#Angst with Fluff

[fangirlfuel]

Franco Colapinto Recommendation's

Materialist

▪︎ MYSTERY KISSER by @mywritersmind

summary : You didn’t expect your ex to be there. You’re on a girls night out, trying to forget the cheater! Spontaneity is supposed to be on the list. You check it off one drink in when you grab a random man and ask him to kiss you.

.

[vellazx]

Inspired by one of my friends prompts — Law x Reader (gender not specified) — Angst / Fluff

You were a Straw Hat.

The most perfect person in the world for him — on a different crew. You were someone who he couldn’t reach, no matter what he did.

He fell for you. Hard.

You always liked him. He was a pretty boy; perhaps the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. Ever since you laid your eyes on him two years ago in the auction house in Sabaody, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Hells, you didn’t even speak to him.

At first, he just believed you were some diehard simp who wasn’t genuine towards him. So he shrugged you off.

He was always rather insecure, not capable of believing someone actually loved him. Romantically, at least.

You talked (pestered) him the whole time he was on the Sunny due to the newfound alliance he made with your captain. Honestly, you didn’t really do a good job at hiding your feelings.

More like you didn’t even bother to hide them in the first place. You were so direct with him about how you felt.

Still, he wasn’t phased by your endless compliments and attempts at making him open up.

One night, however, he wasn’t in the best mood.

He said you irritated him. Bluntly.

After that, you decided to leave him alone. It felt unusual around the Sunny without your constant rambling. For some reason, his heart ached without your warmth by his side.

He told himself you meant nothing to him; only a temporary ally with good fighting skills he couldn’t risk losing.

However, in Dressrosa, when Doflamingo managed to capture you and him both, you acted strangely.

You saw how distressed he was, being helpless before the Warlord. Behind that tough exterior, there was a little boy, scarred from his past.

And, oh, how absolutely protective you got.

Doflamingo was holding you up by strings, blood spilling from every wound they cut into your skin. But you still retaliated.

Risked getting killed to escape the strings, all because you didn’t want Law to feel helpless. His emotions were through the roof whenever he realized you were trying to meaninglessly fight back. For his sake.

When you got out, you were a bloody mess, barely able to stand with how wobbly your knees were. Some of your bones were even broken.

He asked with wide eyes, “What were you thinking?!”

You simply smiled, and said, “You hate him, don’t you? I didn’t want to sit around and do nothing to help. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He met your gaze with an unfamiliar softness you’d never seen before. His heart skipped a beat.

That’s when he realized.

You fell first, but he fell harder. Way harder.

The whole time you were in Zou and Wano with him, he couldn’t stop staring at you. You shone like an angel in his vision. All your features amplified to make you more ethereal.

His teeth ground against each other whenever you got too close to one of your crew mates. Especially the blond cook. He swooned over you, and you laughed so wholesomely in response.

What he would do to just steal you for himself.

When Kaido and Big Mom were defeated, the whole country celebrating by holding a feast, Law offered to look around at all the games set up throughout the capital.

Happily, you dragged him around, completely forgetting that day when he said you were annoying.

He couldn’t stop admiring you as you indulged in the games.

His heart raced.

Ba-dump!

Ba-dump!

Ba-dump!

Gods, he couldn’t take it anymore.

So, he dragged you away, into a nearby alleyway. You flushed, asking him what was wrong. He was so red in the face that he looked feverish.

He hadn’t even touched you, yet he was drunk off of you. That same warmth he craved and missed.

Before you could question him any further, his lips brushed against yours, his hold on your wrist tightening. You gasped against him, not expecting the intimate contact.

Eagerly, you kissed him back.

He loved you too much for his own good.

“Come with me. Please. Leave this country with me.”

“Tra-.. Law. You know I can’t… I can’t do that.”

Fuck.

When he had to leave you behind, it felt like he was leaving half of his heart behind. With someone else. Under someone else’s supervision.

If anything happened to you, he’d steal you away without even asking for your permission.

But if something happened to him…

He just wanted you to know that he loved you.

[levanswrites]

In the Mood

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: He tells himself it’s fine. 

Gotta keep moving—bigger things to do, too many items on his list.  His libido doesn’t even crack the top ten. 

Until he met… you.

warnings: angst. aka the tortured mind™ of james buchanan barnes. sexual frustration, internalized guilt. mention of erectile dysfunction/anxiety around intimacy. eventual fluff.

word count: 1.5k

Bucky’s got… a list. 

Steve’s the one who planted the idea in his head—ways to keep his feet moving, even when his mind couldn’t. Granted, Bucky’s list isn’t tucked into a literal pocket-sized notebook, but it's there.

Some parts are harder than others—debts, loose ends, reparations.

Others, more straightforward. Try sushi. Learn how to download that album Sam won’t shut up about. Figure out the whole ‘zodiac sign compatibility’ thing.

And then there’s the… in-between. Somewhere between the boring and the impossible.

Pieces of normalcy that don’t sit quite right. Loose shrapnel from the fallout of who he once was. 

Like learning how to smile at strangers without feeling like he’s giving something away. Or making small talk that doesn’t spiral into awkward silence.  

Some things feel closer to second nature, though he still needs the safety net of familiarity and trust, like that time he flirted with Sarah just to rile Sam.  

But then again, the prospect of anything with real stakes, like when that blonde barista slipped him her number, sends him running for the hills. 

And between all the tiger photos on Tinder and—again, what the fuck was the deal with all the zodiac signs?—he’s quickly discovered that ‘dating’ in the 21st-century isn’t quite like it used to be. 

You ever hook up with a girl?   

He had just stared at Sam, then, with a slow lift of his metal arm like it was explanation enough.

Of course, there was the whole other issue of… mechanics. 

Something so unspoken and personal he’s barely admitted it to himself.

And he’s tried just about everything short of pills to fix it.

Articles, advice columns. Porn. Even dug out an old magazine or two for nostalgia’s sake, half-hoping it’d jog something loose. 

But most nights he’d come up limp, staring down a bottle of cheap whiskey as restlessness swallowed him whole.

And he tells himself it’s fine. 

Gotta keep moving—bigger things to do, too many items on his list. 

His libido doesn’t even crack the top ten. 

Until he met… you.

Caught him off-guard one night, in the produce aisle of some corner bodega, when he was busy frowning at a peach that didn’t look like a peach.

Donut peaches. Crazy, right?

Cocked him an easy smile, a basket full of groceries by your hip as you plucked a different fruit off the stand, its skin leathery smooth and blush pink. 

They’re out of season, though. Might wanna try these nectarines. 

Your smile stayed with him longer than it should’ve. 

So did the sound of your laugh, bright and untroubled, when you apologized for what he could only assume was an irresistibly charming grimace on his part. 

Shoot, sorry, occupational hazard. 

I like your jacket, by the way. 

And just like that, you had him.

The next few weeks were a blur of excuses to visit your small bakery, down by 22nd street. Setting up his laptop like he actually had work to do, just so he’d feel less like a creep when you’d step out from behind the register and spark up easy conversation. 

And somehow, between testing all your newest bakes and staying back till closing to walk you home, he’s missed that fragile window where it felt appropriate to tell you who he is—was. Whatever.

That the gloves weren't some quirky fashion choice, or because he’s got poor circulation. 

But then again, maybe it wasn’t all that accidental.

Because you’re virtually the only person alive who knows him as Bucky—only Bucky—and he thought offering up the truth would change things.

The way you smile, call him handsome. Tug him closer by the lapels of his jacket. 

Kissed him outside that wine bar in Brooklyn, then fixed his hair and the corner of his mouth where your strawberry lip gloss smudged. 

Grabbed his hand and draped it deliberately over your thigh, that one time he took you to see a picture about aliens and space wars—though he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember a single plot point afterward. 

That memory is a warm thing that turns cold fast. A flicker of heat curling low in his stomach, his hand twitching instinctively toward the space between his legs. 

Then, the spark would fizzle out, like a bucket of ice water dumped over his thoughts.  

And that’s when the spiral would start, the endless rabbit hole that is sex advice by strangers on the internet. Hunched over a dim screen, browser history stacked a mile high with unanswered questions about modern dating, with one particular query searing into his thoughts:

How long should you wait before having sex with someone for the first time?

Because, supposedly, the internet says three dates. To see if you’re really compatible. 

After that point, why even bother? 

And he had to lean back and hold his breath at that, because, shit—tomorrow was date #3. 

So when he showed up to the jazz bar you’d been wanting to try, at exactly ten minutes to 8, the bouquet in his gloved hand was quivering. Like the time he asked out Lucy Ann from the 7th grade.

He'd sought temporary reprieve in the way you gasped, delighted, branding a smile on his cheek with a chaste kiss. Just like you had for the flowers on the first date, then again at the second.

(Because, apparently, no one does this kind of thing anymore, and he had scoffed because—jesus, did guys make it this easy to impress a date nowadays?)

Later, you’d pulled him close under the neon glow of a sidewalk marquee, kissing him soft and slow like you had all night.  

Taste of merlot and something sweeter on your lips when you'd muttered: my place?

And that brings him here, in the narrow hallway of your apartment, just a couple steps from the door because you couldn’t wait for the couch.  

He’s got you pressed against the wall, lost in the plush yield of your lips, the smooth curve of your cheek under his thumb. Because he loves this part, he really does—the way you arch into him, slide your hands under his jacket. Your breaths, shallow and sweet, mixed in with the heady scent of your perfume.

How you smile, for no apparent reason other than the fact that kissing him seems to make you happy. 

But then there’s that quiet thought, again.

And he desperately wishes he was holding your hips for a different reason than to pull away. 

“Maybe,” he pants, swallowing hard because your eyes were making it hard to focus, “maybe we shouldn't…”

Your gaze settles on him for a brief moment, hazy and heavy-lidded. From the wine or from something else, he’s not sure he wants to know. 

Then, you pull back promptly, slipping under his arm and disappearing somewhere behind him. 

Now, he’s blinking, staring at an empty wall. 

Convinced that he’s fucked this all up, heart leaping to his throat, something pounding in his head—

Until he realizes that the vibration drumming against his ears is music. 

The soft croon of a clarinet, the brassy blare of trumpets—a familiar melody sweeps over him, and it makes his brows pinch because he knows this one.

A tune he can recognize, for once, wedged somewhere between humid nights on Coney Island and crowded USO dance halls. 

“C’mon!”

Your high pitched laugh against his ear, a gentle tug at his wrist. 

It hits like whiplash, then, the realization of what you’re asking him to do.  

And he feels like an assuming jerk for all the scenarios he’s been playing through his mind since last night—because while he was busy coming up with excuses for why he couldn’t get hard, or why he’s got a metal arm, or why he wakes up in the middle of the night hearing screams that might be his own—you had wanted to… dance. 

He lets himself be drawn by your radiant smile, into the tiny pocket of space where your kitchen meets your living room.

His heart stutters when your hand slides to his back, the other lacing around his gloved fingers. He’s supposed to lead, isn’t he?

Yet, his steps flow in tune with yours, falling into place like they never strayed in the first place.

“Not too bad,” you tease, eyes sparkling, body swaying. 

“…I gotta be honest, I—oh!” A high, happy sound tickles your throat when he spins you, arms arching high over your head. “—didn’t peg you for a dancer!”

His fingers itch to hold you closer. Adoration humming under his skin, threaded with disbelief, because how the hell did he manage to find this? To find you?         

“Guess I’ve got a few surprises left.”

You hum, tilting your head. “Mm, I like that. I’ll have to see what else I can get out of you.”

And the way you say it—all innocent and just a hint too sweet—sends a sudden rush of heat through him.

His breaths halt, feet frozen to the floor.

Shit, is that…?

Heat licks at his nerves, sparks jumping under his skin, and before he can stop to question it, it’s there. 

And instead of running, he leans in. 

The next twirl is deliberate, his hand steady against your waist as you come spinning back to him. 

He grins, the thrill of something new rising to the top of his list.

“Just try to keep up, huh?”

a/n: my first bucky fic! was a bit nerve-wracking branching out into other characters, but this was a lot of fun :) lemme know what u think!

[bwabys-scenarios]

Adoration or Obsession?

Yandere!Kurapika x Fem!Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

warnings: mentions of past choking, Kurapika is pretty unstable and clingy, possessive/obsessive behavior

A/N: this is based off of this ask, so if you want context, go read that first!! Just wanted to show the aftermath of that situation, because Kurapika is very intent on trying to make it up to you… he just loves you :(

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, I have three. SFW, NSFW, and YANDERE. Just reply with which one/s you want.‼️

YANDERE TAGLIST: @adissonsss @lightshowerrr

Kurapika had been a bit distant after the incident at first, avoiding you unless it he needed to tend to your injuries. It seemed his rational side was trying to tell him to give you space to recover, to heal without him breathing down your neck…

But you wouldn’t be there, stuck in his home against your wishes if Kurapika always listened to his rational side.

So in the middle of the night, just two days after ‘the incident’s you could the empty side of your bed sink under someone’s weight, and soon after hands wrapped around your waist, pulling your back flush against a warm chest.

“I’m so sorry…”

You knew it was Kurapika who had entered your bed, but you hadn’t expected to feel tears soaking into your shirt and neck as he clung to you tightly. “So sorry, my angel… I knew you were just saying those things out of frustration, and yet…”

You could feel his arms stiffen when your breath hitched slightly as he kissed your neck. The bruises he left were still tender, every touch making you writhe in pain.

“F-fuck, it hurts doesn’t it? Oh my love…”

His grip tightened, and he wrapped his legs around you, clinging to you for dear life. Before he kidnapped you, Kurapika had been your dear friend, someone you loved with your entire heart. You knew how terrified he was to lose you, the last person he had.

And the knowledge that he could have been the very one to take your life away had him shaking in both anger and fear. He had taken you away for a reason, to keep you safe from those who wished to harm you.

And yet he had been the one putting his hands on you, someone he had dedicated his life to protecting. He still couldn’t get the sound of you choking out of his mind, the sight of the light starting to leave your eyes as you stopped fighting him.

He still had claw marks on his hands from your desperate attempts to survive. Kurapika would have a constant reminder of his actions, of what he did to you, his beloved.

“Kurapika…”

His attention was drawn to you when you spoke up, your voice soft and hoarse due to your injuries. “Yes, my love?”

“I’m… I’m sorry…”

Kurapika went deadly silent. The fear in your shaky voice was enough to tear his heart into millions of pieces. He had never wanted you to fear him, Kurapika wanted you to love and need him more than anything.

“No, no no no… don’t apologize, shh… I know you didn’t mean it, I shouldn’t have… I…”

He started to choke up, his heart racing and his eyes scarlet as he remembered seeing your nen energy growing weaker.

You weren’t a nen user, you could t control it like he could, and you were going to die. Kurapika had nearly killed you. If he hadn’t of snapped out of it in that moment and let you go so you could breathe, you would be dead.

“You’re… you’re fine. You’re with me, everything is okay.” Kurapika said, trying to reassure himself more than anything. He began to rock you back and forth, cooing softly as he pressed kisses into your cheeks and temple.

“You’re mine, and I’ll take care of you. I would… I will never hurt you again. Ever.”

Though a bit afraid, you were able to fall asleep soon enough from the gentle rocking. It helped that he was using his nen to help ease the pain in your neck, healing it slowly, day by day.

When you woke up, Kurapika was awake, bags under his eyes as he watched you. His hands were petting you, caressing your face and running over your hair. “You’re awake…”

He sighed in relief, relaxing against the bed. You rubbed your eyes, and noticed his were red and puffy from crying. Kurapika just looked exhausted overall.

“Did you… sleep?”

He looked away from you, his thumb rubbing against your cheek. “… a little. But…”

Kurapika couldn’t sleep much, worrying that somehow you would die in the middle of the night. So he stayed up, watching over you until you woke up.

“… I need a shower…”

You sat up and walked towards the bathroom door, a bit disturbed when he followed you. “Um…”

“Shh…”

He walked in with you, turning on the shower and grabbing you a towel. “I… won’t look. But I’m staying in here while you shower.”

His words left no room for arguing, so you undressed and got into the shower. You were too tired to complain, and too afraid of what he might do if you asked him to leave. You could tell he was unstable now, and you couldn’t predict what he was thinking or going to do when he was like this.

And it scared you.

Kurapika knew he was being clingy and selfish, but he just couldn’t shake the fear that if he left you alone for even a second, something bad would happen.

As soon as you were dressed, he was back to clinging to you. Before he had taken you away, when the two of you were madly in love, you would have been incredibly happy to have all of his attention on you.

But now all you wanted was to be left alone. He was smothering you, keeping your body flush against his as he breathed in the smell of your shampoo.

He just wanted to know that you were still here… that you were still all his.

Kurapika wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. “… I’m sorry, (Name).”

You didn’t respond, simply holding onto his shirt.

“I’m sorry I can’t love you like a normal man could. You’d probably be much happier with someone that didn’t keep you locked up in a cage like some sort of exotic animal. Someone that wasn’t so scared to lose you that he hurt you himself…”

He held onto you so tight you winced.

“But I’m selfish.”

Tears dropped onto your head, and he choked up. “I’m so selfish (Name), and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I’ll never be able to let you go.”

You weren’t really sure how to feel. On one hand, there was a time where you had loved Kurapika more than anything… but on the other, he was now your captor, keeping you from being free.

Still… you buried your face into his neck. Even captive birds wanted their owner’s comfort sometimes, and they even could give some comfort back.

“Don’t cry… let’s… just go back to bed.”

Despite the fact it was early morning, he didn’t protest, carrying you back to bed and pulling the blanket over your bodies.

“I love you…”

The words were soft, full of affection and a hint of guilt, as if his love was something shameful and scary. You nodded, laying you head against his chest as he held you tightly.

“Love you too…”

[kaayyyys]

Hey there! I would like to ask for a request? I was wondering if you could do a Daryl angst. So it’s set in the prison because I like just like Daryl when they were back there. (Sorry for my bad English, it’s not my first language) so what I was thinking is that fem reader has a crush on Daryl so she’s always like around him and wanting to help him especially after they left Merle on the roof. Daryl then lashed out at her for being too clingy and needy which she then tearfully apologised and started avoiding him, when he’s around her, she would lower her head and scurried away from him. He felt bad for lashing out at her so he planned on apologising when she came back from a supply run but when she did came back, she is unconscious (or dead, up to you :3) because they were attacked by a random group, Rick held her in his arms while yelling for Hershel. The rest I’ll leave it to you, tag me if you’re finished. Thank you!❤️

Oh my god . I absolutely love this request. Sorry it took so long I wanted this to be as good as I could .

@yanokokuboo

Would you like a part two ?

The prison loomed against the Georgia sky, a stark monument to survival in a world overrun. Inside, amidst the ever-present tension and the ghosts of the fallen, a different kind of battle was being fought – the silent, internal struggle of a heart yearning for a connection it wasn’t sure it deserved. (Y/N) watched Daryl Dixon from across the yard, her gaze drawn to the lean strength of his form as he sharpened arrows, his brow perpetually furrowed in concentration. She’d admired him from afar since they’d arrived, captivated by his quiet intensity, his unwavering loyalty, and the aura of untamed wildness that clung to him.

After Merle had been left on that rooftop in Atlanta, something inside Daryl had seemed to break. He became even more withdrawn, more guarded. (Y/N), her heart aching for him, found herself drawn to his side, offering silent support, a comforting presence in the storm raging within him. She’d bring him water, offer to clean his crossbow, or simply sit nearby, mending clothes, the quiet rhythm of her needle a counterpoint to the turmoil radiating from him.

She knew he was a loner, a man who preferred the company of silence and the hunt to the chatter of others. But she hoped, foolishly perhaps, that her presence was a comfort, a small flicker of light in his darkness. She’d seen glimpses of a softer side – the way he protected Carol, the gruff tenderness he showed to Judith. Maybe, just maybe, she could break through the walls he’d built so high, brick by painful brick.

One sweltering afternoon, after a particularly grueling scavenging run, (Y/N) found Daryl cleaning his crossbow in the shade of the watchtower. She approached hesitantly, offering him a canteen of water. "Here," she said softly, "you must be thirsty."

Daryl snatched the canteen, his movements jerky, his eyes dark. He took a long swig, then slammed the canteen down on the concrete. "Why are you always around?" he growled, his voice rough. "You're like a damn shadow, always followin' me. I don't need babysitting."

The words hit (Y/N) like a physical blow. The air in her lungs seemed to evaporate, leaving her gasping for breath. She stared at him, bewildered and hurt. "I… I just wanted to help," she stammered, her voice trembling.

"Help?" He scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "I don't need your help! I don't need anyone's help! Just leave me alone!"

The anger in his voice was like a physical force, pushing her back, shrinking her spirit. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. This wasn’t the Daryl she’d imagined, the one she’d built up in her heart. This was a raw, wounded animal, lashing out in pain.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the words catching in her throat. "I... I didn't mean to bother you."

Turning, she fled, the tears streaming down her face, a silent testament to her shattered hopes. She didn't stop running until she reached her cell, collapsing on the thin mattress, the sobs wracking her body.

From that day forward, (Y/N) made a conscious effort to avoid Daryl. The hurt was too raw, the rejection too painful. She still admired him, still cared for him, but she couldn't bear to be near him, to risk another outburst, another shattering of her fragile heart. She focused on helping the others, tending to the garden, learning to defend herself. She tried to bury her feelings deep, to convince herself that what she felt for Daryl was just a fleeting infatuation, a silly crush.

Days turned into weeks. The prison life settled into a grim routine. (Y/N) noticed Daryl watching her, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. She saw a flicker of something in his eyes – regret, perhaps? – but she quickly looked away, unwilling to reopen the wound he’d inflicted.

Daryl, meanwhile, was wrestling with his own demons. He’d pushed (Y/N) away, lashed out at her kindness, and the guilt was eating at him. He saw her helping others, her laughter echoing in the yard, but her eyes never met his. She was polite, distant, a ghost of the girl who had once shadowed him with quiet devotion. He missed her presence, the unspoken understanding that had passed between them. He missed her.

He knew he had to apologize. He had to tell her he hadn’t meant to hurt her, that his anger was a reflection of his own inner turmoil, not a judgment of her. He planned to talk to her when she returned from the next supply run, to swallow his pride and beg for her forgiveness.

(Y/N) volunteered for the supply run, needing to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the prison, to breathe fresh air, to feel the sun on her skin. She walked alongside Glenn and Maggie, the familiar weight of her rifle a comfort. The run was uneventful, but the emotional toll of the past weeks had taken its toll. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

On the way back, they were ambushed. A small group, desperate and crazed, emerged from the woods, brandishing knives and makeshift weapons. Glenn and Maggie fought bravely, but (Y/N), weakened and distracted, was quickly overwhelmed. She screamed as one of the attackers pinned her to the ground, the harsh fabric of his clothes scraping against her skin.

Hours stretched into an eternity. As dusk began to settle, casting long shadows across the prison yard, the gate creaked open. But it wasn't you who stumbled through. It was Rick, his face grim, his arms cradling a limp figure.

A strangled gasp escaped Daryl's lips as he recognized you. Your face was bruised and bloodied, your clothes torn. You were unconscious, your breathing shallow and ragged. Tears streamed down your face even in your sleep.

“Hershel!” Rick bellowed, his voice laced with panic. “Get Hershel, now!”

A wave of nausea washed over Daryl. He pushed through the gathering crowd, his heart pounding in his chest. What happened? Who did this to you? He saw the torn fabric of your shirt, the angry welts on your arms, and a white-hot rage ignited within him.

"What the hell happened?" Daryl roared, his voice a feral snarl. He grabbed a nearby survivor by the collar, his grip tight. "Who did this to her?"

The survivor stammered, "They… they were ambushed. A group of them… tried to take their supplies."

Daryl shoved him aside, his eyes fixed on your still form in Rick's arms. "Damn it!" he screamed, the raw anguish tearing through him. "Damn it all to hell!"

He watched as Hershel rushed forward, his face etched with concern. They gently lowered you onto a makeshift cot in the infirmary. Daryl hovered, his body trembling with a mixture of fear and fury.

"Get out of the way, Daryl," Rick ordered, his voice firm. "Hershel needs room to work."

"No!" Daryl refused, his voice defiant. "I ain't goin' nowhere."

He watched as Hershel examined your wounds, his movements swift and efficient. The silence in the room was broken only by your labored breathing and the occasional murmur from Hershel.

Daryl felt a wave of guilt wash over him, so potent it almost brought him to his knees. He had pushed you away, rejected your kindness, and now… now you were lying here, broken and bleeding. He had been so consumed by his own pain that he hadn't seen the danger lurking around you. He had failed to protect you.

"This is my fault," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "All my fault."

Rick placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip surprisingly gentle. "Don't do that, Daryl. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was!" Daryl snapped, shaking off Rick's hand. "I should have… I should have been there. I should have protected her."

He paced the small room, his frustration building with each passing moment. “Why wasn’t I there? Why did I let her go on that run?”

He knew, deep down, that his anger wasn't directed at Rick or Hershel or even the scavengers who had attacked you. It was directed at himself. He had pushed you away, silenced his growing feelings, and now he might lose you.

As Hershel continued to work, Daryl remained by your side, his eyes never leaving your face. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers trembling. He didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain: he wouldn't let you go again. He would protect you, even if it meant facing his own demons head-on. He would spend the rest of his days trying to earn your forgiveness, to prove that he was worthy of your love. He just needed you to wake up

[lydiimae]

Strains and Stresses

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x !fem reader

Warnings: Light hints at sex, mentions of drinking, the ton being cruel to the reader, Anthony fighting with the reader, old concepts about class and womanhood, a very icky insult thrown at the reader by Anthony, fluffy fluff at the end

Word Count: 2.8k

A.N: Hello my sweet loves <3 I am so sorry I have not updated in a while, I just finished finals so life has been hectic. Also- I got a job FINALLY T-T and, more importantly, the class that I was going to take during the summer fell through so I will have much more time to write! BTW THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLOWERS HOLY \^-^/. You are all so kind to me. Anyway, this is a fic based on a request that you can find here and here. I decided to mix the two, as it is a semi-angsty Ant fic that ends in fluff. I hope you enjoy my darling Anons. For those who have requested a fic, I promise they are coming! I am planning on knocking another one or two out next week, but I wanted to write a Ben fic before as he is a big comfort character for me and I need some of that energy lol. P.S. I listened to the slowed version of Futile Devices while I wrote this, because it is just what I imagine falling in love and loving would feel like. Enjoy <3

You adored working for Lady Danbury, who wouldn't? She is an incredible woman, and so very strong. You admired her, for being so independent. You thought that that would be the life you lead, alone and working out your days as a maid. Then, you met him.

Met would be the wrong word, it was more of... stumbling into him after a young debutante 'accidentally' ran into you. You knew who Anthony Bridgerton was, of course. His reputation preceded him. Many of your friends and fellow maids had spoken of how harsh, how blunt, how much of a rake, the Viscount was.

For you, however, he had never been brash nor cruel, nor had he ever lived up to his reputation. For you, he was kind, gentle, and even sweet. He had placed a steadying hand on your back and met your eyes and you knew it was over.

From then on at every ball Lady Danbury held, you would always follow him to the gardens, stealing kisses in her in-home library, and sharing stolen glances from across the ballroom. After the balls, he would take you to his townhouse and you would both spend hours speaking of your lives, your dreams, your troubles. He was nothing but a gentleman.

You tried your best to ignore the strange warmth that bloomed in your chest when you were with him. In a way, you always knew that you would end up with him. You believed that your lives were intertwined, like a string wrapped around your soul that only stopped tugging when you were near him. It was comforting.

He had expressed his love to you about seven months in, on a Sunday morning in bed. The yellow hue of the morning sunrise made it feel like you were in heaven, his hands running against your sides like you were made from the finest porcelain. He said it easily as if it was the most simple thing he had ever had to do. A simple "I love you." was murmured into your ear before his lips pressed against your forehead. Just as easily came the proposal, more of a promise, right there in the same bed.

It was simple, perhaps even plain, but not to you. To you, it showed he was comfortable enough to express his feelings, and his deepest wants, just to you. It was intimate, the light cascading down upon his skin as if he were a god, bringing out every contour and mark on his body.

After the announcement of your engagement, rumors spread like wildfire. Every house in Mayfair was a spark that made the fire grow, little trails of flame splitting off along the way until the fire was all-consuming. He had warned you that the rumors would be bad, that not many would express their support for the union of a maid and a Viscount. You just did not expect it to be so suffocating.

You found solace in his embrace, as you always did, spending countless nights wrapped in the silk sheets at his townhouse, listening to his whispers of affection and praise until they eased the tears that had spilled down your cheeks.

It went on like this for the three long months leading up to the wedding. You were married in the spring, surrounded by his loved ones as yours had passed long ago. It was small enough to feel the heavy weight of the ton lifted off of your shoulders, if only for a moment.

You honeymooned in Bath, spending time in the hillsides on worn blankets for hours, allowing your skin to be tanned by the sun. When you would go back to the villa you were staying at, you would spend the night wrapped in his bare embrace, relishing in the feeling of his skin upon yours. It was the most calming, loving, and divine three months of your life.

It has been almost eight months since the honeymoon ended. Six months of putting up with the cruel words spoken by members of the ton, of sticking to his side at balls just so you could try and shake the feeling of the many glares sent your way. Six months of learning not only what it is to be a Viscountess, but what it is like to be a noblewoman.

Anthony had spent a month teaching you the proper etiquette that came with being a noblewoman, a lot of it being common sense thanks to Lady Danbury's way of ruling around her home. However, there were some things you found to be too niche to remember. One thing was that a lady could not go out on a walk by herself.

As a maid, walks alone in the gardens of Lady Danbury's estate had become a part of your daily routine. You would often spend countless hours sitting beneath a willow tree flipping pages of a new book or you would walk around the grounds, seeking solace in the fresh air to clear your mind after a particularly hard day. You never snuck out alone, except to see Anthony, and even then you did nothing untoward, which is why it was so hard for you to remember this silly rule. It was one you forgot today, too.

"Thank you, Rose." You hum to your lady's maid as she finishes your hair. She smiles and curtsies in return. "Of course, my lady. You need only ask if you need anything else." She says before she walks out of the room. You sigh, the title the servants address you with will never not feel strange. You adjust your jewels before standing up and walking to the window.

You had been told as you woke that your husband would be in his study today, claiming he must work on the financial affairs, meaning you have the day to yourself. The view from the master bedroom was a gorgeous one, the windows overlooking the entirety of the lands that Aubery Hall encompassed. You smile to yourself, deciding to take a stroll, perhaps even find a spot to enjoy your new book of sonnets Anthony's brother gifted you.

You pluck the book in question off of your bedside table before walking down the grand staircase. The house, other than the footsteps of the servants, is quiet. No one around to stop you from enjoying some time outside, alone. You grab your parasol and open the door, stepping out into the summer air before making your way around the lands of the estate.

Anthony leans back in his desk chair, stretching out his limbs after finishing the last piece of paperwork he has on his desk. He takes a large swig of bourbon before standing up and moving to the window, pulling the curtains open.

He glances out over the sprawling hills of the estates, swirling the copper liquid in his glass as he takes in the view. As his eyes roam, he spots a small figure making their way up one of the hills. At first, he thinks it a servant, probably out to collect fresh flowers for his bedroom upon his wife's request, but when he glances again he sees your parasol. The one he brought back from one of his ventures to France.

He can feel himself getting angry. He had drilled this into your head one too many times, never be anywhere alone, not in public and not on private lands. The servants whisper, and their gossip spreads even faster than the gossip of the bloodthirsty Mamas of the ton. He downs the rest of his bourbon before slamming the glass on his desk. He rounds it and grabs his velvet jacket from its place on the back of his chair, slinging it around his shoulders before stomping out of the room.

You are just about to sit down when you hear the calling of your name from towards the estate. You look over your shoulder, leaning on your closed parasol, to find your husband hurriedly making his way over to where you stand.

At first, you think that something bad might've happened, perhaps he found something in the many documents that was awry, but you know that is not the case from the way he is walking. Stomping, rather. He is angry, furious even, so you try and wrack your mind to find what you have done to make him this angry.

Before you can he is upon you, one of his large hands encircling your wrists and dragging you away from the hill. "Anthony, do not grab me like some sort of brute!" You yelp, trying to tug away from his bruising grip, which he only tightens upon your plea. "I shall grab you however I wish." He snarls, making your eyes widen. "Be quiet until we are inside."

He tugs you along until you are both inside of his study, where he slams the door and locks it. You begin to speak but he quickly interrupts. "Have you any idea of what you could have just done by being out there, Y/N?!" He shouts, making you take several steps back in surprise. "I was only going for a walk." You whisper and he scoffs. "A walk alone, you foolish woman!" He continues, his voice only getting louder.

The insult sends anger through your veins. "You shall not insult your own wife for merely going outside!" You shout back and he narrows his eyes almost dangerously. "I have told you hundreds of times that you are not permitted outside without a proper companion, Y/N! Going against that is indeed foolish as I have hammered it into your head countless times!" He shouts. "I am not foolish! This is all new for me! I-" You start but he is quick to respond.

"New? That is rich! Utterly rich, because to me it has been eleven months! Eight of which you have been here, doing your duties as my Viscountess!" He shouts louder, on the verge of screaming. You press yourself against the wall opposite to him. "Did they not teach you anything in your time as a maid?! You still act like a common whore even though we have fought about this too many times to count! I am tired of it!" He shouts.

Common whore. The title cuts straight through you like a hot knife, the burns making your eyes well up with tears. The title has been used to spite you at every ball, in every gossip letter, and in every whisper you have heard in the last year. It does not hurt coming from them any longer, but from him? From your husband? It feels like he has damaged your very being.

You stand there stunned, watching his mouth move but hearing no words. "You think I am a common whore?" You whisper and he stops, looking at you. You are pressed against the wall, your arms hugging your frame, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. His body language visibly changes from that of an angered husband to a guilty one.

"Y/N I did not mean-" He begins but you shake your head. "You most certainly did mean it, it came out of your mouth!" You sob. "I was angry! I am angry!" He shouts, more in a desperate act now, wishing he could reverse time. "So?!" You shout, your gloved hands pressing into your bare arms. "I have never once insulted you like that! Never once used what has been said about you as a weapon for merely-" You laugh bitterly, shaking your head and looking away. "For merely going outside." You scoff.

He falters and visibly slumps in defeat. "It is foolish, but they will talk, Y/N. You know-" He begins quietly, but again you do not let him finish. "Yes, Anthony. They will talk, they will say the words you have just spoken to me." You say, wiping your eyes. "I forgot, and I know you have drilled every rule into my head but this is not the norm for me." You whisper

"When I was a maid, no, even when I was a little girl, I would go wherever I wished alone. I would pick up food at the market for my family, and take my brother to his job at the factory, and now I cannot even go outside alone? Upon my husband's private lands, no less?" You whisper. "So forgive me, Anthony, for forgetting rules that you and your siblings have grown up abiding by. I am trying to learn and remember them now, after living a very different life." You say, looking at your feet in an attempt to stop the tears. As if not looking at him will somehow ease the sting of his words.

He scoops you into his arms without thinking about it, pressing his forehead to yours. "Y/N, you know I did not mean it." He whispers and you frown, trying to tug away. "No, no. I might've meant it in the moment, and I know I cannot take it back." He amends, his hold on you tightening. Still, you refuse to meet his eyes. "Darling, please look at me. I swear I shall never say anything as cruel as what I did ever again." He whispers, his fingers curling around your chin so he can bring your gaze back to him.

When your eyes meet his he offers a sad smile, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear. "It was cruel. No, no. Cruel is too kind of a word, it was vile, for me to utter such a word when speaking of my own wife." He whispers, his hand coming down to your cheek. "I swear to you that I mean it when I say I am sorry, you shall never know how sorry I am for saying something so disgusting to you."

He continues, his thumbs swiping away the tears that have now begun to flow again. "You are the most important thing to me. I have done a terrible job of showing you that today. I shall spend every day trying to ease the pain of my foolish words." He vows, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I know this is hard for you, the rules of society are so... foolishly strict for women and even I cannot imagine how much stress they are adding upon everything else" He murmurs, and you tug at his sleeve, willing him into an embrace.

You tuck your face into the crook of his neck and allow yourself to cry. "Shhh, Y/N. You are perfect, no matter your status." He whispers in your ear, running one of his hands up and down your back as the other rests on your hip. "I am not a good Viscountess, Anthony." You whisper and his grip on you tightens. "Hush. You are the perfect Viscountess, Y/N. The perfect Bridgerton." He promises.

"You have been learning so quick, one slip-up of an utterly foolish rule does not discount the many months where you have been perfect." He whispers, pressing his lips to the side of your head. "Neither do the words of your brutish husband." He teases quietly and your lips turn up a bit. "The gossiping Mamas will find another topic in time, my love. They are merely jealous that their daughters are still stuck without a husband while you are here." He murmurs and you nod.

He pulls back and cups your cheeks, watching your eyes flutter shut. "Better?" He whispers, running his thumbs along your cheekbones. You nod and he sighs in relief, bringing you closer to his chest. "I will never be able to express how sorry I am for saying that to you." He whispers. You smile, leaning into his touch and nodding.

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips and wipes the remainder of your tears away before pulling back a bit. "We shall have a picnic." He whispers and you open your eyes, laughing. "We do not have to" You giggle and he grins, shaking his head. "Nonsense, we must. I have been cooped up inside all day and I wish to spend time with you, in the sunshine." He hums, pressing his lips to your nose.

An hour later you are both lying down on a lacy blanket, a picnic basket full of sweet treats. Two glasses of wine stand abandoned on the grass, being forgotten in a mess of kisses. Your head is resting on his chest, your hands clasped together over one of his legs. "I love you." He whispers, pressing a kiss to your brow. Your eyes are shut but you smile. "And I love you." You whisper back, falling asleep while bathed in sunlight.

How divine it feels to be loved by Anthony Bridgerton.

[alienseasfanfics]

Friction: Part 3

Series: Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!traumatized!reader Overall Summary: When you're targeted by a violent stalker, Sam sends Bucky to guard you in a remote safehouse. You clash instantly, but in the growing tension, something more fragile begins to take root. If you can learn to trust him in time. No Thunderbolts spoilers!

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Reluctant Attraction, Forced Proximity, Yearning, Protective Bucky/Reader.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: trauma response/disassociation, general violence, bombs, gun mention, kidnapping/experimentation. Reader is hard on herself for a bit :,)

You wake up with a headache and a heartache, legs twisted in the sheets and eyes closed from sleep.

The dreams you get when you’re asleep are horrible, but the reality of being awake is just as bad. Even with the hangover drowning out your thoughts with pain, everything from last night is crystal clear. The bar. The seedy man whose arm snaked its way around your waist. If the alcohol hadn’t numbed your world, the whole night would have blown up then. Your wrists feel heavy with the memory of invisible handcuffs.

And still somehow, the worst part was Bucky. The thought of him, watching from whatever dark corner he melts away into, then coming to your rescue. The fact you needed it is shameful.

Weakness. A word you know too well. One that you know you don’t want to show, especially not to him.

Then, of course, the car. ‘A shield, not a bomb’. How deadly ironic. How sweet. Why did he have to say it then, after you already humiliated yourself?

‘I would do that again for you in a heartbeat.’ He’d said it like a promise, but he doesn’t know what he’s promising that to. All he sees is someone pitiful and small, not the person that’ll hurt him if he gets too close.

And that’s the worst part of it all. You’d take the cuffs if it meant it kept you away from him. It would be easier if he hated you, but the new fact that he doesn’t is worse. That means he’ll try to connect.

Your body is a trap waiting to spring. Why does he insist on keeping with you, as if he’s looking to be caught?

Creaking from the top of the stairs breaks you out of your whirling thoughts. You slow your breathing, trying to sound as if you’re asleep.

Thankfully, the landing creaks again, and you hear the low thunks of his footsteps going down the stairs. Letting out a sigh, you finally open your eyes to the dim room. Time to seize the day.

It takes you ten minutes to get up. Your headache gets worse once vertical.

As you get downstairs, Bucky looks at you over his shoulder, newspaper open in his hands. His clenched jaw softens as he looks you over. You wave a little, feeling a little silly but not wanting to speak. The corner of his mouth flicks up.

“Hey, party queen. How you feelin’?” He chirps.

“Ugh.”

“To be expected. Have some coffee.” He waves a hand towards the steaming cup on the table next to him. After a moment you go over, standing on the other side of the couch as you take the mug. The heat from it easily warms your cold fingertips, and you rub your thumb on the handle. He glances up from the paper, then fully looks up at you before folding the paper and tossing it onto the coffee table.

He looks back at you, leaning back and resting a metal elbow on the armrest, rubbing his stubbly beard with the same hand. He says nothing, just watching you as you drink, using the coffee to stop any words from bubbling out. You know what they would be. Either small pitiful things to make yourself smaller, or barbs to scare him off. Maybe he would take the bait, leaving you alone. Maybe that would help the pit in your stomach.

You look over him, avoiding his stormy blue eyes. Instead, you look at the rest of him, scanning his shirt, his pants, his tanned hand resting on the seat of the pleather couch and playing absentmindedly with the seam. He has a scar on his knuckle. You sip and wonder where he got it from, if it hurt. He scratches his throat and breaks the silence himself.

“You hungover?”

“Nah, I usually wake up with a pounding headache and an aversion to sunlight.” You say dryly. The corner of his mouth tugs up.

“You sound like a vampire.”

“I am. If you aren’t careful, I’ll suck you dry.”

“Hmm. Really? Didn’t think you were that kind of girl.”

You blush lightly, bringing the mug to your lips longer in an effort to hide your cheeks. He still must see it, with that never-ending gaze of his, because he flashes a wolfish smile that makes your chest flutter horribly. You cough before you answer.

“You’re a dirty old man.”

“Hey, I didn’t say it. All you, doll.” He says, like it’s nothing.

Nicknames aren’t new to you, but this one is different. It lands differently when coming from him. You’re not sure why it comforts you. Maybe it’s the roughness of his voice, or the slight twang of an old accent coming through. It sounds distinctly like him, a piece of his inner voice given briefly as an offering.

He stretches as he gets up, letting out a quiet grunt as he raises his arms above his head. His thin t-shirt clings to him, tanned skin peeking out from between its hem and his jeans. His metal arm glitters in the sunlight creeping in through the closed blinds. As he lets go of the stretch, he sighs, the tension in his shoulders melting away. You look away quickly enough that you can pretend that you haven’t looked, distracted instead by coffee and the dregs of sleep still left in your eyes.

He steps towards you and your body reacts first, backing away from him quickly. He pauses, showing his hands, palms open towards you as if surrendering.

“I’m just going to the kitchen.” He says quietly, as if speaking to an animal crouched in the corner. You get onto the couch and fold your legs against your chest, making yourself unobtrusive. He sidesteps you, keeping the distance you’ve made between you both. Once he leaves, you stretch out, rubbing your feet on the rough rug on the floor.

“I gotta fix somethin’ in the car today. Tried going out this morning for coffee and it wasn’t working. So, I’m sorry, but this is the last cup until I can get that going again.” That piques your interest. You quickly turn on the couch to face him. He glances over at you and his brow raises a little, quizzical. “You that addicted to caffeine? It’ll just take me a few hours, I promise.”

“No, no. What happened to the car?”

“Brakes weren’t responding like I’d like them to last night. We were slipping a bit.” Your brain whirs through a million possible reasons, the engine and body of the sedan outside opening in your imagination.

“Common. It was shuddering, right?” The rumbles of the car beneath your legs last night was an afterthought in your drunk mind, but the information comes quickly to the forefront sober. “Sounds like the rotors are warped. 2012 Honda Civic parts come cheap, at least. Still got to wait for them.” You sip again, glancing up at him. His eyes are wide, and you stop mid-drink.

“What?” You ask. Then, he chuckles. It’s a low rumble that washes over you like fireworks.

“You know all that? You’re a mechanic now?” He asks. You bristle, but the look in his eyes is true, admiring instead of accusing. You shrug a shoulder, relaxing and putting the mug down. Bracing yourself on an elbow, you half-turn towards him.

“Nah. Civics are some of the easiest cars to repair.”

“Done it often?”

“Not on 2012’s. Not really even on cars. I’ve mainly worked on pieces of them. Some basic machines, too. They’re all parts at the end of the day; you just have to know how each one works.” Your gaze is firmly on him, but anywhere other than his eyes.

He’s leaning against the counter now, the small of his back pressed against the lip and his arms crossed over his chest. He leans into the room like it belongs to him. Either that, or its a farce. Covering discomfort with confidence. Sometimes, when he thinks you’re avoiding him, he’s curled in on himself. Bent over the table with his arms on either side of his head, as if he’s a boxer defending his face. Now, he’s free and open.

“Wanna come help?” He asks, breaking your thoughts, and your heart leaps against your ribs.

“Really? Help? Or do you just wanna make me do it?” You joke, but you ask.

“I won’t make you do anything, doll.” You match his gaze. You say nothing for a moment, and neither does he as he waits. For you to talk. The words stick in your throat but you force them through anyway.

“Yeah. I’d like to.”

-

“Can you hand me – yeah, thank you.” You place the wrench he needs in his outstretched metal hand, being careful not to touch him. Even with him under the car and you on an upside-down bucket a couple feet away, you feel too close to him. He wheels back under the chassis on the repurposed skateboard you found in the old garage the car is sitting in to keep you both away from the sun.

It was small in here, dark and dank with the smell of gas, grease, and the sickening wisps of cigarettes from the inside of the car. Hot sun streamed through the open garage door. You let your head loll back into it, closing your eyes in a moment of rare relaxation. Both good and bad memories are associated with this smell, but this is a new experience altogether. You can get up and walk back inside if you want to. You’re not chained to the floor, scraps of exploded metal at your feet, cigarette smoke turning the room to haze and confusing your parts together. If you left, Bucky wouldn’t care at all.

“You were right. Rotors were shot.” Metal tings against the stained concrete as he tosses one out by your feet. You pick it up, grease covering your fingertips. It’s bent to hell.

“Lord. How much have you hit the brakes?” You quip. The car muffles his chuckle.

“It’s one of Sam’s cars. I’m pretty sure he abuses them all.”

“I guess if you could fly, being trapped in a tin can on the ground makes you frustrated.”

“Then he needs to fix his cars as much as he fixes that damn red spy-pigeon he has strapped to his back.” He throws out the other rotor, wheeling out after it. His short-cropped hair glitters in the sun, sweat beading at his brow. You flick your eyes back to the garage.

“I think he likes the more finicky things. Cars are big, cumbersome.” You say, shrugging a shoulder. Bucky sits up, going to run a hand through his hair but pausing, looking at his greasy hand. You toss him a rag sitting on the tool bench, him murmuring his thanks. He’s methodical as rubs his hands, going over every inch as if scrubbing in for surgery.

“And you?” He says, breaking your trance.

“And I what?”

“What do you like to fix? Or do you not like getting your hands dirty?” He’s looking up at you.

“I get my hands dirty all the time.” You scoff.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Good to know.” He says, smirking.

You bite the inside of your lip, quickly looking away from him.

“I’ve mainly fixed power generators. Some engines, but they were cobbled together from other engines. Like a Frankenstein of car parts.” You rush.

“Hmm. So you know a lot about a lot, then?”

The compliment heats up your cheeks, and you turn towards the sun, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“I guess you could say that. It does make it difficult when I see a fully assembled engine. It looks too perfect. I don’t know where to begin.”

“Well, usually with the broken part.” You look back at him and roll your eyes. He gives another wolfish grin, making your stomach do a flip. The sun shows off more of him, bathing him in a glow you can’t find in the house. Maybe you should open the blinds more, let more of the sun dance around the dark corners. How much more of him would you see?

“I was gonna do some basic maintenance too. You wanna see this engine? I can give you a tour.”

“Is that your idea of a pick-up line?” You ask, faux innocently. Might as well play with him too. He stills before smirking again.

“Only if you say yes.” He says solemnly.

“Such a gentleman. Just show me the engine, Bucky.” You snort.

He stares up at you for a moment before getting up in one fluid motion, picking the car up off the jack with his metal hand. You quickly kick the jack away and he lets the sedan down gently. Every time he shows his strength, you marvel at it. There’s knowing he’s a super soldier, experimented on, serum flowing through his veins, and then there’s seeing it. You’re split on whether it makes you feel protected, unsafe, or less alone. You settle on an unsettling mixture of all three as he moves around to the front of the car, opening the lid of the engine and beckoning you over. You follow suit quickly.

His shirt brushes against your arm as he leans over to point at something, and your neurons crackle in response. You tell yourself he doesn’t notice the way you lean into him.

“You know what that is?” He asks, and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face as you study it.

“Oil dipstick.”

“Good, you’re right.” His praise makes your stomach flutter again. The air between you starts feeling electric, and you take a small side-step away. He doesn’t seem to notice as he motions to something close by again.

“And that?”

“Uhm...” You stare at it, but all you can think about are the little zaps you feel between your fingers. “Brake fluid reservoir?”

“Close. Clutch fluid reservoir. Over there is the brake fluid.” He waves a hand at some other part, then leans back and crosses his arms. You let out a little breath that you didn’t think you were holding. “If you really want to impress me, show me where the blinker fluid is.”

You examine for a minute, before rolling your eyes again and looking up at him. He looks bemused but holding it in, biting the inside of his lip and smirking down at you.

“Did you really think you’d get me with that?” You scoff, and he laughs. It matches the warmth that comes up to your cheeks. You haven’t blushed this much in your life, but now all it takes is a few nice words and some laughter from him and you’re a mess.

“No, not really. But I thought I might as well try.” He says.

“Blinker fluid isn’t real, muffler bearings aren’t real, and elbow grease comes from hard work.” You say. He nods slowly.

“Alright, alright. I won’t haze you anymore. Check the oil for me, and I’ll check the tire pressures.” He says, tossing you the rag and walking around to the back of the car.

You take your time, taking out the dipstick and running it across a clean part of the towel, watching him from the corner of your eyes. He’s looking at you too, and when you match gazes, electricity crackles up your spine.

This is all getting to be too much. The smell of grease and sweat, heat against your back, tools all around you. Mixing that with the closeness of him, the easy laughter he’s sharing with you, the way he talks with you as if you’re his equal. His friend, even. The war in your head is growing louder and louder, and you count wordlessly. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 1. 2. 3.

“Tires are fine. Oil?” He’s suddenly next to you again, and you almost drop the stick.

“Could use some, I think.” Your mouth is dry.

“Alright. You know how?”

“Yes.”

“You want to?”

“Yes.” You say it too quickly, rushing around him to the side of the sedan. He comes over and lifts the car again, and you kick the jack underneath.

“You know, I could just hold it up.” He says as he puts it gently down onto the stand, and you shake your head.

“I’d rather not be crushed if you need to sneeze.” You say, and he laughs again.

“You really think I’d let you be crushed?” He says gently. Your brain shorts for a second.

“Not on purpose.”

“Never on purpose. I’m not that mean.” He kicks an old tray to you as you lower yourself on the skateboard, and you bring it with you as you wheel under.

You both sit in silence as you concentrate, unscrewing the drain plug quickly, but not quick enough to get your hand out of the way of the oil. You watch it for a moment, trying to calm down, but not managing to before it finishes draining. Your heart still beats fast, especially when Bucky bends down and smiles at you.

“All done?” He asks, and you nod, pulling yourself out from underneath after re-screwing the oil pan shut. You wipe some sweat off your cheek with the back of your wrist, taking a deep breath. He’s already gotten to the engine to pour new oil in. You stand up to go near him, watching from one side of the engine bay. He looks up at you, smiling at first, but then his brow furrows slightly. He beckons with his free hand.

“C’mere.” Your skin crackles. You hesitate, but he beckons again. Some tiny part of you steps forward as if Bucky is tugging on a fishing line. You have the sinking feeling this will end up bad, but the bait is too tantalizing. The risk that makes your heart flutter and the logical part of your brain scream.

Then, it happens.

With his metal hand, he reaches up to your cheek, thumb wiping a spot under your eye. His fingers curl slightly around your jaw, pawing your face. The combination of the soft touch with his gaze, and the smell of pervasive grease and nicotine from the inside of the car mixing with memories that feel too close to the surface, the numbers are useless.

The warmth of his eyes. The care. The way you want to nudge your face into his palm. Trust it not to grip hard. Trust yourself not to bite back.

You can’t. It’s not safe. You aren’t safe. You can’t be, you can’t-

Boom.

White clouds your vision as Bucky’s hand gets ripped away from you. Heat crawls over every inch of your skin as the ripple of the shockwave tears from you like horses out of a starting gate. Metal tears and screeches against concrete. Things shatter and crack, filling up your nose with the fume of smoke and oil. And the memories. Oh, the nightmares come crashing through. Thick, heavy sobs hit your chest as you’re back in that little room again, chained to the ground in an effort to keep you still amidst yet another chaotically forced explosion. Left to lay there as the data points come rolling in that damned computer, waiting another round. Here, now, you can feel the cuffs on your wrists, weighing you down as your lungs struggle to breathe. Somewhere far away, there’s a thud and a groan, snapping you back to reality. The heat around you diminishes, the wind from your shockwave dying down to nothing, letting the buzz of the cicadas in the summer air come back to the forefront.

Worst of all, Bucky is getting up at the other end of the garage, looking directly at you with a look you can’t decipher. The concrete wall behind him is cracked from his body being thrown against it but he still stands easily. He steps towards you but you back away and he does too, staying near the wall. His jaw clenches as his brow knits together, looking you over.

It almost looks like worry, but that’s not possible. That would be hope. You already know what hope is, the words branded on your heart.

Hope is the worst hurt of all.

He’s holding his hands out towards you, palms out again, and your nails dig into your hair. You both stay in that moment, examining each other.

He blinks slowly, opening his mouth to say something but closing it again. The possibilities rush through your head at once. Too many of them hurt your heart before you hear them.

You both stare at each other wordlessly, neither of you moving a muscle.

Before he can break the silence, you turn on your heels and run back up the road into the house, throwing the door open and running upstairs to the small bathroom. You slam and lock the door, shutting off the light and getting into the tub, bringing your knees to your chest.

1231923124.

1326183.

172631.

The air tingles as you dig your nails into your skin, trying to tamp down the residual energy building up again through useless counting. A sharp knock on the door makes you jump.

“Hey, please tell me you’re alright. Don’t worry about the garage, it’s barely messier than it was before.” Bucky’s words come out rushed, like he can’t say them fast enough. You don’t reply, and he talks again. “If you’re hurt, I can help you.”

You almost laugh, a bitter taste on the back of your throat. You wish he could help you. But you’ve proven you’re not trustworthy. He touches your cheeks once and you lose control? What happens the next time he’s close to you? A blast in this old house would cause it all to come crashing down around him.

“Go away, Bucky. Please.” You choke out, but the shadow in front of the door doesn’t move an inch.

“Do you need help calming down?” He says. Still painfully gentle. You can almost imagine him on the other side of the door, running a hand through his hair like he did the other night, when your nightmare shook him awake.

You pause. A voice in your head continues to spout off numbers, a never-ending river of confusion. Another one lectures you, shows a slideshow of him in the garage, standing away from you like you’re an animal waiting to attack him. A third one screams at you, kicking you into a corner even in your own psyche. The shockwaves always seem to make your brain explode too, splintering it into a chaotic mess.

In that chaos, your racing thoughts throw out a question that comes from the one voice you don’t let speak.

Why is he here, if he’s scared of you?

“Just...just follow my voice, alright?” He murmurs through the door. In spite of yourself, you find yourself yearning for his voice above the others. You take a shaky breath.

“Say five things you hear. Out loud, please. So I know you’re alive in there.”

You take a moment.

“The faucet dripping, the wind against the house, the creak of the foundation settling, a hawk outside, and y-you.” All of them come out in a rush of words, and you add a sixth to the list; him letting out a deep breath.

“Alright. Good, you’re doing good. Name three things you can touch.”

“The tub, the shower curtain, the soap.” Your fingers trace each item as you say them. They’re all cold to the touch, and you dig your nails into the curtain, making it crinkle in your hands.

“And one thing you can see.”

Some half-formed instinct pushes you forward to the door, numbly unlocking it. Pulling it open slightly, you’re met with Bucky’s gaze towering above you as he leans against the door frame. You flinch away but he doesn’t meet you with anger, or pain. Only a quiet, pensive look that you haven’t seen before on a person you’ve hurt.

“You. I see you.” You breathe out. His jaw clenches and relaxes and he runs his metal hand through his hair again. He’s jittery but won’t look away. You can’t either.

“Are you alright?” He whispers. You nod. “Are you sure?”

You nod as you wipe a tear off the same cheek he held before. Will never hold again, if he knows what’s good for him.

“I’ll clean up the garage.” You say.

“Don’t worry about the garage.”

“It’s all fucked up. I think the car-”

“Don’t worry about the garage or the car. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does, that’s the only car we have, and if I broke it then we can’t go into town, or get out of town, or-”

“What happened?” He interrupts.

Any explanation you can think of turns to a stone in your throat.

“What did I do? Did I hurt you?” He whispers and look up at him. His eyes are frenzied, almost panicked as he looks over you, but he keeps himself on his side of the doorway. His metal hand is clenched into a fist at his side, but at your glance he relaxes it, rubbing his thigh with his palm.

“No Bucky, you didn’t hurt me.” You murmur. You almost reach for him before remembering you’re the one who threw him into the wall at the first sign of a kind touch.

He studies you as you study him. Your defences are back up but the familiar adrenaline rush dies down quickly.

“Bucky, I’m...sorry. I can’t...” You trail off, closing your eyes and rubbing a temple. The storm of your thoughts has died down but the rain lingers, drowning out everything you try to say.

“It’s alright.” He says softly.

“I-”

“I’ll be downstairs.” He turns quickly, footsteps thudding quickly down. You stare at the empty doorway. The faucet drips beside you, beating out the seconds in the silent hallway.

When you finally rip yourself away from listening to the subtle sounds of him below, you go to your bed and fall on it.

When sleep comes, it’s not a comfort. Just an escape from yourself.

----------

A/N: This was a cathartic chapter for me to write, but I'm thinking that'll be a trend for the rest of the fic, lol. But it took me a while to get it out, so I apologize. When I started writing this, I didn't realize how hard-hitting it would be for me get everything out. Next chapter is already outlined, so will be quicker updates from now on :)

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[heartsforseo]

Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live Gojo will live G

[isabelckl]

hands in your sweater

carl grimes x enemies!daughter

you never knew that being sent to Alexandria would lead to crossing paths again with the one person you should’ve stayed away from. meeting the son of your dad’s greatest enemy drags you through love and loss all over again, making you feel things you thought you'd already buried.

"Who the fuck are you?" You demanded, your voice cold, pointing your gun directly at him.

He turned, and for a split second, the recognition hit. It was him. Your grip on the gun tightened, and you stepped closer.

"You're gonna get killed here," you warned, the words coming out sharp.

He jerked his head, meeting your gaze with the same intensity. "Not gonna happen," he said, his own gun now pointed at you, his stance steady, like this was just another day for him.

You eyed him, noting the defiance in his expression. "Bold move," you said, not backing down. "You really think you can stand up to me?"

He didn’t flinch, his eyes never leaving yours. "I’m not just anyone," he said, his voice low, but filled with an unshakable confidence. "And I sure as hell don’t plan on dying today."

You tilted your head, the corner of your mouth twitching up in amusement. "Well, lucky for you, I’m not in the mood for making people disappear today." You took another step forward, closing the distance between you two. "But don’t get comfortable. You don’t get to walk around like you own the place."

He shifted slightly, still keeping his gun aimed at you, though his expression never wavered. "Funny," he said, with a hint of sarcasm. "I thought your dad did all the owning here."

"Yeah, well, my dad’s got big plans," you shot back, keeping your gun steady. "He wants to break you people first. But I’m not sure how long he’ll be patient."

The guy's eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, closing the gap between you two. The movement was slow but deliberate, forcing you to tilt your head up to keep eye contact. "Then maybe I’ll just be the one to break him first."

You couldn’t help but let out a dark chuckle. "You think you’re the first one who’s tried?" you said, leaning in closer, your voice low and threatening. "Get in line."

For a long moment, you both just stood there, the air thick with tension, neither of you making a move. But then, to your surprise, he slowly lowered his gun, his smirk never faltering. "Don’t mistake me for someone who’s afraid to make things difficult."

"Don’t mistake me for someone who’ll let you," you replied quickly, finally lowering your own weapon, though your stance remained just as guarded. "Now get out of here before I decide I am in the mood for a little fun."

He let out a soft chuckle and stepped back, still keeping his eyes on you as if trying to read you. "I’ll be seeing you again. This isn't the end."

Without another word, he turned and walked off, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway. You stood there for a moment, still feeling the buzz of adrenaline running through you.

You barely shut the door behind you before the weight of what just happened settled on your shoulders. Your heart was still pounding, not from fear—but from him. The way he looked at you like he wasn’t afraid to die. Like he had something to prove.

Carl Grimes.

You knew the name. Everyone did. The sheriff’s kid. The one with the eye and the attitude. You hadn’t expected him to be so… steady. So sure of himself, even with a gun pointed at him.

You had no idea what he was doing that deep in Savior territory. But you didn’t ask, either. And that was bothering you.

The room still smelled like cigar smoke and liquor—Negan’s signature scent. He was lounging on the couch where you’d left him just minutes ago, laughing at something one of the lieutenants said before walking out.

“Back already?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as you walked back in.

You nodded, keeping your voice flat. “Saw someone near the south hallway. Not one of ours.”

Negan straightened slightly. “What’d they want?”

“Didn’t stick around to ask. They were alone. Probably just looking for a way in or scavenging.” You swallowed the name sitting at the edge of your tongue. “I scared 'em off.”

He stood up, Lucille slung over his shoulder like always. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

He stared at you for a beat longer than you liked. “No point reporting it to the others if he’s already gone,” you added. “I’ll double-check the area later.”

Negan narrowed his eyes, but eventually gave a nod. “You get that killer instinct from me,” he said, smirking. “Keep making daddy proud.”

You forced a small grin in return, then turned away before your expression could slip.

You didn’t know why you didn’t tell him. Maybe because Carl didn’t seem like the enemy in that moment. Or maybe because something in your gut told you this wasn’t the last time you’d see him.

And for reasons you couldn’t explain, you didn’t want it to be.

“You want me to what?” you snapped, voice sharp enough to slice through the room.

Negan barely blinked, sitting at the edge of the table, Lucille resting lazily in one hand like he wasn’t asking his own daughter to walk into enemy territory. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just a little visit. Build some trust. Show ‘em we play nice when they play nice.”

You shook your head, stepping forward. “They hate us. I point a toe into Alexandria and they’ll put a bullet through my skull before I can even smile.”

“Now, now,” he said, grinning. “That’s no way to think. You’re not just anyone. You’re my blood. Which means you’ve got leverage, charm, and the balls to handle it.”

“This is suicide,” you hissed. “You don’t send family into the lion’s den for show.”

Negan stood, voice lowering. “I send who I trust. And right now, I need someone who can smile, keep their mouth shut, and listen. Someone who won’t get emotional or stupid.” He stepped closer. “Unless you’re telling me you’re not that person.”

You clenched your fists, fury bubbling in your chest. But beneath it all, you knew there was no point in arguing further. Once Negan made up his mind, it was over.

He grinned, sensing your silence. “Atta girl. You’ll be back in a day or two. Go charm the neighbors.”

The silence inside the Alexandria was suffocating.

You could feel the weight of every glare, every muttered curse under their breath. Some of them looked afraid, others just furious. No one welcomed you. No one even bothered to hide how much they didn’t want you there.

And still—you held your head high.

You wore neutral clothes, nothing that screamed Savior. But your face… your name… that was enough. You were Negan’s daughter. That alone made you the enemy.

Rick stepped forward, tense but composed. He kept his hand close to his belt, his eyes sharp, measuring.

“You came here… why?” he asked.

You forced yourself not to flinch. “To talk,” you said, your voice steady. “Negan wants to establish some ‘trust.’ Says we don’t always have to settle things with blood.”

Rick didn’t move, didn’t blink.

“I’m not here to make trouble,” you added. “I’m just a messenger. You want to shoot the message? Go ahead.”

That was when you felt it—someone watching you harder than the rest. You turned slightly… and locked eyes with him.

Carl.

He hadn’t moved from his spot on the porch, but his expression had shifted. There was a flicker of something—shock, confusion, maybe even betrayal. Like he didn’t expect you to show up here, not after the hallway, not after the way you aimed a gun at him.

You held his gaze.

He stepped forward finally, breaking away from the porch, and the crowd seemed to part around him without realizing it. His hand rested near his holster, but he didn’t draw.

“You’re kidding,” he muttered once he was close enough. “They sent you?”

You tilted your head. “Didn’t expect a warm welcome, but damn. Not even a hello?”

Carl’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing. “You think this is a joke?”

“No,” you said quietly. “I think this is stupid. But I didn’t have a choice.”

For a moment, you both just stood there—caught in the same standoff as before, only this time there were witnesses. This time the war was thicker in the air, and neither of you knew whose side you were really on.

“You’ll be watched,” Rick said finally from behind you. “Every minute. You step out of line, you don’t get to walk away.”

You nodded without looking away from Carl. “Noted.”

And just like that, the gate closed behind you.

You were in enemy territory.

And the only person who might understand why you hesitated that day—the one who could blow your cover with a single word—was the same boy staring at you like you were already a traitor.

This was going to be hell.

The gate clanged shut behind you with a heavy finality.

You tried not to let it show, but it felt like stepping into a cage. A cage lined with hatred, suspicion, and loaded guns. Every step you took on Alexandria soil felt like it echoed louder than it should have.

Rick gave you a clipped nod and motioned toward one of the houses. “You’ll stay in there. Don’t go anywhere without permission.”

You didn’t respond. Just walked, chin up, shoulders tight, until the door closed behind you.

The room was plain. Empty, aside from a table and a chair pushed awkwardly to the side like someone had been in a hurry to make it presentable. A small bed against the wall. No windows big enough to climb out of. No weapons in sight. It was a prison with floral curtains.

You dropped your bag onto the bed and sat on the edge, rubbing your palms together, trying to ignore how shaky they’d gotten. You weren’t scared. Just... alert.

Always alert.

A knock came too soon. You looked up just as the door creaked open and Carl stepped inside without waiting for permission.

“You spying for him?” he asked bluntly.

You let out a dry laugh. “Wow. Straight to the point.”

Carl didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink.

You leaned back slightly, arms crossing over your chest. “No. I’m not spying. At least not in the way you think.”

“You showing up here a week after your dad bashed Glenn and Abraham’s skulls in? That’s not a coincidence,” he said, voice low, sharp, like he was trying to cut past whatever front you were putting up.

“I didn’t know he was going to do that,” you snapped.

“You knew what kind of person he was.”

You flinched, but you didn’t break. “Yeah. I do. But I’m not him.”

Carl’s jaw tightened. “Then why the hell are you here?”

You opened your mouth to answer—but nothing came out.

Because what could you say?

“I don’t know,” you admitted, quietly. “I argued with him. Told him I’d get killed here. Told him it was a bad idea.”

“And yet…” Carl gestured to the room around you. “Here you are.”

You looked at him, something flickering in your chest—anger, frustration, something you didn’t want to name.

“I didn’t ask to be part of this war,” you said. “But I don’t get a choice.”

For a second, Carl didn’t say anything. His expression shifted, something unreadable swimming behind his single eye. He didn’t trust you. Maybe he never would. But part of him, maybe, understood.

Still, his words were steel when he finally spoke again, “You slip up even once, and I won’t hesitate.”

You nodded slowly. “Neither will I.”

And just like that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and stared at the wall for a long time.

This wasn’t just survival anymore.

This was personal.

You couldn't sleep that night.

Not really.

Every creak of the house, every bark of a dog in the distance, every step outside your window—it all felt like a threat. Or worse, a test. You didn’t know which.

Morning bled into the room in soft streaks of grey light. You hadn’t changed out of your clothes, too on edge to care about comfort. When a knock came again—sharper this time—you were already on your feet.

Carl stood in the doorway, backlit by the sun, a scowl carved into his face like it was permanent.

“Dad says I’m supposed to keep an eye on you today.”

You blinked. “What, like a babysitter?”

Carl shrugged with a bitter smile. “Something like that.”

You grabbed your jacket and followed him outside after getting ready and doing some of your morning routines. The air was cool, the streets mostly quiet, but you could feel eyes everywhere. Carl didn’t speak. He just walked, and you kept pace beside him.

“So this is what trust-building looks like?” you muttered.

“No,” he said. “This is what containment looks like.”

You rolled your eyes. “You know, for someone who lowers his gun and lets people live, you sure act like a dick.”

Carl stopped walking. You almost ran into him.

“Don’t mistake what happened in that hallway for trust,” he said, turning to face you. “I didn’t shoot you because something told me not to. That doesn’t mean I won’t.”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “Good. Keep it that way. Maybe we’ll survive this mess.”

The silence stretched again, thick and tense, but this time… something about it felt different. Not as cold. Not as sharp.

Carl looked away first.

“We’re going to the gardens,” he muttered, starting forward again. “Try not to get stabbed.”

You smirked slightly despite yourself. “No promises.”

You spent the next hour walking through Alexandria with Carl at your side, people either avoiding you or throwing daggers with their eyes. No one spoke to you. But you caught snippets of their whispers.

"That’s her?"

"Negan’s daughter."

"She doesn’t belong here."

You pretended it didn’t get to you. You’d grown up learning how to wear armor without metal. But still—this was different. This wasn’t war. This was survival under a microscope.

At some point, Carl handed you a basket and pointed at a row of tomatoes.

“You’re joking,” you said.

He didn’t respond. Just started picking.

You huffed but crouched beside him. “I didn’t come here to harvest your damn tomatoes.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, tossing a tomato into his basket, “you’re here now. Might as well be useful.”

You picked one, then another.

After a while, it got… quiet. Peaceful, even.

You hated that part most of all.

By the time the baskets were full, your knees ached and your patience was worn thin. The silence between you and Carl had settled into something strange—not comfortable, but not hostile either.

You stood, brushing dirt off your palms. “So this is how you people survive? Tomatoes and silent treatment?”

Carl didn’t look at you. “Better than barbed wire and baseball bats.”

You flinched. That one hit deeper than you expected. You bit the inside of your cheek, keeping your mouth shut this time.

He turned, finally meeting your eyes. “Why’d you really come here?”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the question—by the way he asked it. Not like an accusation, not like he was waiting to pounce. Just… curious. Maybe tired. Maybe trying to make sense of things the way you were.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you said honestly. “He said I’d help build trust. Said I’d be useful. But I think he just wanted me out of the way.”

Carl tilted his head, studying you.

“And you listened?”

“What, you think I could say no?” You laughed, bitter. “He’s still my dad.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to be him.”

You looked away. “Tell that to everyone staring at me like I killed their friends.”

Carl didn’t say anything to that. Maybe there was nothing to say. You both stood there in that quiet space between resentment and reluctant understanding.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’re actually allowed to walk without getting a gun to the face.”

You raised a brow. “How generous.”

He cracked a dry smirk. “Don’t get used to it.”

You followed him through the rest of the compound—past the armory, the infirmary, the schoolhouse still scarred with broken windows. Kids were playing in the distance, laughter echoing faintly through the walls. You watched them with something close to envy.

“Ever think about what it would’ve been like if this never happened?” you asked suddenly. “No walkers. No war. Just... regular life.”

Carl’s jaw tightened. “All the time.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

Another beat of silence. This time, not so tense. Not so heavy.

Just… real.

And for the first time since you arrived, the weight in your chest felt just a little bit lighter.

The sun was starting to dip by the time the “tour” ended. You’d barely spoken in the last half hour, and honestly, you preferred it that way. Words were risky. Words made things real.

Carl stopped near one of the houses—his, you guessed. The porch was half-fixed, like most of Alexandria. Still trying to hold onto what it once was.

He turned to you, arms crossed loosely. “You’ll be staying in the house next to this one. It used to be Carol’s.”

You didn’t ask who that was. Just nodded. “And what, you’re my neighbor now?”

“Guess so.”

A smirk tugged at your lips. “Gonna keep watching me from the window?”

“Only if you look suspicious.”

You laughed once, dry but genuine. “You don’t trust me.”

“Certainly.”

You paused, tilting your head. “Smart.”

He held your stare for a second longer before nodding toward the door. “Go. Lock it. Don’t leave at night unless you want to get shot by a lookout.”

“Charming place.”

Carl didn’t respond. He just walked off, disappearing behind the fence toward his house, leaving you in the dimming light with a strange, restless feeling curling in your gut.

The room they gave you was clean. Bare. You dropped your jacket on the bed and sat down slowly, the mattress creaking beneath your weight.

You still weren’t sure why Negan really sent you here. And you weren’t sure what was worse—being used as bait, or being forgotten.

Your eyes drifted to the window. You could just barely see the side of Carl’s house.

He hadn’t said goodnight and you didn’t know why you noticed that.

Part 2

[dreamingofmarauders]

You're the Only One for Me

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which after overhearing a conversation in the library, you feel Sirius may leave you for someone better

Warnings: Use of Y/n, insecurity, nervousness, fluff at the end (I think that's all)

A/N: Hi there, I hope you're well! Again, this is another one of my Sirius x OC oneshots from Wattpad that I decided to switch to Sirius x Reader. I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Y/n was sat on the couch by the fireplace of the Gryffindor tower. The flames' light danced across her face as she stared into the fire, her mind echoing of what she had heard earlier that day.

Evelyn Sanders of Ravenclaw was sitting with her friends in the library, all huddled together as she told them something.

"In no time Black will be chasing after me, wanting me to be with him." She smugly said.

"How can you be sure about that?" One of the other girls said. "From what we've all seen, he's been with L/n for ages. What makes you think he'll dump her for you?"

Evelyn scoffed, flicking her brunette hair over her shoulders. "Please. That L/n? He can't stay with her forever, I mean look at her compared to me. I'm more prettier, more outgoing, life of the party, and I'm not book obsessed like her and always scolding people. I'm way more his type." She said, with an over amount of confidence in her voice.

"Besides," Evelyn continued, "He's going to get tired of her very soon, I can see it. It won't be long until he throws that L/n away like the others. He will want me."

"Let's say he does, " One of her friends named Lila said, "How are you so confident in saying he will come after you?"

Evelyn devilishly grinned, "He will want me, and if he doesn't, a bit of help from a love potion won't hurt." She said, winking.

Unbeknownst to them, Y/n was behind one of the shelves nearby and accidentally caught word of their conversation. When she realized it was regarding her boyfriend and her, Y/n couldn't help but listen and after hearing the words exchanged between the group, Y/n felt hollow inside.

The words had managed to play with her head. One thing that was almost an insecurity for Y/n was the thought of Sirius leaving her for someone else, for someone better than her. After all, he had been a player and although Y/n knew he had changed, sometimes the thought crossed her mind and it scared her. It made her feel insecure. Y/n didn't want to lose Sirius.

Y/n kept looking into the fire as her mind was clouded with that thought. She didn't realize when a new presence joined her, who was frowning at her behavior, already knowing something was up.

"You alright?"

Y/n jumped in her seat, as she tore her eyes from the fireplace to look beside her to find none other than the person occupying her thoughts.

Her boyfriend,

Sirius Black.

"Well I'm not alright now since you scared the living daylights out of me." Y/n replied as her hand was placed on her racing heart.

Sirius studied her, his gaze piercing into hers as if he could read what Y/n was thinking. Y/n shuddered and broke the eye contact, fidgeting with her hands before she realized Sirius knew that was a sign of her nervousness.

Sirius pulled Y/n close, bringing her into his side, placing a kiss on her head. Y/n melted into him, as some of the tension in her dissolved but she still couldn't get over what she had heard in the library.

Y/n's face was able to convey that her mind wasn't with her surroundings.

"Darling, what are you thinking about?" Sirius asked, looking down at the y/h/c haired whose eyes widened slightly for a second, before she masked her emotions.

"Nothing much, just lessons-"

"I know you, Y/n/n, so don't even try to lie to me." Sirius cut across his girlfriend who moved away from his embrace, looking at the ground instead.

"I-I just remembered, I forgot to fix a mistake on my Potions assignment. I'm just going to go do that and then head out for Prefect patrol." Y/n said before she suddenly got up, wanting to leave. Before she could take a step however, a hand latched on her wrist and pulled her back down.

"You're avoiding the question." Sirius said in a serious tone, making Y/n squeeze her eyes shut.

"I'm fine, Sirius. Now, please just let me go." Y/n pleaded.

"Do you not trust me?" He suddenly said. "I understand if you don't want to share, but it would be easier to let it out then keep it in." Sirius said, moving his grip from around Y/n's wrist to her hand, rubbing comforting circles in her palm.

Y/n released a defeated sigh and buried her face in his chest, "I'm scared."

Sirius frowned but wrapped an arm around the girl, "Of what? The war, that's a natural response-"

"No." Y/n said, making Sirius go quiet, shaking her head.

"Then what are you afraid of, Y/n/n?"

"I'm scared to," Y/n gulped, "lose you."

Sirius went silent upon this and he felt bewildered.

Why was Y/n afraid of losing him?

"I don't understand." He said, pulling the girl away to look at her but Y/n's gaze was on her fidgeting hands.

"I'm afraid that you might leave me for someone e-else, someone way better than m-me." She said, her eyes glossing over.

Sirius placed his hand under Y/n's chin, lifting her head with his finger so he could look into her eyes.

"I would never leave you. You know how much I love you. What makes you even think of that?" Sirius asked. "I know I've made some questionable choices in the past, but I'm not that person anymore. I began changing right when I fell for you." Sirius said, trying to make Y/n understand he wasn't planning on leaving her.

Y/n rubbed away a stray tear, "But I'm not anywhere near as good as other girls, why would you stay with me-"

"Because I love you, Y/n/n. You're the only one for me. I don't care about other people." Sirius replied, brushing away another tear that had escaped Y/n's eyes.

"But Evelyn said you'll be after her next, that you will get bored of me real soon. She said even if you don't leave me, she'll slip you a love potion." Y/n finished with a shaky breath.

"Sanders? Of Ravenclaw?" Sirius scoffed, "Please. She just needs a little lesson taught that's all." He said with a mischievous look before his gaze softened as he looked back at Y/n.

"I am always yours. I'm sorry that you feel insecure like this but I promise you that I am never leaving you for anyone, because you're mine." Sirius said lovingly.

"I love," He placed a peck on Y/n's lips, "you, forever."

At that, Y/n let out a relieved chuckle before wrapping her arms around Sirius' neck, "I love you too, always." With that, she placed her lips on Sirius', because they both were meant to be together, forever.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

[fangirlfuel]

SPOILERS ⚠️

(For my next Max Verstappen x OC series)

----

"I can’t do this anymore, Max."

The words fell from my lips before I could stop them.

He sat across from me in that tiny café outside of Zandvoort, hood over his head, sunglasses hiding his eyes. But nothing could hide the crack in his voice.

"Please don’t say that."

I looked down at my coffee — untouched.

"I’m not asking you to ruin your life. I’m asking you to let me live mine. I want to go out with someone who’s proud to be with me. I want to introduce my boyfriend to my family. I want to hold hands without checking for paparazzi."

He reached out, gently, covering my hand with his. His fingers were trembling.

"You think I don’t want all that with you? I wake up every day thinking about you. I go to sleep with your name in my head. I lie to the world, every day, because I’m trying to keep this alive. For you. For us."

Tears blurred my vision.

"Then make it real, Max. Or let me go."

----

Please comment that you want to be added to the tag list on this post ,because once I will post The first Ch the tag list will be closed and I will not add anyone anymore!

Taglist ⤵️

: @maxmaxmaxsupermax

@sporadicbananajellyfish

@esw1012

@mynameisangeloflife

@anunstablefangirl

----

[vellazx]

Luffy x Reader (Gender not specified) — Angst / Fluff — Can be taken as platonic or romantic. Small and optional romantic Ace x Reader if you squint.

When all of you got separated at Sabaody Archipelago, Kuma sent you to one of the many places you didn’t desire to be held in.

He asked you right before sending you away, “If you could go someplace for vacation, where would you go?”

You were hesitant to respond.

“Anywhere my friends are.”

Impel Down. He sent you to Impel Down — that wasn’t the slightest bit a vacation. It was pure torture, for all the time you were stuck in a cell.

The World Government considered you dangerous enough to holster you on level 5, considered to be the floor of Impel Down that holds the most world-threatening criminals. You heard of a possible ‘level 6’, but that wasn’t your concern.

You expected to be alone throughout your suffering in that cell.

But there was one factor making it just the slightest bit easier for you.

Luffy’s older brother; Portgas D. Ace.

He sat chained up in the cell right next to yours, alongside an infamous Fishman Warlord who somehow ended up on the Government’s bad side.

When he saw you, he recognized you almost immediately. All the way back from when he met you in Alabasta.

“It’s… you? You’re Luffy’s friend. Why are you here…?”

If only you knew the answer to that question.

Ace grew fond of you rather quickly. Despite your situation, you tried your best to remain somewhat calm and have faith that you’d escape from the hellhole that called itself ‘Impel Down’. He wouldn’t prefer anyone else be in the cell next to his own. You felt the same about him, too.

The two of you sorted your trope out as ‘comfort buddies’, if that even made sense at all. When you were upset, he would try to cheer you up from across his own cell, despite his weak and raspy voice.

You did the same. Constantly telling him that you’d find a way to get him out.

Not just for his sake — but for Luffy’s sake. You cared deeply for your captain, and you didn’t need much convincing to know that he and Ace were the closest of the closest.

Ace saw it in your eyes, whenever you talked about your life-changing (stinky) captain, the glint of adoration you held for him. Therefore he swore to find a way to get you out of Impel Down, as well.

He didn’t lie when he said those words to you.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you out, too.”

But what about what you said?

Luffy, the boy whom you would die for, held his brother’s cold body in his arms. He found a way to sneak into Marineford, vowing to help you rescue Ace.

You said you’d get him out.

Though his freedom only lasted for a moment.

Akainu prevailed, bringing about the death of a friend you had little time to spend with.

Ace was more than the brother of the one you were deeply loyal towards. He was one of your closest friends, there for you during your breakdowns in that cell — as you were for him.

You were there. You didn’t have time to react as the magma empowered Admiral punched a hole right through his ribs.

You didn’t even do so much as budge.

No lies were to be spread. You blamed yourself for allowing Ace to get killed so easily. You could’ve helped. Saved him.

You entirely believed it was your fault for not doing anything.

So why did he forgive you? No. He didn’t forgive you, because he didn’t see you as a problem to begin with. He had no need to accept your apology, because he deemed it unnecessary.

Your captain. The one who was there during Ace’s death. The one who suffered the most.

He didn’t blame you.

Rather, he showed you sympathy. He knew you had gotten close to his brother while being held hostage in the underwater prison.

As tears fell from your eyes, Luffy wrapped his arms around you, caressing the back of your head with his calloused hand, still bruised from all the fighting he indulged in.

“Stop blaming yourself. I don’t like it. And stop crying! I’d prefer not to see you cry, ‘cause I don’t like it. Not one bit!”

You thought for sure he would’ve been somewhat upset with you for not being able to prevent Ace’s death. But no. Instead, he was upset with you for blaming yourself.

“…But I thought—”

“Urgh. Then— stop thinking!”

He was never mad at you.

Your overflowing tears soaked his bandaged shoulder, damp spots littered all over it.

You weren’t exaggerating when you said you would’ve lost your sanity without him in multiple scenarios. This one easily being crowned the worst.

He held you close until he had to leave for his training.

Even after two years passed, he still didn’t blame you.

“Lu. You see those stars up there, right?”

“Shishishi! Of course I do! What about them?”

“One of them is Ace. He’s watching over us. I just know it!”

“I already knew that! Of course he’s watching us! Why would he not be? C’mon, tell me something more creative!”

“Ugh, you’re ruining the moment!”

[bweeeb]

🎄Christmas collection

PASSING LONELINESS

THEODORE NOTT X READER

Part 2 of loneliness

Warnings: Angst, maybe too much drama, maybe bad writing ( but give me a break because English is not my first language. )

Summary: Theodore returns to the castle and finds a huge mess of tears from his girl on the freezing couch in the common room.

The castle remained quiet, something that wouldn't be the case if Theodore were there with her. Theo raced up the stairs, eager to reach the Slytherin common room as quickly as possible. He didn't want to have gone home without her, he didn't want to have left her without saying goodbye and letting her simply go home alone. Theo didn't want to have spent this Christmas Eve with his father who had finished a bottle of whiskey in less than an hour and gone to bed without even saying goodbye. He regretted how he had behaved in their relationship and kept repeating to himself that she deserved better, that he wasn't worthy of her love, and much less that she should be there for him after such a fucked up year for her.

With a cigarette between his lips, Theodore blew out the smoke and scanned the common room, checking to see if anyone would give him trouble. Another drag on his cigarette and the anxiety didn't dissipate from his chest. In the middle of the week he had sent a letter to the girl but never got a reply, he knew he should maybe go to her house but if she hadn't given him an answer it was because maybe she didn't want to see him during the most important holiday of the year for her.

Throwing himself onto a sofa at the beginning of the common room, Nott's gaze was lost in the darkness of the room and only when he noticed the dim, red embers in one of the fireplaces closest to the only windows there, did he frown and decide to get up, try to grab some of the recently extinguished heat and maybe even light the fireplace again, it was one of the coldest years in five years, it wouldn't be a bad idea to warm up a bit, he thought.

His feet took him to the sofa that was positioned in front of the fire and his eyes fell suddenly and surprisingly on the huddled body of the most important person in his life, shivering in her sleep, with fresh tears that hadn't dried on her cheeks and nose, she had a pout forming on her mouth and the way she hugged herself gave the feeling that she was trying to push something away from herself. Maybe loneliness.

Theodore didn't understand why she was there, she still had a house, a comfortable bed with all her stuffed animals that he recognized she hugged when she came home on holidays, a blanket made of so many cottons that warmed her to places where it wasn't possible to warm up even with a heater, she had soft pajamas with hoods that made her look like a hibernating polar bear, she had feather and cotton pillows and there she was, on a hard leather sofa, without any pillow on her head, hugging herself while shaking all her bones to keep warm in the Slytherin common room.

Theodore stood there for about five minutes, watching her with confusion in his eyes, she had never seemed to be in so much pain as at that moment, he didn't like it, she was supposed to be comfortable and well on her favorite night of the year. Nott walked around the sofa and crouched beside her, removing a hair that had fallen on her face and stuck to her wet tears.

His thumb gently passed over her cheek, wiping away what was wet and that made his girl open her eyes startled.

— What are you doing, Amore. Why are you here?

Theo asked in a whisper and she raised her torso from the sofa and leaned on her left arm as she looked at Theo with other tears starting to appear in her eyes.

— Where should I go?

She asked so softly, afraid that her voice would fail more than she would have liked. Theo could crumble just from the lost look she had inside her, she wasn't like that. He was, not her.

— Home, you should be home, in your bed, with your pillows and comfortable blankets.

His voice was so soft that she felt more like collapsing right there. Her eyes overflowed and a lump formed in her throat, she was on the edge of the cliff.

— But there's no one there.

She shook her head.

— My house isn't my house if there's no one I love there.

She denied, sniffing as her tears began to pour from her eyes.

Theodore hated himself, hated himself for being so stupid, for letting his pride coerce him once again.

Nott pulled her towards him and cradled her in his chest, she didn't fight his touch or try to move away like he thought she would, she wanted him there.

— I'm so sorry for not being here. I'm so sorry.

He said against her hair as she sobbed into his chest, whining that she hated it all until her head shot up quickly, eyes swollen, cheeks flushed and despair imminent in her expression.

— Theo. I swear to you, I would never trade you for anyone in this damn castle. Please believe me.

She said through tears and continued to tremble.

— I can't lose you too.

Her crying increased and Theodore pulled her closer. He wanted to warm her, he wanted to give her affection, he wanted to take that pain away from her and kill anyone who made her cry again.

— You'll never lose me Y/n Y/l/n. Do you understand me? Fuck, you're the love of my life, if I let you slip through my fingers I'll go crazy.

Theodore put both his hands on each of her cheeks and rested their foreheads together so that he allowed a tear to fall there. He felt her small thumb pass over his cheek and there she was with eyes full of tears.

— You're crying.

She sniffed smiling.

— You never cry.

— Your pains are mine too, bella. I won't leave you alone anymore. I promise you.

He said placing a kiss on her lips and hugging her as if his life depended on it. And it kind of did.

— Let's make your Christmas as good as they used to be.

___________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed this and I wanted to say that requests are open, talk to me!

[arminsumi]

hi! I hope you're doing well, i always look foward to your work <3

can i request gojo and geto being protective over you

drink lots of water!

Promise — 約束

SatoSugu ⋅ fem reader

NOTE — so sweet !! thank you, i'm so happy you look forward to my works :) i hope u like what i made of this, the idea just kinda happened

WARNINGS — angst with fluff / comfort (it's not actually sad the boys are just distressed because you got hurt), implied injury / near-death experience (reader)

" THEY WHAT ?! ARE THEY OUT OF THEIR MINDS ?! " Satoru yelled like you had never seen him yell before. He was seething, eyes ablaze.

" This has to be a mistake... oh, angel, don't cry, come here. " Suguru talked to you soothingly.

You had come to them and told them the news through chokes and sniffles. It stung their hearts to see you so petrified.

An especially frightening mission had been assigned to you. Usually, these two overprotective boys tagged along with you or just did it themselves to save you the burden and pain of using your straining technique. But that wasn't an option this time, for some reason.

" I have a bone to pick. " Satoru grumbled, storming off violently.

Suguru had been practically cradling you in his arms to try and soothe your nerves.

" Satoru ! Don't do something rash — ah, shit, 'gotta go after that madman or he'll kill someone. Okay, you stay with Shoko, alright ? She's in the main hall by the vending machines. Relax. Satoru and I will sort everything out. Drink some water and rest — and no cigarettes with Shoko. "

So the boys went to complain to the higher ups, and though admittedly they were shaken up by Satoru's violently aggressive attitude, they didn't budge.

" ARE YOU ALL OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MINDS ?! "

" Satoru, calm down. " Suguru said. That's when Satoru finally calmed down.

" We're the strongest, let us take on this mission instead. " Suguru tried to reason.

Satoru's voice subtly shook when he spoke, residual anger lingering in his throat. His heart was beating heavily. " Y/n's weak. " he said. A harsh truth. " Too weak to take on a special-grade like that. "

Suguru tended to butter you up and call you strong, but Satoru was brutally truthful; you were much, much weaker than the both of them. Ever since they had met you, they felt this overwhelming urge to protect you with their lives.

Then they tried to convince the higher ups that you were " too weak " to do it. But they still didn't budge. In fact they glowered at the two students.

" You think I can't do it myself ! I'm a fucking god ! I could snap that thing in half with my fingertips ! " Satoru went into a sudden self-induced power trip, but Suguru stood besides him and silently agreed. Of course he could do it himself, he was Gojo Satoru.

Storming off again, Satoru left to go find you. And Suguru followed after his steps.

" Shoko ? Where did Y/n go ? She was supposed to be with you. "

" . . . uh, she walked right past me earlier and when I asked where she was headed, she said something about Roppongi ? " Shoko had her head in her hands and a lit cigarette between her fingers.

" God fucking damn it, that idiot. " Satoru's heart panged with worry.

" Save some limbs for me to rip off. " Suguru joked.

" Let's go get her. " Suguru said.

" I swear to fuck . . . I'll fucking rip that thing to limb by limb if it even so much as grazes her skin. " Satoru seethed.

" You two are gonna get reprimanded for this, you know. "

Satoru waved his hand dismissively and left with Suguru.

You were in the midst of battle, bleeding and panting. Covering your ears, you were just about to succumb to your paralyzing fear when suddenly your two saviors sliced right into the scene. You caught a glimpse of the most feral, raw look in Satoru's eyes; pure vengeance, it was almost artful how he pulled apart the cursed spirit.

" Angel, it's okay now, We're here. " Suguru comforted you, lifting your limp body and holding it like a baby. " You did good. Don't try to move, you must be in a lot of pain. I've got you, don't worry. Oh — Satoru, that was quick. Are you trying to show off for her ? Just teasing. "

You listened to the lullaby-like voice of Suguru and let your eyes flutter shut. The last image in your vision was that of a panting, blue-eyed boy who looked so startled to see you in poor condition. He looked about ready to cry.

Their voices sounded like distant echoes to you as you drifted into a half-conscious state, leaning more on the unconscious side.

" . . . I could kill those old fucks right now. "

" Satoru, calm down. She's going to be alright. Let's just get her to Shoko. "

" I hate seeing her like this. "

" Me too. But she'll be okay. "

" Angel, still with us ? Satoru, just breathe. She's really going to be okay. Don't cry or you'll make me cry, too. "

" Sh-she's so damn stubborn. Stubborn a—nd st-stupid. Why'd you run off by yourself like that. Y-you stupid weakling . . . "

You could hear Satoru distantly crying, and he didn't stop until after Shoko tended to you. The boys kept close, soothingly stroking your arms and cheeks to keep you conscious.

Nothing can explain the relief they felt when they saw you stirring-to again.

" Hey, sleepyhead. " Suguru's tender smile was the first thing you saw.

Satoru's lips were parted, his face paler than ever. He looked so relieved and yet shocked to the bone, like he'd just gone through the worst day of his life.

" Welcome back to the land of the living. " Shoko greeted, cleaning up the blood on your cheek. " You know, you made the boys cry. Satoru even had a snotty nose like a little kid. "

" Shut up . . . "

Satoru heard how dry your throat was when you spoke, and promptly shoved his half-full water bottle in your face, hastily drying his eyes on his uniform sleeve. Like the in-sync duo they were, they worked together to help you drink; Suguru held the back of your head, and Satoru tilted the water bottle into your mouth. Of course he spilled a bit, two rivulets of water went down either side of your jawline and tickled your neck.

" . . . was just . . . trying to show you two . . . that I'm not weak . . . but I guess I am. I'm Sorry. " you choked, voice barely above a whisper.

Their hearts sunk deep.

" You're not weak . . . " Satoru choked up too, eyes only recently dried of tears and yet fresh ones began tipping over his bottom lid, wetting his angelic lashes. " You're not weak, I'm sorry I say that all the time. I shouldn't have . . . I just . . . would rather convince you you're weak so you'll call on us all the time, 'n n-never r—r-risk los—ing y—ou. " he suddenly sobbed at the end, realizing how deeply he cared for you.

Suguru was on the verge of tears, too, because of the sight of his best friend sobbing like a hurt puppy and also because of what he had just said.

" . . . don't cry, you two. A—ahah, Sh-Shoko don't you cry with them ! Or I'm gonna cr—yh. "

" Very graceful, Satoru. " Suguru joked.

" . . . thanks. " you thanked them.

" Don't say thank you. "

You could barely make out the complicated sentence that Suguru said next, it was something like;

" You'll never be undeserving of our protection. " and " So never say thank you. "

That day, they didn't just promise to keep you safe, they vowed it. Weak or not, strengthened or not, they felt compelled to be at your side.

Through the long passage of time, they never break their vow to keep you safe, even when Satoru and Suguru part paths. You're never an enemy to either of them, you're always their baby.

It's a tough reality to accept that one of your closest friends has become a murderous cult leader, and the other has become a lonely god. But they still visit you. Sometimes you three will hang out altogether in secret — so risky, but worth it, to see the two of them smiling with you even though you had very few things to smile about during your adulthood.

The sweet, comforting feeling of the adolescent memories made with them carries through all the years.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[mountkennedie]

Remember You

Loki x fem!reader

warnings: A N G S T but fluff at the end and like 1 swear word

Summary: You have known Loki since before, during, and after Thanos' torture

Word Count: 1.9k

A.N. Okay I hadn't seen Loki s2 yet for most of this so this is mainly from my own sick little brain. I think this is the saddest thing I have ever written. Enjoy! :)

Life was so simple when you both were just teenagers. Running around Asgard, playing jokes on unsuspecting kin. Practicing magic with Loki's mother, he was always so gifted. You tried as hard as you could but still couldn't fully grasp certain techniques. It didn't matter to him. He helped you gain strength in what you could do.

Those are the memories you held onto on nights like these. When the knowledge of his death would refresh itself in your mind. You still will not completely understand why he fell from the Bifrost. You wanted to hold Odin accountable, but you were merely a best friend of a prince, nothing more to your name. So you stayed up at night, making and remaking the same tricks he had shown you many years ago.

Soon, another dawn came, and you finished out another sleepless night. The circles under your eyes were only growing darker, but you did not pay it much mind.

"Lady Y/n," Thor called. You turned and faced the prince. "I have news you may like to hear."

~

"And you are sure? ...he lives?"

"Indeed," Thor placed a strong hand on your shoulder. He had a faint smile on his face for just a moment, but then it faded. "I wish my news could be completely good. However, though my brother lives, he is currently rampaging Midgard. I am being sent to bring him back home."

Your joy had overcame every sense. It took a moment to process the rest of what Thor had told you. But once it did, your face fell just the same, "He's what?"

"He has currently killed eighty-one people over the course of two days, Lady Y/n."

You did not want to believe it. You couldn't. Of course, Loki has gone too far before, but this was not of his nature. "That does not sound like him." You took a pause and looked at Thor with a very stern expression, "Bring him back to me."

"I will do what I can." With that, he left, and you sank to the floor. A part of you wanted to rejoice due to him still being a part of this world, but you knew it would be joy misplaced. He was currently terrorizing a planet. What can one say to that?

~

You visited Heimdall as often as you could. To checking on Loki as much as possible. The feeling of denial you originally bestowed upon him was confirmed one afternoon.

"The prince does not look the same to me as he always has. A veil is shielded over him."

Since that was observed, you held onto it like a strand of life. It provided you rest you terribly needed and slight solace until he was returned. The restlessness did indeed return, however. When the realization that someone had to have overcame the prince's strong will to make him do their bidding. The thought reclaimed the worry over your soul, and your small moment of 'peace' was over.

~

He is being returned today. You were not supposed to be anywhere near the Bifrost, as any civilian. But you were still as close as possible, which meant you were inside the castle walls. You had to conceal yourself behind a column as they entered. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. However, just like before, that joy was abandoned upon seeing Loki in chains.

You came out of your place of concealment when they had walked past you. You quickly flew to the throne room, where Loki was to be charged.

When you reached the doors, you were held back. "No civilians are allowed beyond this point," you were told by the guard.

"Allow her in," the voice of his mother. You turned and made eye contact with her, then curtsied. She came up to you and held onto your arm. She gave a quick squeeze and a weak smile. You both entered together and stood beside Odin.

"Why has she accompanied you?" He spoke in a sour tone. He did not care to even look in your direction.

"She has a right to be here," The Allmother responded. Odin dropped the matter, and a guard had entered the room.

"He is outside the doors, your majesty."

"Send him in." The guard nodded and turned. He left for a moment, and you noticed the queen inhaled deeply and fixed her posture.

The doors opened, and you held your breath. The sounds of the shackles echoed around the room. You felt your eyes grow heavy in tears, but you knew not to let even one drop. Odin showed no emotion on his throne, as if the man before him was not his own son.

"I really don't see what all the fuss is about." That's him. Your Loki, not that being on Midgard that hurt all those innocent people. His words flowed as they always had, but just like always, Odin was unaffected.

He made a remark to his mother. But once his eyes fell upon you, in that one moment, his confidence was struck. They remained on you for a moment more before continuing his charade with the king.

When the sentence was carried out, he looked for once, defeated. He looked to his mother, then to you one last time. Then, it was promptly removed from the throne room and into the dungeons.

~

A month has passed now. You finally learned the different times and schedules of the guards and were able to make a plan to get around them. With the lack of the Allmother's word, you were restricted entry just as before. But today, you were ready to strike once again.

Every other Tuesday at 3:45 pm, the guards will take a break. The break itself was unauthorized. However, you appreciated the obstruction to the rule since it gave you time. Once out of ear shot of the guards, you opened to heavy doors leading to the prisons beneath the kingdom.

The smell hit you first. A wave of different creatures, all perspiring in unity with one another. Your cloak, worn to conceal your identity, could only do so much in masking the odor. You had no clue which cell he would be in, but you believe the worst was behind you. With quick strides, the hunt began.

Should I ask for directions? you thought. Of course not! You are in the dungeons of Asgard not the village market! In your defense, the place was a maze. Crafted to confuse an inmate incase of its escape.

You continued on a few paces before turning a corner. Something caught your eye. Something was sticking out amongst all the other inmates. You followed that alluring feeling up to the cell you'd been looking for.

His back was faced to you, but you noticed upon you walking towards him. He looked up. "Has my mother sent a new morsel to keep me entertained?" He faced you with mock amusement. "Who are you supposed to be?"

You reached up and removed the hood from your head. His face changed from amused to confounded. He grew close to the wall, separating you two. "Is this some sort of trick? Who was put up to this?"

You took a moment to gather your words. "What do you mean? Do you not believe I have come?" Your voice was frail. You were not expecting this reaction from him at all.

"I believe the one that currently sits on the throne will stop at nothing to pin to the bottom of misery itself." He leaned down to get closer to your eye level, though the barrier still blocked you both. "And what have you got to prove you are not another game for me to lose?" His voice was cold. A part of you wanted to ask what Odin did to make him lose trust in everything before him. However, that was not what he wanted to hear right now.

You sucked in a breath and then held out your hand. You conjured a purple snake with green spots. The image you would always match with his green snake with purple spots. This was what he taught you about how to make one warm summer night.

When the memory was triggered, Loki nearly threw himself on the shield. Instead, he fell to his knees and got to the edge of the cell. "(Y/n)... oh (Y/n)... how did you even get in here?"'

"I snuck in. It took much more planning than you would have thought," Though he was still in captivity, you couldn't help but smile as you saw him. And most importantly, he saw you.

He shook his head, "I've missed you. But you shouldn't be here. I don't want," he looked around the room, "them to know of you too much."

"I know, but -" You heard a scuffle. "Shit, how long has it been? I think the new guards have been appointed. I have to go." You sped off, and from behind, you heard Loki hit the glass, then groan in pain. But you swore to yourself to return for him again.

~

So much had happened in the span of a month. Frigga was dead. Loki broke out of jail, and you, with your help, Thor, Jane, and him, made it to the other realm. After your part of the plan was complete, you were to return to Asgard and help defend it from any dark elves that could attack.

But now the three of them were supposed to return. You looked out, waiting to see Loki accompanying Thor. But we were met with only the older brother. When he crossed into the palace, you approached him.

He beat you to ask your question with an answer. "I regret to inform you that once more, my brother will not be returning home."

You didn't know if you thought it or screamed it, but the overwhelming feeling of dread was all you could express. How could this happen again? You had just gotten him back.

~

Odin was not acting like Odin. You could be losing yourself in grief and seeing your former- friend- everywhere. It was strange. You knew Odin was acting out of character, but to say he was acting like Loki was bold. Even for you.

So, it led you to confront the king after one of the plays had finished. "Allfather. I would like to request an audience." What you did not expect was for the king to accept.

The pair of you went into the palace, and there you confronted him. "This may come off as strange but -"

"I can't." You looked at him with a confused expression. "I can't keep lying. To you." The appearance of Odin melted away to reveal your former lov- friend. You didn't respond at first. Just stared, astonished.

"Please say something," he pleaded. Instead, you slapped him clean across the face. "I see how I deserve that." You brought him into your arms and held onto him close. The tears in my eyes overflowing down my face.

"Why didn't you tell me? At least me?" Your words were strung out slurred slightly. You just kept repeating your question, and he held you for a while until your breathing calmed down.

"I wanted to tell you. I wanted to explain everything to you. I wanted it all to be clear as day, especially for you. But I couldn't just yet. I needed to -"

You pulled back. "Wait," you interrupted, "If you're playing Odin. Then where's the real one?"

"Midgard."

"Loki..." you facepalmed.

"But he is being taken care of. They have these homes that take care of those who are later in life. He's fine," his voice was rushed.

You sighed and rested your head on his chest. "Don't die on me again. Or at least tell me when you plan to? I don't know. But whatever you do just," you look him in the eyes, "don't leave me again."

"I won't." If only that were true.

A.N. Hope this broke you the way it broke me lol