himself he’d take it to the grave. But he just changed everything. He shoved a dagger into the heart of the only person who truly cares about him. And there’s no undoing it.

“What do you mean because of me?” you repeat.

Rafe swallows the lump in his throat. He knew you were wrong; he’s not good like you said he is. This proves it. He’s sick. There’s something wrong with him because a good person wouldn’t blurt what he just said out, no matter how much pressure they were under.

He nervously grips the edge of the counter.

“Rafe,” you urge. His head hangs low.

“It was right before your birthday,” he mutters. “Do you remember?”

“Of course I-” You inhale a sharp breath. “Of course I remember.”

After what happened, you cancelled your eleventh birthday party. You didn’t want to celebrate anything for years afterwards.

“Did that have… something to do with it?” you ask.

Rafe’s body goes cold. It had everything to do with it.

He begged his mother to go. She told him there were warnings on tv about a storm and that they could go the next day, that there was time, but he had to be such a brat about it that she finally agreed. She always gave into him.

“You never stopped talking about how excited you were for it,” he says, “and I wanted to get you something great and I made her take me. And you…”

His gaze hardens. This was supposed to stay locked inside him forever. At some point, behind his back, you got the key.

Your heart is in a vice. You’re waiting for him to say this is a cruel joke.

“You know what?” he huffs. “I don’t even remember what I was so determined to get you. I just remember…”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, a short, boyish whine escaping his mouth as he hears the sound of the tires skidding in his mind, over and over again. They didn’t even make it to the store.

You want to rush to him. To hold him. To let him dampen your shirt with his tears again. But you can’t. You’re frozen.

This is why Rafe never wanted you in his life. You’re not just a reminder. It was never that simple. You’re the reason for his suffering. And you can touch him and laugh with him and kiss him as many times as you want, but you’re sure he’ll never see past it.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he kept this from you. It’s clear. He didn’t want to hurt you. You thought he was being cruel all these years, but he was protecting both of you from this very moment.

You imagine the boy you knew, in the car, watching his world end because he wanted to be a good best friend to you. He was always sweet. Always doing what he could to show the people he loved that he loved them. And he paid for it in the worst way.

You’re crashing into a painful realization, as if the lights were just turned on, burning your eyes after you’d been sitting in the dark for years.

“I…” you begin. But you’re weak. Speechless. You hold the back of a chair at the kitchen table for stability.

For once, you’re not touching Rafe to comfort him as he cries. On top of the shame and frustration and guilt he’s feeling, a sense of loneliness sinks into him. He doesn’t know if he’d push you away if you came to him. But you’re not even going to try?

The sharp, comfortable feeling of anger overshadows it all. Like always. Being mad is the most familiar state for him to be in. Especially when it’s himself he’s angry at.

“And I just kept asking until she agreed to take me,” he mutters.

You can hear it in his voice that he blames himself, too. And if there’s anything you can do for him, it’s take away his pain. It’s what you’ve wanted to do for him for so long.

Guilt rips you into you. A hot tear rolls over your cheek. If Rafe has to blame you, if it’s defence mechanism, his way to cope, you can live with being the bad guy in his story. Because you love him. You’re afraid you always will.

Your phone rings in your pocket, blaring in your kitchen. You’ve had it on loud so you couldn’t miss a call from your parents just in case.

You clumsily rush to grab it and turn the sound off. You hang up before even looking at who’s calling.

“Who is it?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say.

“Who is it?” he says more sternly.

You look at the notification. Your lawyer. You called her after the cops found the tracker on your car to update her. You’re sure you discussed everything you needed to. What’s she doing calling at almost nine at night?

“My lawyer,” you say.

“Call her back,” he orders.

“I can do it later.”

Rafe only says your name, his mouth a firm line. You hate that he’s talking to you like this again, as if he’s mad at you for existing around him.

But he’s right. She might have some important news. Your hands are shaking as you tap on your screen to call your lawyer back on speakerphone. She answers after the first ring.

“Sorry I called so late, but I wanted to let you know,” she says, “I hounded the police and I finally just got confirmation that they took Ty into custody.”

“He was arrested?” you say. You meet Rafe’s eyes. In the midst of all this, for a second, he forgot you’ve been living in your own horror.

“Yes,” she replies. “He’s been charged with the unlawful installation of a tracking device. They traced it back to him. They don’t always arrest for a misdemeanor, but I think the fact that you already had an order out against him helped.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Thank you.”

“Again, I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” she says. “You did the right thing fighting back. I wanted to keep you updated. Call me if you have any questions. Have a good night.”

“Thank you,” you say. “You, too.”

You hang up the phone and realize you don’t even feel a morsel of relief that Ty has been arrested. Because Rafe just dropped something so earth-shattering on you that you’re not sure you’ll ever be the same again.

You don’t even discuss the call you both just heard. You stick to your private vow. You have to. He can blame you. He can hate you. He can feel whatever he wants if it’ll ease his suffering.

“You’re right,” you say quietly. You sit down, unable to hold yourself up any longer. “You’re right. You just wanted to be a good friend. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

It doesn’t feel entirely dishonest taking the blame. They were on the freeway because of you. If you and Rafe never became friends, if you never fell into his life, he’d still have a mother.

His words from earlier when this all started ring in your head. We can’t do this. This conversation? Or everything?

“It’s always going to be hard for you to be around me, isn’t it?” you ask, desperate for the clarity. Because if it’s true, it’s better you know now.

Just this morning, he said you were friends again. Then in your room, you did something people who are much more than just friends do. And now, you might be doomed to going back to being nothing. Unless he denies it. Again, hope finds its way in your heart like it always does when it comes to him.

Rafe’s stare is distant. He grips the countertop even tighter.

“I don’t know,” he says. Truthfully, he exists in two places at once when he’s with you. He feels both peace and disarray. Both bitter and sweet.

You nod slowly, standing on wobbly knees to find a paper towel to wipe your tears away with. You stand by the sink with your back to him, rubbing it beneath your eyes.

I don’t know. It’s the worst answer he could give you. At least if he gave a definitive yes or no, you’d know what the future will look like. But I don’t know is what keeps hope alive, and you know by now the pain that hope can bring.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeat, muffled. “If you never met me…”

You think back to sitting next to him in the police station waiting room. He wrote in your birthday on that form without hesitation. He didn’t even need to think about it. And you know now it’s because he’s doomed to remember that date forever.

“You don’t have to stay here,” you finally say. “You can go home. I get it. I get why you never wanted to talk to me.”

You let out a shaky sigh, regretting the years you spent trying to reconnect with him. You were unknowingly hurting him every time.

The guilt sitting on your heart is so heavy that you’re sure it’ll never leave you. While you thought he kept you at a distance because of grief, because of the role you played in reminding him, you realize that was only scratching the surface.

Rafe’s eyes are trained on you on the other side of the room, watching your body tremble.

“I’m staying,” he says resolutely. You turn to look at him from across the kitchen. His eyes gleam with tears.

“He was arrested,” you reply. “He can’t hurt me.”

Rafe studies you. You look how you did the night this all started, when you rushed to him, asking him to pretend to be your boyfriend.

“But you’re still scared,” he says.

“I think I’ll be scared for a while,” you admit. Ty is still out there. Even behind bars, he’s someone plotting to own you. You try to push past the fear for Rafe’s sake. “But he can’t hurt me.”

“I told you that I’m staying with you until your parents get back,” Rafe says.

You feel like you’re spiralling. You know he kept this from you for a noble reason, but the realization that he always blamed you feels like it’s chipping away at you by the second.

“It’s okay,” you say. “Your job is done. You don’t have to do this anymore.”

“Yes, I do,” Rafe counters. You grimace. He’s being so stubborn. The rack of guilt, shock, and confusion has your mind racing.

“Why did we do… what we did upstairs?” you ask. “Why did you say you felt something for me?”

Rafe exhales slowly. Kissing and touching you like that was euphoric. He wants that feeling, again and again, without the ugliness of your shared history following both of you.

“Because I do,” he answers honestly. You twist your lips in sadness.

“You do,” you say, “but you don’t want me in your life?”

Rafe’s quiet, his expression unreadable. Suddenly, you feel selfish and ashamed to be confronting him about this after he revealed something so painful.

“Forget it. I’m sorry,” you say. You toss the damp paper towel in the trash. “If you want to stay, you can. But if you want to go, I get it. I’ll be in my room.”

You start to tread out of the kitchen, a sniffling mess at this point. You feel worse than ever for pestering him with your questions after he opened up to you.

You’re sure you’ve both spent more time crying than smiling since you tumbled into each other’s lives again. Maybe it’s best for both of you to be nothing. It’s not what your heart wants, but being together seems to bring you both more pain than happiness.

You turn, figuring this may be your only chance to tell him how sorry you are. If tonight’s your last night together and you go back to being strangers after this, you need him to know.

“I know nothing I say or do can make it better, but I’m so sorry for everything you went through. And I’m so sorry I was the reason for it,” you say, meeting his gaze from across the room. “I never stopped missing you. But I get it. We don’t have to be friends or… be anything. We’ll go back to how it was. This time, I won’t keep bothering you.”

Rafe watches you leave. The weight in the pit of his stomach gets a million times heavier. He would do anything to take back telling you the truth.

You’re curled up in a ball under your blanket, your throat growing sore from crying. You tried to break this arrangement with Rafe off the day he told you that you were always going to remind him of what happened. You told him all you do is hurt each other.

But he pushed. He said he wanted to take care of you. You’re almost angry at him for not letting you end it then. But as painful as the truth he dropped on you tonight is, you’re glad you know.

You’d rather take the blame for him. You’d rather never have to wonder what he meant when he said you did do something wrong, but not on purpose.

But you are angry at him for kissing you. For touching you. It gave him another piece of your heart that you can never get back.

Rafe is still hunched over in the kitchen. He fucked up. You’re upstairs, devastated, because of him. Since this started, you’ve been so worried about bothering him. You said he tolerates you. And he put so much effort into making sure you didn’t feel like a burden, but he just undid it all.

The way you apologized was like you were saying sorry for existing. Whatever he had left of a heart had been wrung out. He needs a distraction. But you can’t give it to him, because it’s you he needs the distraction from.

You eventually get to a point where you can’t cry anymore. You’re numb. You spend every passing minute hoping Rafe will come into your room to try to convince you that you can make each other happy.

But he doesn’t. You fall asleep alone.

A loud bang wakes you up. Your instinct tells you it’s Ty. A few seconds later, consciousness gets a hold of you and you remember your phone call. He’s in police custody. He can’t be here.

You sit up in the dark. Another bang outside. It’s still raining but the noises aren’t rolls of thunder like a few nights ago.

Rafe didn’t leave. If he did, he would’ve needed you to disarm the security system. You check the time. It’s nearing three in the morning.

Another thud. At this point, you’re scared. You need to find him.

You’re already panting when you reach the guest room. You knock on the ajar door.

“Rafe?” you mumble.

To your relief, you hear his tired hmm? from the other side of the door.

“I keep hearing noises from outside,” you say. “I think someone might be out there.”

The bed squeaks with his weight shifting and a moment later, you hear the unmistakable sound of him pulling out and pushing in the magazine of his gun. It adds yet another layer of fear onto you.

“Where?” Rafe asks as he steps out of the room.

You guide him in the dark to the window by your bed. You watch him lean to look out the glass, the gun in his hand.

“It can’t be him, right?” you finally say with a thin voice.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t want to say what’s been turning in his head since you got the call from the lawyer. He didn’t want to scare you. But it’s exactly why he stayed.

“Rafe?” you say.

“Someone could’ve bailed him out,” he finally replies.

Your heart is in your throat. The stress of tonight made you completely forget about that possibility. If Ty got bail, of course his wealthy family would pay it. You feel stupid for urging Rafe to leave. And grateful that he didn’t.

“Well, if he - if he did, wouldn’t the police make sure he doesn’t try to get to me?” you ask.

“The police are idiots,” Rafe says flatly, still angry over how passively they treated you when you filed the restraining order, how thoughtless they were to not check your belongings.

“If he’s trying to get in,” you say shakily, “the alarm will go off. It automatically alerts the cops if it isn’t turned off within a minute. Please, if you… have to shoot, do it just to stop him. Don’t kill him.”

The thought of putting Rafe through watching someone else lose their life is too much for you.

He turns to look at you, barely making out your features in the moonlight shining into your room. How could possibly want to spare the life of someone so evil?

“He’s not worth it,” you say. “I don’t want it weighing on you for the rest of your life.”

Rafe looks at you in awe. Again, you put him first. In this moment, where you’re surely terrified, you’re worrying about him carrying the weight of taking someone’s life. Because he already carries that weight for his mother. And tonight, he put that weight on you, too.

“Okay,” he says. “But if he tries to hurt you, I don’t know how I’ll control myself.”

A deafening, chilling smash of glass echoes from downstairs. The shrill security alarm starts blaring. Your hand finds the crook of Rafe’s elbow as your entire body stiffens.

“Stay here,” Rafe says. “Don’t come out.”

“Be careful,” you stammer. “I’m calling 911 just to be sure.” You watch him leave as you grab your phone to report a break-in, giving the operator your address.

A few seconds later, the security system stops ringing. It’s been shut off. And you know it wasn’t Rafe who did it.

Rafe reaches the bottom of the stairs, gun pointed ahead in the dark. His eyes land on Ty, standing by the door, his hand on the security panel.

“Get the fuck out or I swear to God, I’ll shoot you,” Rafe threatens.

“I just want to talk to her,” he replies tersely.

“Get out,” Rafe repeats.

You can make out muffled conversation. You stand by your door, opening it an inch to hear what’s happening downstairs.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through for her? Where is she?”

It’s Ty. He actually did it. He actually found a way to get to you again. Rafe is the only thing keeping him from you right now. You feel like you could throw up from how scared you are.

“You have five seconds to leave,” Rafe says. Your ex sputters a laugh.

“Or what?” Ty reaches below the hem of his shirt. “You think you’re the only one with a gun?”

Your blood runs cold. Rafe is facing a maniac you’re sure wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. This could end in someone getting shot. Someone could die here tonight. And if it’s Rafe, you won’t be able to live with yourself.

It’s a crazy, desperate idea, but you’re confident you can manipulate Ty. You know him well. You know what he wants to hear. He’d do anything to think he can have you again. And you need to buy time before the police get here.

“Put it down,” Rafe warns.

“Is this gonna be a game of chicken?” Ty laughs again, his gun gleaming in his hand.

Your entire body is tense as you step out of your room.

“Ty?” you call out, slowly coming down the stairs. Rafe stiffens.

“I told you to not to come out,” Rafe says sternly, his eyes still on your ex.

“These are the lengths I have to go to for you, huh?” Ty calls up to you. “Just to get you to talk to me?”

It’s still dark in your home, both men just murky figures.

“I’m turning on the light,” you say, knowing that surprising Ty won’t do any good.

You reach the bottom of the staircase, standing behind Rafe, and flip the switch, washing the entrance of your home in bright lighting.

You have to stifle your gasp when you see Ty. His face is swollen from Rafe beating him up last night. His clothes are muddy from creeping around your home in the rain, finding a way in. He must have jumped the gate.

The realization that he knows the security code crashes into you. He’s surely seen you punch it in from his visits back when he was your boyfriend. You never thought he’d be committing it to memory.

This whole time, he knew it. Something you thought was protecting you wasn’t. You wish you’d thought to change the code after the break-up.

“Go back upstairs,” Rafe says, his teeth gritted.

You place a hand on Rafe’s back, out of Ty’s sight.

“Let’s talk,” you say to Ty. “Put the gun down and let’s talk.”

“You know the cops came to my house and arrested me in front of my parents?” Ty says, looking utterly unhinged. “Why the fuck did you do that to me?“

His gun is still aimed in your direction, but it’s a little lower in his shaky hand. You’re getting somewhere.

“I’m so sorry. I was scared,” you tell him.

“And you let this asshole,” Ty says, eyes darting to Rafe, “hurt me. You just fucking watched him punch me and punch me over and over and then you left. You left with him.”

“I’d do it again,” Rafe mutters. He sees pure red.

“Hey,” you whisper to him. You force your anxiety away, knowing you need to calm Ty down, not provoke him.

You drop your hand and walk past Rafe, who harshly says your name. His fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back. You look at him.

“Stop,” Rafe mutters to you, still holding out his gun at Ty. “Go upstairs. I’m handling this.”

“I won’t let you hurt him,” you say, loud for Ty to hear. “I don’t want you anymore.”

Rafe knows you’re trying to trick Ty to avoid anything horrible happening here tonight, but your words make everything in him twist in pain.

You pull away and approach Ty, your heart drumming against your chest. You meet his wide, frantic eyes.

“Hey,” you say softly, walking towards him. “You were right. He was just a rebound. You know me better than anybody.”

“You’re lying,” Ty mutters. But he’s lowering his gun. “You’re just a liar.”

“Ty,” you say, mustering up forced affection. You reach him, standing mere inches away. His gun is at his side now. The thought of him raising his hand again is petrifying.

“I was scared,” you continue, “but now I can see how much you care about me. It’s why I came downstairs. I heard your voice and I realized how much I miss you.”

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says. “This whole time. And what’d you do? You got a new boyfriend. You called the cops. I - I love you. I gave you everything.”

His eyes are sharp. Poisonous. He genuinely thinks he’s done nothing wrong. To him, tracking you and taking photos of you and forcing contact with you was okay. He wants you as an object to possess. Not as a person.

“I know. Nobody can love me like you do,” you whisper, echoing the words he screamed at you when you broke up with him. “I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. I’ve always been stupid, right?”

It’s taking everything in Rafe not to charge at Ty. If he makes one wrong move, he doesn’t think he can restrain himself from putting a bullet through his chest.

Rafe watches your hand drag down Ty’s arm and he grimaces, sure you’re rattled with fear.

“Can you put this down?” you ask, your hand stopping at his, cupping the gun. “I want you to hold me like you used to.”

“You do?” Ty says, his anger slowly disappearing from his face. Relief pools through you.

“Of course,” you reply. Your hand is shaking as you find the barrel of his gun, slowly pulling at it. “I need you. I make bad decisions when I’m not with you.”

“Yeah, you do,” Ty says, a desperate grin spreading on his face. “You finally fucking get it.”

You force a smile at him, breathing out slowly as you take the gun out of his grip.

Rafe watches with relief when he sees you holding Ty’s gun at your back.

It’s terrifying facing him, but at least there’s no gun pointed at Rafe right now. It dawns on you just how much you love him. You came down here simply to try to keep him safe. To keep him from having someone’s blood on his hands. You approached someone you’ve been running from. You put your own life in danger. Willingly.

You pull back, forcing another smile as you gaze up at Ty.

“We’re getting out of here,” Ty orders.

You look up at him, hoping he doesn’t see the fear in your eyes. There’s no way you’re going anywhere with him. You know you have a second, maybe two, to get away from him. And you can only hope it’s enough.

“Let me get my shoes,” you say, trying to laugh as if you’re excited, as if you’re endeared by him.

You move as fast as you can, kneeling to pick the gun up off the floor and rushing back towards Rafe.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ty spits behind you.

Rafe has never been more relieved in his life than when you reach him, cowering behind him, Ty’s gun in your hands.

Maybe you should use it, but you can’t fathom trusting your aim when you’re shaking like this.

“You lying bitch!” Ty shouts, striding forward.

“One more step!” Rafe warns louder.

Ty doesn’t listen.

“Look away,” Rafe mutters to you. You curl up behind him, making yourself small, shutting your eyes.

The gunshot pierces the air, echoing through the foyer, making you quiver. You want to wake up. Because this has to be a nightmare. This can’t be real.

You hear Ty moaning in pain. Your eyes are still shut when sirens blare in the distance.

It’s a blur. People rush in. The door is left open, rain drumming on the pavement. You hear another hard thud and you realize you dropped the gun that was in your hands.

You feel Rafe turn and he’s saying something to you, but you can’t understand it. A shiny, yellow badge gleams in the light.

“…happened tonight?” a stranger asks.

“Can’t you do this another time?” Rafe mutters, irritated.

“We need a statement.” You realize the police officer is talking to you, a notepad in his hand. You meet his eyes.

“What?” you breathe.

Rafe looks down at you with furrowed brows, worried about you and pissed off that you’re being questioned.

“Can you tell me what happened tonight?” the cop says.

“Her ex broke in,” Rafe says. “He had a gun. You guys arrested him, then let him go. There’s your statement.”

The police officer sighs, keeping his eye on you.

“Have you been physically harmed?” the cops says.

You find the strength to shake your head no.

“Do you have somewhere else to sleep tonight?” he asks.

“Yes,” Rafe answers for you. “It’s better she’s not here in case you morons let him out again, right?”

The cop shakes his head in frustration, but seems to decide that not engaging with Rafe’s angry sarcasm is the better choice.

“We’ll be in touch, miss,” he says. He turns all his attention to Rafe. “Can you answer some questions?”

“Fine,” he mutters, then looks to you. “You wanna go pack?”

All you can hear is your own quick breathing as you pack an overnight bag. You’re trembling, dropping things, moving as if you’re going to be late for something.

Your house is a crime scene now. You still don’t know what happened with Ty. You couldn’t look.

It’s a few minutes past four a.m. when you reach Tannyhill. You and Rafe haven’t said anything to each other since the cops left.

The enormous house is dark and quiet as you trail him up the stairs. You know it’s irrational, but still, you fear Ty will pop out from behind a corner and try to finish the job.

Even after your harsh conversation earlier tonight, you hope Rafe will let you sleep in his bedroom. You stop in the upstairs hallway, unsure of what to do next, but his hand finds yours, leading you, making the decision for you.

Rafe’s bedsheets smells just like him, warm and strong and comforting. You’re turned on your side, your back to him, as he settles behind you.

Now that you’re lying down, you realize just how hard you’re shaking. Your body is still trying to catch up with your mind.

Rafe notices.

“It’s over,” he says, voice low. “You’re alright.”

You nod, exhaling once you feel his hand rest on your back. His fingers gently run back and forth between your shoulder blades. You find your words, finally.

“I know you had it under control,” you whisper, “but I couldn’t just sit in my room and do nothing. I was scared of him but I was more scared he’d hurt you and I knew I could trick him and I know you’re mad at me-”

“I’m not…” Rafe interrupts with a sigh. “I’m not mad at you.”

He’s mad at how unfair everything is. And at himself. He should have never told you they were in the car because of you. The conversation with you in your kitchen is another memory he knows will haunt him.

You nuzzle into Rafe’s pillow. He’s still slowly stroking your back, granting you a sense of safety.

“Listen, I won’t lie. I wish you never came downstairs,” he admits. It killed him seeing you face someone who’s been torturing you. “I didn’t know what he was gonna do. But you… you knew how to deal with him. I… Thank you. You didn’t have to do it for me.”

Your heart is still pounding. Of course you had to do it for him. You’d do anything for him.

“You’ve been looking out for me,” you say quietly. “I wanted to finally return the favor.”

Rafe chews on his lip. He’s pretty sure you take care of him more than he does you.

“What happened?” you ask. “Did you…”

“Got him in the leg,” Rafe says. “They arrested him. Again.” He would’ve killed him if you gave him your blessing to. He knows that for sure.

You nod. Your eyelids start to flutter shut. He keeps rubbing your back until he’s sure you’re asleep.

For once, you start your day next to Rafe. He didn’t leave you to wake up alone this time. He’s pressed up behind you, his arm draped over you, his hand over yours. You feel his chest rising and falling against your back.

The room is washed in orange sunlight. The clock on his nightstand tells you it’s almost noon.

You don’t know what to do from here. You promised Rafe that after this ended, you’d stop bothering him. And he didn’t tell you not to.

You look down at his hand on top of yours. Your eyes trail over his fingers, once again thinking about everything he’s done for you. He’s kept you safe, taken on responsibilities for you, given you pleasure.

Minutes later, Rafe shuffles behind you, slowly waking up. Once he realizes he’s holding you, he pulls away, clearing his throat.

You sit up and collect your bag before you go to his ensuite bathroom, not making eye contact. After texting a friend to ask if you can come over, you mentally rehearse what you’ll say to Rafe as you brush your teeth.

He’s sitting up in bed when you come out. He can see how tired you are, but you still manage to be so breathtakingly beautiful.

“Hi,” you say. You take a breath, standing over him, your bag at your chest. “There’s no way I can thank you enough. You saved my life. If I was home alone, he would’ve taken me somewhere and…”

You look down, knowing you shouldn’t spiral into the what if’s.

“After what I did to you, you still helped me,” you say, quieter now. “I know you think low of yourself, but you shouldn’t. Because of you, I’m alive right now.”

Rafe stares up at you, his hair tousled over his forehead. Only you can give him this feeling of pride in himself. This feeling that maybe he has a reason to exist other than getting wasted and taking out his anger in every way he can.

“It wasn’t all me,” he replies. “You’re tougher than you know.” You offer him a small, thankful smile.

“I’ll get Sarah to drive me to a friend’s,” you say. “And I’ll stay there until my parents get back tonight.”

You start to walk towards the door, but his words stop you.

“I never stopped missing you, either,” he says tensely, remembering your words from last night. “Just so you know.”

You look at him with doleful eyes. Rafe’s heart pounds faster when you drop your bag and approach him. You duck, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, hugging him.

He wraps his arms around you and closes his eyes until you pull back and take your warmth with you. You can both feel that this is goodbye.

You’re grateful not only because he kept you safe from Ty, but because he allowed this arrangement between you to end cordially. He opened up one last time, giving you the comfort of knowing that he still cared about you even after the accident he blames you for.

He missed you, too. It gives you a reprieve from the pain, even just for a second.

You have a long phone conversation with your lawyer when you arrive at your friend’s house. Ty’s back in custody. There’s no option for bail now. He’ll be incarcerated until the trial. Your original court date has been nullified, as a judge has granted you the permanent protective order given the circumstances.

You give your official police statement, emphasizing as many times as you can that Rafe acted in self-defence and protected you. When your lawyer confirms he isn’t being charged with anything, you’re more relieved than ever.

You’re in a haze when you finally see your parents again. Telling them everything feels like you’re recounting a horror movie.

Your home is still deemed a crime scene, so your parents book a hotel room. You’re lying in the firm, cold hotel bed when your phone buzzes with a text.

It’s from Rafe. It’s almost midnight and you saw him this morning, but it feels like it’s been weeks. You doing ok?

You reply: yes. my parents got back and we’re at a hotel. are you ok?

He doesn’t text back. You take that as a response in itself. Whatever you had is officially over.

The next afternoon, you can finally go home. The window Ty broke is repaired. You have an irrational fear of seeing his blood on the foyer floor when you walk back into your house, even after your parents confirmed with the cops that the scene has been cleaned up.

Rafe is trying to get used to the way life is now. It feels wrong not being around you. You’re all he thinks about. When he wakes up. As he goes to sleep.

He should have replied to your text. But how can he put into words just how not okay he is? He kept it under wraps for years, then opened up to you just to ruin things between you all over again.

It’s been almost a week since he’s seen you. Other Kooks are gossiping about what happened, spreading theories and lies. They know to quiet down when they realize Rafe is in earshot.

He’s not sure if people think you’re still together or not, but they seem to know better than to blabber about it when he’s around.

It’s Saturday night and people are scattered across the massive wraparound balcony facing the beach behind Tannyhill. Rafe’s preparing a line of coke, falling into his old escapist habits.

He misses you. He’s afraid things really are back to how they were. He wants to see you. He just needs to figure out how to make it happen.

It’s loud and crowded. You haven’t left your bedroom in days, but finally, you’ve stepped outside after your friends encouraged you to come to a party. It made it easier to accept the invite when you heard it was at Rafe’s house. You want to check on him, even if it’s from a distance.

You can feel people’s eyes on you when you enter the party. It’s uncomfortable, knowing your trauma is being gossiped about and picked apart.

Ty’s in jail, but sometimes that isn’t enough. You can’t get it out of your head, the way he looked when he broke in, frantic as he waved his gun around.

You’re gazing out at the setting sun as you stand on the balcony, slipping into your thoughts as your friends chatter around you.

You’re worried you’ll be afraid of your ex forever. The safest you’ve ever felt was with Rafe and that was temporary.

You instinctually look around for him. You don’t see him, but then there’s a break in the crowd, and you spot him sitting at a table, hunched over, ready to do a line.

It’s like nothing has changed. You see Rafe the way you’ve seen him throughout your adolescence, chasing a high and acting like you don’t exist. Even after everything that happened between you.

Rafe’s about to breathe in his first line of the night. Until his eyes meet yours. And then everything goes quiet.

His fear that things are how they were before is shattered. They can’t be. Because instead of looking away, he doesn’t want to tear his eyes off of you.

You think you’re giving something to him by giving him space, but you’re not. You’re taking happiness and peace and love away from him.

Your breath catches when you feel a rush of tears thickening in your throat. Your heart is broken from so many things, but it’s mostly from the role you played in breaking his.

You excuse yourself and rush into the house, hopeful nobody will see you cry. You’re not even sure where you’re going. You just know you want to be alone.

You end up in Rafe’s room, simply because it’s the only room in the house that gives you the level of comfort you’re craving. You gaze out of one of the windows as you try to calm yourself down.

You remember entering this house for the first time. His father and yours fell into conversation like old friends do and Rafe was at his mother’s side, just barely leaning on her, enough for comfort but not so much that he looked like he needed the crutch.

You kept glancing at each other while the adults talked and when he finally offered you a shy smile, you smiled back, and you don’t know if he felt it, too, but at that moment, you knew you were going to be friends.

You sit on his bed, hands on your knees as you breathe through the hurt.

The doorknob turns. Rafe flips on the light when he comes in, his eyes boring into you. You quickly wipe away your tears. He was the last person you expected to follow you.

“Hey,” he says, shutting the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry,” you say. “I can go.”

“No,” Rafe says. “What is it?”

You can’t put him through the honest answer.

“Sucks how everyone’s talking about it,” you say. Truthfully, you couldn’t care less about the gossip.

Rafe squints for a moment, slowly making his way to you, settling on the bed an inch away from you, his cologne drifting in the air.

“Is that really it?” he asks. You nervously clasp your hands, looking down. He knows that’s not really it. You can see from the corner of his eye that he’s still watching you.

You don’t answer.

“I hate myself for telling you,” Rafe mumbles. You wince at his words.

“You shouldn’t. It’s better that I know.”

“It’s not.” Rafe anxiously rubs his forehead. “It sounded so fucking wrong when you said it’s your fault. When I heard you say it out loud, it…”

It turned everything inside out. All he’s been thinking about these past few days is how and when to tell you this.

“You know when you said maybe it was your fault he wouldn’t leave you alone?” he asks.

You think back to that night when you confessed how terrible your relationship with Ty had been. You had told Rafe it’s easier for you to take responsibility because then you’re not just a victim.

“I can’t let you blame yourself like that again,” Rafe says. “You were a kid.”

“You really don’t blame me?” you ask.

“I don’t.” His words take a weight off of your shoulders.

“You were a kid, too, Rafe. You can’t blame yourself, either,” you say softly. “And if anyone else does, they’re wrong.”

You can tell by the way he grimaces that he’s been made to feel guilty for it by someone else. His father. You have no doubt about it.

“It’s different,” Rafe mutters.

“It’s not,” you reply. “You’re just as innocent as I am.”

Rafe knew his mother well. He knows she spent her last moments worrying about him, regretting that she made the decision to leave the house with him. She was an amazing mother. He’s sure she died thinking she wasn’t.

“I didn’t tell her I loved her,” he says, voice starting to falter. “The last chance I had.”

Your chest tightens.

“You know how you always picked flowers for her on our way up to the house?” you say. “And how she was so happy every time you gave them to her?”

The memory makes the corners of Rafe’s lips turn up in a smile. He didn’t know you remembered that.

“You spent time getting her flowers just to make her day, over and over,” you say. “You don’t have to tell someone you love them for them to know. You showed her in a million ways. She knew. I promise.”

Rafe’s been living in an unforgiving cycle of hating the world, looking for blame, all to keep from accepting the truth that there was no sense to what happened. No reason. It just happened. And it left him in pieces.

Your words give him a quiet feeling of freedom that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The cycle is addictive and comfortable, but it keeps him moving in circles. Getting him nowhere.

Talking about his mother doesn’t hurt as bad this time. Because you brought up a good memory, and he doesn’t picture her in the car like he always does, but he sees her downstairs, pinching his cheek, smiling, putting wildflowers in a small vase.

Rafe’s eyes find yours again. All he can feel is a warm, stirring gratitude sinking into him. His lips part for a second before he can reach for the words.

“Thank you,” he says. “How’ve you been?”

“It’s hard,” you admit. “I keep thinking I’m going to run into him. We’re just waiting on the trial to start and I wish I knew what’s going to happen.”

Rafe takes a deep breath. He’s terrified of letting you hear how dark his thoughts get, but right now, he’s as sure as he can be that you’re the one person in the world who wouldn’t look at him with judgement.

“I wanted to kill him,” Rafe mutters. “I would right now if I had the chance.”

He looks at you, scared as he awaits your response. You tilt your head and gaze at him with sorrowful eyes.

“I think if someone was doing something like that to you,” you say, “I’d feel the same way.”

Rafe knew you cared about him, but to know you feel just as intensely for him as he does for you is a relief. He’s still not sure he deserves it.

“How have you been after everything?” you ask.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his words rushed. “I keep wanting to text or call but I don’t know how to say it.”

“How to say what?”

“How much I regret it all,” he says. Rafe combs a hand through his hair, heeling forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Every single time you tried to talk to me, I was such a dick to you. I’m sorry.”

You’ve imagined him saying this, but you thought it’d always stay a daydream. As you think about everything he’s told you, about how uncontrollable his thoughts can be and how badly he needs distractions and how utterly lonely he’s been, you feel nothing but forgiveness for him.

“You know that photo I took down?” you say. He nods, picturing the image of the four of you on the beach. “What happened, happened to that little kid. I think he handled things the only way he knew how.”

Rafe sits straight, tears threatening to form. You never run out of compassion for him. You’ve always been here, reminding him he’s human and that it’s okay to hurt and to need help.

His eyes are on yours again, and this time, he’s looking at you like he did the night before he kissed you. It’s like life is returning to his features, a pink hue blooming across his cheeks.

He recalls your words from your last night together. But you don’t want me in your life?

“I want you in my life, alright?” he says. He ducks his head just a bit, looking at you with a mix of infatuation and nerves. “If you still want to be in it.”

Your lips quiver with an endeared frown as you gaze at the multifaceted, complex, passionate man sitting in front of you.

“I do,” you say. Because the past few weeks have been so stressful, all you want right now is clarity. “You mean as a friend?”

“No,” Rafe scoffs, a smile quirking on his face again. “No. If you want that, we’ll do that. But I want more. Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up.”

You gaze at him through your lashes, feeling like you might just melt at the soft way he’s looking at you and speaking to you.

“Believe me,” Rafe says, “that I’ll be different. For real, this time. I don’t…” He sighs. “I never want you feeling like you’re bothering me. It’s the opposite. Every minute I’m not with you is just… it’s hell.”

He licks his lips from nervousness. He doesn’t like that you haven’t said anything yet.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

You smile at him, bringing your hand to his, feeling that his knuckles have completely healed now. This right here is the moment you think you might be able to let go of the fear and instability and pain that’s existed between you for so long.

“I want more, too,” you tell him. He looks at you with furrowed brows almost like he’s in pain, like waiting for this has actually been hurting him.

Rafe hopes his impatience to kiss you isn’t too much for you when he leans forward, laying his lips to yours, but you meet him with the same hunger.

He holds you, cupping your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb as your lips weave together. His tongue runs against yours and you raise your hands, one resting on the crook of his neck while the other runs over his hair.

With a quiet moan of pure desire, Rafe kisses harder, moving even closer to you so that your eyelashes overlap.

He separates to close his lips on your neck, trailing hot, desperate kisses over your throat. Then, Rafe’s fingers rest on your hips, fingertips dipping under your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” he asks huskily.

“Yes,” you breathe.

The slowly burning flame between you has sparked into a wildfire now. You feel the fabric of your top slowly dragging up your body, making you dizzy.

Rafe watches in awe as he pulls your shirt off you, all of his senses going hot when he watches the way your chest is rising and falling, the way your bra looks pushed against your body. He dips to kiss your neck again as he holds you at your waist.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he whispers, “or if I need to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper back. Your hand drags over his hard jaw to pull him up to your lips again. Rafe is intoxicated by this feeling, by the promise of pleasure, by the pure joy of being wanted.

Your lips quietly smack together as his fingers skim up the side of your body, over your shoulder, down the line of your bra strap, finally wandering over your chest.

He massages you gently, earning breathy moans from you. With eyes still shut, you find the top button of his shirt, pulling it out of its loop slowly.

Your kisses grow even more impatient as you unbutton his shirt, moving down his chest, finally reaching the bottom. Your fingers slip under his collar, pushing his shirt down his shoulders.

Once Rafe’s shirt is on the floor, he leans against you, gently guiding you onto your back on his soft bed, still kissing you. You run your hands down the firm curve of his back, making him shudder into your mouth.

His fingers dip under your bra strap, feeling desperate to see you. His forehead presses against yours as he pulls back.

“Is this okay?” he rasps.

You nod and your breath hitches when he pulls the strap down over your shoulder and dips to kiss where it sat. His groin already feels so tight that it hurts.

Slowly, he lowers to kiss the valley between your breasts, making your heart pound even harder. When he finally pulls down the cup of your bra, seeing you bare draws a stunned, sharp intake of breath from him.

You rake your hand through his hair when you feel his hot mouth on you. You moan softly and the sound of you revelling in the pleasure he’s giving you puts him in an even deeper daze.

Rafe cups your waist and drags his hands to your back. You arch to give him just enough space to unhook your bra, and once he has full access to your chest, you shut your eyes as his tongue and hands roam over you.

He leaves wet kisses all over your chest and comes back up to capture your lips again. His movements are languid as he rests his hand between your legs and suddenly, your clothes feel suffocating. You’ve never needed someone more.

Rafe drags his fingers over you, pressing in gentle circles. You spread your legs wide as he hovers over you, holding himself up on his elbow.

His eyes are on you, full of lust and want, imagining how you’ll taste if you let him go that far. He sinks to dip his fingers beneath the band at your hips, pulling the clothing down your legs, taking his time.

He settles over you again, putting his hand back where it was, and even though there’s still one more layer of fabric to strip, he can feel you so much better.

You whimper as he drags his fingers over you, and then he lowers again, his head between your legs.

You meet Rafe’s gaze when he kisses you right over your panties, and the intimacy, the pure vulnerability thickens the air even more.

“Can I?” he mumbles, his breath warm. You nod in desperation.

He slides the last piece of clothing you have on off of you, and when his eyes drink you in, his heart pounds loud in his ears.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, dipping to kiss your inner thighs before finally tasting you. You breathe out shakily as his tongue curls against you, as his hands hook around the tops of your thighs, resting on your hips.

Your whole body is hot and trembling as he kisses and sucks and licks, worshipping every bit of you.

Rafe can’t get enough of you. He just started and he already dreads the thought of stopping.

Your hands sit on his and he squeezes your fingers as he buries his face against you, holding both your hands, gazing up to see the bliss written in your pretty features.

He shifts to bring one of his hands where his mouth is, gliding over you, working both on you to bring you to a mind-blowing climax that leaves you moaning.

Rafe holds himself up over you again, kissing you, letting you taste yourself, as you eagerly unbutton his jeans. He helps you pull his pants down and when you grip him over his boxers, he nearly whimpers in need.

You stroke slowly, your hand wrapped around him, the other pushing against his bare chest to gently lead him to lie on his back.

You drag his boxers down, looking at him with pure arousal. His face is twisted in pleasure when you put your mouth on him, tasting him, taking him in completely.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you if he tried. You slowly pick up your pace and he knows if you go any longer, he won’t last.

“Can we…” he rasps. You’re trembling in anticipation, already knowing what he’s asking.

You shift higher, resting on your knees, your bare bodies pressed together as you kiss him.

You lower your hand, holding him, dipping against him to just barely meet each other. It’d take just one buck of your hips to feel him inside you.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yes,” he groans. “Go as slow as you need to.”

You nod, shuddering as you position yourself and slowly sink onto him. You moan in unison at the sensation of your bodies meeting this way.

When you finally take all of him in, you pause to revel in the feeling, breathing heavily, your cheeks brushing.

“I love you,” Rafe says, his deep voice weaved with awe.

You pull back to look at him, not sure if you heard him right. You take in the color of his eyes and the beauty of his edges and your heart has never felt like it was glowing until this very moment.

“I love you, too,” you half-whisper. He almost can’t come to grips with the fact that you said it back with such certainty. Like you have no doubt that he has a place in your heart.

You roll your hips, taking your time to adjust to him. His hands are at your waist as he enjoys the slow ecstasy of your warmth.

You hug him tightly as you slowly move up and down. Eventually, you can feel him tensing beneath you, and you want to give him the control to reach the pace he needs.

You lift off of him, kissing him before you shift onto your back. He doesn’t waste any time to settle over you, slowly pushing into you again.

You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve for Rafe, while he’s kept his caged. He thought he didn’t even have one anymore. But you remind him that he does have this side of him, that it still exists, that he wants to give all of it you.

“I love you,” he rasps again. “I love you. I love you.”

Bliss overwhelms you as you tenderly kiss his forehead. He gently rocks forward and back, filling you perfectly as his thrusts slowly quicken.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers into your ear. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you say, wrapping your legs around him. His breaths quicken as he moves faster, writhing over you into a climax that makes him groan.

Your bodies are glistening with sweat, your breaths heavy. Rafe’s weight doesn’t leave you as he collapses in pleasure.

“Is it okay if I stay like this?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe. His face is nuzzled into your neck, panting as he breathes you in, still inside you, living in this perfect moment with you.

Rafe has felt homesick since he can remember. Even within the walls of his own bedroom. But you and the feeling you give him are home. Safety with no exceptions, love with no conditions.

“What’d I do to deserve you?” he mumbles against your skin.

“Exist,” you say with a gentle laugh.

Rafe plants lazy kisses against your neck as you hold him, slowly coming back to reality. There’s a whole party happening in his house, but in his world, it’s only you and him.

When he gets up, he isn’t prepared for how empty he feels when he loses the feeling of you wrapped around him. You lie next to him, facing each other with tired smiles.

“How was it?” he asks. The question sends you into a fit of laughter.

“You heard me, right?” you say, almost embarrassed from the sounds you made.

Rafe smirks and moves even closer to you, kissing you as you both lie on his pillow. You rest your palm on his face, gently tapping at the deep dimple in his cheek with your finger.

“You should show these more often,” you say.

“What?”

“Your dimples.”

He laughs, thinking to himself that he’ll do anything you want him to if you’ll keep loving him. He’s drunk on the feeling of the simplicity of being with you. It’s easy and pure.

Rafe asks if you want to shower together, and soon, you’re in his ensuite, standing under hot water ebbing over your skin.

Every movement between you is a slow expression of love, your bodies curved together as you share kisses and hold each other.

At one point, he’s clinging onto you, his lips pressed on your shoulder, and you’re holding him like you did the night in your house when he finally opened up completely.

Rafe is overcome by every emotion he’s feeling and it’s the first time in years that he cries without urging himself to stop. Because you’re here and you know everything and you still don’t want to leave.

You hold each other in bed wearing nothing but towels. He asks you if you want to go back out to the party and is relieved when you tell him you don’t.

“I’m falling asleep,” you eventually say, your legs tangled with his as he holds you. “I should go home.”

“No,” he says. “Why? Stay. Sleep here.”

You text your parents that you’re sleeping over. You know they’ll assume you’re staying in Sarah’s room, since you’ve done it so many times.

After you put your phone on Rafe’s nightstand, you snuggle into him, your head resting on his shoulder. You yawn, getting goosebumps from the way his fingers trail up and down your arm.

“Need a distraction?” you ask.

“No,” Rafe replies tiredly. For once, his mind isn’t racing. The mix of chaos and calm he thought he felt with you is no longer a mix at all. It’s just calm. It’s just peace.

You wake up in Rafe’s arms, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek and his breaths on the top of your head. It feels unreal recounting last night, remembering the amount of times he told you he loves you.

You shift slowly to get out of bed, putting on your bra and underwear and slipping into his bathroom. He’s sitting up in bed when you come back out. His eyes immediately trail down your body, a smile growing on his face.

“What?” you ask.

“You’re just…” Rafe exhales, resting his arm out on the bed in a way to beckon you to come back. “Perfect.”

“You mean as a friend?” you joke. You settle back into bed on your knees as he chuckles.

“Fuck no,” he answers, making you laugh. “Do you have to leave?”

“I don’t,” you say. Your body warms when you see the relief on his face. Now that you’ve sealed the rift that lived between you for so long, you can see just how badly Rafe wants you around.

But it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore. This feels right. Like you were meant to be with him all along.

“Would you wanna go down to the water?” you ask.

He nods. It’s like your kids again; he’d go anywhere you want just to see you smile.

It’s a windy morning by the sea. The sun is covered by clouds as you sit on the private beach next to Rafe. He drapes an arm around you, rubbing your arm to keep you warm. He feels like now that he’s been given permission to touch you, he can’t stop.

“The hours we spent out here,” you mumble. Rafe gazes at your profile as you look out at the horizon.

The dark blue sea makes you think of all the possibilities, of everything to come. You turn to catch him staring.

“I didn’t…” Rafe gently shakes his head. He didn’t know this was possible. “You know how people say they can feel someone around them after they… after they die?”

You nod. He feels guilty as hell with what he’s about to say.

“I never did,” he admits. Your face drops in shock and sadness. You can’t imagine how lonely he’s felt. “But right now, it’s like… it’s like she’s about to call us up to eat. I can feel her here.”

You feel like your heart is whole and broken at the same time. You lean to kiss his cheek over and over, the waves crashing in the distance.

“I need to stop trying to forget her,” Rafe says sadly.

He glances down at the sand, and you can tell anxiety is starting to grip him. You take a deep breath before you speak.

“I think she’d understand why you did,” you say. “What do you think about getting her flowers?”

Blue eyes find yours. He hasn’t visited her grave in years. If he does today, he’ll need you with him.

“Yeah,” he says simply, dusting the sand off his jeans as he heads to the patch of grass by the boardwalk.

The cemetery is quiet and tranquil. You drove over on his motorcycle, holding onto him tighter than you needed to. Your shoes pad over the paved walkway, feeling more and more nervous as you approach where she rests.

The headstone isn’t as big as Rafe remembers, but he figures it’s because he was much smaller when he visited last. He starts to cry as soon as he sees the photo of her in the center of the plaque. He forgot that was there.

Tears burn your eyes when you watch him slowly drop to his knees, his hands splayed on the lush grass.

You read the epitaph over and over again. When love is eternal, life cannot die.

Rafe forgot that he was holding the flowers he picked and he realizes he broke some stems, but when he looks at her photo again, he puts the flowers right at the corner of the headstone, knowing she was always happy with any bouquet he gave her, no matter the condition.

You sink beside him, resting a hand on his back.

“Should I talk?” he stammers. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You do whatever feels right,” you reply.

“Can you talk?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say. You’ve been yearning to talk like this with him for years. “You know you have her smile?”

“Really?”

“Yes,” you say. “It’s one of the reasons I love seeing you happy.”

Rafe nods, a tear dripping off his chin. He needs you to keep talking.

“And I remember she was always winking at me,” you say. “I don’t know if you saw.”

“She did that because she knew I had a crush on you,” Rafe mumbles. You smile sadly, rubbing his back.

“I’m pretty sure she knew I had one on you, too,” you say. “She was so smart and so sweet. Everyone could see how much she loved being your mom.”

Rafe offers you a grateful smile.

“I miss her,” he says, his voice brittle.

“Me, too,” you reply. “I’m sorry. I can go back to the parking lot if you want?”

You’re offering to give him time alone here. And to his surprise, he nods. He can do this. You kiss his temple and give him the moment he needs.

Rafe is sitting in silence for a minute before he finds the words. He stares at her photo.

“I’m sorry I made you drive that night,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry I always got mad at you when you called me your baby. I just wanted to grow up and you told me to enjoy being young and you were right.”

He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry I dug myself into a hole and tried to forget you. But I think she’s right. You’d understand.”

He cracks a small smile, remembering when he first told his mom he liked you, how nervous and giddy he felt.

“Still want to marry her,” he says. He can hear the way she laughed when her ten-year-old son told her he hoped you’d be his wife one day, but he’d still want to live at home so he’d beg for you to move in. “She never left my side, mom. I gave her every reason to but I think she saw how much I was hurting.”

Rafe promises her he won’t let so much time pass before he visits again. And when he finds you standing by his bike, he holds you so tightly that he feels your heart beating against his.

Everything is different for him now. He hasn’t had the comfort of permanence in his life for a long time. He can’t believe you want him, even after you’ve seen the worst of him.

Rafe never takes his hands off of you. At every party, on every date, he always has to be touching you in some way to remind himself that he has you for real.

It takes a few tries, but he manages to quit coke. And eventually, he quits waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for you to decide he isn’t worth the effort.

He’s with you every step of the trial. The lawyer says Ty getting five years in prison is a win, but he thinks the only win would be a life sentence.

Eventually, the trauma loses its power over you. You feel safe. Not because your ex is locked up, but because Rafe is with you.

You stand by him for everything. Every breakdown he has, every time he sinks into his grief, every storm that reminds him of the worst night of his life. You never leave.

You love him for long enough that he finally believes if someone as amazing as you can see something in him, it must be there.

Epilogue

You didn’t ask for much for the wedding. One thing that you were sure about was that you wanted an event artist, someone to paint the day on a canvas to capture it in a unique way.

Rafe is happy to to along with it, but then again, he’s like that with everything when it comes to you. You could never ask too much from him. He’ll forever feel like he owes you for never giving up on him.

The banquet hall is massive and beautifully decorated, and you can hardly hear your own thoughts over the crowd’s chatter and elegant music. The day has been a whirlwind.

When the artist waves you over, you take Rafe’s hand.

“Want to see the painting?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, beaming at you simply because of how excited you are.

You had secretly asked the artist to include Anne in the painting. When your eyes land on the canvas, seeing her drawn in with everyone else who stood at the altar warms your heart.

You look up at Rafe, whose mouth is just slightly agape. He stares at his mother’s image, smiling behind him, then looks down, scratching the back of his neck and finding your hand before he leads you away.

“Just a second,” you say to the artist before you let Rafe take you to a dressing room past the hallway.

He shuts the door behind you, facing you with glossy eyes.

“Did I mess up?” you say worryingly. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d like it.”

“Hey,” Rafe says softly, hands on your cheeks. “I love it. I just didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. I’ve been barely keeping it together today.”

You laugh in relief, tipping your chin so he’ll kiss you. His lips meet yours. You’re pretty sure your guests could tell he got teary-eyed when he watched you walk down the aisle, but you’ll spare him that detail.

Rafe finds relief from your touch, like always. His mom was here today. He felt it. He feels her all the time now. And you’re still a reminder, but in the best possible way, because you show him that he can remember the good parts. That he can feel love even after someone’s left. That he doesn’t need to carry guilt. That he can look forward to the future.

Apart from the second he became your husband, this is the best moment you’ve had today, because it’s just you two, just like it was when you were kids on the beach, enjoying each other’s company, never wanting to part.

(the end) (continuation blurbs)

author’s note thank you to everyone who stuck with this series 💘 ps did you know tumblr has a text block limit? learned that the hard way lmao. so i’m sorry that some paragraphs got long! hated to sacrifice my structure but had to do it to keep all 10k+ words in 😋

[cherie-doll]

if you’re still doing requests, could i ask for cod men with an s/o who doesn’t want children? do you think that any of the guys be happy being childfree or would that warrant a breakup? feel free to ignore this if you don’t want to write for it 😊

make art not babies!!

(guys please send interesting/weird requests im back to feeling like trash, staying inside and not sleeping i need to at least do something somewhat productive)

=͟͟͞♡ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

COD Men w/ Reader who does NOT want children

♡ Price...

you both had too much stuff going on for either of you to dedicate time or put in effort to raise kids, it was only that he came to this realization when you were both in the living room one night, you reading and him watching the tv, a commercial featuring a family of five with kids and all came on

he noticed how neither of you had even mentioned the possibility of children, you weren't in any rush and neither was he, so he decided to straight up ask you, wondering if perhaps he had been ignorant to your wishes

but it was a relief when he heard that your plans for the future didn't involve children, whew, he thought he had been neglecting a need he had to fulfill, and he was content, although he did think it would be cute to have a baby, but not in this life

♡ Ghost...

the thought of having kids sort of makes him feel something he can't exactly describe, he knows his childhood wasn't what a child should've ever experienced and he knows that it won't be the same if he decided to raise his own, of course their childhood would be different but he still doesn't want them

so when you confessed not wanting kids he nodded along, listening and not interrupting you until you finished talking, perhaps you two had decided not to have kids for different reasons; mostly personal but what mattered was that in the end the decision was the same

he felt pity for the kids being born, the world they lived in nowadays wasn't going to get better at all, and you two would be doing your nonexistent kid a favor

♡ Soap...

would learn to live with it, it's really hard at first for him because he has seen how happy and beautiful other families looked when they took their kids out to the park, and he couldn't help but imagine that lifestyle for both of you even if he hadn't asked for your opinion first

no matter how many times you two have this conversation it doesn't resolve anything, it goes in circles and end with both of you saying that you wouldn't do anything that would hurt the other, but you're both adamant; you don't want kids, he would like to experience being a father

you get all panicky just imagining giving in, though you do love him with all your heart you can't imagine giving up like this, and he eventually gives up that dream of his, he faces the realization that you might leave, and he'd hate to lose you

♡ Gaz...

was dropping hints for a while, leaving a tiny baby onesie around and hoping you would pick up on it, you noticed it but paid it no attention as you knew what he was up to

you felt guilty having to let him down because he was such a sweet man, understanding and gentle with you, you had to admit that he would make a good dad, but you weren't fond of kids at all and knew it wouldn't be easy for you at all, even with him there to help out

maybe you were failing to appease him in that way, and when you hesitantly told him this, he felt ashamed because perhaps he should've noticed your reactions more, the way your face didn't react at all when you saw a cute kid at the grocery store or how you skipped the ads on your phone advertising baby clothes

you forgave him for that, and he found comfort in the dog you two adopted instead

♡ Roach...

kids?? him?! nope.

he can barely keep the goldfish he won at the fair alive, how is he supposed to take care of a child?!? yeah, he was pretty taken back when you brought up this topic, had he given any wrong signal or indication that he wanted a kid? because that was never his intention

buut the thought had crossed his mind once before, it happened when you had gone to the hospital to visit a friend of yours, she had just had a baby and he saw the softness in your eyes when you held the baby, you didn't notice him staring at you back then, but he had been observing

once you opened his laptop to find google searches of "what if my s/o wants kids".. it actually hurt thinking he might have been trying to warm up to the idea for your sake.. poor him, he had been stressing over this

♡ Alejandro

he wanted kids. i mean, it was only natural for him to want something to care for right? i believe it would cause quite the rift in your relationship, he couldn't comprehend why you wouldn't listen to him

was it because of him? surely you didn't mistrust him after all this time... or did you? he wondered if you really thought he was so cold as to possibly abandon you, so then he started trying to be more 'loving', but to you it was like a bite of overly sweet cake, it felt nice but always left a taste you didn't quite like in your mouth

maybe with time he would learn to get over it because he doesn't want to break up with you, no matter how much you may argue and fight over this, it's just not something he would drop you over

matter of fact he would be more upset at the idea of leaving you than not having kids, so in the end he does choose you

♡ Rudy...

he'd be fine with or without kids, in reality he doesn't know what he wants, he's only sure that he wants to spend his life with you, but doesn't know how

sometimes he thinks it would be a wonderful thing to experience and he's trying to talk with you but the other he's not so sure, you couldn't keep staying in this confusing back and forth so you were honest with yourself first when coming to terms that you didn't want kids, and THEN you told him

he was a little stunned, especially since you were so sweet with kids of family members or friends, but he understood that you just didn't want to raise them yourself, it was easy for him to let go since it wasn't a wish he wanted desperately

you made him happy in more ways than one and he was already incredibly lucky to have you, he could live without children of his own

♡ Phillip...

he treats just about anyone like family, i mean just look at how he treats his Shadows, so no doubt he's thought about having kids with you plenty

he would always hint at it or joke around like "when we have a son/a daughter", but you never laughed at those jokes, more like you'd turn away because how were you going to crush that dream of his?

when you do sit him down and tell him it wouldn't warrant a breakup, he's not exactly selfish so of course he wouldn't want to put you up against the wall and make you choose between losing him or giving up and having kids if it meant staying with him

he could live with it honestly, later on he realizes it might have been for the best considering how he doesn't feel empty at all when he spends time with you

♡ Makarov...

i feel like he probably never really gave it a proper thought, like he barely managed to get into a relationship and actually get invested but he couldn't imagine putting in MORE effort for a kid

he has his plans for the future and in none of them did he ever think of the possibility of having a child so when you come around with the "i don't want kids" he's fine with it bc he never cared for one

he'd probably be one of those people who would HAVE to have a really good and sweet experience with a kid for him to want one, but knowing his lifestyle and near death experiences i don't think he's ever witnessed a cute, happy child lmao

♡ Keegan...

probably hates children already

this guy has been tired his entire life and he's seen how much energy a newborn drains, so he won't want to spend his years raising little brats who might turn out to be ungrateful, and not to mention how freaking awkward he gets when a relative hands him a baby and he's trying not to accidentally break its neck because he doesn't know how to properly hold one

he'd be plenty happy with just you, your wellbeing is his only concern and he doesn't wish to see you or him be burdened by anything else after you settle down

perhaps you could spend your days doing things together, he has plenty of things he'd like to do and discover about himself and he wouldn't want to waste that time on another human being that isn't you

♡ König...

he feels completely safe and at home with you, that comfort he's sought for so long in this cold, bleak world came in the form of you when you two first met, even if it took a while, you eventually reached a point of no return in your relationship when he could comfortably just walk into your arms and you would try your best to wrap them around his broad shoulders, you didn't even have to be perfect, but the thought of you two trying this out was enough for him (you can tell who's my current fave)

but yes at some point during that slow progress he reached that moment in which he realized how much sweeter life would be if there was a little one of yours around... in fact he sometimes got so lost in the thought he wouldn't even realize you were talking to him

and how could he ignore your voice? you knew it wasn't normal and neither did he... so even if you felt bad as you watched for once how his face showed reaction to your response, it was still your decision after all, he wouldn't want a breakup, he wasn't an idiot; just a hopeless dreamer.

♡ Horangi...

is quite literally the "fuck them kids" audio, you had already assumed that he wasn't the type of guy to desperately want kids because of his lifestyle so it was easy for you to have the "no kids" conversation with him

he's completely on board with your decision, it was your call to make anyways and he assured you that even if he did want them he wouldn't ever pressure you to have them, hell he'd be fine if you adopted a pet a called it your child if that's what you wanted

whenever you two are out in public and you see some kid throwing a tantrum you both sigh in relief that you won't have to deal with that

♡ Nikto...

he has two braincells which ricochet between you and food, so it'll be a 1 out of 10000000000000 chances he'll come across the thought of having a kid much less say it out loud

he doesn't even know what to do with kids, like you make them bake 'em inside for 9 months and then what? it comes out and you live with it until it learns to survive on its own? he ain't doing all that

when you tell him you mistake his silence for a negative reaction but really you've just confirmed what he's also wanted for a while now, if you didn't want kids then he for sure didn't want any

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader How Did it End?

Synopsis: We hereby conduct this post-mortem on how you and Ser Aemond had end. Warnings: None (yet), Angst, Princess and Aemond's (not so) Secret Relationship, Not proofread (like srsly...pls bear with me, i'm dyslexic) PREVIOUS PART A/N: Bear with me here-- istg this will pay off 🥹

How did it end? Even you yourself did not know how or why; it just did. All of it ended without a clear explanation. One did not know that the last kiss shared would truly be the last. Or did they know that the last lingering touch would no longer remain and burn the fire of longing. All of it just ended. Abrupt and unforseen. And all of it ended with the blandest of goodbyes. 

Two years had passed, and you still had no clear explanation as to why he had left. Why did he leave with no warning or reason? Why did he leave his post— his duty— his oath that he would forever be by your side until his dying breath? Ser Aemond did not give an excuse as to why he had left you. You only garnered minuscule information here and there that Ser Aemond had to rush back to his family’s seat as his brother, Lord Aegon Targaryen, had fled as he had no wish for duty. Leaving the post to his brother, who quickly left his station, his princess, and his heart in the capitol.

It could be considered treason to be a deserter, but Aemond had enough forethought to tell the King of his situation but not enough as he had made no explanation to the princess. Leaving her in anguish as she could not understand why the man she loved, the man who promised her devotion and security, just left without a word. You were in a state of denial the first few weeks. Blaming yourself as you thought your ungratefulness and want of space made your knight leave. You wrote letter after letter, prayed prayer after prayer, hoping you would be heard and have Ser Aemond back. But after two moons of ignorance and neglect, you began to realize that you had lost him. You began to accept that he was never coming back. That he would never return to you. That the space you had foolishly wished for was given in full. 

It did not go unnoticed by the court as to how their lively and cheery princess had grown somber and desolate the moons following her knight’s departure. Your eldest brother was the first to notice. He watched as you tried to appear unbothered in the eyes of the court but quickly be overcome with tears and sadness when you were left alone. The king was next to notice, feeling guilty as he did not hinder your knight from leaving as he thought it was best after what he had seen in the north. 

He thought the two of you were just a passing fancy, and he thought it better to dissolve whatever the two of you had now before it progressed because he would hate to see his daughter be placed in the shoes of his grandmother, who had fallen for her knight. But as the king saw the grave sadness in his daughter’s eyes, how whatever they did to cheer her up— new shoes, dresses, pieces of jewelry, parties, balls, or even the freedom and independence she craved did nothing to lessen the sadness in her. 

That was when the king asked for the aid of your eldest brother. Confiding in him what he had seen. There he found out the whole truth of it and how his eldest already knew of the situation at hand. You had fallen deeply and madly for your knight, and your father was only consumed in further guilt as he had been one of the reasons why your heart was now in pain. 

The King tried earnestly to reverse what was done. He tried to summon Ser Aemond, who now held the title of Lord Targaryen, but he was never given a direct answer from his daughter’s knight. Only his courtiers stated the lord’s regrets as he could not leave his new post to return to his old one. 

It did not take too long for rumors to spread that the reason for the departure of the princess’ knight, who was rarely seen not by her side, was because he had taken the title of his older brother and, along with the title, came the responsibilities of a lord and the duty to find a suitable wife. Aemond was made to leave his princess to take responsibility for what his brother had left when he fled, and he needed to marry the girl who was escaped by her betrothed. 

When the news began to spread, your father dreaded for you to hear it and went to great lengths for it not to reach ears. Going as far as sending you to a neighboring kingdom along with your older brother and mother. Leaving your father and eldest brother to wait until the story dies and went to great measures so that it would not be revived when you come back home. 

There, in the neighboring kingdom, you met the crowned prince. A prince your mother had pushed upon you as she was overzealous with the idea of you marrying someone with the same station as you but more passionate with the thought that you would live an ocean away. It did not take long before your mother and Prince Andrew’s father to betrothed the two of you. You could not even find the strength to rebel, to hinder the betrothal placed as the fire and life within you died when your love had left. 

Word was quick to spread that the princess had found herself a prince. Even went as far as to say that you were already married off in the neighboring kingdom as your father quickly sailed there to oversee the plans your mother had made. 

The news that their beloved princess was married reached everyone, and all was joyous of the news. All but one. As Aemond heard about the betrothal, the fire that had died in his veins burned hot with rage. He had the urge to run to you— to finally respond to the multitudes of letters you sent— to sail to the neighboring kingdom and take you. Leave all of it behind, just as his brother had done. But as he remembered what he did, how he left you with no further explanation. How he ignored your calls and pleas, and how he had a betrothed himself, he knew he had no leg to stand on. He knew that you were truly far gone. That his heart— the only girl he ever loved, found another while he had to settle and be at peace with the duty he chose over her. 

As much as the news of your betrothal became prolific, and as much as your mother had wanted the marriage, it did not happen. Your supposed betrothed was in love with someone else, as were you. Leaving whatever plans your parents had made futile, and you sailed back home unburdened by a betrothal or marriage. Though no one made any word to dispute what your citizens came to know, so in their eyes, you were as good as married. 

You spent your days in solitude. You rarely left the halls of your castle and only attended balls when you had no choice but to. It took a year for your older brother, the prince, to learn of the true relationship between you and your knight. And he only came to know because he had overheard your father and brother speaking of what to do. The prince could not believe what he had heard, but at the same time, it finally gave him the answers for your sudden change. None spoke of it, of course. They tried earnestly to reverse your melancholia, but none addressed the reason for it. 

You let the days pass you. Tried hard not to think of Aemond and what the two of you were but, at the same time, did so because, by some paradox, it was the only thing that brought you a sense of happiness. You cursed the gods and fates because how could you be so cruel to let you have a glimpse— a taste of what love felt like harshly snatch it away from your grasp. Leaving you bereft and reeling off what you could have had. 

You wanted to hate him— to curse him for how he had left you broken, but you could not have the heart to do so. You tried to rest easy in the thought that even though you were left broken, at least your love was happy in his choice. That you two were simply not fated for one another, and no matter how hard you stubbornly try to make it so, it wouldn’t work. 

So, instead, you tried to distract yourself. To go back to your customs before you met Aemond. You plunged yourself into distraction after distraction. From attending court to asking for duties to even taking care of the litter of kittens your cats had. Anything and everything just so your mind would not wander back to your knight and wonder what could have been. 

It seemed to work for a while, with you preoccupied with your duties and the matters of the court. However, when you caught word that Aemond was betrothed to a noblewoman and both of them and their kin were on their way to the capitol to finally ask the blessing of your father, all your progress had undone itself.

Your brothers fretted as they realized that the news had reached your ears. They stood outside the door of your chambers and tried to speak of a plan on what to do, but as they heard your faint cries, they realized that whatever they tried to cheer you up would be moot as you once again needed to grieve the loss of your life.

As Aemond arrived in the capitol and began to walk the halls of your home with his future bride by his side, myriads of emotions swirled within him, but what was most prominent was fear. In his years, Aemond had grown unacquainted with fear. As a knight, he was taught to no longer feel such emotions, but all the teachings instilled in him were forgotten as he dreaded to face you. 

He was filled with unease to see the consequences of his actions— to see you once more after he had broken your trust and heart. But what he probably dreaded most was seeing you with the man that the kingdom had speculated to be your husband. He could not stomach thinking that you were already bound to someone else. That your skin had touched another, that your lips had tasted another than his. He could not phantom the thought that you, his princess, were no longer his. 

Hypocritical as it is, Aemond believed that you would not let someone else take your hand. That you would wait for him because you had always promised that. You made an oath to him that you would never love anyone else nor let another take your hand but him. But it would seem like the both of you had broken your oaths, and Aemond could utter no complaint as he broke his first. 

Aemond mindlessly nodded as his betrothed gushed in excitement about their presence in the great palace. Marveling at the keep and the lavishness it held. Naught a thing changed since he had left. Aemond caught the curious gazes of passersby as he returned. Shamelessly eyeing and whispering about him as he passed, he could no longer bring himself to frown at their actions because his body was filled with anticipation of catching a glimpse of you. 

“Oh, my darling… just think of it! Our wedding ceremonies could be made here!” Lady Cassandra, Aemond’s betrothed, exclaimed as she tilted her head above to marvel at the concaved ceiling that held a great chandelier. Aemond was quick to frown at her words. “No.” He said abruptly and felt the urge to cringe as Lady Cassandra linked her arm with his. He wanted to push her away, fearing you might appear from one hallway and see their proximity. 

“Why not? Other lords and ladies were married here under the king’s blessing. And you were once his favored knight! Having been the youngest to receive a Medal of Valor. Surely they would approve.” Lady Cassandra further tried to convince, and Aemond felt his patience running thin. “No. We have decided to have a simple ceremony at home.” He gritted and found reluctance to utter the words. 

“You have decided that. I wished for a grand wedding! Hundreds of guests in attendance and witnessing our union! Just imagine… their cheers and celebration for us.” Lady Cassandra sighed dreamily, and Aemond rolled his eye as he turned to his head to glance back at a portrait of you that was hung in the great halls. 

It was of you on your sixteenth name day, a year before you two had met. You were fashioning a scarlet dress with gold lace trimmings and one of your multitudes of tiaras atop your pretty head. There was a small smile on your lips and a flower in your hands. Aemond could not help but stare; the portrait was the first glimpse he had of you in two years, and all the emotions he had repressed threatened to spill out. 

As Lady Cassandra noticed her betrothed’s attention was caught by the princess’ portrait, she too gazed upon the work of art. “Do you think I, too, could wear a tiara during our ceremonies?” She then asked, and Aemond was brought out of his reverie and felt annoyance course through him at the girl’s question. “Your station does not warrant it.” He said simply and saw as his betrothed’s face morphed into something unpleasant to view. “But I am a lady of a noble house,” She huffed. “But you are not the princess.” Aemond bit, effectively shutting his betrothed up. 

By the east wing of the castle, you locked yourself in your chambers as you did not dare to leave for fear you might run into Aemond and his soon-to-be lady wife. You lay desolate on your feathered bed with your five cats. Theodore and Sapphira had sired you three kittens to care for and distract yourself with. You mindlessly brushed the fur of one of the kittens as you stared at the canopy above your bed. 

You felt the urge to cry, but your tears had dried out three days ago, and you had transgressed to a state of numbness. You could only hope and pray that the days would be quick and for Aemond and his betrothed to leave hastily because you could not stomach seeing the man that you had loved— that you thought would be the one to be in the arms of another. 

You let out a shaky breath as you hear a faint knock upon your door and your brothers cautiously making their way in. “Sister…” Your eldest brother called, but you made no movement to acknowledge their presence. “We brought you custard tarts; please eat. At least just one.” The prince muttered in concern, a rather grave request at the tip of their tongues. 

Your mother wished for you to attend the welcoming feast for the lords and ladies seeking marital blessing from your lord father. The queen is unaware of what had transpired two years ago, and even if she was, none of them believed she would care and would still subject her daughter to the same room with the man she had once loved and the woman who he would marry. 

When your brothers revealed the order of your mother, you faintly shook your head. “Tell her I am ill,” You said quietly. “Or ask Father to intervene,” You added, as you truly had no wish to face Aemond. “We have tried… but she truly is insistent. Even father cannot change her mind.” The prince informed her. “I do not want to.” You said once more. Feeling as your two eldest cats left the comfort of your bed and wandered into the halls. 

“We know, sister. And we’re sorry, but it would seem as if you have naught but a choice,” Your eldest brother said in sorrow as he caught a glimpse of Lord Aemond with his future bride walking the halls arm in arm. He would hate for you to see such a scene, but your mother would not be denied as she insisted you attend the welcoming feast. 

You pursed your lips and sat up, witnessing the grave faces of your brothers through your somber eyes. You knew that you truly had naught a choice, and that pained you even more. “We shall be by your side, we promise.” The prince muttered and held your hand. “If you wish, we could place them at the end of the hall so you do not need to catch a glimpse of them— or better yet, I shall sit in front of you, blocking your view.” Your eldest brother jested, and as much as you wished to crack a smile at his joke as you had always done before, you could not do so. 

“Tell Mother I shall attend,” You finally sighed. Conceding as you tried to make peace with the fact that you must see the man you once loved with all your heart be in the presence of another that he had chosen over you.  

Tag List: @anuklee @rebeccawinters @bellarkeselection @gayfiretruck @thhriller @wuluhwuhmaster @bittersweetmargarita @jellybeanstacey0519 @ewanmitchellfanatic @aegonswife @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @lee-uh @melsunshine @solatiiium @padfooteyes @nordicmaiden @infernalrusalka @username-is-found @callsigncrushx @livingdead-materialgirl @catherine1x @tanyaherondale @darlingcharling-blog @depressedpolishgirl @roseidol @sapphirevhagar @that-girl-named-alex

[heavensent-devi111]

*The New Avengers | headcanons

authors note: marvel tumblr is SO BACK BABY. we’re getting avengers tower fics again— i could cry 🥹 obviously don’t read if you haven’t seen thunderbolts* although there’s not really any spoilers in this anyways

marvel characters masterlist

marvel taglist

Yelena

has a cute array of various succulents on the windowsill of her bedroom.

owns more stuffed animals than the average adult female probably should.

she doesn’t really read all that much, but if she hears of a new bestselling book, or anytime she passes by a bookstore, she always buys a new book for Bob :’)

hates the color pink.

likes to coordinate pranks to pull on Bucky with John.

downloaded tinder just to try it out. made a profile. deleted said profile less than half an hour later. deleted the app. never again.

Bucky

in the early hours of the morning when everyone is still sleeping he’ll make his way to the tower gym, play a YouTube yoga routine on his phone, and do morning yoga. he’s very embarrassed about it for some reason, but it’s therapeutic for him. plus he’s like, 100 years old, so it’s good for his muscles and bones.

HATES the taste of beer. drinks the absolute fruitiest, girliest cocktails and has NO shame about it whatsoever.

really pushing for the team to agree to getting a cat as a pet to let roam around the tower and such. Bucky gives cat dad vibes idk.

asked Bob and Yelena to teach him how to use FaceTime so he can FaceTime Okoye :’)

journals every night before bed.

loves loves LOVES matcha tea.

makes sure he does the daily wordle.

Ava

has a passion for cooking and loves making new recipes for the team to try.

with her newfound freedom and autonomy, she looks back on pop culture moments she missed from her stolen childhood. she finds that she LOVES 1D and becomes a directioner later in life. better late than never.

loves to go to local farmers markets and festivals.

John

diehard Atlanta Falcons fan and always asks (demands) the team to watch the game with him.

Bob always says yes even though he has zero interest in football and has no idea what is going on 99% of the time (he’s just happy to be included :) )

Alexei also always says yes, but it’s because it’s an excuse for him to sit around and drink some beers… then he goes on and on praising “the great American sport” of football.

John hates doing laundry. hates it. like will literally wait until he doesn’t have a single clean pair of underwear left before doing it.

he likes to hit the gym/ train with Bucky even though Bucky outperforms him most of the time. john will pretend he’s not even breaking a sweat to keep his composure and make himself look “cool” for Bucky even though he’s going to collapse on the gym floor (hydra serum IS the fancy one).

John will never admit to it, will take this secret to his fucking GRAVE, but he absolutely loves Bridgerton. he sat in on Ava watching an episode and said things like “this is so stupid” “what is this shit” but then immediately went to his room afterwards and binged the entire series.

Bob

has posters of his favorite bands/artists plastered all over his bedroom walls like a damn teenager.

keeps a (rather large) poster of “the new avengers” on the wall in front of his bed so he can see it before he goes to bed at night and when he wakes up in the morning to start his day.

likes to paint yelena’s nails for her because it’s very calming and grounding for him.

“I mean— I- I can paint them! You know, uhm, like if that’s okay with you? Not in a weird way I- I just—”

“Sure Bob, you can paint my nails for me.” :)

always shyly compliments Yelena and Ava randomly “that’s a nice color on you” “your hair looks really nice today”

loves to sit on the balcony of avengers tower and just people watch, nature watch. really take everything in and ground himself.

gets really excited for holidays. he likes to go to the party store and decorate different rooms in the tower for whatever holiday is coming up.

downloaded Duolingo to learn some basic Russian to impress Yelena… but Alexei ends up appreciating it was more and presses Bob about doing his daily lessons so he doesn’t lose his streak.

Alexei

ice cream addict. LOVES ben & jerry’s. it got to the point where he was buying so much ice cream “for the team” that it was taking up all the space in the kitchen freezer. so, he bought a mini fridge for his room and he keeps them there for himself.

INSISTS that, at least once a week, the team has a “game night” with all sorts of board games, charades, etc… the team will grunt groan and protest everytime he asks, but ultimately they all end up having fun (and arguing like crazy)

watches love island. he 1000% watches love island.

snores SO FUCKING LOUD— like the team is begging Val to reconstruct his bedroom to make it soundproof. you can hear him snoring from down the hall.

never makes it through a single movie. falls asleep every. single. time. very dad of him.

please let me know if you like this because I haven’t written for marvel in YEARS, but I’m looking to get back into it! let me know if you want a part two, or if you want solo character headcanons :)

[emeraldserenade]

It's Always Been You ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: You and Joaquín grew up together and fell in love together

tw: fem!reader, childhood best friend!Joaquín, singer!reader, reader had an emotionally constipated father, ex playboy!Joaquín, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

We hit 200 followers!! Thank you to every single one of you that got us here!! As promised, here's my long childhood best friends to lovers!! I wanted this to be longer but I felt like this ended where it needed to.

➽──────────────❥

You and Joaquín met when your dad was stationed at the base in Miami, you were neighbors. And your backyards were connected by a gate, one that was constantly open and had a flow of people through it. 

Joaquín Torres quickly became your best friend, your parents may have orchestrated it but you two didn’t know that. Joaquín brought you out of your shell and, in return, you gave him a friend that never said his energy was too much.

“Y/n, will you marry me?” Joaquín was holding the small ring he won from the coin machine. Both of your families were having a joint vacation, you all were at the local arcade and you and Joaquín were joined at the hip running around.

“Can best friends get married?” You asked him, taking the ring and shoving it on your finger anyway.

“My mamá said her and my papá were best friends before they got married,” Joaquín told you and you smiled at him, taking him by his hand and running off to play more games.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Your parents always stated that they knew you two were made for each other, it was your mother’s dying wish for you to get married one day. She died when you were only 12, it broke you but Joaquín was there. It broke your father more, she was his best friend, his reason for life, and he became distant. He went to work and then home, he ran from everything that wasn’t constant. He ran when things got hard, he ran from you when you cried or when you needed anything more than the essentials. 

You got used to it, when he would grab a bag and leave in his car, you would pack your own and walk to the Torres house. Joaquín got used to it too, when he heard your dad’s car leaving randomly, he would quickly clean his room and make his bed for the two of you to share. You swore to mamá Torres that you were ok, that this is what you knew. What you will know until you move out, that the Torres house gives you enough love.

And if you lied to her, if you were in fact not ok, that is the lie you gave to others. That is the life you made for people to see, even if you tensed when people got upset. Even if your eyes darted between that person and the door behind them, that is what they were supposed to believe. 

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

After college, you apologized to your mom’s grave. If you couldn’t admit your feelings to Joaquín by now, it would never happen. You watched Joaquín meet and fall for one of the sorority girls, it came with the territory of him being in a frat. You hated it but you couldn’t do anything, you lost your chance. It didn’t matter that you still had that little ring or that you used to spend so much time in his room. It didn’t matter that you knew Joaquín better than anyone or that you two flirted constantly. Joaquín wasn’t yours and you knew that, it hurt but it was true. So you stayed behind him, when girls slept with him and then ghosted him. When he swore he liked his new girlfriends only for them to leave after they’ve had their fun. You were there to pick up the pieces, every time. 

You were worried sometimes, thinking he would notice your feelings. Thinking he would pick up how you held him a little too close. How you would press too many kisses to his head and forehead when he curled into you. How you would press yourself into him as you stayed in the same bed after one too many drinks and movies.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

It was after one of these nights, one where you and Joaquín got a little too drunk and spent the night in your apartment, that you realized how deep your feelings were. It wasn’t a lighting bolt realization, it was a small moment in the late morning. You were just sitting together, your shoulders pressed into each other while a movie played and you two drank hot chocolate. 

It started with a simple sentence, his nickname for you slipping past his lips like it was always supposed to be used. “Angel.”

You hummed before looking at him, finding him already looking at you. His eyes were always pretty to you, but in the light streaming in from the window, they were prettier. His curled hair moving slightly with the morning breeze from the open window and the scent of his soap curling around you made you pause for a moment. “Yes?” 

“I forgot,” he admitted, his eyes darting around your face like he was trying to commit it to memory. You just smiled at him before looking back at the TV, missing the way he was smiling at you.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Years passed, quiet yearning and heartbreak simmering under your skin and you saw the world go into a chaos and go back. Saw Joaquín join the Air Force and work for Captain America, saw Joaquín date girl after girl but end up with you when it didn’t work out. You weren’t sure if he noticed how you never seemed to get a boyfriend or how you turned down every offer of a date. It’s not that you didn’t want to go out, it’s just that Joaquín was the only person you knew would just walk out like your dad. You weren’t sure if he even cared half the time, he never seemed to ask if you went out or not. 

Sam brought it up one day, you were lounging in his house with the boys. You all were having a relaxing day while watching movies and doing nothing. The boys were exhausted from their latest mission and you were just tired of your manager trying to get you to do another tour.

“Y/n, why do you never go on dates?” Sam questioned, he had seen a random tweet asking if you would go on a date with the user.

“Uh, no one’s ever asked me,” you easily lied, it was a lie you told people a lot. 

“No one?” Sam raised his eyebrows at you in a questioning manner.

“Well, I mean, there was this one guy but he, uh, he was weird,” you said, your lie quickly falling apart.

“There’s no way you haven’t been asked more than that,” Sam said and you darted your eyes to Joaquín and back.

“Well I have but,” Sam quickly cut you off.

“But what?”

“But they’ve only ever been fans, I’m sure they’d hate the reality of it,” you told him, throwing your leg over the side of the chair as you twisted.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Sam mused but you just shook your head.

“Not entirely interested in trying,” you confessed as you sipped your drink. You missed the look shared between Joaquín and Sam, the way Joaquín hated thinking about you being with other people.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You noticed Joaquín’s dating habits, there were no more dates. He turned down every invite to go out or even just spend the night with someone. You wanted to ask about it but you also didn’t want to seem weird asking him about it. 

You also noticed that Joaquín was spending more time with you, it felt comfortable. Too comfortable, he was a constant but you felt your feelings grow.

Then it happened, “Angel, I like you, a lot more than I probably should,” Joaquín told you and you just left. You grabbed a bag of essentials and left Joaquín alone in your apartment. 

Joaquín stood there, his heart breaking but his mind running even more. He knew why you ran, it’s how you got treated when you were younger. It’s what your mind connects to feelings, it’s why you run. So Joaquín stayed, he stayed in your apartment and waited until you came back.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You went to the hotel down the street, you worked on your songs and kept your feelings away. You hated that you ran, that you did exactly what your dad did. You wanted to tell Joaquín that you liked him too, that you loved him, but it scared you. And it scared you that it scared you because he was the only person you could see a future with. 

You pulled a jacket out of your bag and something tumbled out of the pocket as you put it on, you bent down to pick it up. You paused when you saw what it was, you had to get back to Joaquín. You threw your things back into your bag and ran to check out, the ring held tightly in your hand.

“Angel, I promise that as long as you have the ring, I’ll marry you when we’re older,” it was the promise little Joaquín made to you that very same vacation you got the ring. 

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín was in your apartment when you got there, you had to pause to get your phone back. You had gone the last few days without it but you needed to track Joaquín. Joaquín looked over when the door opened, he jumped up from the couch when he saw you. You were wearing his old Air Force hoodie, one he had given you a while back, and a pair of lounge shorts. You were out of breath from running back to your apartment and your eyes were wide. You didn’t pause when you saw him, you just dropped your bag, closed the door, and ran to him. You pressed yourself to him, pulling him into you as you hugged him.

“Angel, are you ok?” Joaquín wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“I love you,” you told him, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I love you but I’m scared, I’m scared that I’m no better than my father. That I’ll keep running every time my emotions get too high,” you admitted, your face still in his shoulder. “And I’m sorry for running,” you added.

“Angel, you’re not your father and I understand why you ran. But if you give me a chance, if you let me show you what real unconditional love is, you won’t feel like you have run anymore,” Joaquín promised as he hugged you even tighter. You pulled away just enough to press your lips to his, a quiet promise that you would. You would let him love you and let him show you that you don’t need to run anymore, that only one would run from you.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Stars That Shine

So it was supposed to be normal angst. And then I don't know what happened. But back to school assignments I go.

Summary: Bucky visits a grave for the last time.

The skies are grey today. Rain falls to the ground, turning the soil beneath his feet a dark brown. Still he trudges on, ignoring the way his dark brown locks plaster to his face until he reaches his destination.

He stares at the simple grey slate that is before him, inscribed with words you had chosen and traces over the grooves with a finger. His heart clenches, the words ringing in his ears, your voice whispering softly in the wind. Shakily placing the flower he had brought along on the ground, he sits in the pouring rain, hugging his knees to his chest. Silent salty tears mingle with the rainwater, streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto the dirt that swallows it all up. His throat feels raw, itchy even and he swallows a cough.

All words escape him, now that he's here. Everything he had planned to say, lost to the howling winds so he sits there, mind blank with grief. The chill bites his flesh now that you're no longer here to keep him warm, the cold seeps in and he shivers. He wants to go back to cryofreeze, to forget any of this happened but he knows you won't forgive him if he does that. You'd fought so hard to keep Hydra's tentacles from him, willingly going back would only sully your memory.

"I don't understand. You should hate me, I killed your brother."

"I don't hate you. I hate what the Winter Soldier did, but you're not him anymore. You're a different person now, for what that's worth."

He doesn't know why that memory surfaces now. It clogs his throat, causes him to tremble, causes more tears to flow unbidden and he feels himself unravel.

You were everything to him, even if he never outrightly told you that. You were his world, the single unwavering light in the darkness, the anchor that kept him grounded to the present. He'd fallen for you the moment he saw the fire in your eyes, the way you protected those you loved. Your loyalty and devotion had stolen his breath away, your kindness and gentleness had put the stars in his eyes. He'd melted every time your gazes met, frozen in time until you turned away.

Despite it all, he'd convinced himself that you hated him. He'd taken everything away from you, ripped your last living family from you. You had every reason to despise him, but even so you'd stood up for him. Sure your words were always had an edge to them, your wits as sharp as your blade but it had never truly been hurtful. You still treated him like a teammate, albeit reluctantly, and he had caught glimpses of concern sent his way before on missions that you always vehemently denied.

He never could stop his heart from yearning for you, Sam said as much. Sam enjoyed teasing him about his crush on you, intricately describing the stars in his eyes that appeared whenever he laid eyes on you until Bucky's cheeks were hot with embarrassment and the tips of his ears burned red. That always ended in Bucky threatening to give Redwing a free makeover and Steve intervening before things got out of hand.

He had never been safe from Steve's teasing either, although Steve's was more bearable. His best friend had pointed out that he was always grumpy until you showed up and suddenly he would light up. Steve had loved the way you made Bucky feel, the hope you gave him of a brighter future, although Bucky swore Steve kept talking about you like he was a matchmaker.

Bucky exhales shakily, grasping the pendant hanging around his neck tightly. You'd given it to him, saying that you wanted it back once you finished the mission. He was only to help you keep it safe until you returned, and the only reason you had chosen him for that task was because he was the only one with a brain cell who wasn't going on the mission with you.

He'd lorded that fact over Tony for the next week.

But you never came back to reclaim it. You were only supposed to be gone for a week, but one week turned to two, and then to a month and there was still no sign of you. The others had returned without you and search parties were sent out but to no avail. Anxiety gnawed away at him with each passing day, tearing him apart from the inside until he could stand it no more. He'd slipped away in the dead of night, stealing a jet to go to where you were last seen, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, to find you, return the pendant and bring you back home.

He'd gotten his wish, only not in the way he'd envisioned. He'd found you, but instead of sharp witty one liners he'd gotten the cruel howling of the snowy wind over a lifeless husk. Instead of a warm punch to the chest he'd gotten a freezing stab to the heart. Instead of hope he'd found despair.

He'd screamed his anger and grief to the heavens amidst the snow storm, tears freezing on his face the moment they were shed. He'd punched the snow so hard it left a deep indent the size of his fist, kicked the nearest tree and left his boot mark on its trunk but the agony still remained, threatening to overwhelm him. He'd cursed until he had no more curses to give, begged until his throat went hoarse but your body still lay there, as cold and unmoving as the moment he found you. He'd clawed at his own skin, drawing blood as he desperately attempted to alleviate the pain he was feeling but it only bit back harder.

He'd collapsed right next to you after that, passing out and the only reason the two of you were found in that blizzard was because Natasha had tracked the jet. He'd wished the Avengers had never found him just so that he could escape from the pain that was eating him alive but here he was — alive while you were dead. He'd have given everything to switch places with you, he deserved it after what he'd done but fate laughed cruelly at him with each passing moment, watching as a shell of a man took breath after breath even though he had nothing to live for anymore.

He didn't show up for your funeral. He'd disappeared for the days leading up to it and the week after, vanishing somewhere even Steve and Sam didn't know. He hadn't known what words were to be engraved on your tombstone but apparently you'd written them in your will.

"Not a party type?" His footsteps sound way too loud in the quiet stillness of the night.

"I love parties, that's why I'm here on the balcony instead of down there on the dance floor." Sarcasm drips from your words, making him chuckle.

"Unfortunate. Mind if I join you?" He moves to stand next to you, holding out a glass of champagne.

"You've bought however long I take to drain this glass." You start drinking, not even giving him a chance to prepare.

"Do you only ever wear black?" He blurts out, unable to formulate a proper conversation topic with the pressure nipping at his heels. It work, however, because you pause, lowering the glass from your lips to stare at him incredulously.

"Amazing conversation starter, Barnes. And no, I do not. Black is however the easiest colour to work with so it's the main colour in my wardrobe." With that you resume your drinking, draining the glass of every single drop.

"Gold would look nice on you. Or a brighter colour, at the very least." He watches you turn to leave, empty glass in hand.

"I'd look like gaudy star," you snort in reply.

"Even gaudy stars shine brilliantly in the night sky." You'd stopped in your tracks at his words, turning to look over your shoulder. That was the first time he'd gotten you to smile at something he said.

"That's cheesy, Barnes. Try again next time. Until we meet again."

He couldn't bring himself to try again. The words always got stuck in his throat and something or someone always interrupted him whenever he thought about it. So he'd watched from afar, suppressing the feeling whenever it threatened to boil over. You'd danced around him, showing hints of softness but never quite committing and he'd followed your lead, teetering on the edge until he fell.

You were the only one who saw him as James Buchanan Barnes, not the Winter Soldier, not Sergeant Barnes, not Bucky. Just plain old James, and it made him feel something he couldn't quite explain. You'd seen through the cracks in his armour, seen the real him, not the facade he put up to try and fit in with the world. He never knew what you thought of the real him, and would never know. It's too late to ask now, but somehow, he's sure he already knows the answer. After all, the answer always laid in the looks you shot him during those moments of vulnerability.

Even gaudy stars shine brilliantly in the night sky.

He traces those words carved into your tombstone once more, feeling the grooves in the otherwise smooth grey slab and coughs, bloodstained petals floating onto the damp ground.

Until we meet again.

[snailcerise]

sorry this was a lot to explain so I put it in a separate post

@ends-eye

-1. She and Mercurial Knight have the closest bond. Mercurial understands his daughter more than anything and while she was a surprise, he was actually pretty prepared to have a kid. While he does have his own fears about her future, he knows as long as he guides her the right way, she’ll be fine and be a humble individual. She enjoys spending time with him, he tells her all about Elder Faerie, teaches her how to use swords and the bow and arrow, her favorite weapon. He understands her sense of style since it’s more like her mother’s modest. They would pick flowers for Elder Faerie’s grave and teaches her to someday be a knight for the faerie kingdom, a dream of Teacake. As for tension, they don’t really have any, Teacake and sometimes be a perfectionist like her mother which could be a issue but since Teacake isn’t that stubborn, it’s pretty easy to get through her. 

With Financier, both are a little complex. Financier sees a lot of herself in Teacake. She absolutely adores her, encouraging her to go ahead and be a knight but also this sense of fear. She tries her best with Teacake, teaching her the sword but also excluding her ways of being a paladin. She doesn’t want her daughter to fall into the same act of basically being a robot to anyone. She tries to shield her from any hate and stares. When she WOULD bring her over, she would hide her antennas and wings. Teacake understands but resents it, she wants to be free to show her faerie side, not repress it. They have their sweet moments, little hugs, Teacake reaching to show her mother weird animals. Eventually as Teacake grows older, she is forever grateful for her mother for sacrificing her life as a paladin for the sake to raise her.

2. Now I dug deeper into PPD, I didn’t want to just give it to her without being properly educated about it. Financier had it ROUGH. Suddenly there was a child involved, and she had to choose between  her life as a paladin or the child. It was such a difficult decision but eventually she chose the latter which she got a TON of backlash for (not from Clotted Cream, he was more shocked and questioning, it was mostly from all the other paladins and the elder). She had to go BACK to the faerie kingdom and get support from there. It was difficult for her. In that moment she had lost everything, her title, her reputation as a paladin going to the beast’s side. And when Teacake was born, it was hard for her to be happy first. She was happy when she was born and then it dawned on her that this CHILD was the reason for anything that happened. It caused resentment. She was bitter, cold really as much as she tried to repress it while Mercurial tried to get through her. Finally she gazed at her. How calm she was, yet sickly. How she looked up at her mother and then mustered this weak smile. It snapped something in Financier. This was her chance at something new, no longer tied to anyone. She was surround by Cookies that cared for her, this baby, cared for her. Soon she started taking better care of  her. Teacake got less sickly so she no longer had to worry about her dying. She finally accepted her new support system and when Teacake was a year old, took her to meet, Madeleine and Espresso whom still supported her. Yeah some of that sadness still lingers but she’s making a recovery and embracing parenthood.

3. Honestly he was flabbergasted. First of all, I like to think that Faeries when they become knights not only give up their flavor, but also their fertility. Like Artemis and her hunters, something like that. Since Elder Faerie is dead and White Lily is back, I guess that also gave them back their fertility. So he didn’t even think it was POSSIBLE until he found out. It was a shock to him because first of all, okay, wow, he can have kids. Two. She was a paladin.  She hates the beasts. But for the sake of the kid, tried to focus on everything despite the current situation. Besides, Teacake already knows she was unintentional and is indifferent about it.

[sevs-corner]

Random HCs I have for the Tf 141: Mafia AU! characters :PP

for future plot points hehe

Ghost is a cat person but only came to love dogs because of Johnny adopting Riley and him ending up raising it for most of the time

On the other hand, Graves hates cats and hates you for taking care of the chonky white cat at the alleyway by the bakery (He also hates that you take care of it more than you do with him, like c'mon he wants to be fed by you too)

All of them are boy failures when they try courting you, and you try your best to reciprocate !! (but sometimes that there's so silly and trip over their own shoelaces that its too cute not to stand and watch sometimes)

Those big scary men being love sick fools

They definitely get slack for it from Nonna and Nonno

The two (Ghost and Graves) have the biggest sweet tooth actually, and then run through the entire stock of treats whenever they stop by but are unable to sit and eat

Ever since you started working regularly, the guys try to stop by as often as they can, which makes Nonno and Nonna happy (becuase they were drifting further away until you came)

Only Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz visit often even before you came but even that became harder to do as time went on

So, Nonno and Nonna likes spoiling you with food because of it (not like you knew the intention behind their actions, you were just happy to eat free food really)

Price and Johnny is the type to just drink coffee in the morning then go about their day, only eating meals once or twice

They aren't the biggest eaters, even though Johnny does more physically laboring tasks

But he's more of a protein shake kinda guy, the type to drink his meal if all of it can be blended (he couldn't be bothered to prep his own meals)

Gaz, on the other hand, needs his meals

So he ends up dragging Ghost along with him in the mornings at the bakery for the breakfast special

Ghost doesn't really care to have anything in the morning 'cause his appetite kicks in (for some reason) late at night, so that's when he eats a lot

Alejandro is a 3-in-1 coffee drinker and Rudy is appalled

Even more so at you as you encourage this behavior by making his sachet 3-in-1s fancy with all the extra foam and drawings on top (he's jealous)

Rudy is a plain black kinda guy, but will try anything you offer or have concocted with (he's just a test dummy for your experiments but he's happy being your dummy either way)

Graves loves lattes, hot or iced- you already know what he's feeling for depending how he strolls into the bakery

If he's a bit downtrodden, he needs a cold pick-me-up, but if he's hyper and needs a bit of a cold down? that hot one would be very much appreciated

He also isn't the type to eat a lot, but will scarf down anything you make (he would never decline any of your offers or experiments)

The one who gives you the best critique to your creations is Gaz, Rudy, and Ghost actually-- straightforward, gut-punched, but points of improvement all the same

Graves and Soap sugar coats too much, Alejandro gives simple praises (not wanting to make you hurt for commenting on your hard work) and Price...

Well, a simple nod and smile is enough to make you happy that he doesn't get the chance to as you prance away in happiness

>Bonus part:

Konig and Horangi loves your savory treats, like those quiches, tarts, pies-- everything, the whole menu!

Just send them a picture of your creation and they're quickly finishing off a guy and bookin' it to the bakery in no time

Konig likes the space (table) you saved for them at the side, a bit secluded but still in view of both entraces

He knows you keep it clean, with their favorite condiments stacked to the side, seats fluffed and cushioned, table clear of any food residue-- every. single. time.

Konig also like your personal favorites of treats as well (makes him feel closer to you somehow)

But draws the line at your weird concoctions of combines drinks he's not quite fond of (like that coffee and soda mix? yeah, he did not want to get palpitations thank you very much)

Horangi is one of the few who ready and willing to try out anything you dish out

Even that special energy drink you tried making for Soap once, and let's just say that he couldn't sleep soundly for a week...

He doesn't regret it though, when he sees your gummy grin and tiny hops that you do when you get excited

Maybe...next time...just lower the dosage for his sanity, please?

Alex and Farah are a duo you don't quite see often but wished you did!

Alex pops by at least once or twice a week to pick up his orders, but more often than not, you're delivering their orders to their HQ

Barely having the chance to eat with them makes you sad (they are too), but when you guys do-- you go on for hours

Gossiping is the main source of Farah's entertainment and why both also avoid doing it with you

Because, one time, they went on for hours that lunch became dinner and that became a sleep over

And they had to catch up on so much work

Yeah, they're both yappers

and they indulge you and your interest so much, that they're mainly the ones getting you the things you like and it being displayed in your room

You like that one movie with cars in it? Boom, you have the same race car as a bed

Roach actually helps around more than anyone in the family

Even though he's handling the back more, you sure as damn well know he makes the best food ever

He's sometimes with the 141 guys or KorTac duo, but either way-- you'd seen him come alone to the bakery a lot

Being his ear and shoulder when he needs it, but vice versa as well

the usual culprit that overstays at your apartment really (which makes the others rage)

Roach is the happiest when he sees you eating his food happily, so don't blame him when you become a lil' plump (you're cute either way and he'll definitely lessen it if you ask him to)

Makarov visits the least but always does the grandest of things (he's extra like that)

Surprisingly, Nikolai is tied to hip with him whenever he comes in (he keeps Makarov in check really)

And they either visit super early in the morning or late into closing that sometimes you come in early or close out late just so you could do something for them

they don't want you forcing yourself like this but they appreciate you very much

Makarov and Nikolai loves spicy food, or food that just gives them a kick in the mouth and they love how you adjust it to their taste the best

They are more of tea and beer drinkers really

Water? The tap is dry and so they are

So you have to force them to drink it in between

And that's the moment they leave and try to escape

Just so you know, you have chased them down the street before in nothing but your flip flops and you still caught up to them (not before accurately hitting them on the head with it)

Kate, Allen, and Ramirez often come in together as well, a quick order-in and a pick up thereafter

They're busy with the reconnaissance work but likes making light banter with you

Some scones, mini brownies, or any quick bite- they'll have it and compliment for your hard work

Allen likes his coffee half and half while Ramirez likes it in shots, he needs his bursts of energy being the 'designated' errand boy of the two after all

Kate on the hand, has a jug of tea (you swear) but often takes two to three cups for herself (which you happened to learn was actually all hers once you asked a confused Allen about it one morning)

And yeah, that it (thought it'd be neat to see what i can come up with for their food and treat preferences hehe) Please check out the chapters and other one-shots here in this masterlist!

[ladykailitha]

Yellow Daisies- A Valentine's Story

When I finished the last of the Boy with a Bat story I wanted to do something fun for Valentine's Day. But I bit off more than I can chew, so I'm releasing the first part and will release the others as the come.

Summary: Steve was told that men only received flowers once and that was at their funeral, so he made it he's life's mission to give everyone flowers as often as he could. Or Five Occasions Steve gave flowers and the time he got them in return.

Each part will have the flowers he gives and their meaning for the occasion.

~

Steve had heard early on in life that men only receive flowers once and that was when it was too late to appreciate them. At their funeral. It made him sad. Even boutonnieres had to be bought and paid for by the boy doing the asking.

Men got hearty handshakes and boys got a pat on the head. Even in sports, girls got flowers for their wins, boys if they were lucky got teddy bears and other stuffed animals. Things that guys immediately tossed on their way out.

Not Steve though. If he got a teddy bear, he kept. Some times they got regifted if the girl really liked one of his collection, but rarely.

So he always tried to make sure he gave as many flowers as he could. Because even though he would never get any back, he wanted to make sure everyone else in his life got as many as possible.

1. Mother’s Day: Pink Carnations- motherhood

When Steve was about eleven and was given money for the first time as allowance when he started middle school, the first thing he did was rush out and buy flowers for his mom.

He bought her white roses, like his father did all the time.

Maureen sighed. “I know you don’t know any better, Steven. But don’t be an idiot like your father. I’m allergic to roses.”

Steve nodded and quickly carried them away when he saw that her eyes were starting to water.

Then he tried poinsettias for Christmas, because he had seen her put out the plant every Christmas and he even picked out the best ones.

Again the gesture was dismissed, though this time it took longer for Steve to notice the poinsettias that were on display weren’t his. It had been hard to tell at first. Because they all seemed to look the same to him.

But then while he was taking out the trash, he spotted a pot tucked away by the garage with wilted leaves and a cracked base.

Steve felt a swooping in his stomach. He knew without taking a single step toward it that it was the one he gave his mom. And while he wanted to believe that the cracked base was the reason it was hidden away. He knew it wasn’t. He knew just didn’t fit his mother’s idea of perfection.

The last time he tried to give her flowers was on Mother’s day a few years later. She had actually been home for a change and so Steve had wanted to do something special for her. So he bought her her favorite chocolates and pink carnations.

Maureen took them with a pained smile and a quiet thank you.

It wasn’t until Steve had come out to the kitchen for a glass of water did he understand what that meant.

She was on the phone with one of her friends. “The chocolates are all right, I suppose. I’ll just have to be sure to portion them out so I don’t get fat. But those flowers, Sophie! They were dreadful! Like I wanted to be reminded I was a mother. My youth is already fading and now carnations! I might as well have one foot in the grave at this point!”

Steve put a hand over his mouth as tried to fight down tears, but they spilled out over his fingers, hot and stinging. He slid down the wall and sat down with a quiet thump. He listened as his own mother complained about how she had felt pressured by Clint to have children and was honestly relieved when told she wouldn’t be able to have anymore.

He got up and walked back to his room, where he held his pillow to his chest and laid down on the bed as he cried and cried. He knew his father hated him for being such a disappointment but to hear that his mother hadn’t wanted him in the first place was hard pill to swallow.

~

“Dude,” Steve huffed, smacking Dustin on the back of the head, knocking his trucker hat to the ground. “You aren’t doing anything for you mom for Mother’s Day? I thought you loved your mom.”

“I do!” Dustin protested slamming his head back on his head. “But gifts to moms are like baby stuff.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No they aren’t. Now, if you tried to make her shitty ashtray or macaroni necklace I’d agree with you them being childish. But a heartfelt card or even make her one of your electronic doodads would really make her smile.”

Dustin scoffed.

Steve leaned forward into his face. “Because if you don’t I will completely show you up and you’ll never live it down for the rest of your life.”

Dustin gulped, eyes wide. “What would you even do?”

Steve just smiled slow and sinister.

~

Dustin had made a light up sign that said: Happy Mother’s Day, Ma!

Claudia kissed the top of Dustin’s head when he handed it to her. “Oh baby, I love it. Thank you so much. It’s going right on the mantle.”

Dustin puffed out his chest. Just beat that, Steve! he thought gleefully.

Then Steve showed up for dinner with the biggest bouquet of pink carnations he had ever seen. They were like the size of his head. They were wrapped in a delicate white tissue paper and tied neatly with a pink ribbon.

“Oh Steve, they’re beautiful!” Claudia cooed, gently taking the flowers from him. “You didn’t have to get me anything. I’m just grateful you could make it to dinner.”

Steve beamed up at her. “Nah, I wanted to. You’ve been more a mom to me than mine in every way possible. And I know everyone loves to get get flowers.”

She kissed his cheek and then went to go put them in a vase. “It makes me so angry when I think about your mother, Steve. There are some people who don't deserve children. But I’m grateful you’re here, now.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Dustin said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Even though you aren’t blood, you’re as much a part of this family as either me or Ma.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks guys.”

Claudia bustled him further inside to the dinner table and started dishing out the gorgeous meal she had made.

Steve smiled up at her. He had offered to make it for her, but she told him she loved cooking and it was always a treat to make something special so he let her. And seeing her now, he was glad he had gotten her flowers instead pressing the dinner issue, because she looked really happy.

And when he came back the next week, he found the carnations turned upside down to dry out so she could keep his flowers for longer. The love he felt for her grew so much more when he saw that.

2. Get Well: White Spider Lilies, Snowdrops, and Yellow Orchids- Good Health, Consolation, and New Beginnings and Friendship

Steve wasn’t sure who was less surprised when Nicole got mono their freshman year, her parents or her friends.

Even at the tender age of fourteen, Nicole liked the boys and she wasn’t afraid to get what she wanted.

Which made it more hilarious when it was revealed that she got it from a dirty drinking fountain at the elementary. When kids too young to be kissing got mono, her parents first thought that she got it from a boy who had a sibling at the elementary and had been contagious. As her younger sister hadn’t gotten it.

But nope! She had drank from the same fountain because she been there to pick up Penny from school and had gotten thirsty waiting for her.

So when they were allowed to visit her, Steve of course bought flowers. He had asked the florist for something especially nice for a sick friend and she made a bouquet of beautiful white flowers.

Steve went up to her house, flowers in hand. Nicole’s mother cooed over the flowers and told him what a sweet young man he was.

But it went spectacularly wrong when he went to hand them to Nicole.

She took the flowers and looked at them mournfully. “I–I mean thanks. But I only think of you as a friend. I–the flowers are very pretty but I’m not sure I can accept them.”

Steve stared at her for a moment shock. “No, no!” He waved his hands back and forth. “No. It’s not that. I promise! I just taught growing up that you got people flowers when they weren’t feeling good. That’s all, okay?”

Nicole looked down at the pretty white flowers and breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Steve.”

Things went smoother after that. But Steve made sure to let the person know they were get well flowers right off the bat.

Something he was sure he didn’t have to say, but now he wasn’t so sure.

~

The aftermath of the Battle of Vecna as Dustin was calling it, was rough on everyone. Eddie and Max were in the hospital. Neither one with good prognoses. Max was in a coma and Eddie was still in surgery after eleven hours.

Even Steve was currently in the hospital being treated for sepsis because once the adrenaline wore off after bring Eddie to the hospital his body decided to overreact to his injuries and shut down.

He hated it. He hated that he was there in a bed that should be used for someone else.

“Steve!” Robin admonished when he voiced these complaints to her. “You almost died! I think it’s okay for you to take a break and let other people handle it for a change.”

Steve really didn’t have anything to say to that, because she was right. He could have died if he hadn’t fainted when he did. And they were telling him it was going to be a long and painful road back to normal, but he would get back to normal. He was in good health, kept up a healthy diet and exercised regularly, it was just almost getting eaten alive that caused his body to go into overdrive.

Which, fair.

So he made sure that both Max and Eddie had flowers delivered every day. He even told the nurses to give the other flowers to patients that didn’t get visitors. Something the nurses loved him for.

The flowers he sent Max and Eddie were the same ones he had gotten for Nicole all those years ago. Snowdrops and spider lilies. But for them he asked that another flower be added to the bouquet. Yellow orchids.

When Max woke up, he was standing there, holding her hand. She looked over to see the flowers and scoffed.

“I don’t need flowers, dumbass,” she said rolling her eyes.

“Everyone needs flowers,” he insisted. “The snowdrops are for consolation. The spiderlilies are for good health, and the orchids are for new beginnings and friendship.”

Max looked over at the flowers again and then up at Steve. “I love you, you asshole!” And she gave him the fiercest hug.

Steve held her tight and kissed the top of her head. “I love you too, Max.”

~

Part 2 Part 3 Epilogue Part 1 Epilogue Part 2

Tag List: TEN SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[myrmica]

having finished rewatching s4 and being past the vitalasy goodbye stream in s5 is so miserable what do you mean there's no more vitalasy. the fact that vitalasy leaves and that same day everything starts moving again, that same day zam has that conversation with planet where he keeps laughing mid sentence and going "i don't know how to do this anymore it's been so long," and in that stream bacon and zam describe it as if the wormhole had broken the fourth wall permanently, so now they have to open up to the audience in ways they hadn't before, but that's not quite right. the wormhole opened a door sure, season 4 changed things. but during wormhole zam slammed a door shut on vitalasy and that door stayed shut until this precise moment. so he and vitalasy never get to have the kind of conversation about their past vitalasy needed from him while vitalasy was still there, because the shell only starts to crack open the moment vitalasy is gone. vitalasy exits the stage leaving it all necessarily resolved off screen, leaving a book zam keeps private from the audience. it allows vitalasy to come back in s6 and say "we worked it out behind the scenes," and for that to be all you need to know. vitalasy is no longer a character whose history with zam keeps mattering to him, informing new choices and new problems. but zam is. zam remains a character with all of that history intact, who thinks about it, and uses it as a point of measure for other relationships in his life (or sometimes it seems for relationships, period), who alludes to it in conversation, who remembers it even though at one point he tried pretty hard to forget. so much did happen between them and it still doesn't feel like enough. it just gets cut off, and leaves behind this constant looming possibility space. makes you think well, now there might finally be enough distance from it all that they could really talk about it, that it might be okay. but vitalasy isn't here. and when he visits they never get more than a moment alone together, anyway. what is zam's memory of vitalasy; the things he has accepted and the things he still doesn't think about, the parts of it that remain warped in his memory; what is he guilty about and what is he still mad about; how would he describe eclipse to someone who wasn't there in s4 if he had to really sit down and go through it all; what would have happened if he did give vitalasy that apology heart during the mace trials, if they did get more than a moment alone together. if vitalasy was still present. if there was ever a reason to talk about him. and vitalasy's ghost is overwhelmingly present in s5. he leaves and that's the catalyst. destroying what's left of vitalasy on the server is always the worst thing zam can threaten, and then zam is banned fighting over vitalasy's grave trying to make good on that threat. and they never, ever, ever get to talk about any of it. all of those stupid hours of conversation in season 4 and then nothing at all forever. they worked it out but you don't get to see that part. vitalazam world. i hate everyone else on this minecraft server fuck all of you for real. whenever vitalasy isn't on screen you should be asking "where's vitalasy."

[angelesca]

need sunday's touch so bad but he is being emo about it w.c. ~1370

sunday x gnreader | pining like crazy bruh, so close yet so far grr, pet name ("little bird"), kissing n' touching but nothing explicit, slow burn-ish kinda, tl;dr sunday thinks he doesn't deserve you

a/n: i wrote this as a sequel in mind (part 1 here), but you could likely read this as a standalone. however, i make references to part 1 so it would probably flow nicer ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

“sunday,” you firmly stood your ground. “we can’t do this anymore.”

the stars shone in sunday's eyes, shining golden with undying devotion to your sacred temple. between yours and his desperate eyes, millions of unspoken words traversed back and forth.

in his room, your hands gripped both arms of his chair, confronting him face-to-face. today, you will shatter your fears.

his eyes lowered, face tilted away. "i do not know what you are referring to."

your eyebrows furrowed. "don't give me that excuse."

you were both trying to hinder the fierce, unbreaking desire to tip the edges, testing patience.

all the emotions you have clutched in your heart weighed down on you, and it punished you the more you realised your fondness for sunday. when your eyes searched for him - and there he was - in the shadows without fail. when you caught the lift of his lips, cheeks, and eyes as your gazes met. and you do not realise how your smile naturally jumped higher until he abruptly left you alone. to acknowledge how much his presence affected you.

it constricted you slowly, a vice that gradually tightened as days passed. the love you reserved for sunday cast pain and joy - a double-edged sword.

"do you hate me?" you asked, resolute, yet trembling at the thought of his response confirming your anxieties.

sunday's eyes narrowed, questioning the nonsense you were spewing, tracing your hazy expression to figure you out.

"then why do you avoid me so?" you asked, "you have never stood within even arm's length. you have never handed me anything in person. you have never picked me up when i fell over. and... "

always so close but never there, your mouth opened but did not convey these last words. you shut your eyes momentarily. "i don't get it. please, tell me, anything please, just some words to explain this silent distance between us."

sunday's stare softened, wordlessly embracing your vulnerability. however, he was conflicted on whether to comfort you. to indulge in this new light at the end of the tunnel, which you forlornly wrenched with your hands, would be to infringe upon your divinity. his hands that have known endless suffering and sacrifice, could never dare to brush yours unless he craved to provoke the gods.

sunday paused a moment before announcing: "i will be leaving soon coming the charmony festival."

"... what?"

his words parted a greater distance between you two.

your vision clouded. the vice - tightened. relentlessly. twisting deep into your weakness, stripping you bare of your guard. you were hearing crashing waves and everything tipped over all at once. this was it.

"if you're leaving, i respect your decision. but you cannot leave me like this," you replied, biting your lip, "do not leave me to wonder what your touch would've felt like." wetness coated your eyes.

"my hands are unclean. i cannot grant you this." sunday vowed. his fingers opened but withdrew them just as quickly.

"so stupid," you muttered. your chest exploded, "then just taint me. corrupt. with your 'blood and sin'. after all, i am no saint either."

your fingers ghosted over his pristinely gloved hand. hands that, which 'hid blood and sin', had never once sullied a speck of your blessed body, gravely frightened of dulling your radiance with the slightest trespass into your orbit.

"i am not some deity that needs sheltering. i am just another existence, just as you are." you finished.

sunday's eyes widened, thunderstruck. you articulated reason into his stubborn mind: you were no godly being. your brightness made him believe he was not worthy of you; you were on the far horizon that was unreachable to him. yet, you were just another existence, just as he was.

he spoke hesitantly, "of course not. you are one of the strongest people i have had the pleasure of knowing. i know of your gratuitous kindness, strength and bright eyes. you are not anything less," his voice withered, "i did not mean to discredit you."

"then what is stopping you from me?" you taunted.

your ears drowned out everything but the rapid lifts and falls, and the deep and shallow pacing of his breaths. his fingers twitched in response, attempting his hardest to restrain whatever fragile control he had left.

he did not think you would confront him like this. he believed living in your shadow would make him insignificant enough for you to forget him after his plans. but you both could not ever forget each other. how could he forget you at all? he did not plan for this. how stupid he was.

he listened to your breathing, mimicking as you did to his, pacifying his wavering worries. your comfort and company felt natural, like home. the sun was dimming and the stars began to set in your eyes as they whispered reassurances. the apprehension of tomorrow was blanketed by your steady voice which commanded mountains and soothed fires.

you had stood on his horizon, finally within reach, and he was right there with you. the waves were slowing in his ears - he had returned to your shore.

he swiped the tears varnishing your glistening eyes, but not close enough to touch your skin. he was about to let the scales tip in favour of you. "so you would not mind? you would not mind me?"

your eyes formed their crescent shape and sunday melted into it. "you can be so stupid sometimes."

fervours resonated, heartbeat-to-heartbeat, pulsing for one another's precious touch.

it pained both of you greatly to observe how the other needed, yearned, yet never touched.

magnetised, yet ill-fated to repel; parallel lines that would never meet; the inverse ebb and flow of day and night. the universe tried its hardest to work against them.

to brave beyond the barriers enforced by universal law would be to risk everything faithful in the world.

with one more breath, all fears finally shattered.

your touches finally found each other, joining at the horizon.

initially, awkwardness hung in the air. shuffling and shifting. fluttering fingers and bashful staring. contented smiles and chuckles at the unimaginable situation they had wandered into. like a mirror, reciprocating back and forth, neither knowing what to do. overwhelmed but delighted.

sunday decided to make the first venture. he gently unfastened his gloves, to your surprise, and you learned every scar, bump and discolouration on his bare hands. it was not hideous, nor did it bear any sin. it was only human.

your hand crawled up his palm and he quivered at first before settling into your solace. fingers instinctively intertwining - a key and lock that fit each other. his thumb grazed your knuckles. you drew along the lines of his lips and he released an unsteady breath, nestling into your touch.

the way his palm timidly sketched the outline of your body but did not initiate further. how he shrank as much as possible to house you on his lap. when he looked at you, infatuated, puppy-like, waiting for you to throw him a bone. anything. he was all yours to command.

so you shed your shame and press a kiss on the corner of his lips. you did not move far, lingering in front of his face. it took him by surprise, evident by the pink flush on his face and the fluttering of his wings above his ears. akin to a dog wagging its tail.

he inhaled deeply. an indiscernible look flashed on his face. his brilliant eyes eclipsed, darkening, and his face tipped over. his lips hovered by your ears, on the verge of precariously meeting if you did not back away.

"bad..." he mumbled, "you are a bad little bird."

electric ran up your spine as the words left his deceptively innocent lips. you sat up straight, at attention, the sensation of heat overriding your senses.

"a-ah..." you could only focus on the fire pooling below your stomach, writhing, as a tornado stormed your mind.

he pulled you closer. hands snaking up your shirt at an agonizingly slow rate, teasing you, corruption taking over.

"do not run away now. you will finish this mess that you have made."

and you and sunday crashed, collided, and met each other, all at once.

a/n: yikes this was longer than i hoped for. there are still many dynamics that i can envision with sunday but this was long enough. hopefully this fic makes someone happy out there ahaha ;'') thanks for reading!!😘