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sunmoonandsandsoundtracks · 3 years

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I need Madara Uchiha in my life. Can I get a Madara x reader lemon. No Y/N please. Makes me cringe and propells me so fast out of the story I have seventh degree road rash burns and whip lash.

Thanks!

i got you. i'm very against placeholders as well. i actually haven't used them at all on any of my stories on this blog. i usually avoid using names for the reader as much as possible, but i have a generic name i plug in when necessary.

all right, i'm getting a lot more comfortable with writing sex, which is good, but i have never written a word for madara in my life, unless i needed him to fill the role of a random villain, and pretty far off to the side. here goes nothing.

also, i really hope you weren't looking for anything happy. this one is... not. not at all.

thank you for the exercise and expansion in my character writing. i hope i didn't disappoint you too much.

masterlist

spotify/youtube taking it back to my angsty junior high music phase when i was constantly listening to never enough by five finger death punch, welcome to my life by simple plan, and anything by three days grace.

word count: 1999 the longest one yet. wow.

enjoy! nsfw below the cut!

everything about you

You hated him. Everything about him, down to the little knowing curl of his lips when he saw right through you. You were pretty sure the feelings weren't one sided, even though he never said anything to you. You were arranged to marry him by his father before he died, leaving Madara as the head of the family with a world of responsibility on his shoulders, but you would have rather married one of the Senju. Even the one that would openly despise you as an Uchiha. At least there would be no emotional tag going on.

With Madara, he stonewalled you ninety-nine percent of the time. That remaining one percent- one percent, and even that seemed generous- would somehow always change everything. You'd be willing to run away from the miserable life you lived as his wife, risking severe punishment if caught, but then he'd jerk you back. The worst part of it all was that you actually believed that he was being genuine. It was when he let his guard down, when he was willing to show just you that he was human. The man you saw in those moments was the one you couldn't leave.

The time you saw that man most was during physical intimacy. You'd know when it was going to happen based on little signs when you'd give him his evening tea. His eyes would appraise you, starting at the stray strands of hair that fell out of line, all the way down to your feet, often still dusted with dirt from walking down the road. If you were wearing something that was slipping in any area, like a kimono, the sleeve sliding down your shoulder, the black holes that were his irises and pupils would linger and drink in any extra exposed skin.

The Madara you couldn't stand wouldn't take a moment to appreciate what was in front of him like that. A hardened glance at your face was usually all you got, and you were convinced he was repulsed by you.

The Madara you couldn't deny being in love with gave you the opposite feeling. Without a word, he would tell you that you're beautiful. It was just in the way that he would take his time, his gaze pinning you in place, softening when he saw something he liked on you...

"Come to bed with me," he'd say after he'd had two cups. It was different than the usual night where he'd just go to bed when he felt like it, not caring what you did.

"I need to-" You'd start.

"Can it wait?" He'd cut you off gently, and you didn't even try to put up any resistance.

This night was like any other, except for one thing.

"Is something bothering you?" He asked as he slowly undressed you.

"Kind of, but I don't want to ruin this. Can we just enjoy each other, and we'll see what happens after. It'll be easier to talk then."

There was a flash of an expression across his face that nearly had you backing out.

"Who are you worried will make it difficult to talk about. You or me?"

"Please, just let it go for right now," you begged.

"We will talk about it after."

You nodded, the weight of the atmosphere heavy on your shoulders. You had to salvage the situation.

"Madara," you whispered, appealing to his softer side. "I've missed you. I know it's been hard on you lately, but I'm here. Please, let me be more than someone to warm your bed. Let me help you. I care too much to just stand aside and watch you suffer like you have. Please."

Something in your expression seemed to get through to him, as the fence he was balancing on gave way.

"We'll talk more about it later."

At that, he kissed you, starting out tenderly, but even in his softest moments, he wasn't a man that could maintain that gentleness for long. He was too powerful a force and too passionate a human to hold himself back. It escalated as he carried out his mission to disrobe you and lowered you to your futon. When he straightened up on his knees to remove his own clothes, you rolled over onto your stomach. He always preferred to take you from behind, whether it was on the ground, or occasionally up against a wall. He'd said it was easier for him to get off if he didn't have to worry about what was showing on your face, and even when your Madara came out, he still stuck to it.

"No," he commanded as he loomed over you, running a hand down your side, stopping to rest on your hip. "On your back."

Your eyes widened as he pushed against your hip to get you to return to your previous position. You stared up at him in surprise. In all the times the two of you had copulated, he had only allowed this position once, in the very early days of your marriage. He wasn't satisfied with it, and had never allowed it again, let alone requested- or demanded, like everything else- it. Butterflies invaded your stomach, bringing with them a hope that things might actually get better.

His eyes were soft again, and you could feel the tears threatening to form.

"Ma-Madara?" You questioned, voice cracking.

He said your name reverently, then briefly kissed you once more. "I'm going to do better from now on. Peace is on the horizon, and I want to lead the clan into a new age. I actually think it may be possible. Hashirama has made a lot of headway, and we are just a day away from a truce."

"That's amazing," you replied, but something in your gut told you not to give into the desperation for peace just yet. "I know that if anyone can do this, you can."

"I'll do everything in my power to make it happen. To usher in an era where the next generation has one less feud to worry about. I'll be a better husband to you."

The dam broke and the warm tears coursed down your cheeks. It was so much. The talk of peace, of the future, of your relationship, all while the two of you were as naked and vulnerable as could be.

"Madara," you said, voice quivering with emotion, "That's wonderful, but I really need you to be here with me tonight. All of you."

There was a new look in his eyes as he delivered his reply. "I'm here."

You initiated it this time, reaching up and kissing him heatedly. You had never wanted him anywhere near this much before, and you refused to risk losing what had been built.

His hands went to your breasts, toying with your nipples gently, only as aggressively as he needed to get you to moan into his mouth. Tongues tangling in an intimate dance that was setting the tone for your bodies to follow, each of you latched onto each other's body. Your hands in his long hair, his moving to hold you by your hips, fingers clawing into the flesh.

Growing needier by the second, you held him as tightly as you could, whimpering when he broke the kiss to catch his breath. He didn't leave you to complain for long, his mouth tending to the job his hands had abandoned. You could feel your arousal building as his tongue played with your nipple, enhanced by the heat of his mouth. He'd never treated you like this before, only caring about his own release most of the time.

"Madara, please!" You begged, not an ounce of pride to your name.

"Please what?" He questioned in a husky voice. "Say it."

"Please fuck me!"

That smirk that you had always found so infuriating appeared, but this time, you found it much less so than before. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

He still didn't give you what you wanted right away, and you knew that all his previous hurry and lack of care for you wasn't from lack of knowledge. It would probably hurt you more later to think about, but if the future really was so bright, it might not hurt at all. At the very least, no thought you had in your brain- which was a very small list- could hurt you when his fingers slipped inside you and his thumb rubbed at your clit. It was bliss like you'd never known, and it showed on your face.

"What have I been missing out on?" He muttered as he watched the way your face contorted in pleasure. He was growing harder just at the feel of the increase in lubrication on his hand. When his erection was almost painful, he pulled his hand back.

You almost cried in frustration after being brought to the edge and then denied.

"I'm going in," he warned you, giving you maybe five seconds of notice before his cock slid inside. You wondered if your enjoyment altered your memory, because you swore he was filling you more than ever. Your hands gripped his shoulders and your legs entrapped his waist, holding him in place.

One, two, three rocks of his hips into you, and you were in heaven. His tip brushed your cervix as his girth stretched you out, sliding in and out as he moved. You did your best to not leave all the work to him, but you couldn't focus.

He stuttered out your name and gave a particularly hard thrust that finished you off, sending you reeling.

"Madara!" You screamed, not too concerned about being heard by your close neighbors. They'd probably just think you were fighting.

He managed to make it through your orgasm, but just barely. It was just as you were relaxing that he reached his limit, signaled only by a grunt as you milked as much cum out of him as you could. With sweat beading all over, he collapsed beside you.

You sent him a sleepy smile. "I love you."

Surprise was written on his face, and if you weren't so tired, you'd have relished it. You might have said it just to get that reaction, but you wouldn't really have sunk that low. You wouldn't say it to him if you weren't completely sure of it, which was why in two years of marriage, it was the first time you had said it. He hadn't either.

"I love you too," he whispered to the still night when you were obviously asleep, as he pulled you to him, holding you like you were a coveted treasure.

You didn't hear it then, and with the events of the following days, you wouldn't ever expect to hear it. You'd never expect to see that side of him again, because three days later, he buried his sole remaining brother, to whom he had been very close.

All talks of peace had ceased, and the clan was more demonized than ever.

The Madara you'd been content to love was gone.

"I hate everything about who he is, but I still love him," you said, watching as he left your home for yet another meeting at a high ranking clan member's home, two weeks after Izuna's death. "And I think he does love me too, despite the hatred that lingers in his eyes when he looks at me."

You looked down at your hand on your stomach, which wasn't noticeably bigger yet, but you'd still started to be extra careful about how tightly your clothes hugged your body.

"I hope more than anything that he'll change when you come along, and I pray that you'll know peace, even if we never see it."

Even as you said it, you couldn't believe that it would happen that soon, but you had to hope. It was the only way you could keep the hatred for the world out of your own heart, and by extent, the heart of your developing child.

#naruto canon verse #madara x reader #hurt/comfort/hurt #jukebox month

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inkmemes · 3 years

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this country ( 2017 - 2020 ) sentence starters ↪ taken from the bbc mockumentary. trigger warning for mentions of religion, death, sex. alter as you see fit ♡

“i like the underdog.”

“don't be a fucking dick.”

“everyone comes together on days like today and just forgets their utter hatred of each other.”

“everyone who's anyone's going to be there and there are people from my past that would love to see me slain.”

“there's a tea rooms there and under the counter they've got a panic button and if i take one step inside, they can press that. the police will be there in three minutes.”

"he whatsapped me the other day asking us to go laser quest with him and i ... well, i clicked on it by accident, didn't i? so he knows i've seen it."

"i mean, i get it, but it's not making me feel nothing."

“it's baffling. i'm baffled by the entire situation, if i'm honest.”

“what the actual fuck? what the actual fuck? you have fucking lost your head, mate. you have lost your fucking head.”

“when i get hold of you, i swear to god i will fucking deck you.”

"someone's just been throwing plums at my house. i'm going to kill them. i can't believe it. i can't believe it. all over this. plumming on here, plumming on that. plum on the sofa, look! there's nothing left that hasn't been plummed."

“i've had a target on my back since the day i was born.”

“thank you very much, enjoy your free potatoes.”

“do you know how small your brain is?”

“hogwarts is that way, dumbledore.”

“he used to say i looked like the puppet off the dolmio advert.”

“there's a kid crying over there. do you want me to...? i can tell him to shut the fuck up if you want?”

“he genuinely looked like a moomin.”

“on my first day of karate club, karate master goes to me, [name], i don't know why you're here because i can't teach you anything. if anything, you should be teaching me." and just gave me his black belt.”

“you know that little old blind man? yeah, when i was punching him in his face, the lens from his glasses broke and cut my knuckle.”

“some things are just best left in the past, where they belong.”

“what's the point in knocking if you're just going to walk in anyway?”

“it was a miscarriage of justice though, cos what people forget is 12 out of them 20 hostages actually found it funny.”

“i lied so much i still don't know what's real life and what's plain lies.”

“i'm so glad you're out of that lying phase.”

“he likes to be the only person on the road, so whenever he sees a car coming the other way he just pulls over.”

“nasa went through hundreds of them in the '60s. and now every time i see a really bright star in the sky i can't wish on it, cos in my head i'm thinking, ‘that's probably just a spacecraft with some monkey bones in it.’”

“you absolute traitor. that's my cheese - it's my fucking house!”

“don't you dare eat that cheese. you eat that and i will smash this. i promise you, i will smash you with this.”

“fuck! you switched them!”

“yeah, i can see it's fucking burnt, sherlock.”

“i honestly am ashamed to know him, sometimes.”

“if you knock on someone's door, don't take no for an answer. get into their house. if they say, ‘leave my house’, stay. and if they say, ‘i'm going to call the police’, you walk upstairs and see if there's anybody else upstairs to sell to.”

“she looks like uncle fester.”

“right. i'm going to piss in their flowers, then.”

“you really need to go home. your mum's called the police and everything.”

“you're also fired from being my best mate, by the way.”

“in business, there will always be setbacks. i don't drink my own juice, fray bentos doesn't eat his own pies. but that's business.”

“do you know what, i don't actually want to play this any more, because it is actually very, very boring.”

“i'm ashamed of myself, that's not usually me, so don't get the wrong impression.”

“i genuinely think one of them fancies me as well.”

“it's fate her moving across the street.”

“the problem with finding a girlfriend in the village is that most of the girls you meet round here are old-age pensioners.”

“yeah, i am looking for a relationship, but thing is i've just got so many trust issues, yeah, with being fucked over massive in the past, so no matter how much i get close to someone now i'm thinking in the back of my head, ‘shit, am i going to get fucked over?’ because i've been fucked over in the past massively. my last relationship proper fucked me up.”

“i went through a really dark phase. listening to papa roach and just blowing everything up with them little french bangers.”

“shut up, you don't know what you're talking about!”

“i don't like the man. i know he's my uncle, but i don't like him.”

“it's just malicious lies, that's all it is.”

“i'm not saying i've got a cruel heart, but if she ain't willing to take me as i am rather than the monster i've become, then she can literally just jog on back to sea with all the other fish cos i don't care.”

“what do you look for in a boyfriend?”

“the key to dating, yeah, is the two rs and the three ts. 'respect, rapport, and talking, talking, talking.' don't ever let that ball hit the ground. good relationships are built on great conversation.”

“on a date, you've got to tell them all the interesting stuff about you, because that's what they'll be interested in.”

“he said to me, he goes, ‘you can't smoke on here.’ i said, ‘i'm not smoking, i'm vaping.’ the look on his face when i said that. i don't think he knew what vaping… what a vape is.”

“you would make me the happiest mouse if you say yes and become my spouse.”

“here's a tip, [name], next time you take a chick out on a date, don't bore her to tears.”

“roses are red, violets are blue, i've got five fingers, the third one's for you.”

“get out of my way, pipe cleaner.”

“[name] phoned me the other day at three in the morning saying, ‘come quick,

there's a hedgehog in the garden that looks exactly like grandad.’ so i got up, i got dressed and i ran over to [name]'s as fast as i could and then i just stopped in the middle of the street at three in the morning and thought, ‘what the fuck am i doing with my life?’

“you're joking me? because if you are joking me, that is massively harsh.”

“oh, let me get a song up on youtube. you're going to absolutely love this, [name]. here we go… listen to this. oh, for fuck's sake, advert.”

“let's go down the pub and get shitfaced.”

“where do i see myself in five years? well, me and [name] will have a flat in the middle of the village and all of our furniture will be inflatable and we'll have cable and it will pay for itself, because we're going to use the spare room to breed quails, because their eggs are worth fucking shitloads.”

“is this about the calippo, still? because you offered to buy me that.”

“if he wants to go, good luck to him, i say. i reckon he thinks that i can't live without him, which is a laugh, because he went a whole weekend away once and i got on all right. i just ended up following this cat around the village.”

“i've got to do what's right for me, at the end of the day, instead of worrying about other people.”

“how about you say sorry? sorry for the massive knife that's hanging out the back of my back because of you.”

“oh, and while you're stabbing me in the back, feel free to bend down and kiss my arse.”

“can i just ask you an honest question? why would you want to leave the village when we've got a pub and a shop?”

“i think you don't know how lucky we have it to be doing nothing with our lives, like. we're all going to die, anyway, so what's the point in doing anything?”

“i want ownership of the words fucknut and dickmilk.”

“i had this come through the post. and i've got a few concerns about it. firstly, this guy on the front looks really arrogant. not the sort of guy i was expecting, if i'm honest.”

“this is starting to stress me out a little bit.”

“why are you trying to stress me out? you know i'm already stressed out as it is.”

“the bloke that used to live in there, right, kept hearing strange noises coming out of his attic at night. and he'd go to the fridge and find that food was missing from the fridge. so he thought, ‘i'm just going to go up to the attic and check this out.’ and he found an entire family of peruvian panpipe buskers just living up there. and he thought ‘i'm just going to leave them to it, ‘cos they're not really doing me any harm.’ and then, a few years later, he thought, "well, i'll just go up to the attic to check on them. ‘see if they're all right.’ and it turned out they'd all died of asbestos poisoning. yeah, he doesn't live here any more.”

“some people will always be scared of me, and i can't change that, no matter how nice i am. but there's a balance to be had between being nice and being feared.”

“don't really like catching up. it's not my thing.”

“i just watched this video of this girl doing a random act of kindness on youtube. she basically paid for this old man's shopping at the till. and this old man was, like, about 90 years old. and he's so fucking old, like, you could see through his skin. and he just starts bawling his eyes out. he's like, ‘you're fucking joking me, this ain't fucking real life.’ i just thought... i want to make someone feel like that. ‘cos that's... i really… that's what i want to do.”

“i'm not dead. just can't be arsed to text her sometimes.”

“you know, correct me if i'm wrong, but four texts a day is complete madness. no-one can keep up with that.”

“i am doing kind things selfishly.”

“i was at midnight mass one year, right, someone got tipped off i was there. as i was coming out the church, someone tries to shoot me with a crossbow.”

“well, i haven't seen the film, have i? that's why i came here - to watch the fucking film - like a normal human being.”

“i've made an effort by coming here tonight. i didn't want to come.”

“i had to wheel him here from his house in an asda trolley, cos he was just too heartbroken to move.”

“sometimes you don't know what you got until you ain't got it any more. like blockbuster's. i just took 'em for granted - and then, one day, gone, and you spend ages trying to figure out what went wrong, and then you realise it was your fault all along.”

“i thought you said you wanted to fix things.”

“she wanted it to go that way, and it just wasn't gonna go that way. she even got me thinking that they'd get back together… ..but that's manipula.... manipulative people... do that. and he's better off without her.”

“that wasn't much to write home about.”

“it's fucking dead, isn't it?”

“basically, somebody's been sending me threatening letters, and i don't know who's doing it - and i am concerned, because my peripheral vision is poor, so, if somebody attacks me from the sides or snipes at me from an upstairs window, i am fucked - but my hearing is excellent, see? so i just need to spend a few days inside honing my sonar, and i'll be fine then.”

“if you don't like the work, the circus is in town and they're always looking for clowns.”

“his soul is just going to crumble to dust.”

“this really is not a good situation for me. a physical threat is something that i can deal with, but a sexual thing is not my area of expertise.”

“just really fucked in the head, mate.”

“what have i done? i haven't done anything wrong.”

“do you know how sad that is? that is so, actually, sad. that makes me sad for you, that you can't take a joke.”

“i think i just got a bit carried away with the whole thing.”

“your finger's going up my arsehole, mate.”

“i'll hold the back of your head, so you don't bash yourself.”

“when i lie in future, i don't want a massive lecture on how bad lying is, cos deep down, you're the worst of us all, mate.”

“i'd quite like a coke.”

“it's going to be like gluing a breadstick back together, because… like, as if a breadstick's been in a blender and it's all… ...the pieces smashed up.”

“like, this one time i started a fight club in the village hall, and i got a black eye from beating myself up. but it made my enemies think, ‘fuck, if she can do that to herself, what the fuck can she do to me?’”

“i'm absolutely 1,000% sure i've broken it in two places.”

“i knew this day would come.”

“i should be in tk maxx, getting the bargains that i deserve.”

“unlike you, [name], i'm not a fashion disaster.”

“i'm still warm in my grave, and she's sucking off the pallbearer.”

“you know, it took me ten years to get over [name], and i only went out with her for half a day.”

“i swear to god, if i see him here again, i swear to god, i will have no hesitation in just going up to him and just planting one on his face.”

“right, then keep your nose out of my business, yeah? nosy old cock-womble.”

“[name]’s attitude to me is puzzling. if i walk past her in the street

and say hi, she'll tell me to fuck off. yet every year, she sends me a really sweet, nice christmas card. you know, there's just no consistency there.”

“he's good-looking up close, isn't he?”

“don't show me any weakness, because i will take advantage.”

“no, put the brick down, you fucking psychopath.”

“when i asked him, he just said, ‘come to my office now,’ which means we're in the fucking shit, cos we're always in fucking shit.”

“i shouldn't be paying you at all.”

“i've always had a son. i talk about him all the time.”

“he's my son. he's not my dog.”

“it reminds me of the wicker man. i don't really know why.”

“i just find it weird how you can be so close to someone and they can be such a big part of your life, and then the next minute, you're just sort of strangers in the night.”

“i don't want the emotional implications.”

“well, about five years ago, i sold my birthday to my mum for about 200 quid, which means my mum's legally entitled now to never celebrate my birthday ever again for the rest of my life. not even, like, a happy birthday cup of tea, or a moonpig card, nothing - which is the worst decision i ever made in my entire life.”

“he deserves that anyway, because he's been sexting my nan, so…”

“what's this surprise? cos i need to know whether it's going to be worth this walk.”

“i always see them banners above the motorway, and i always thought, ‘who the fuck does them?’ well, now i know. people like me.”

“did you know you can't get stung by a stinging nettle if you grab the leaf top and bottom, like that? it's only when you touch it on the sides, it stings. agh, actually, that stung, then.”

“pez dispenser, they're cursed. they are, i'm not even joking. honestly, when i had one of them, i had the worst bout of bad luck i ever had in my life.”

“i swear down, it's a short cut. it might be a pleasant walk, we might enjoy it.”

“i'm not scared of the fox twins. i'd just like to sit them down and ask 'em plainly, ‘look, guys, what is going on? ‘cos this has just gotten completely out of hand now. you know, stop walking on your knuckles, stand up straight, be the best version of you that you can be. get a job, even. there's a trolley boy who works at tesco's, you know, who may as well have been raised by wolves. if he can get a job, you guys can walk it.’”

“yes, there has been talk of strange goings-on in the woods, ghost sightings and the like. but… ...they're never from particularly reliable sources.”

“i live with a ghost. there's a ghost in that house. he's like a civil war cavalier, with all the hair and the hat and all that. and every time i walk into the living room, he doffs his cap. and on his shoulder, he's got this crow that barks at me. it means i spend less time in the house, really. not because of him, because he's-he's quite peaceable. but the crow is malevolent. and i'm not having that. i can't share my house with a malevolent bird.”

“that's haunted as fuck.”

“am i going mad here, or does that, to you, look like that's where just ghost will hang out all the time?”

“look at him, little red riding twat.”

“if he's got an attitude with me, i swear to god, i'll just grab the steering wheel and drive us all into a wall.”

“it's a bit annoying, actually. cos this is not the first or the second time i've had to tell you, really, is it?”

“his sparkle has just gone.”

“you know my dad actually wrote the song wonderwall on the back of a beer mat in the space of ten minutes, don't you?”

“i've just got a tiny, tiny, tiny little favour to ask you.”

“when i think of [name], i think of someone who is very loyal. and very, very stupid. sort of more stupid than loyal. sort of 70% stupid, 30% loyal, probably. because she's very loyal. but extremely stupid.”

“do you know what? i actually don't think he loves you at all and i don't think he's ever loved you.”

“all right, that's harsh and unnecessary, but fine.”

“frankly, she is behaving like the antichrist.”

“i literally just got here.”

“you are such an unemotional slab of ham, [name].”

“i've got so much shit on that man you would not believe.”

“there's something in my eye.”

“i just can't quit him, you know?”

“yeah, we might have a fiery relationship, but when we're together, it's just… it's just pure chemistry, isn't it?”

“i'm not proud of it, believe me. but at the end of the day, i'm a very vindictive person, you know? it is what makes me me.”

“i basically went out and bought an alpaca off gumtree for £500. of all the mistakes i've made in my life, that was possibly the largest. definitely the physically largest.”

“yeah, i really don't wanna talk about that.”

“her only loyalty is to herself, staffies, and the tv channel dave… ...which, in my opinion, is a tv channel made by knuckle-draggers for knuckle-draggers.”

“i can't move on till i've seeked revenge, unfortunately.”

“if that was in france, that would be fine, but we're not in france.”

“the only thing we had in common, really, was stealing, and that was more my thing that i got him onto. but it just goes to show, you know, some friendships last and some friendships don't, but that's just the way it is.”

“you know it was me that got you sacked, don't you?”

“the thing i learnt about friendship is, you gotta accept each other's flaws, no matter how toxic they may be.”

“shit-stirring from beyond the grave.”

#rp meme #rp prompt #rp starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #this is the nichest meme ive made #but this show is so fucking funny okay

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kiyoominous · 4 years

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wishes (sakusa kiyoomi)

synopsis: sakusa doesn’t like making wishes, apparently they’re too childish. but he finds himself wishing that he never met you.

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi/reader

warnings: major character death, mention of hospitals

genre: angst, fluff if you squint, established relationship

a/n: i was listening to a lot of mitski when i wrote this :D click here for a youtube playlist to possibly listen to while you read!!!!! cross posted to ao3!

Sakusa wishes he never met you.

He’s never been one to invest in wishes. It makes sense with someone as no-nonsense, as practical, as logical as him. But life tends to push your boundaries and opinions and now he’s a believer, to his dismay.

He wishes he never said hello. He wishes his eyes never found yours. He wishes that he never sat next to you in high school and he definitely wishes he never asked to borrow a pencil.

“Of course!” you beamed brightly at him. Somehow, in amongst the sunny day, the smile on your face blinded him more than the light spilling into the classroom. But he didn’t mind.

Perhaps he got lost in the radiance of your face because he didn’t see the pastel pink mechanical pencil that was waving in front of him. He nervously snatched it from your hands and muttered a ‘thank you’ before quickly returning to his workbook.

He returned home that day, the gleaming image of you embossed in his mind. Reaching into his book bag, he found the mechanical pencil sitting right at the bottom of it. Oops.

The next day, he ran to your desk to dutifully hand your pencil back. It was slightly embarrassing to think that he was so consumed by your glow that he forgot to return what he borrowed. He had never felt himself stand more uprightly as he loomed over your seated form, graphite stick in hand.

“You can keep it, Sakusa. We’re friends now, right?”

Friends? The most he’d let himself call you was his classmate but sure, being friends sounded nice too.

He wishes he never let you speak to him, your intelligent words spilling like a fountain. He wishes he never heard you muse about language, culture, volleyball, anything really. He wishes he never heard the sound of your voice.

You were rambling on about something, Sakusa didn’t exactly remember what. Of course he was listening, it’d be rude of him not to. But he found himself tuning into the melodious noise of your voice rather than the words spill from your lips. He couldn’t help it, you had a way with his ears.

“Sakusa, are you listening to me?” you teased. The aforementioned boy nodded fervently but the sudden spring from his slouched form into a more poised position told you otherwise.

“You were talking about Latin or something.” he drawled lazily. You eyes widen in mock disbelief.

“Is that all you remember? Are you that bad of a listener?”

“Maybe you’re just boring.”

A moment of stunned silence and then a gasp.

“You are going to regret that, Mister Top Three in Japan.”

Sakusa felt a fist push into his arm. The sensation of the punch was so feather light so he thought that there was nothing to regret. Maybe he could get used to this. But not yet. It was too soon to think about a relationship. Or even holding hands.

He wishes he never looped his arms around your waist. He wishes he never soaked in the warmth of your embrace. He wishes he’d never been so close to you that the smell of your laundry detergent lingered in his nose.

First dates were nerve wracking. Sakusa thought it was ridiculous to feel so high-strung about dating, to feel nervous and shy and anxious. It’s just an outing, how bad could it really be? It’s a shame that he started to understand now instead of before all of this.

His hands were sweaty, his chest was pounding and his knees were wobbling. Really, his damn knees? All of this because the thought of having to touch you once in his life was sprinting through the back of his mind.

He knew you weren’t expecting him to kiss you at the end of the date. You were aware — and respectful — of his boundaries. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t feeling peer pressured by every romcom he had reluctantly watched with Komori to let his fingers brush against yours while you walked side by side.

It didn’t help that he wanted to do that either.

A gentle tap on his shoulder and you were staring up at him with puppy eyes he couldn’t resist. He hesitated before daintily wrapped his fingers around yours, pulling your intertwined hands into his pocket. It felt warm. You were warm. And now his body was warm. But it wasn’t warm enough, he wanted to hug you.

Wait, what? Pardon?!

With that, Sakusa felt his hand slip out of yours in favour of wrapping his strong arms around your figure, engulfing himself in your heat. Even with the biting cold, he thought that he didn’t need the jacket over his shoulders to keep him cozy. You were enough to set his heart ablaze, to let that fire warm up his entire body.

“Sakusa…” you gasped. Guess you were both just as surprised. He muttered something under his breath and you begged to hear it again.

“Call me Kiyoomi, please.” he repeated.

He inhaled the winter air and felt the bitter cold fly into his nose. He also noted the scent of fresh laundry detergent wafting amongst the chilly wind. Was he really letting himself be this close to you, so close that he knew the brand of detergent your mother used?

His agenda against physical contact nagged him but he didn’t care. Your touch was something he’d sacrifice his comfort for.

He wishes you never occupied his mind, he wishes you never meant so much to him, he wishes that he never loved you. He wishes that he never loved you because loving you brought him here, in his bed alone.

You were supposed to be there with him.

It was a shame that he loved loving you. He loved everything that you brought into his life. Your laugh, your smile, your terrible jokes. But he wishes he never let himself feel so comfortable with you that you knew him like the back on your hand. If he had just kept his damn mouth shut, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when you weren’t around anymore.

It hurt so much to see you writhing in pain when he got home from practice. The second he saw you collapsed on the floor, his mind hyper focused on you and you alone. His usual shower session was ignored in favour of you.

It hurt so much to drive you to the hospital, to even think about your body lying on a stretcher or in an operating room. Sakusa ran through one too many red lights but he didn’t notice. He didn’t care. All that was running through his head was to step on the pedal, steer the wheel and make sure you came out of there alive.

Five torturous hours later and he learnt that you weren’t going to be breathing he saw you next.

It hurt so much to lower your casket into the ground, you face to never see the world again. His family, your family and all of your friends passed by, long hugs and pitiful apologies in tow. Everyone thinks that performative sympathy is going to help with the grief. It doesn’t.

Now you aren’t around to massage his back after a long day of practice, to listen to him whine about his teammates, to be the shoulder he leans on when he cries. Now Sakusa lies in bed alone, the bed you used to share with him, tightly grasping onto a pillow that he wishes could be you instead. He misses you.

He misses you.

The first few months were agonising. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything. Not even cleaning the house or playing volleyball or eating his comfort foods. You brightened even the dullest tasks in the world and now everything felt so bleak. It still does. The world around Sakusa felt so boring that he swore his vision lost its colour.

It took a miracle and the combined efforts of Komori and the Black Jackals to even get him out of his room.

He got better. After six months of a depressive episode, he pulled himself back into volleyball again. He had to, it was at least one thing he could do in your memory. Days and weeks and months passed and Sakusa saw his beloved sport as a distraction, as a safe haven from the absence of you. If he could, he’d distract himself with the real you instead.

The eventual push back into society didn’t mean that Sakusa was okay by any means. Some nights were easier, practice would tire him out so much that he’d be knocked out the second his body hit the mattress. Some nights proved to be not-as-easy, the sting of your passing pressed down on him like a weighted blanket. An unwanted weighted blanket.

Tonight is not one of those easier nights.

There’s an ache in his chest that he can’t shake off and there’s a rock in his heart that’s sinking it to the floor and there’s just so much pain coursing though his body. He’s never felt so sore before.

He hates feeling this sore.

A tingle rises in his chest and eyes and he knows he wants to cry but the water doesn’t fall. All he can do is heave heavy breaths and weep. Why does he have to live without you? Why? Breaking up with you would’ve been a breeze compared to your death, he thinks.

It’s been a year since his loss. He knows that he’s allowed to grieve for however long he needs but some voice in his brain whispers that he should be over it by now. Sakusa wishes that he’s not in so much pain, that his suffering wasn’t there to begin with, that you weren’t in his life to make him feel this tortured. But perhaps instead of wishing to rewrite the past, he should wish to be okay. He should wish that the memory of you doesn’t pain him anymore. He should wish that he can power through this without you because that’s what you’d want.

And so he does. He sits upright in his bed, closing his eyes in meditative thought.

I wish that this’ll be over soon.

I wish that I can return back to my life.

I wish that I’ll be okay.

So there’s not much of a likelihood that his wishes will be granted. So what? At the very least, he can finally feel the ache in his limbs and the tension in his shoulders and the tug of his heart slowly beginning to vanish.

He’s going to be okay.

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bluestar22x · 2 years

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Decided I wanted to make a list of songs that make me think of “The Last Of Us” games (because they were included in the game, in gif edits, fanvids, and/or because the lyrics hit right):

My Favorites:

Future Days - Pearl Jam

Bridge Over Troubled Water - Johnny Cash

Hurricane - Thirty Seconds to Mars

Madness - Ruelle

Wrong Side Of Heaven - Five Finger Death Punch

Hurt - Johnny Cash

Wayfaring Stranger - Johnny Cash

Man Or A Monster - Sam Tinnesz

The Silence - Manchester Orchestra

Somebody to Die For - Hurts

Others For Thought:

I Won’t Back Down - Ryan Star

Human - Rag‘n’Bone Man

Protector - City Wolf

Man On A Mission - Oh The Larceny

Living With The Pain - Fallen to Flux

Soldier - Fleurie

Dream - Imagine Dragons

Believer - Imagine Dragons

Note: I am really anxious for the HBO show to come out now that I’ve watched these games (thanks to no commentary playthroughs on youtube - since I don’t have Playstation or PC).

#The Last Of Us (Game)#TLOU Talk #The Last Of Us #Music #The Last Of Us (HBO)#TLOU Music #TLOU And Music

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deafwestnewsies · 3 years

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be my first last kiss

You can plan on a change in the weather or time, but you'd never planned on him changing his mind.

jack kelly x davey jacobs

read it on my ao3!

Earnest to goodness, Jack Kelly was going to murder Racetrack Higgins.

No, Anthony Higgins, this was the sort of thing that makes you pull out the tarnished christian name of a friend (or so you thought) you’ve known since he was toppling over on baby-fattened legs. Anthony Higgins would die by the sword of Jack Kelly.

He just had to get this godforsaken Youtube video filmed first.

You’re doing this for the cash, Jack grumbled to himself as he passed through the metal doors of a nondescript building on the Lower East Side- it was the kind of place being slowly taken over by hip and fun corporations promising Asian-fusion bars and eco-friendly thrift stores while edging out the relic businesses built on the backs of immigrant dreams. Jack couldn’t stand areas like this, the air thick with wasted luxury, so he rarely left the barrio. Why would he? Spot Conlon slept in the bedroom next to his. Katherine Plumber and Sarah Jacobs ran the bookstore that bought his baked goods and sold them for decent money. Medda lived down the street with her plethora of children, and Racetrack still beat the known path, doing tricks on the street corner for spare change and internet views. Davey- David. David Jacobs wasn’t there. It was right where Jack wanted to be.

Much unlike the dim studio where he now shuffled his feet, waiting for the perky young PA with bright red streaks in her hair to come back with further information about the video he would be shooting. Jack wasn’t a stranger to this small production company; He participated in a few Youtube videos back before they had millions of subscribers, he played truth or dare with lots of liquor and a complete stranger, he confessed about the first time he fell in love so it could be put to pathetic music.

Cash where you could get it, right?

“Kelly, right?” Cherry Streaks was back with a vengeance.

“Jack, actually,” he corrected.

“So you’re going to stand over there where the little blue X marks the spot and wait until the producer, Adam, starts asking you a few questions. The first one might be a test for our boom guy. Answer honestly, we can pretty much tell when you’re making up a story by this point. After that, the main part of the video will begin. Got it?” She was pointing wildly with a Number 2 pencil that had previously been stuck through her ponytail, and she smelled faintly of jasmine. Jack felt dizzy.

“Wait, I thought this was one of those ‘Choose who’s the best kisser out of ten strangers’ type of deal?” I mean, that’s what Race told me- oh God. Oh Santa Maria. Oh Saint Francis.

The young woman smiled like she was keeping an excellent secret. “Have fun, Jack Kelly.”

Walking off at her ominous dismissal, Jack stood where he was directed. The fluorescent lighting made him sweat under the knowledge that he had virtually no idea what he was doing there, Race had lied to him so that he would participate in some sort of sick, horrible scheme, and for all he knew, behind door number three could be his third grade teacher with a baseball bat and a basic multiplication grudge.

“Jack! It’s nice to see you again.”

Romeo was walking towards him with that easy gait Jack had memorized so long ago- Romeo had shot the original videos on an Amazon tripod and the unfounded hope of human connection, and now he owned the entire shebang. Jack dropped his tense shoulders to give him a warm smile. “Romeo. Boy, am I glad to see a friendly face.” Jack lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “You’ve got a production assistant who actually does work, so I’m assuming we’ve died and you earned a really nice deal in Heaven?”

Romeo barked out a laugh. “If I’ve died, do not resuscitate. I’ll never be able to look at another bodega meatball sub after cooking food bought in a real grocery store.”

“Rub it in, why don’tcha?” Jack punched the shorter man on the shoulder. “Listen, Romeo, you gotta tell me what I’m in for, a buddy totally sold me out for the cash and I have no clue what this project is gonna be like.”

Before Romeo could respond, a tall, lofty man behind the camera cleared his throat. “Darling? We’re ready to begin when you are.”

“Jack, meet Specs. Or Adam, but we all know how well nicknames stick. Specs, this is the old friend I was telling you about.” Romeo ended right above Specs’ elbow, and it was all Jack could do not to laugh.

The man fixed his thoughtful gaze on him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. You’ve got a real presence on the camera. Have you ever considered acting?”

“I’m afraid I’m, uh,” Jack flexed a paint-stained hand. “Strictly canvas, as they say.”

Nodding as if that was a phrase people commonly used and not something Jack invented on the fly, Specs then clapped his hands together. “Folks, let’s film this sonofabitch.”

---

“I’m Jack, and I’m a twenty-four year old artist living in New York City.”

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Specs questioned from behind the camera.

Jack blinked in surprise. “Sure. One throughout high school, another in college and a little bit beyond. I wouldn’t call myself a heartbreaker or anything.”

“Do you stay friends with your exes?”

“One of ‘em, yea. It was more of an amicable thing, you know. She ended up being a lesbian. And I am… not.” His clumsy fingers tugged at a constricting collar.

“And the other?”

“Just because I’m not a heartbreaker doesn’t mean I can’t be a real asshole sometimes,” Jack nervously chuckled. (Davey had laid out rose petals, for God’s sake. Rose petals.)

“Was this girl the high school girlfriend, or the college one?”

“Boy,” Jack quickly corrected. “Man. I guess. He was in college- four and a half years.” (It took him four days to clear away the rotting flowers, the bleeding color slowly seeping into his carpet. Katherine found him delirious with whiskey on the bathroom floor; Sarah couldn’t bear to walk through his front door.)

“How’d you meet him?”

(He twisted in his high-backed blue chair. “It’s habláis in el presente.”) “Freshman year of high school actually. Spanish class. Funny story, actually, that other girl I dated? His sister. Broke her heart for his. He was so mad at me that we didn’t talk for like, months after.”

“It was six and a half months, actually.”

Of things Jack was expecting to see today, Spiderman was more likely than David. A flash mob singing death metal, maybe. Pigs flying through the polluted air.

“I was told to come in. I now see why.” David’s eyes narrowed behind his thin wire frames, different from the heavy Ray-Bans that he had dedicated himself to sophomore year of high school. Jack hated that he looked older, wiser, and all around… better.

Specs cleared his throat before the bewildered set of men (one more angry than the other, both desperately avoiding eye contact) could demand what sort of sick joke this was. “Can you introduce yourself?”

They broke up on a Tuesday, an insignificant, momentary Tuesday. Fourteen months ago. (Yes, fourteen months, like their terrible split was a baby that Jack was nurturing bit by bit. He refused to round down- fourteen months ago, he left David Jacobs.) So when David ran his thumb across his jawline, a nervous tick older than his younger brother, Jack couldn’t fathom why he felt so relieved. Some things never did change. “David. Jacobs.” David’s jaw flexed as he looked into the camera. “I dated Jack for almost five years.”

“Tell us about your other relationships.”

“Unfortunately, I spent the better part of high school and college pining after a total cocksock. Not a whole lot of time for casual dating in between.”

A deep silence permeated the studio as two boom mic operators swapped awkward glances. Jack didn’t attempt to defend himself- he was sort of a cocksock. David Jacobs had asked him to uproot what little life he had in New York and move to Santa Fe for a prestigious, so-accolated-you-could-cry medical school, and Jack Kelly broke up with him over containers of kung pao chicken and scattered rose petals. He was a cocksock, a dickhead, and complete asshole. An ex-boyfriend of mass proportions.

“Okay, so.” Specs was wiping at his glasses with the tail of his shirt. Jack wanted to snap them in half. “Today’s video is entitled ‘Exes kiss for the first time since their breakup’. If you need more explanation…”

“I think we’ve got it.” David snapped, clenching his fists rapidly.

Jack stepped half an inch closer to David and began murmuring under his breath. “Davey, if you don’t want-”

“Don’t call me Davey.” His eyes were alight with flame- Jack’s chest caught fire.

Of all the things that felt domestic when dating Davey Jacobs, kissing him never managed to become routine. Davey kissed like he earnestly meant it. The gears in his brilliant mind would grind to a halt so he could dedicate himself to the lilting curve of Jack’s mouth, a gentle sweep of warmth when the artist’s mouth was otherwise preoccupied with his needless words, and the world would spin on a delicate axis. (Jack’s shoulders rose to meet Davey, the physical ache of being someone’s other half drawing him forward. Davey had avoided him for so long, Jack living on a diet of lingering stares and a brief touch of the hand, that kissing him felt like a dying man knelt at a replenished well. How did they exist for so long without this innate knowledge of the universe? Could he stand to go on a single second longer without the praise of Davey Jacob’s lips?) Of all the things Jack missed about spending his life with Davey Jacobs, kissing him was certainly one of them.

There was a moment where the pads of Jack’s fingertips brushed the nape of David’s neck, a habit borne from the small noise it would draw from the back of his throat, and the steely corporate floor felt more like the worn carpet in the old thirty-second street apartment. Jack could feel his thready pulse with the gentle press of a thumb.

Davey was a fan of the dramatics- he would pull away from a passionate kiss in the middle of a busy New York street to stare into Jack’s eyes, foreheads gently touching and cheeks furiously blushing. Now, he simply drew back. Took a step away. Swiped at his lips with the back of his hand.

Jack felt like he was falling. (“If you ever break up with me,” Jack began. He laughed at Davey’s unexpected shudder, the honest and visceral kind. “Make it quick.”

“What about when you break up with me?” Davey peered over his glasses.

Crinkling his nose, Jack quickly answered before the other boy could detail any breakup preferences. “I’m not an idiot, Dave. ‘M not going anywhere.”)

---

He stared at the limp fifty dollars in his hand. Romeo had apologized, explaining that the people who had organized this got half the cut, and handed them both an envelope- Jack, one with “Tony Higgins” that he planned to run through his shredder, and David, one with “Sarah Jacobs,” which made Jack gawk in disbelief.

Jack didn’t want to walk away; David’s feet were shuffling against the worn pavement.

“It’s funny,” David started. “I listened to a lot of Taylor Swift to get over you.”

He winced. “Sorry?”

“Please. I know she’s been your top artist since 2013.”

(Katherine walked through a worryingly unlocked apartment door. “Is that... Begin Again? Jack, what the fuck are you doing?” She had seconds to worry about the cluster of wilted flower petals her heel had put a hole through before Sarah pointed at the pair of legs sticking out of the bathroom’s entrance.) “Yeah, okay. Fair. But… funny? Did I miss a joke?”

David closed his eyes to roll them, as he so often did when he was trying to be polite, and it hurt to be on the receiving end. “We just had our last kiss. You know, like-”

“I’m Joe Jonas?” Jack interrupted, bewildered. The semi-glare he received in return was all he needed to know- “Right. Dickhead. Listen, Dave- David, why didn’t you tell me you were back in town?”

There was a brief moment where something unrecognizable flashed over David’s face- pity? Regret? Dejection? It was quickly replaced by a soft smile tugging at the edge of his lips, his eyes glazed over with a practiced professionalism. “I’ll see you around, Jack. Have a good day.”

David turned and walked down the street, and Jack just missed the passing moment he chose to look back.

---

Comment on EXES KISS FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THEIR BREAKUP by IncredibleKinsey: those two dudes are all mad and then just make out like that????? yeah okay call me when the wedding happens

#newsies #newsies on tour #newsies on broadway #newsies live #newsies 1992 #javid #javid fanfiction #javid newsies #jack kelly #davey jacobs #katherine plumber #sarah jacobs #newsbians #newsies fanfiction #javid au #my writing

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slothssassin · 3 years

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30 Questions Tag

Tagged by @pinklyrium thanks a lot! ♥

Tagging @briarfox13 @playstationmademe @starsandskies @liaorban @tessa1972 @obvidalous @alyssalenko @puppypopcornpizza and whoever else wants to do this :)

1. Name/Nickname: Julia / Sloth, Chulez, Baby Grandma

2. Star Sign: Leo

3. Height: 1,70m

4. Birthday: 1st of August

5. Favourite Bands: Tiger Army, Five Finger Death Punch, Nirvana, CCR, Mighty Oaks, Lord Huron, The Lumineers

6. Time: 11:58 (Almost 12pm)

7. Favourite Solo Artists: Jesper Kyd, Joji, Robert Francis, Hozier, Danny Vera

8. Song stuck in your head: Hell is a crowded room by Allison Ponthier

9. Last Movie you watched: I rarely watch films. I think it was Detective Pikachu

10. Dream Trip: Japan!!! Also Hawaii and Canada.

11. Last Show: Hmm I usually just watch Youtube. The last show was probably Rick & Morty

12. When I created this Blog: As far as I remember it was 2015

13. What I Post: Mostly video game stuff and art

14. Last Thing I Googled: Train schedule for my town

15. Other Blogs: My art blog @slothssassin-art

16. Do I Get Asks: Sometimes yes

17. Why I Chose My URL: My gamertag has "Assassin" in it cause I love the Assassin's Creed franchise. I wanted something similar for my blog and went with "Sloth" cause I like them

18. Following: 568

19. Followers: 1266

20. Average Hours of Sleep: I'd love to say 7-8h but lately it's been more like 5h if I was lucky

21. Lucky Number: I'd say 5?

22. Instruments: I learnt how to play the recorder, the clarinet and the guitar. Not that I could still play them

23. What Am I Wearing: Pusheen sweat pants and a grey top with a sushi print on it

24. Dream Job: I don't care, I just want to be happy. I like my job. Maybe a streamer lol

25. Favourite Food: Pasta with guacamole and tomatoes

26. Tea or Coffee: If you would force me probably coffee, but I do enjoy both

27. Nationality: German

28. Favourite Song: Mescaline by Robert Francis always has a special place in my heart

29. Last Book I Read: I don't want to look up the English title but it was a book about his trip to Alaska by German naturalist Andreas Kieling

30. Top 3 Fictional Universes I Would Live In: Well if I actually have to live in them then maybe Mass Effect, Stardew Valley and Assassin's Creed 2

#hello it me #tagged

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almondjoygirl · 4 years

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Watch "Five Finger Death Punch - Living The Dream (Official Music Video)" on YouTube

youtube

5 finger and there anti mask song.. They hit it straight.. Mask are a form of communism . Ivan the singer is correct

#Youtube

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rockrevoltmagazine · 3 years

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ABOVE SNAKES Release Official Music Video for "Nothing to Lose"

Active Rock / Nu Metal Band ABOVE SNAKES has released the official music video for their latest single, “Nothing to Lose,” the fourth single from the Boston based group, a seriously heavy banger of an anthem.

“This is an unapologetic anthem to not giving an F and living life the way you want. Life is too short and you gotta follow your dreams no matter how many people are chirping in your ear telling you you’re crazy.”- Johnny Skulls

youtube

Originally premiered on New Noise Magazine, “Nothing to Lose” was recorded at the legendary East Iris Studios (formally House Of Blues Studios) in Nashville, “Nothing to Lose” was produced / mixed by Kile Odell (FOZZY, THROUGH FIRE, AWAKE AT LAST) and co-written by Zach Williams (lead singer of DEAD EYES). The Accompanying music video , written and co-directed by singer Johnny Skulls and guitarist Dax Dabs, showcases the bands eccentric image and high energy performance.

“Nothing to Lose” follows the release of the bands previous singles “I Feel Bad,” which premiered with Knotfest.com, and “Never Alone,” which was added to ROCK HARD on Spotify, NEW ROCK NOW and NEW MUSIC NOW on Pandora, along with Loudwire’s Weekly Wire.

Above Snakes share the stage with Dropout Kings on October 26th @ Jewel Night Club in Manchester NH.

Download / Stream “Nothing to Lose” Online: iTunes | Spotify | YouTube

After years spent grinding in the ever-dimming lights of Hollywood, vocalist Johnny Skulls and guitarist Dax Dabs opened their eyes and realized what so many never do: ”why the f*ck are we trying to do it THEIR way?” At that moment, what once felt so distorted and lacking in its luster was now crystal clear. And with nothing but the open road and their own volition staring back at them, the two joined forces after years of friendship and returned to where it all started.

In 2019, the duo found their way back home to Boston and began working relentlessly on a new project: Above Snakes. They would soon partner with producer Kile Odell (FOZZY, THROUGH FIRE, AWAKE AT LAST) and in the summer of 2020, the band released their debut track “Adrenaline”, which quickly earned a spot on PANDORA’S “NEW ROCK NOW” alongside PAPA ROACH, FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH, & I-PREVAIL including Spotify placements from the likes of LOUDWIRE , FEARLESS RECORDS, & HOPELESS RECORDS.

“Adrenaline” was soon followed by their next single “Never Alone”, with a massive placement on SPOTIFY’S “ROCK HARD” playlist alongside BRING ME THE HORIZON, ARCHITECTS, and SEETHER.

After landing a premiere with SLIPKNOT’S KNOTFEST.COM for their 3rd release “I Feel Bad”, Above Snakes return louder and heavier than ever with a brand new single “Nothing To Lose” Produced by Kile Odell and Co-written by Zach Williams of Dead Eyes.

Connect with ABOVE SNAKES: Official Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

ABOVE SNAKES Release Official Music Video for “Nothing to Lose” was originally published on RockRevolt Mag

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

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never let you go (2)

Summary: After losing the woman they love, Bucky and Steve make a desperate decision with unimaginable consequences.

Characters: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of demons and gore. Brief hints of SMUT. Swearing. Bucky and Steve are not exactly nice. A very brief appearance by my favorite Hunter (SPN crossover).

Prompt: “Heartache is one thing, but this…this is worse.”

A/N: This is my submission for the fantastic @sherrybaby14 for Sherry’s Fall Into You challenge, thanks babe for hosting. This is a dark story fam, different than my usual writing. Bucky and Steve really do make some bad decisions, so please heed the warnings. This is a short series, only 3 parts.

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

Previously...

“How did you do it?”

“Hmm?” Steve murmurs, drifting toward the balm of sleep. Bucky says nothing, simply snuggles closer, his steady breaths puffing warm on your skin.

“I remember what happened.” Softly the confession falls. “Please don’t lie to me. Tell me how you did it. How you brought me back.”

Both men stiffen. Bucky stops breathing. Steve stops stroking his hair. Dread fills you, cold as ice. You know then, whatever price they’ve paid? It will tear the world apart.

Breath tickling the back of your neck, Steve murmurs so quietly, you strain to hear.

“We made a deal.”

*****

“The greatness of humanity is not in being human, but in being humane.” Mahatma Gandhi

*****

Along the glass smooth lake, the tufts of grass are wrapped in furry white frost. Fog rises in slow curls from the mirror of dark blue, warm water battling cold air, while white ice crackles along the edges in paper thin sheets. Each morning you walk out to the lake, the ice creeps further, a bitter omen of what will come.

It all feels surreal. Impossible and improbable. An endless winter waiting in the wings.

From the outside, life is the same. The world turns, the sun rises in the east. Bucky still giggles madly at cat videos on YouTube and Steve still argues that cough syrup tastes delicious. For the three of you, nothing has changed.

But for the world, it has.

Part of you wants to hate them. It was the most selfish, self-sacrificing act either has ever committed in their long lives, but no matter how monumentally fucked up the situation, it changes nothing. Regardless of the road ahead, there are no limits to the love you feel for them both, and one truth burns with a steadfast certainty - you will always follow in their footsteps.

Perhaps that fact will be your downfall.

Staring bleakly across the clear lake, you think back to that night, when they explained everything. With the proverbial cards on the table, the most complicated question of your entire life now looms.

What will you do to save them?

*****

Eyes downcast, they sit beside each other on the edge of the bed, overgrown children awaiting punishment. Fingers linked atop your head, you pace a short path in front of them, back and forth, breathing fast, words locked in your throat. When they finally burst free, both men flinch.

“Explain what you mean. I don’t understand, Steve. What does a deal with a demon mean? What is that?”

Refusing to look up, Steve remains silent, nervously pinching the callouses on his palm. Bucky stares mutely at his toes, wiggling them into the ropey blue rug beneath the bed. He cracks his knuckles and you can tell he’s mustering his courage. Wetting his lips, he finally meets your gaze.

“It means exactly what Steve said. I know it sounds insane, but it was a real demon. Like the kind you find in - in fairy tales or something. We met a couple guys and they told us how to find her. Said you can make a deal, whatever you want, the demon’ll give it to you...” Bucky trails off, losing steam; another deep breath and he plows on. “...she gives it to you in exchange for 10 years. Those are the contract terms, the regular deal. At the end of the 10 years, that’s it. She comes back to collect, and you’re sent - down. To hell.”

Disbelief clenches like an iron fist, heavy and suffocating. It makes no sense - demons don’t exist. Something else must have happened, some unknown magic, a wormhole, an alternate reality, a time loop maybe. Each ludicrous option seems more likely than their calm explanation, they must be wrong. If demons existed, SHIELD would know. There would be a documentation, strategies, fighting methods.

There would be safe guards to stop idiots in love from making disastrous decisions.

“Bucky, what you’re saying makes no sense. Demons aren’t real,” you say carefully, and goosebumps flare across your skin when Steve lifts guarded eyes to yours. “Steve? They’re not real. It was something else…right?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Every fiber of your being screams this must be a nightmare, any moment you’ll wake up. Maybe you weren’t on the roof that day, maybe this is all a sick lucid dream. Maybe you’re alive and asleep in bed, and when you wake up Bucky will have stolen all the pillows and Steve will be in the kitchen making oatmeal.

Wake up, you chant to yourself. Wake up, wake up, wake up.

Nothing happens. Chest heaving, you spin away, hot tears burning your throat.

“So that’s what you did? You sold your souls to a demon? And in 10 years she comes back and - drags you to hell?”

“Wait,” Bucky says earnestly. “You didn’t let me finish, it wasn’t that. We didn’t sell our souls. That was the regular deal, but not for us. There’s no 10-year limit, we’re staying with you. All three of us, we get to stay together.”

He pushes off the bed and comes toward you, arms reaching for a hug. Surprise blooms over his face when you place both palms flat on his chest and shove. Stumbling back, he hits the mattress with a shocked bounce.

“No,” you grit out, “Tell me you’re not that naive. It had to cost something, so what was it. What did you give her?” Stubbornly, Bucky’s mouth tightens. Fine then. Turning to Steve, you cup his chin, tilting his face until you glimpse the swirl of shame glowing in his blue eyes. “Steve. Tell me what you gave her.”

It takes all of five seconds for him to give in; Steve never could keep a secret. Not from Bucky. Not from you.

“It wasn’t our souls,” he mumbles. Misery seeps from his skin and he stares intently, begging a forgiveness you never realized you had to give. “She asked for - humanity. That was what she wanted. We gave her our humanity.”

At his admission, a fresh urgency, a new panic, fills the hollowness in your heart.

“Your humanity? What does that mean? What happens now?”

Shrugging helplessly, Steve looks back to his feet. “I guess since we gave her that, then maybe we’ll - change. Maybe we’ll become - different.”

It clicks, then.

Different.

Two battle hardened soldiers, potent super strength flowing through their veins. If you take away their good hearts, strip out the kindness and patience and compassion, extinguish the beautiful tenderness that illuminates them from the inside, what remains?

Brutal violence powered by deadly strength. Something cold and destructive. It seems obvious now, why the demon offered this choice.

Stay above and be in love, happy and content for 10 years before death comes calling.

Or stay above and be in love, happy and content for as long as life allows, with one chilling caveat - abandon who you are.

Without a conscience to keep them in check, the scale of violence two super soldiers could wreak across the globe is breathtaking. And if they leave their humanity in the dust and use the serum thrumming in their veins for something dark and terrible? The outcome remains the same.

Someday in the future, death will still come for them. And with a list of innocent deaths attached to their names, it all means the same thing.

No matter what, they’ve damned themselves to hell. It’s only a matter of time.

“But she promised nothing changes between the three of us,” Bucky interrupts the morbid train of thought, gesturing at you, at Steve, at himself. “Other things might change, but she said the three of us, we’ll stay the same. We won’t change, not when it comes to you. We can make this work, I swear.”

His words make you want to scream. How could they be so stupid? How could they not realize?

“God dammit Bucky! You’re telling me that eventually every bit of goodness that makes you human, that will disappear? What then? The world has two psychopaths with fucking super powers? Is that what you’re saying?!”

“But we can fight it,” Bucky argues, rising again. He takes one step and you shove him harder, knocking him back. Frustrated, he slaps the bed. “We can. I know we can. This was a way around it.”

Before you, they both melt into blurry shadows as the tears spill over, rivers of sticky heat dripping down your neck, soaking the ragged collar of your shirt. Hopelessness shatters your voice.

“No you won’t, Bucky. You can’t. So now what? Huh? How am I supposed to save you?”

Deflated, Bucky hesitates before standing again. Cautiously, he steps forward, ignoring the hand you push against his chest, ignoring the bite of your nails scratching his skin. He murmurs your name, an imploring plea, and the sound breaks you. Trembling fingers curl into a fist and you slam your knuckles against the steel of his sternum, anger fading into fear. He says nothing, lets you expend your rage all over him, wild fists punching him over and over, until you collapse. Then he catches you easily, sitting on the bed, cuddling you in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, holding tight to your halfhearted struggles, before you finally give up. Burying your face against his neck, he rocks you gently, terrified tears drenching his skin like a spring rain. “But she gave you back. That was enough for us to say yes. You were worth the price.”

“I’m not, nothing is worth this,” you sob hysterically. Guilt pours out, overwhelming and soul-shattering. “This will kill you both, it’ll ruin you. I ruined you.”

“No.” Steve says fiercely. Gripping your arm, he gives a harsh shake. “You did not do this. This was our decision. We knew exactly what we were doing, sweetheart. This wasn’t a mistake.”

Steve moves closer, wrapping his arms around you both, one palm on the warm heat of Bucky’s shoulder blade, the other cupping your face. Pressing his lips to your forehead, the solidity of his presence a quiet reassurance. Tangling your hand in his hair, you tug hard, aching to bring him closer.

Maybe, you think, if you hold tight enough you can keep them intact. Humanity. Souls. Hearts. Whatever they’re made up of inside, maybe if you love them hard enough, you can save them.

“He’s right,” Bucky murmurs, trembling lips at your temple, “This was all on us. But if we had to choose between losing you and doing this again, we’d still do this. We’d choose you. We’ll always choose you.”

*****

There are five people who know the truth.

Nick Fury and Maria Hill. Steve tells them but keeps the specifics of the deal vague. Deep down, he knows Nick would lock them up if he knew everything. They were furious, but in different ways. Fury screamed at them for 30 straight minutes, before storming out in a swirl of black leather. Following close behind, Maria gave them a tight-lipped nod and somehow, that silent disappointment was worse.

And then there were the other three.

Natasha, Tony, Sam. All three received perplexing text messages asking them to meet at Bucky and Steve’s apartment; when they arrive, Sam knocks on cautiously and Bucky meets them with a blank face, wordlessly handing each a fresh bottle of whiskey.

“You’ll need it,” is all he says.

With each Avenger clutching their liquor, Bucky and Steve proceed to explain everything. Their sorrow, their grief. The inability to find any future without you. Their anger at everything, at the world, at each other. Calmly, they each offer their perspective and they see Tony looking confused, Sam looking uneasy, and Natasha looking - strangely resigned.

When they finally finish, there’s a long silence, until Natasha snaps the cap on her bottle of whiskey and takes a long swig. She wipes her mouth and asks.

“What did you do?”

Steve looks at Bucky, who stares determinedly at his feet. Nodding to himself, he rises slowly, walking into the bedroom. Beyond the doors, they hear the hum of low voices and then it creaks open. Bucky hesitates for a breath.

Then he leads you forward.

At the unexpected sight, Tony tumbles off the armchair with a garbled shout and Sam leaps to his feet.

Natasha still sits calmly.

“So. You met the Winchester boys,” she states. Defiance in his eyes, Bucky shoots her a cool glare.

“Yes,” he says shortly, and she simply nods. Carefully setting her bottle of whiskey on the floor, she rises gracefully and tiptoes toward you. Instantly, Steve and Bucky lean into a protective stance, mirrored snarls on their lips, but Natasha brushes them aside. With no hesitation, she wraps you in a fierce hug.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she whispers in your ear. Burying your face in her hair, the sweet scents of lavender and leather swirl, so unequivocally Natasha.

They explain everything then. The deal, the magic, the price. All down to the last, gruesome detail. At the end of their story, the room is silent. Tony is the first to respond, ashen faced, shaking with unspeakable anger. He heaves his full bottle of whiskey into the fireplace and it explodes with a crash of flames, before he barrels through the front door with a resounding boom.

Sam sways where he stands, his vision folding along the edges. He wants to understand, he does. More than anyone, he saw the depths of grief into which they sunk, but this? He never considered this. But instead of screaming, he says nothing, just hugs you gently, thinking bizarrely of delicately spun glass. Shoulders sagging under the burden of knowing, he silently follows Tony, his footsteps as heavy as his heart.

And Natasha? Well. Standing in the doorway, she smiles sadly.

“I spoke to them too, you know. Found a crossroad in Colorado. Nine years ago,” she confesses. “One year to go.”

The door clicks shut, leaving them to ponder a new horror.

*****

The official SHIELD report stamps your return with CONFIDENTIAL block letters, and the file is buried deep in the vaults. It leaks to the press as a simple solution, a fake out, a way to throw the bad guys off the trail. Here you are, alive and well, on leave for an indeterminate period.

New York becomes too much. Hostile and loud, too many questions, too many opportunities to let the truth slip free. In the middle of the night, the three of you tangled in a mess of sleepy limbs, Steve offers a solution.

At sunrise you leave.

Refuge comes at a secluded cabin in upstate New York, a mossy pile of logs Steve fell in love with years ago and purchased on a whim. Hidden deep in the trees, it overlooks a crystalline lake and when you step inside, it smells of dust and mothballs. With a mop, a few dust rags, and a bit of elbow grease, it quickly becomes a home.

There, life finally moves forward.

Mornings with bitter coffee, mornings with breathless runs, mornings lazing in a massive claw foot bathtub, big enough for three.

Evenings by the crackling fire, evenings full of books and music, evenings filled with Bucky’s sweat slicked hair tangled in your fingers, with Steve’s quiet groans between your legs, with your shaking cries echoing off the walls.

Sheer perfection. Every waking moment.

After a few weeks, Bucky and Steve tentatively return to combat, agreeing to short missions that never tear them from your side for more than a few days. Stepping up together, they take on the world once more, protecting the innocent, righting the wrongs. Each time they return, they come refreshed and relaxed, full of sweet words and excited laughter, familiar bits of your former life spilling into the comfortable home the three of you have made together.

They seem so happy. So bright and wild and bursting with love.

It makes you wonder. Maybe, just maybe, Bucky was right. Maybe they found a way around the inevitable. Maybe the demon changed her mind. Maybe they’re safe.

Maybe it worked.

*****

Until slowly and certainly, things begin to change.

*****

Bullets are pinging around them, sparks flying through the air. Steve moves confidently, smoothly dodging every bullet slung their way with a flick of his shield. Behind him, Bucky slinks along, his gun at the ready. When they cut around the corner, three men put up a cursory fight, before all three are taken down with a flick of the shield and two well-placed bullets.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” Steve mutters. Sifting through a pile of paper, he gathers up the files, stuffs them in a secure pocket at his hip and motions for Bucky to leave.

They hear a faint moan.

Propped against the wall, sits a hostage. Mouth taped shut, feet tied together. Blood streams thick and heavy down his face, congealing in a warm pool along his collarbone. Death is imminent, even across the room they can smell it coming. As they come closer, the man registers footsteps and opens his eyes, blinking blearily at the two men looking down. Recognition when he sees the familiar red, white, and blue, a glimmer of hope cutting through the pain.

Staring down, Steve twitches his fingers, an unconscious motion to help, before something inside denies the move.

How peculiar.

Turning away, he issues a rough order at Bucky.

“He won’t make it. Put him out of his misery.”

Bucky gazes at the dying man at his feet.

Shrugging, he raises his pistol and pulls the trigger.

*****

Sunlight streams through the tall windows of the living room, as you laze on the couch. Down the hall, you hear the shower running, the sound of Steve’s off-key baritone singing as he soaps the red stains of death from his skin.

When he shuffles into the living room wearing sweatpants and a soft green shirt, his tired eyes find you. The lingering stress falls away and he bounds forward, flopping on the couch with a careless oompf. Dropping a kiss on your forehead, he carefully arranges a pillow in your lap, and plunks his head down. Post shower, his blond hair is wet dark and squeaky clean, the spicy scent of body wash still lingering.

“Scratch my head?” he asks, adding a sweet pout that never fails to make you give in. Dragging your fingers through the damp strands, you rub his scalp and he sighs happily. When he stretches his feet over the edge of the couch with a wide yawn, his muscles shift and twist, reminding you of a lion you saw once at the zoo. Big and lazy, soaking up the warm golden sunshine.

“Nothing but a big lazy cat,” you murmur, one hand in his hair, the other rubbing slow circles over his heart. Closing his eyes, he grins at the comparison. Catching the hand at his chest, he brings your palm to his lips and presses kisses along each finger, before linking his hand to yours. Moments pass, and his body goes lax, a low stream of steady breaths as he drifts to sleep.

In the shifting afternoon sun, you stay there, watching the light play off his pale eyelashes. You think about Steve. Warm skin and golden hair. Sharp claws retracted; teeth hidden. Deadly to everyone, except those he loves.

*****

“I gave you the intel, I gave it to you!”

Bucky stabs the knife into the muscled meat of the man’s thigh, and the responding scream reverberates off the walls. Like flame hot metal through butter, the pale skin is splayed open, revealing marbled streaks of yellow fat, white bone gleaming beneath. Blubbering incoherently, bloody spit foams in the corners of his mouth, wild eyes rolling back in his head.

“I gave it to you, I did, I did, I did, please!”

There is a pause and for a blessed moment, the man believes he has a reprieve. Swollen eyes fly open, meeting bright blue and Bucky smiles.

And then he punches the knife handle straight through the man’s thigh bone. It cracks and splinters apart and the man screams and screams and screams and Bucky laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Did you think I fucking cared?”

*****

The sticky scent of maple syrup wakes you.

Crawling from the empty bed, you wrap the feather down comforter around your shoulders and shuffle from the bedroom, eager for the source.

The sight catches you off guard. Unimaginably soft.

There in the kitchen, Bucky stands in nothing but skintight black boxers.

Hair twisted in a messy knot, he shimmies through the small space, dancing absently to the music tinkling from the small speaker propped on the windowsill. On the stove, he has a flat skillet coated in butter and filled with bubbling silver-dollar pancakes. Along the edge of the counter, he taps out a rhythm with his spatula, tap tap tap-a-tap-a-tap, and your heart swells at the gentle domesticity.

When he whirls around, he discovers you watching from the doorway, sleepy and rumpled. He lights up, a honeyed smile on his lips, and stretches out a hand, a wordless request. Tripping into his arms, he tucks you safe against his chest.

“Morning baby,” he murmurs, warm breath tickling your ear. “God you look beautiful. How’d I get so lucky?”

The words are simple, lovely phrases he’s shared a million times before, but still your belly flips. Rubbing your cheek against his hot skin, you relax. Let yourself believe everything is perfect, while Bucky dances you slowly around the cozy kitchen until the charcoal crisp of pancake flavors the air.

“Buck, I think your pancakes are burning,” you breathe against the sandpaper stubble along his neck.

He merely hums.

“Let ‘em burn. I’m dancin’ with my girl.”

Mellow notes of smoky jazz drift through the air and you burrow closer, until Bucky pulls you down to the smooth kitchen tiles. The feather comforter pillows beneath you, the searing heat of his mouth tracing down your neck.

*****

“We’re out of time, set the bombs off. Now.”

In all the time he’s known known Steve Rogers, Sam has never heard his voice like this. Brittle. Cold. Devoid of emotion. On the ground below, amid soaring walls of steel and glass, screaming voices echo off the tower buildings. From his perch high above the melee, Sam stares watches people streaming from the front doors. He hesitates.

“There are still people inside,” he responds.

On the other end of the line is a bone crunching thunk, a truncated scream. Steve’s voice returns.

“Did I fucking stutter? Set it off. Now.”

Again, Sam hesitates, the trigger clenched in his sweaty hand. He shakes his head.

“Negative, Cap. There are still - “

“Jesus Christ, Wilson, you fucking pussy,” Bucky snarls. He rips the black box from Sam’s numb fingers and shoves him aside. Without pause, he flips the switch.

Across the street, the building rumbles and sways and in the space of a breath, the world is rent apart: glass shatters, steel beams screech, concrete explodes. All those still inside, fighting their way to freedom, go down in a crush of rubble, screams and shouts silenced by the thundering rush of crumbling stone.

Stalking around the corner, Steve is sliding the shield onto his back. Without a glance at the crowd below, he rushes at Sam.

“When I tell you to do something, don’t you ever fucking hesitate. You understand?”

Beside him, Bucky snorts and flings the device to the ground. He grinds it under his heel and strolls away, resuming his stance above the disaster. Blanching at the rage in those blue eyes, Sam takes a wordless step back.

“Yeah. Yeah, I understand.”

*****

The last time Steve came to the familiar meadow, was because he needed space to let the rage in his heart spill into the world. In the desolation of those black nights, he screamed his fury into the heavens, broken beyond repair.

This time is different.

Velvety night drips through the sparse tree branches as you walk through the dense forest, Steve leading the way, Bucky close behind. Slivers of moonlight streak through the dark trees, illuminating the huffs of frosty white breath.

When you reach the clearing, Steve slips his warm hand through your gloved fingers, Bucky curves a protective arm around your shoulders. Together, they lead you toward the middle of the field, until they come to an abrupt halt.

Bemused, you stare at them. Under the shy glow of white moonlight, they look carved from marble.

Fallen angels, maybe.

“Is everything okay?” you whisper, eyes roving uncertainly between them.

From the depths of his pocket, Bucky pulls free a black satin box. It sits in the palm of his hand and he looks nervously at you, over to Steve, back to you. He clears his throat.

“We’ve been talking about this forever.” A crooked smile lifts his lips. “Since the first night you spent with us. This here, what we have with you, it’s the only thing we want. We don’t need anything official, but we thought you should know. We’ll love you forever, sweetheart. If you’ll let us.”

Gently, he opens the case, revealing a dark ring set against white silk. Eyes wide, you watch as Bucky lifts the simple band, two strings of delicate black vibranium twisted into an infinity circle. As he holds it aloft, Steve nudges him, and they both fall, kneeling to worship at your feet.

“What do you think?” Steve murmurs. Tentative, hesitant. As though the answer could ever be anything other the words rolling from your tongue.

No matter the circumstance, the love you have for Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers is the one shining light in a world of darkness.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Of course. I love you both so much, nothing will ever change that. Forever.”

Under the raw, naked gleam of the bright night, you kneel before them, face to face with their delighted smiles. Together they reach for you, pulling you into the safe haven of their arms.

*****

“God dammit Rogers! You’re out of line with this shit!”

Leaning over his desk, Nick Fury wipes irritably at the fat beads of sweat dripping down his temple.

Across from him, Steve and Bucky sit in matching leather chairs, both still wearing their combat uniforms. They look like heathens, covered in dust and blood, the pervading reek of death defiling the pristine shine of the SHIELD office. Bucky sits with his legs sprawled open, Steve with one ankle balanced on the opposite knee.

Both are smirking.

“Are we though?” Steve shrugs, eyes wide. “If you’re not gonna do your job, someone has to pick up the slack. Like always.”

Nick grinds his teeth so hard they nearly crack. He sees red.

“That’s it, you cocky sonofabitch. We’re done with this. Effective immediately, you’re relieved of your duties. Both of you.”

Steve tips his head back and laughs, an inhuman sound. Nick feels his gut twist.

“Really? Buck did you hear that? We’re ‘relieved’ of our duties. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like a fucking relief,” Bucky drawls. He picks at his fingernail, scraping dried blood from beneath and flicking it away. Tilting his head, he looks up at Fury with a poisonous smile. “But I dunno, the thing is Director, we’re pretty happy with our jobs. Pays the bills and gives us something to do, so I don’t think we’ll accept your offer. Another day, maybe. That sound good Stevie?”

“Sounds great, Buck.”

At a loss for words, Nick stares. Over the decades, he’s encountered some genuinely fucked up people, a common currency in this line of business, but this? This right here? This is a whole other level. Every hint of remorse, every bit of humanity, every last fragment of goodness is gone. Disappeared. Nothing more than ashes in the wind.

It is a bleak world, when superheroes become the monsters they hunt.

Steeling himself, Nick presses his fists into the desk to hide the shaking tremor of nerves.

“One last warning Rogers. Turn in your weapons and go home. Stand down, or I will make you.”

“Oh please,” Steve sneers, delight in his voice, “give it your best shot. I can’t wait to see how that goes.”

Smoothly simultaneous, they stand. The sound of raucous laughter follows them through the door and into the hallway, before abruptly ending as the heavy wood slams shut. Wide-eyed, Nick sinks slowly into his creaking leather chair.

The skin along the back of his neck tingles.

“Motherfucker,” he whispers.

*****

Standing at the edge of the dark lake, gentle ripples slide along the edges of cracked ice. It grows so fast now, stretching frozen fingers to claim the sheet of blue. Like a parasite, hardening the shoreline, freezing the world to stone.

The wicked irony of the metaphor is not lost.

Staring at the mobile phone clenched tight in your icy fingers, you turn it on for the first time in weeks and the screen lights up with a sea of notifications, red blips and blinking green lights, texts, emails, voicemails. Indicators of an increasingly desperate world beyond the confines of your comfortable bubble. Scrolling through, the names are an endless loop and your heart plummets.

Natasha, Sam, Tony. Nick Fury.

While Steve and Bucky have said nothing, the question itched at your brain. Upon each return, you begged them to tell you: what happened, how were they feeling, what did they see, was anything changing? And over and over, they answered with bashful shrugs and dashing smiles, fervent kisses pressed to your lips as they murmured the same response.

Nothing changed. Everything is good, we feel fine.

Nausea rises, thick and sour. Why did you ever let yourself believe them?

Before, they agonized over morality, what was right, the cost of their decisions. But now? The evidence of their lies glare up in black and white. Thumbing through, you see the increasing alarm in every message, descriptions of all they’ve done. Bombs, gunshots, torture. Blatant disregard for lives, for their team, for anything and anyone other than themselves.

Any semblance of humanity whittled away to nothing. Shattered by a desperate wish and a bargaining dance with a red-eyed demon.

Fuck.

Finger hovering over the latest message from Natasha, you brace yourself and click it open. The words jumble together, swimming black letters.

Nat: Dean Winchester. 785-555-0128. Call him. Please.

Eyes shut, you tip your face up to the sky, sucking in a lungful of sharp air.

For all the darkness circling their souls, the truth is, it remains pure and clear when it comes to their love for you. Bright smiles in the morning, rich laughter teasing through the day, sweet caresses in the night. The unconventionally beautiful relationship among the three of you created remains flawless.

Just as the demon promised.

Selfishly, you want that to be enough - if only it could be - but no. Some wrongs need to be righted, and this tragedy now rests squarely in your hands. Maybe you can save them. Maybe.

And if you can’t?

Heart hammering wildly in your chest, you punch the number, lift the phone to your ear and wait. It rings for so long, you nearly give up, until a gruff voice finally answers.

“Hello?”

*****

End

*****

#stucky x reader #bucky x reader x steve #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #stucky fic #bucky x reader #steve x reader #supernatural #spn #crossover fic

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