#also please excuse my indecisiveness with the filters

[harktheharold]

we’re only getting older baby

[blrush]

If Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding was a serious drama with hour long episodes - Part 2: Newlyweds.

In his dream Ho Seon was blind, reaching out for something he could not find. Lights and shadows danced around him, but he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Drowning in confusion and a profound sense of loneliness, he kept reaching out and stumbling through empty space. Then his hands fell upon a face - he drew his fingers across smooth skin, tracing the outlines of features – the curvature of a small button nose, heart shaped lips – Ahhh, he knew this person, this was his person, he felt relieved, calmed and reassured – the dream faded away and he fell back into a deep drunken sleep.

As morning light filtered into the room, Ho Seon awoke to the same sense of loneliness. The bed was cold and empty beside him, as it was every morning. He rubbed cracked sleep from his eyes and saliva from his cheek, his mouth was still furry from alcohol. Then the events of the night before came flooding back – drunk, celebrating, the wedding – THE WEDDING! He was married. He looked around the room, and found the figure of a woman sitting away from him, her back turned as she tied her robes. Had she slept beside him? Had they slept together? No impossible, if he had been too drunk to remember the events of the evening then he certainly would have been too drunk to participate in any marriage nuptials.

What must she think of him? To get himself so drunk, and pay her no attention on their wedding night. But he had been so scared, so desperately at a loss as to how to behave, or how to speak to her. This wedding was a sham, and his overriding guilt had made him drink himself into a stupor. She must have figured out something was wrong – what kind of noble marriage is organised in a fortnight, and then rushed through without her family or any friends present? She must have felt like a prize pig, being trundled up and carted off to some town she’d never visited, to marry a man she’d never even met.

Worst of all, she didn’t know the true flaws of her new husband, nor the real reason for this pretence. How disappointed she would be when she found out.

Even if he had been sober on their wedding night, he would not have been able to consummate their marriage. He had only been with a woman once, and once was enough for him. The thought of lying with a woman had never appealed to him – when his friends had come of age, they began visiting bars and brothels, eagerly encouraging him to join them. The only time he had been with a woman was with a kisaeng on a visit to the city.

His friends had insisted that he “wet his whistle”, as he was getting too old to be a virgin. They were all drinking happily with kisaeng girls in their laps, and were slowly peeling off to their rooms for the night. He had barely spoken to the girl beside him, who eventually gave up, and was attending far more diligently to his friend, who now had two girls on either side of him, playfully planting kisses on his cheeks and giggling with each other. When it was time to retire, his friend pulled him up by his collar, and dragged him with them to their room. The women began undressing them both, kissing his chest and running long fingers-nails up and down his arms. His nerves and discomfort must have been evident to the experienced kisaeng woman who gently guided him into the activities, placing her hand over his, and telling him where to touch herself and other girl. It was all overwhelming and confusing. His senses felt heightened, and his nervous energy was dancing about his body. Eventually, in the dark milieu of bodies, he accidentally touched his friend’s body – his broad flat chest and stomach felt taught and firm, completely different from the women, and it sent a ripple of arousal shooting through him – he kept touching. Slowly, his friend noticed, and quickly drew himself back, placing one of the girls between them. The shame of that moment had stayed with him for years, and he had not had the courage to sleep with another woman, or man, since.

Of course, he could not hide this disinterest in courtship from his mother for long. He was certain she would catch on, even if he would joking brush off her questions with a charming smile that would show his dimples and say; “Oh but Mother, you know I could never leave you!” or “But Mother, no woman could ever live up to you!” His mother was a warm and kind person, but she was no fool – she was a keen observer of people’s moods and behaviours, she always said she could spot a crook, swindler, or cheat a mile away.

He had once had a friend from school whom he played with often, but his mother would always warn him “Don’t get too close to that boy, he’s no good – he’ll betray you one day.” Their friendship eventually broke down after he stole a valuable book from Ho Seon, and years later when they crossed paths, he had boasted that he “had so many wives and courtesans” that he “could never tell which child belonged to which woman.”

And so, he knew he could never fool a mother such as his – but he was happy living in denial for as long as he could. Whilst it took him by surprise, he was thus not so utterly shocked when she announced she had “had enough” of his “indecision and adolescent brooding” and that she had told his great-uncle in the city to find him a fit young wife as soon as possible.

Ho Seon also knew, deep down, that there was something more to it than just her stubbornness, or any sort of social pressure. His mother had been growing weaker each year, losing her vision and the dexterity in her hands. He noticed that she no longer enjoyed sewing or drawing, she who had once been such an accomplished and artistic lady – now preferred to spend her time weeding the garden or walking. Every turn of season, as winter came around, she would be laid up in the house for weeks, with a cough so hoarse and violent that he feared she would soon lose her voice all together. She was desperate for him to marry, not only so there would be more young women around the manor to help her – but he suspected, so that she could be sure their family line was secure, and that Ho Seon could provide her with grandchildren before she passed away.

On his first morning as a newlywed, he thus did not feel a sense of joy or excitement, but a sad kind of submission to his new life and a guilt and pity for the girl sat before him – who would be resigned, unknowingly, to a marriage to a man who could not truly ever love her or tend to her in the way a husband should.

No. That was not fair. He should strive instead to be a good husband, to dote on her and care for her as much as he could. When it came to physical intimacy, he would have to speak with her candidly, and be honest about his feelings. But, if she was a young maid this might all be too shocking – what if she is so disgusted by him that she never spoke to him again? What if she reports him to his family or the court, or demands an annulment? 
He would have to careful. He would have to get to know her first, to determine her character properly, before deciding how much he should tell her, or how much he could trust her.

He sat up, and cleared his throat so she would know he was awake. She turned slowly toward him and gave a small bow of her head. She was indeed a beauty, but unusual looking all the same. A king of striking beauty, rather than the soft round faces of the young maids in town, or the plump young pregnant wives of his friends – she had more angular features and sharp narrow eyes, that seemed to observe him with a severity and maturity that he did not expect from someone so young – as if she might pull a dagger out from her sleeve at any moment if he moved the wrong way.

“Good morning.” He began, unsure of himself, but wanting to put her at ease. He raised himself up onto his knees. “I’m sorry I drank so much last night. Please excuse my behaviour.” He gave a deep bow.

~ ~ ~

Ho Seon was on his hands and knees on the bed, bowing toward Ki Wan. He didn’t know how to respond. It seemed Ho Seon was impossible to predict. Ki Wan had expected the arrogant bravado of a wealthy only-son of a noble family – and yet was confronted last night and now again this morning, with a gentle, humble, young man whose manner seemed so deeply genuine that it was making Ki Wan feel embarrassed. He felt like he was playing a trick on a child. He must come clean. But how could he reveal himself now? To do so would be to make a fool out of Ho Seon and ruin any chance Ki Wan might have of salvaging a plan, an alliance, or even a friendship with the man. So, he continued to stay quiet – fearing that his voice alone might give the game away. He nodded politely to acknowledge Ho Seon’s gesture, and when Ho Seon smiled at him – he felt himself smile back.

“Shall we go find breakfast?” Ho Seon began, brightly.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Ki Wan felt panicked for a moment, before a woman’s voice came muffled through the doors.

“It’s only me! Are you two awake? Would you like some breakfast?”

Ho Seon rolled his eyes pointedly, and mouthed “my mother” at Ki Wan, who felt himself smiling again. His stomach was in knots, he was so filled with guilt and fear that he felt sick – and yet Ho Seon was so effortlessly charming, his kindness was so disarming, that Ki Wan felt an immediate sense of kindship and attraction – he wanted to be friends with this nobleman – and perhaps, if they had met under different circumstances, they could have been.

More gentle rapping at the door, and then Ho Seon’s mother announced more loudly “Are you awake? I’m coming in.”

Suddenly Ho Seon was a flurry of movement, he jumped up, messed up all the bedding, threw a pillow halfway across the room, and raced over to sit beside Ki Wan. Ki Wan gave Ho Seon a look of confusion, at which Ho Seon gave back an obtuse expression as if to say “You knowwww…” and leaned close to Ki Wan.

“So it looks like we… ” Ho Seon whispered to Ki Wan, his face intentionally turned away from the door – his cheek almost brushing Ki Wan’s own, as he leaned in close.

Oh. Ki Wan had read about these things before, and seen illustrations. He understood perfectly well – in theory – what was expected of a man and woman on their wedding night, but the thought suddenly made him blush.

It was precisely then, of course, that Ho Seon’s mother opened the door and entered the room. Finding them sitting conspiratorially close, Ki Wan blushing quite literally ‘like a bride’. She looked overjoyed at the sight, as she carried in a tray of breakfast.

“I know I should have sent the maid.” She began, “But I was too excited to see you!”

She lay the tray down on the table and sat herself down opposite them. She eyed the bedding, strewn across the room and giggled to herself.

“I remember when your father and I were first married, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other!” She laughed.

“Mother!” Ho Seon objected.

“What!? You’re a married man now! You can’t be shy about these things!” She gave him a playful slap on the arm.

“You will embarrass her!”

“Ahhh yes, yes. Sorry dear. Please don’t mind me, I’m just an old widow – I speak too freely. You will get used to it.” She smiled openly at Ki Wan, her cloudy grey eyes crinkling shut, and her deep dimples still visible beneath her wrinkles and laugh lines. There was no mistaking that Ho Seon was indeed her son.

Suddenly Ki Wan felt filled with motivation – if he could keep up his charade, perhaps he could really be welcomed into this family as a daughter in-law. Wouldn’t it be nice to be surrounded by such kind and loving people who smiled so much? But how? Perhaps just for a little while, and then he would run away, feign a kidnapping, or an affair, or better yet – his own death. And then what? Go back to his life as Ki Wan? What was so appealing about that? He had no trade or skill, he was an under-educated noble-man from a fallen family without connections to get him a decent court job. No, it seemed the best chance at a life that would keep his belly full and a roof over his head would be to stay here. His only option was to somehow make an ally of his husband. In his desperation and loyalty to his own family, he had unwittingly made himself a prisoner of this family, and of his own lie that he was now forced to follow through.

“Come, eat – you must both be hungry!” She laughed again.

Ki Wan began to help himself, before remembering there was probably some custom or etiquette he was forgetting – was he supposed to serve his husband first? He had no idea. Luckily Neither Ho Seon nor his mother seemed phased, as they had both started eating. Ho Seon simply filled Ki Wan’s bowl with more food, and poured them both some tea. If Ho Seon made one more kind gesture, Ki Wan feared he may break down and cry.

“Come here daughter!” His mother in-law chimed up. “Let me look at you properly.”

Ki Wan sat frozen in his place, if he got too close – surely she would notice! He looked to Ho Seon who was obliviously munching on his breakfast happily.

“Come on! I don’t bite I promise!” She demanded.

Ki Wan shuffled closer to her around the table, his heat beat erratic. He kept trying to look down at his hands. She then reached up to grab his chin, turning his face this way and that – she moved her own face closer and then further away, like she was examining a chip or crack in some piece of fine porcelain, deciding whether to fix it or throw it away.

“My eyesight’s not what it used to me” she said, “But I can tell you are a real beauty. Let me see your hands.” He was practically shaking! Surely, she would tell by his hands! She grabbed at them, turning them over, feeling the skin between her own small papery palms.

“Good! Strong hands, not too soft!” She declared, “I can’t stand women who don’t do any work. I don’t like to keep too many maids – I hate having strangers in my house. I’ve kept the same maids since I was married, and I won’t be hiring a new one for you until you have children. So, I hope you are happy to tend to some of your own chores, we all chip-in around here.”

Ki Wan felt she needed an answer to this, so he gave a simple but firm “Mmm!” in as high a pitch as he could manage without it sounding put-on.

After breakfast, Ho Seon’s mother took Ki Wan on a tour of the manor - showing her which buildings were for what purposes, which gardens Ki Wan was free to use, pointing out with pride the recent flowers and plants she had been growing.

Ho Seon fell in step behind them, letting his mother chatter away happily with her new companion – who she didn’t let go of even for a moment - clutching onto Ki Wan’s arm the entire time. At first Ki Wan thought she was just so pleased to have a daughter in-law, but after a while, he realised she was using him more for balance and strength.

“You don’t talk much!” She proclaimed at one point. It didn’t sound accusatory, more of an observation.

“She’s just shy mother.” Ho Seon piped up from behind them, “You can be very intimidating you know. How could she get a word in anyway?”

His mother laughed at this, “You’re right haha! I do talk too much! Sorry dear, you take your time once you’ve gotten used to life here, feel free to speak openly with me – no need to be formal or stand on ceremony.”

Ki Wan was grateful, once again he had managed to avoid the issue of speaking. His natural voice was not so deep that it would give him away as a man, but it was deep enough that if he tried too hard to put on a woman’s voice, or raise his pitch too much, it would sound forced and that was what he feared would give him away.

~ ~ ~

In the evening Ho Seon’s mother mentioned that should like to have some dresses made up for Ki Wan, and that she would need to take her measurements. The look of abject horror on Ki Wan’s face must have been enough for Ho Seon to jump to her defence and make an excuse.

“I think my wife is a little tired mother, it’s been a long day in a new home, I think we should just go and rest.”

“Oh ho! I see” She looked knowingly, “I know how much you must want to “rest” haHA!” She joked in her usual good-natured way. “But I do need those measurements if I am to send them off to the seamstress. Your wife only bought one good dress you know! No daughter of the Ryu family can be seen wearing the same single garment every day, people will think we’re gone broke!”

“Yes yes, okay mother.” Ho Seon replied, “We can manage it ourselves I’m sure, just lend me the tape and we will give you her measurements tomorrow.”

~ ~ ~

In their bridal house alone once again, Ki Wan realised he was indeed as tired as Ho Seon had claimed. The emotion and exhaustion of the last two days had caught up to him, he had barely slept the last two nights – preparing himself at home, then being on watch all last night, hoping Ho Seon had drunk enough not to wake up or drunkenly attempt to consummate their marriage. All day, around his mother, Ki Wan had been supressing his natural self – don’t move too much, don’t speak, don’t laugh. It was totally unnatural and he was completely drained.

Whilst Ho Seon tended to the heating and the candles, Ki Wan began removing his hair pins, and taking off his jacket without even thinking about what he was doing. Somehow, alone in this little room – he had already accepted this as his new home, a space where he felt safe and comfortable.

Ho Seon had removed his hat and his own outer-layer and was standing somewhat awkwardly aside, fiddling with something in his hand.

“I suppose, we should take your measurements for my mother – otherwise she will not leave you in peace tomorrow.”

Ki Wan nodded. Ho Seon fiddled with the tape in his hand then almost tossed it at Ki Wan, before getting out a piece of parchment, some ink, and seating himself down at the table.

He cleared his throat “If you take the measurements, I will write them down for you.”

Ki Wan nodded again, and began unravelling the tape. He had helped his sister with this task once before, but it was a lot easier to do on someone else than on one’s self. He stretched the tape out, holding it taught between his fingers in one hand, and pulling it up to his shoulder with the other. He repeated this step with the other arm, though the tape came lose this time from his fingers and he had to start again.

Ho Seon stood up from the table. “May I …. Would you like me to help?”

Frustrated, but grateful, Ki Wan nodded again. This was all so absurd, but the sooner they could complete the task the sooner Ki Wan could fall asleep – and then all these problems would seem like a dream, and he wouldn’t have to worry about it all again until morning. The bed looked so warm and inviting, and he hadn’t even been able to sleep on it last night. Ho Seon approached him cautiously in the half-light, and Ki Wan handed him the tape.

~ ~ ~

Standing in front of his new wife in the candle-light, Ho Seon was once again struck by her beauty. Her distinctive bone structure was casting incredible shadows across her face and bare skin where she had removed her jacket. The white ribbons of her undergarments only accentuated the shape of her collarbones more, and he couldn’t help but stare.

He must have been staring too openly, as she brought her arms up to cover herself more, hugging her shoulder and covering her chest. She looked frightened. He shook himself and took a small step back, averting his eyes to the floor.

“Sorry.” He said. “I shouldn’t have stared. I will just take the measurements. Sorry if I touch you, I will try not to.”

He took the tape and began focusing on his task, trying desperately to look only at the tape and not her body. As he worked back and forth between her and his parchment, where he scribbled the measurements, he thought to himself; why do I feel so nervous? She is my wife, surely, I am allowed to look at her and admire her? But when before had he ever wanted to admire the form and body of a woman? This was an entirely new development. Perhaps because she was his wife? Perhaps he felt differently toward her than other women? Was this what happened when you were married? Perhaps one is instinctively drawn to their spouse in a way that does not apply other people?

But, regardless of his own new feelings, or his desire and curiosity to explore them, she was clearly still uncomfortable around him. She still refused to speak, she seemed perpetually guarded and fearful. Yet, it did not strike him that she was fearful of him, rather she was on edge – fearful of everything around her, like she was going to run away at any moment. Indeed, he sensed she was somehow calmer around him than his mother – which seemed to him to be counter-intuitive for a young bride.

He took a step closer, and reached the tape gently around her ribcage and brought it together under her breastbone. They were standing so close now, as he looked down he could have smelled her hair or kissed her forehead. He watched her chest quickly moving up and down with her breath, and he fought the urge to touch her there. It would have been uninvited, and he had promised not to.

For the last measurements, he first took one end of the tape and held it against the top of her shoulder.

“Hold this, please.” He asked her. He felt he had barely whispered it, but the room was so quiet that his voice seemed to echo in the space. He could hear her breathing, short and sharp like she was trying to control it or stop herself from making any sound. Why was she so scared? What kind of home life had she come from, or what kind of married life had she been expecting that she should have reason to be so scared? He drew the tape down to floor where the touched the top of her foot. Then he tugged on it for her to let go. Kneeling down in front of her, he took the tape once more – this time wrapping it around her hips, pulling it tightly to compensate for her large skirts, holding it in place with his hand on her lower abdomen.

Whilst reading the tape he felt her move just slightly and her breath almost stop, as if she was holding it. Out of the corner of his eye his saw her hand move from her side toward him. At first, he thought she was going to push him away, but instead all he felt was the most delicate of touches - she drew the back of her hand softly across his temple, from his brow to his ear, as if she was wiping away a bead of sweat. Then, she quickly withdrew her hand and stepped away from him – leaving him frozen, kneeling on the floor.

TBC (Other parts here!)

Authors Note: Well this is getting VERY out of hand, I’m now at like 8000 words and this is just scenes based only on the first 2 episodes haha

I have changed a lot of the plot from the show for the sake of my own continuity, and to raise the tension and the drama cause we need some FLAVOUR. Namely, I have kept KiWan’s identity and gender a secret for the TENSION and have established Ho Seon as gay, for the dramatic irony. Get ready for some ANGST in the next chapters, shit’s gonna get real.

Note: Kiseang were Joseon era courtesans and sex-workers. Not that historical accuracy is top of my priority list haha

I think I will have to post on AO3 for ease of reading and keeping track. Link to come when I have time tomorrow.

Sorry this is still unedited - but if I keep going I will ask for a beta haha

Enjoy!

[whereflowersbloom]

Morning after

The smell of freshly baked croissants and coffee woke her up. Raven hardly ever felt so rested, even after spending an hour meditating before going to sleep, opening her eyes and getting accustomed to the morning light of the sun that illuminated her room through the windows. She turned on her back and nestled in this new, previously unknown feeling. She was strangely calm as if everything was in the right place, and every possible problem remained in the past.

Maybe that’s what genuine serenity feels like, she thought to herself.

But how did she end up in this situation? They became friends. Best friends, even. They talked about everything including their most intimate thoughts. She told herself it was enough or deceived herself into believing so. There was no line for them to cross but a secret and deep part of her soul definitely understood and sought the need to feel wanted and loved and fulfilled. Not like she hadn’t thought of Damian that way before. There was such a terrible tension between them sometimes when they were both sitting on her the sofa watching old classic films or reading books they both enjoyed. She craved the heat of Damian’s embrace. She remembered how it felt to have him curled around her, how gently his thumb stroked her cheek, how his muscles flexed against her, and she wishes he would hold her again.

Damian was like a compass for Raven if she felt like she might lose her way, and that kind of thing never happened to her. Not often at least.

As usual Damian went jogging as it had become his habit thanks to Jon, who craved the sunlight as soon as he opened his eyes, persistently asking him to be his partner. A surprising string elbow in the ribs by Jon gave him the second push to voice his feelings for Raven. Later, he visited a local bakery that made exquisite chocolate croissants, as he memorized Raven’s favorites. Then he returned home with a sudden thought it was the high time to turn his quiet feelings for Raven into something serious. He wanted to fool himself at first, but as it turned out, he was too fucking smart to believe a single word of the downright falsehood he made up in his mind in order to excuse himself from the imminent truth. He was in love with her.

She was about to get out of bed to stretch her muscles when Damian walked into the room carrying a tray with breakfast: hot coffee, steaming Earl Grey, croissants and juicy autumnal fruit. She wanted to approach him, wrap her arms around him and kiss him on the neck, the sensitive spot she discovered last night, but they were not yet at that stage of the relationship. As the matter of fact, she did not know exactly who they were to each other now. Maybe nothing had changed. After all, it had been just a few kisses last night, letting go, a carpet diem kind of moment. Maybe Damian didn’t want things to change between them.

"Good morning.” Damian muttered, sending her one of his radiant, sincere smiles that made her legs weak. "Did you sleep well?"

“Yes. Better than most days. I didn’t know if you would come back...” She kept her own voice soft, matching his tone, afraid to burst the strange bubble they found themselves in. Controlling her anxiety was easier said than done.

“I simply needed time to clear my mind.” His expression was solemn. “We must discuss last night’s event.” He mumbled under his breath, voice deadly calm, a convincing facade, fighting to distract the both of them from his own wild whirlwind of emotions as he left the tray at the bedside table. No woman in his life had ever truly enchanted him in the way she did. He would not give her up.

Her lower lip trembled slightly. She repeated her mantra over ten times until she calmed her nerves. Damian was her closest friend, and she cared about not ruining the special bond between them. They said it was easier to move on as long as you were merely lovers, but what when you are so much more. She felt like a teenager who was falling in love for the first time. Not that she was that much older at the age of 19. She had experience in meaningless romances, short-lived, Wally, Garfield, but she knew nothing about true love. Their bond was beyond comprehensible lines of poetry. More than it being undefinable, it was the freeness to be defined, the way as open interpretations take you.

“We don’t have to to this now. In fact, nothing has to change.” She spoke tentatively, unsure whether she’s more concerned how this would shape their friendship or embarrassed she let herself cross a line. Slowly passing around the room folding her arms across her chest.

The distress was heavy in her chest, stirred with a fog of uncertainty.

At this, Damian’s eyes sparkled with determination and objection regarding her statement. Before she registered what he was doing, he grabbed her hand. “I do not want to leave things exactly as they used to be. Not before last night.” He held her gaze and rubbed his thumb over the backside of her hand, reveling in the softness of her skin.

There’s a fluttering in her stomach, and she’s taken aback at the intensity of it. Butterflied filled with hope and wish. There was hope of light after all darks, hope of happiness after grief, hope of a new colorful sunrise, a chapter to be rewritten.

“It was just a kiss..” In a trice, breaking off the contact. She lied and immediately regretted it. Damian stood next to her with a disbelieving expression on his face. There was a hint of indignation but it vanished quickly.

“You and I both know it meant more than a kiss. I do not need the gift of empathy to see it.” Damian stated sharply, his features hardened at his resolution. He was tired of constantly feeling this weight on his shoulders. What was the point of deceiving themselves any longer? If he didn’t know better, he would say she was avoiding him like a plague.

Letting out a breath she had been holding in since Damian entered her bedroom, Raven felt a weight being lifted off her chest. “Damian...I” She started, but never managed to finish interrupted by an unexpected question.

"Do you have any plans for today?" He left the question hanging in the air.

With brows furrowed in confusion she found herself unable to command her mouth to utter anything. Her heart thudded out of her chest. The normally unflappable last daughter of Azarath knocked for a loop by the close proximity of her stunning teammate.

Raven parted her lips and closed them again.

“It seems we are free to do as we please today. Clear schedule. No training or missions. He shrugged casually, willing his breath to remain steady, years of boiling emotions teetering over the edge of his elegant, suave composure

Raven blinked. Amethysts widening.

“I thought we could go somewhere. You and I” Damian licked his lips, swallowing the nerves in his chest as her eyes widen a fraction at his proposal. "There's a new Parisian café in the city I think you might like.”

Her lips curved up into a sweet smile, growing wider and more radiant as she thought of sitting in Parisian cafe with Damian, enjoying a minute of bliss to be in the other’s company.

“Are you asking me on a date, Damian Wayne?” She blurted with a momentary astonished look, even as she realized the implication of his words. Was this truly happening? She asked herself mentally.

“I’m courting you properly, Raven. So yes, I’m asking you out.” His shoulders ease from their tensed position, subconsciously hunched in nerves to what she’d respond.

It was surreal, talking about what a few minutes ago had been unbearable chains, restrained by her own fears and inner demons. Ethereal strands of thread that could be snapped by a mere jerk of fingers. He wanted more. He wanted her.

“I don’t know, Damian.” She bit her lip still indecisive, gaze away from his face. Once again mind invaded by intrusive negative thoughts. What if it didn’t work? What if she lost control? The numerous what if’s haunted her like never ending nightmares.

Taking a step closer, something in his emerald sparked with an idea and firmness of not quitting. “Any chance I can persuade you to change your mind then?” He crooned in her ear, nipping at it just slightly, taking her breath away. She wondered how long she could resist his gravitational pull for so long.

Raven hesitated for a good few seconds before finally resigning herself to the fact that whatever she did. She couldn’t fight this anymore. She loved him. “I can think of a few ways.” She was surprised at her own boldness, snaking slender arms around his torso. He pressed his built body against hers closer, placing tender, teasing kisses along her neck. Whilst she was glad that he was enjoying himself, she was going to completely lose it if she remained flush against him for much longer. Her entire core heated with want for him. He smirked at the effect he had on her with his natural charm. This confident, cocky air. This was so him and content and not bothering to mask it. No filters.

“Is that a yes?” He whispered and there was no missing the boyish grin spread over his tanned cheeks. Hooking a finger under her chin and brought her face level with his own.

“I suppose you earned a date, Mr. Wayne.” She laughed feverishly. Gently, stroking his palm with her thumb. Enjoying the calloused yet silky skin of an accomplished swordsman and fighter.

An audible sigh left Damian’s mouth as his muscles relaxed with her nestled in his arms. She could sense his relief. Yes, perhaps a change could be good, opening herself to feel again. A new chapter of light and joy.

Notes: I know I have disappeared and haven’t updated in forever but I’m still sick and weak. Also working on the fanzine project. I should be done in a week though. But meanwhile have this short damirae. Not my best but I hope you enjoy it 💖💖💜💜

@deepbreadlover @tweepunkgrl @alerialblu @chromium7sky @kallura-juniblade @cayeeast

I miss you all and youre all welcome to message me. I feel a bit disconnected from the world.

Also I’d like to use to wish @shewhowillnotbenamed1 a happy birthday!! Thank you for blessing us with your beautiful wiring and your friendship 😊😊🥰💜💖

[kazewhara]

also, same anon about the royal!kazuha - here’s a small follow-up

imagine being kazuha’s most trusted companion - despite being part of his personal guard, the prince still manages to form a strong bond with you

imagine the fleeting smiles kazuha would send your way every time you crossed paths with him, his red eyes glimmering beneath the rays of sunlight that filter through the stained glass panes in the castle’s halls

kazuha keeps you by his side not out of obligation due to your rank and purpose in his kingdom, but because he genuinely trusts you and finds comfort in your presence. you are the sunlight that breaks through the tumultuous storm of conflicts and responsibilities piling up on his shoulders

kazuha isn’t one to share much about his feelings, but when it comes to you, he shares his deepest, darkest secrets - his anxieties, his indecision, anything that plagues his mind during the night. kazuha longs to have someone to talk to with no restrictions, and he is glad that you’re the one who gets to see all sides of him

hsgshhshhhh excuse me as i scream bc of royal!kazuha

OH NO NO YOU'RE EXCUSED PLEASE CONTINUE. DO GO ON.

YOU HAVE MY UNDIVIDED ATTENTION.

[sparkleswritings]

Hello! I know I made a request before, but I love your writing so much and I hope I can make another request. :D Up to you if you wanna do both or just pick either of the two! Can I please request for 65 + 177 + 200 from List 6? Kakashi x fem reader please. Ahhh thank you so much!

Okay this turned out a little challenging to write, I went through so many versions and drafts for it! Only because the prompts you chose were so perfect and I didn't want to mess them up >~<

This was originally very angsty but...I just couldn't bring myself to write angst throughout, I'm weaakk

I love your requests, thank you for sending them in! I hope you enjoyed ♡

Also! Special thanks to my lovely beta readers: @tachibrii @tiny93soo @titaniabuck

Love Me Not

Prompt: (they were too long to list, I put them in bold!)

Word count: 1,583

Tags: Slight angst, Fluff

Whenever he was around you, he'd always feel as if he were at the edge of a cliff. Just a little push and that was it. Ever since getting to know you, he would feel himself gravitating towards you, wanting to just be in your presence a little longer, a little more. It was out of his control.

And that's what made it dangerous.

It made things a little complicated. Kakashi knew he had feelings for you, he knew he wanted to be much more than just a colleague in your eyes. But then again, he wasn't ready. 

He wasn't ready to let someone in that way, not after everything he'd gone through. After losing so many people he cared about, it really did take a toll and he wasn't quite sure if he was ready to take that risk with you.

But he should really stop overthinking about this. Sure you've gone on dates and he was on the receiving end of your lovely cheek kisses, but nothing was ever official. Perhaps this was just a fling that wouldn't last long, and he really did hope so. You deserve someone who could return your feelings better than he ever could.

So when he heard those words tumble out from your mouth one day, out of the blue, Kakashi panicked. Maybe a little more than he should.

"Kashi, what's wrong?" the warm smile slipped from your face as you watched him go rigid, his eyes slightly widened in...fear? Dread? Confusion? You weren't quite sure.

That was definitely not the reaction you had been hoping for, nor the reaction you expected. He was quiet for a while before standing up, saying he had somewhere to be. He didn't even falter, just throwing you that close eyed smile of his as if nothing happened.

His facade was excellent.

"Kakashi," you called out to him, hoping he'd stay long enough to hear what you had to say, "I didn’t tell you that I love you because I wanted to hear it back. I told you because I needed you to know.”

And with that, you went back to sipping at your tea, the seat across you now empty. 

He had always preferred showing his affections through his actions, no matter how subtle they'd be, so you had assumed that he didn't know how to respond to what you said. After everything he's been through, you can only imagine how scary it'd be to love again. But you hoped that if you gave him enough time, he'd be ready to accept your heart.

Then again, it's been four days and your worriedness just kept piling. Was he going to cut you off without saying anything? Did you spook him that badly?

You confided in Kurenai, telling her how horribly the date ended, and how you had regretted saying those words to him. You should have taken his feelings into consideration and now you felt selfish.

"Don't blame yourself, Kakashi is just being...indecisive," she said.

"But what if I was mistaken? Now I'm starting to doubt we ever had anything between us at all. What if I was the only one who got carried away?" 

The red-eyed woman sighs, placing her hands on your shoulders so she could catch your gaze.

"Everyone who's seen the two of you knows that that isn't true.  He loves you, you know? He's just afraid of admitting it." She releases her grip before slinging her kunai pouch across her hips.

"The man's emotionally stunted, and maybe even scarred. Personally, I was surprised to see him receiving affection from you like that."

Well she was right, but as time passed by you realised that he just didn't know how to respond to such things. You found it a little adorable but right now, it was frustrating.

"Anyway, it's about time for me to leave for my mission, tell me if he contacts you while I'm gone."

Once again, you were alone in the room, the warm sunlight that filtered in through the windows combined with your overworked mind began to make you feel drowsy.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You rubbed sleep from your eyes, trying to find the source of that obnoxious, persistent sound, only to find someone crouching outside of your window.

None other than Kakashi Hatake himself.

You didn't know whether to be excited or worried. After four days he suddenly shows up on your windowsill. Was he going to pretend he never heard what you had said, or will he have an answer ready for you?

"What is it?" you asked, looking up at him. His body towered over you, blocking the sun that has ever so slightly begun to set.

"My, four days of not speaking and that's the first thing you came up with?"

"Don't get sassy with me Hatake." You flicked his chest. "I was worried."

He gave you a small chuckle that didn't match the emotion he held in his eyes. Whether it was a good or a bad thing, you could only guess that you were about to find out.

He beckoned you to follow him and you obliged silently. Somehow you had a bad feeling about this, but you were just going to have to go along and trust him. 

The spot he had taken you to was scenic, a wooden bridge with red railings. Behind it, the sun was a brilliant orange, casting ribbons of light and shadow around you, bouncing off the waters of the peacefully running stream below.

This was such a nice place and you wonder why you had never even seen it before.

You were expecting him to say something, anything, but he only gave you silence, staring off into whatever was in front of him. You were growing a little anxious.

"Y/N," he finally spoke, turning around so he could face you.

"Yes?" It was a challenge to keep your voice steady but you lifted your head to face him.

"I think," he began, "I think it would be best for our...relationship to remain professional. Or at the very least platonic, if you'd be okay with that."

The way he said it so easily made the weight of the words settle in much slower, but when it did, you turned your back on him as to hide your eyes that had turned glassy.

You took a deep breath, pushing your weight onto the railings before giving off a sigh. You weren't surprised, just disappointed. On the way here, you had been running through worst case scenarios in your head, this was one of them.

"So, you took me to such a nice place to break my heart hm? What a gentleman." you said. "I knew it...it was because of what I said wasn't it? I thought you just needed more time but I guess you just didn't feel the same."

"That's not it," his firm tone surprised you. He was being so indifferent about the whole thing you were sure it was just because he didn't think the connection you shared was real.

"It's not because I don't feel the same way, Y/N. I'm not going to go too deep into it but I just wanted to break it off cleanly. You deserve closure."

Did he just return your feelings and break them at the same time? You wanted to laugh, he was the only one who could make you feel that way and now he was slipping away from you like sand.

You guessed that your fear of losing him caused you to snap.

“You’re a coward, Kakashi. You hide away this entirely different part to yourself all because you’re afraid that someone might get close to you! You’re afraid that someone might just care about you more than you think you deserve. That - that isn’t fair," you choked. You hated that you were the only one getting so emotional but what did you expect? Him to break down crying and begging you to stay? Not a chance.

"You're right," he said.

Surprised, you looked up at him once more, your vision a bit blurry from the tears.

"I'm afraid that I don't deserve you and nothing you say will ever change my mind."

He looked like he wanted to come closer, but like you said, his facade was excellent. His walls were tall and you had failed to climb them.

"You don't need to deserve my feelings, I just think you're uncertain," you walked up to him, pleased that he didn't run away the moment your palm touched his cheek.

"Uncertain about love and what comes with it...I understand why you feel that way. But I really do love you Kakashi," your voice dropping to a whisper at the end.

"I will wait for you, until you're completely sure about what you're doing, because frankly, I can't accept your decision right now."

"What?"

"I'm saying that I don't agree with the break up."

"Excuse me?" Kakashi held your hand away from his face, a glint back in his eye. He looked as if he wanted to burst out laughing.

"You heard me. I'm going to change your mind even if it kills me."

He had been so sure he had to let you go then and there but god you were making this very hard for him.

"I'm taking that as a challenge," he said, stepping a little closer to you, enough to make you a tad breathless.

"Bring it."

[manggojooz]

Pick A Side (Part 4)

pairing: Taehyung x reader

word count: 2,050 approx

genre: university!au; angst; romance; slice of life stuff

warnings: none

previous part: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

comment: sorry this took long, I hope it’s not too shabby.. sending thanks to every one who gave me support for this series! 

taglist:  @destiel1597 @mila271 @hopetookmysoul @ximaginx @honeyursosweet 

You had swapped your photograph on the photo wall to a new one – a shattered window in the night, the street lights filtering through in wildly refracted ways. In fact, it was just one of the broken windows on the first floor of the school dorms, but through the viewfinder, it looked wry and distorted. An entire week passed, and then there was a post-it stuck to the corner of your photograph again:  

“A sound of something breaking I awake from sleep A sound full of unfamiliarity Try to cover my ears but can’t go to sleep”

The words dug deep into you, especially after what happened a few days ago.  

---

That lesson came and went again. The professor had instructed Hyesoo to split the class into groups for the next assignment. At the end of the class, you waited for Haejoong to submit the assignment to Hyesoo together; it was a convenient enough excuse to not face her alone. The two of you were one of the last to go to her.  

“Haejoong, seems like you are close to Y/N in class, I’ll put you in the same group as her then”, Hyesoo smiled charismatically at him, as she took in Haejoong’s report.  

“And Y/N...”, she smirks again, “I think you will enjoy your project very much, you should really thank me for grouping the both of you together with Taehyung and Jihyun, since you guys hang out all the time.”  

It was not surprising but still irritating that she would abuse her power as the teaching assistant in this way and your expression must have been a tad too obvious.  

“What’s with the face? Didn’t you always like being in the same group as Taehyung. I was still hoping to receive a ‘thank you’ for helping you with this”, she scorned.  

You knew what she was hinting at, and you couldn’t believe her childishness for being still hung up over something that happened more than a year ago. This is a fight you can never win. But the considerate guy standing next to you was not prepared to let it slide. “Do you want to swap with someone?”, Haejoong asked you, while Hyesoo side-eyed him in anticipation, waiting for him to challenge her directly.  

“Y/N...”, Jihyun’s voice came out of nowhere. She walked over, Taehyung trailing behind her, “... don’t ask to swap groups please.”  

There was a serious urge to roll your eyes at her feeble demand but Jihyun continued talking, “You don’t want to hear our explanations, that’s fine, we won’t force you to. But you just stopped talking to us, left the painting club and now you want to swap out of the project group because of us? I don’t want people to think that we are...  

“That you are what?”, you squinted a little, taunting her to complete her statement.

“That you know... we are...”, Jihyun was dragging out her words, perhaps reluctant to say it herself.  

“Why do you keep saying ‘we’? Does Taehyung share the same sentiments?”, it was even refreshing to yourself, that you were able to say such things now that you were no longer afraid of being branded as the petty other half.  

Jihyun could only wonder why Taehyung had no response, did he not hear you, did he not want to support her? She always thought that Taehyung will take her side but what’s with him now?  

There probably isn’t another situation more complicated and full-circle than this.  

Haejoong glared at Hyesoo, annoyed that she is taking advantage of her position as the TA; Hyesoo sneers at you, just because she never liked you in the first place; you looked at Jihyun in confusion, wondering if there was a sliver of yourself that you saw in her, now that she is assuming the role of the ‘petty’ girlfriend; Jihyun in turn glowers at Taehyung, finding it increasingly difficult to swallow his lack of support for her yet again; and Taehyung, just trying his best to pierce Haejoong’s face with his stare, bothered by his constant presence next to you.  

---

Jihyun stormed down the sidewalk leading to the hostels, Taehyung followed half-heartedly behind her.  

“Kim Taehyung!”, she suddenly stopped and spun around, shouting at him. “Why are we even together when you keep doing this?”  

“Doing what?”, he raised his voice a bit too.  

“Why do you always just say nothing when I... You know what? I'm just gonna get straight to the point, if we are together, you should be siding with me! Stop acting like a freaking diplomat. Yes I know you are a very social person and you don’t like to offend anybody but you can’t keep doing this!”, she lamented.  

“I have always been like this, you know I hate picking sides! You were fine with it before. Why are you so worked up about it now?”, this just felt somewhat of a déjà vu to Taehyung.  

“I was fine with it because I wasn’t your girlfriend at that time!”, Jihyun spat.  

He was suddenly floored and had no words as he processed hers. He has to admit, when you blew up a fuss about him not taking your side, he thought you were just being petty. After you broke up with him over it, he thought the rumours held water and that you were jealous of Jihyun. But... what’s with Jihyun now... why is she acting this way too?

“Taehyung-ah, you had difficulty siding your girlfriend against me, your best friend, that’s normal... but now I’m your girlfriend, she’s your ex... what is so difficult? Why can’t you just take my side?”, she was almost pleading at this point.  

Yes. Why couldn’t he? Wasn’t that the plan?

---

In the days after you broke up with him, Taehyung had been somewhat lost. The two of you hadn’t been dating for that long and he wasn’t one to pine over a lost relationship, but there was just a dent left in him. Something was just not right.  

Was it the abruptness of it all? Or perhaps, the lack of a reasonable explanation as to why it had to be this way? His mind was in such a mess. He wanted to call you, but no he shouldn’t, because he never u-turns in relationships, but he really wants to talk to you. And there it was again, that indecipherable noise in his head, was it even a sound?

Someone near him must have been talking to him this whole time but all he heard was just vague mumbling, until he suddenly snapped out of his daze when he felt a sharp pain on his right arm.

“Were you even listening to me?”, an exasperated Jihyun exclaimed, right after she had pinched him hard since her attempts at using words were not working.  

“Huh?”, Taehyung obviously did not catch anything she had said.  

The two of them were the only ones left sitting in the empty cinema. Jihyun had asked him to watch this movie with her, thinking it would help to lift his mood, after all it was a comedy.  

“I asked if you are hungry...”, Jihyun repeated, leaving out the bulk of the conversation that she knew he did not hear.  

“Yeah, sure”, he replied soullessly.  

“Yeah sure?”, she turns to look at him in disbelief, what kind of response was that?  

“Eo?”, he was still not fully there with her. It made her even more exasperated, she has never seen him so affected by anyone.  

“Kim Taehyung, get over it. It's just another break up...”, she suddenly asserted.

“What?”, Taehyung turns sharply to look at her, but she was staring ahead at the blank screen.  

“I said get over it... it’s just another break up...”, how many times exactly does she have to repeat everything she said for him to register it?  

“I’m trying, if you can’t tell... I'm trying to but -”, his words were fragmented, just like his thoughts.  

She exhaled a tiny puff of air, resolving that this is probably time for her to take that step she always contemplated, “If you need a distraction, or I guess, if you need a rebound, I’ll do it...”

His dazed eyes started coming back into focus, as he observes her side profile, slowly taking in what she was suggesting.  

She squeezes her eyes shut for a few seconds, then turns to look him at him with some form conviction, leaning in to kiss him lightly on his lips. There was a weird situation where a thousand things went through his mind yet there was no one thought that could actually be crystallised. His best friend just kissed him – that is a line either you choose to cross or choose to walk away from forever.  

He did nothing as he waited for the confusion to wear out, the two of them just looking at each other, inches apart, waiting for the other to make the next move. If that was the game, Jihyun must have lost. She could not outlast the indecisive idiot who always made her impatient.  

“Since you can’t decide, I'll make the call. Let's try it... this dating thing. Don’t they always say that it is a blessing if your significant other is also your best friend? We are already best friends, so let’s try this significant other thing then. I’ve always wondered what it will be like if we dated each other.”

That was one way to sell it. And it was probably the easiest way for Taehyung to buy it. Right, if his best friend was also his girlfriend then it should solve the problem. There would only be one side to take, right?  

---

Perception is often relative to position; just like how the angle of a camera can change how a subject appears in the photograph.  

“Why can’t you just take my side?”, Jihyun’s words were as piercing as her voice. “I am now your girlfriend, what do you think the other people will think if you remained neutral like that?”, Jihyun demanded a response from him again, as they stood on the gravel pavement.

“What would the other people think? Shouldn’t everyone just come to their own conclusions anyway?”, Taehyung retorted.  

“No! They will take it that I have lost... do you not see it?”, she was exasperated by now.  

A frown appears across his face. 

“So you are saying that... if I didn’t take your side... then you have lost... because we are together?”, he was trying to keep up with the logical chain. “Wait, was that what you thought all the while... when I was together with Y/N? When... when I didn’t take her side against you? Did you think that you... won?”, Taehyung’s mind was quivering to wrap around the revelation.  

“Wasn’t that the case?”, she was shocked that he never knew the kind of signals he was sending.

Only Jihyun could have made him see it. Because she reveled in victory while he took the middle high ground when she was his best friend, yet now, in this moment, she is defeated, because she couldn’t get from Taehyung the same thing that you had always yearned from him. What changed? The only difference is her position – she is now his girlfriend.

Your words came into his mind. “But sometimes, when you choose not to pick a side, you have essentially picked a side.”

It gradually shattered; the belief that if he picked no side, he will hurt no one. It was foreign to him; the recognition that he must have hurt you with what he did, or more accurately, didn’t do. He finally deciphers those unsettling noises he senses every now and then; it was his heart quibbling that something went wrong between him and you, and it was the voices of regret within him. 

“Jihyun, I’m sorry... I think... I think I must have made a mistake...”, he mutters, his voice husky and low in its usual way but with more resemblance to his mood.

“About what?”, she was the one frowning now.  

He looked straight into her resentful eyes. He was sorry to her, this was his fault. But this time he knew, he was going to hurt her, and it will be his choice to bear.

“About us”, he whispered, forlornly, finally. 

[the-canary]

The Meaning of French Toast - B.B

Summary: It meant a lot of things, including what you felt for each other. (Modern AU! Reader/Bucky Barnes).

Masterlist

A/N: This came out of a smaller drabble from @just-add-butter ‘s request. It took a lot longer than I thought it would, but I hope you enjoy it!

Feedback is always welcomed. 

“And if we’re both single by 30, I’ll ask you out on a date. Hell, I’ll even marry ya.”

Is it stupid to cling to a drunk’s words from your college years? Yeah, you’re pretty sure it is, but you couldn’t help it when it came to him -- that bastard, James Buchanan Barnes. You were a little too sober and he was  little too drunk, at least you think, when he said those words back at the college graduation party and because of your teeny-tiny crush you clung to them. You waited patiently, though your own failed romances and his own, and now here you were -- two days after your 30th birthday, a couple of months after his own, in your favorite brunch place on a bright Saturday morning.  

It was what you guys always did in order to take a break and catch up. You had been doing it as long as you could remember, however there were also exceptions to the rule, though James always made sure to tell you ahead of time, not the morning of.

Bucky: Had a late night. Could we meet up later instead?

You type an “okay” and pretend that you have forgotten about the whole thing, the whole stupid notion that has been swirling in your head over the past 6 years because it’s only seems to be you carrying this makeshift battle wound. You’re sort of glad you didn’t go all out today on your outfit like you were planning to, it seems to ease the blow. So, when your usual waitress looks at the empty seat next to you and your watery smile, she can’t help but frown a little and you know what she wants to say, but you bite your lip and simply order.

“French toast to go, please.”  

 Freshman.

You first meet a young and nervous James Buchanan Barnes during that stupid freshman orientation because you were stuck in the same group with him and some other girls. Even then, James knew he could steal the crowd with a smile and an easy joke, maybe it had something to do with those hypnotic blue eyes or charming Brooklyn accent that filtered through a crooked smile. You hate the whole day because the girls won’t stop giggling whenever he talks -- it also doesn’t help that you have little sleep due to your flight and even now, you’re starting to feel a little homesick, even if you are at your dream school.

It doesn't help that you get lost along the way after orientation because your parents had thought it would be nicer to rent you a hotel and you had never been able to read a map.

“Hey, are you lost?” a familiar voice causes you to look up to see blue eyes and a crooked smile. You almost want to say no, but your stomach growls instead. He laughs and you want to be buried alive from all the embarrassment you are suddenly feeling.

“If you want, I could should a good diner and help find your place,” he remarks with his hands up, showing that he means no harm at your sudden glare,”Only if ya want.”

“Ok...I guess,” you mumble in defeat as he grins.

“The name’s Bucky Barnes! You were in my orientation group right,” he starts asking as you guys cross the busy New York street, “What are ya studying?”     

Oh, if your younger self knew what 5 years would change, she would surely hate you.

 One week. Two weeks.

Bucky hasn’t contacted you in that amount of time, but you sort of understand. You can see it in the social media you share -- the pretty redhead he seems to be smiling with and while it hurts the center of your chest. You take a deep breathe and choose to ignore it. You’ve had your work cut for you as deadlines starting coming up along with more work and even a business convention. Hell, your family on the West Coast even wanted to see you, so another birthday passed you by and while you tried to convince yourself that it would all get back to normal soon, yet somehow it feels different -- like something important has passed you by.

Maybe, that's why you were making  french toast from Youtube videos at 2 in the morning. You just couldn’t sleep, thank goodness that Peggy was willing to lend an ear --though you didn’t give her all the details-- from her current trip in London as she had always been an early riser.

“I don’t know how long I am planning on staying,” you pause between looking at the video and pan at hand,”But, maybe it will be a good break, ya know?”

Peggy hums at the end of your blabbering, “Well, I think you deserve a break and you have the hours for it. Just make sure, you know that you’ll that this is all just temporary. Life changes to quickly, even if you’re trying to run away from it.”

“That obvious, huh?” you question, while transferring the finish toast from the pan onto the plate. Various syrups and jams are on top of the kitchen countertop, alongside some cooled coffee. Peggy laughs, as you sit alone in the complete stillness of your apartment.

“Since sophomore year,” she declares with a laugh that you can’t help but join in, even if a bit bitterly. And in that moment, the french toast in all its sugary goodness tastes like utter defeat.    

 Sophomore.

In the year and half that you had known Bucky Barnes, you realized that you were sort of wrong about the fella. Yes, he could charm the panties out of almost any girl, you had seen it happen multiple times, but he was also a lot of other things as well. You saw him work to help his sisters and mom, saw him study until early morning after getting out of his work, you saw him breakdown because he was frustrated with the material of his math classes. However, when he triumphed, when something went his way -- the boy was pure gold with that smile of his.    

“All on me promise,” you declare, as the two of take a seat in the familiar red booth from a year ago. It wasn’t often, due to the money available as a college student, that you guys came here but Bucky had passed his last final, the one that he nearly spent two days without sleep  for, and was officially part of the Engineering program. It was just gonna get tougher from here on out, but you wanted to celebrate with him for a bit.

“You really didn’t have to,” Bucky smiles at the waitress who gives you the menu. You shake your head, already knowing what you want.

“We need to celebrate your accomplishment,” you empathize since Steve and Sam had already taken him out drinking two nights ago, “Besides, who knows when we’ll time for this again.”

“What do ya mean?” he asks almost hesitantly, as you order the french toast and he gets the grand slam breakfast. Blue eyes watching you with purpose, as you simply shrug.

“Well, I’m studying abroad next semester and you’ll be building shit,” you let out a nervous chuckle, not sure how Bucky will take the news that you’re traveling abroad. He was the only one you hadn’t told, though you aren’t sure why.

“So, it’s a little busier,” it’s his turn to shrug, “You’re always gonna be just down the hall and we can always call each other. Nobody’s moving away, doll.”

“You should have been an English major, Buck,” you laugh at his sentiment, only for him to smile as the waitress comes and brings your drinks.

The rest of the time is spent eating, sharing stories and plans -- yours on what you plan on doing in Lisbon and his over his latest conquest. Time seems slower than usual and at the sight of him spitting and laughing orange juice out of his mouth over your comment on sexual skittles, you try to ignore that your heart skips a beat.   

“So, your cousin finally left?” Steve asks as he takes another sip of his beer. It was on of those rare times that the two childhood friends manage to catch-up in between work and Peggy coming home, and that was totally ignoring Bucky’s major problem of the past couple of weeks.

“Yeah, said she wanted to see Toronto,” Bucky laughs. Natasha, his favorite Russian cousin, and her sort-of American boyfriend had come last minute to enjoy the short break that they had from work, which had coincided with a certain birthday, “Those two are cute together, though.”     

“And have you talked to her yet?” Steve questions, as Bucky turns to look away. The blond had been there all those years ago when Bucky declared what he would do on your 30th birthday. Steve had dickish but friendly tendency to remind him that each year he was closer to finally confessing what he really felt, on the year of it finally happening he had finally left Bucky to do what he had planned. It didn’t turn out so well, and Steve had give him hell for it.

“I’ve been busy,” Bucky gives as a weak excuse, as Steve decides to throw it all in once and for all. Peggy might get mad at him later, but he was tired of Bucky --with all his charm and know-how-- to be so indecisive when it came to one of their closest friends. I mean, how couldn’t he see it while everyone else did?

“You know she’s leaving, right?” Steve questions hesitantly, as blue eyes widen. Bucky’s mouth hanging open like a fish mid-drink, unsure of what to say next.

“ W-What -- How do you know?”

“She told Peggy that she was heading to the West Coast, back home,” Steve explains, as Bucky just sits there taking all this new information in, “Doesn’t know when she’ll be back.”

Bucky sits on this for a long time, as Steve gives him a regretful smile. He gets up, leaving his beer halfway done, before telling Steve he has to go, nearly running out the door -- a thousand of mistakes rearing back in his head.

She can’t leave. I have to tell. Should have told years ago, you fucking idiot.

Junior.

It’s a couple of weeks after the couch incident and as much as you want to ask Bucky if he’s all right and how is it going with his secret crush, but midterms come around and you get stuck in the library with a lengthy research paper. While, Bucky had gone to a robotics competition, and for some reason you missed him terribly. You briefly wonder if this is how he might have felt when you were gone the first half of the year, though you doubted it -- Bucky always had a catch at hand.

It isn’t until you’re in a drunken stupor with Peggy, watching the couples dance from the upper level of the bar that it hits you like a freight train.

“Pegs,” you hiccup terribly, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. She sighs, you had always been a sentimental drunk, “I think I love Bucky.”

“That took you long enough,” she states as she drags the two of you away from the flashing lights, probably to call a cab back to your apartment building, “Think about it and tell if you really feel that way in the morning.”

“Okay, mom,” you murmur sleepily on her shoulder, as she shakes her head.

And with a sober mind, the next time you see Peggy, you just confirm that aching feeling in your heart. 

   It takes him a whole day to put everything he wants to say to you together, to gain the courage to go up to your front door and knock on it. However, what Bucky wasn’t expecting was you with a watery smile while folding up some clothes and a rolling bag in your living room, though it still seems all your furniture is in tact -- at least for now.

“Bucky,” you question softly as he turns to look at you. Your eyes are wide and questioning as he pulls your body into his. You grow stiff for a moment and Bucky starts babbling before he loses all his well-crafted confidence.

“ I love you ,” he exclaims, as you let out a barely audible what but he keeps going, “I’ve been such a fool for so long, but if you’re leaving -- I--I just needed to let you know. I know I left you hanging on your birthday, but I was scared...so scared you would have forgotten. I don’t think my heart would’ve taken it.”

He stops talking and you’re still in the middle of your doorway, but he doesn't seem like he’ll let you go anytime soon. Thus, you decide that you need some answers in this horrible mess.

“Forget what, James?” you wrap your arms around his, as he places his forehead next to your cheek knowing what the use of his first name --that you want the complete truth-- means between the both of you.

“Okay, I think we need to back up and talk about this,” you explain pushing him away, but making sure that he comes inside so that you can have that long talk. It seems to be needed between the two of you.

 Senior.

Graduation party .

You’re both drinking a little too much, while sitting the balcony as the party continues inside. The both of you are lamenting a lot of things at the end of the road, as the two of you smile and laugh at ending this chapter of your lives -- you staying in New York and Bucky moving to Florida for awhile.

“I’m gonna miss ya, Bucky,” is all you manage to say in a whine breaking the silence, as blue eyes never seem to stop looking at your face.    

“I’ll be back. It’s just a summer program,” he tries to calm you down, while rubbing your back.

“But, it won’t be the same,” you cry out,“We’ll get jobs, barely see each other, and one day have a significant other -- hell, maybe even kids and then well ask: What happened to that chick I knew in college.”

“That might not happen,” he explains, as you lean into his body, humming softly so close to believing him, but really not, “ And if we’re both single by 30, I’ll ask you out on a date. Hell, I’ll even marry ya.”

“Ya promise?”

“Yeah.”

 It takes all night to explain just exactly what is going on between the two of you. The mistake of who Natasha really is and why Bucky had ignored you for three weeks. You explain where you are going to for the next couple of weeks, simply see some family and attend a conference for the company that you work with. There is still one unanswered question between the two of you, though all that is left unsaid for sleep and in the morning for food. You’re smiling and he is too, and doesn’t seem to want to let go of your hand at all as you take a seat on the other side of the booth, only for him to scoot closer to you than usual.

It’s a familiar type of clatter, but your head is somewhere else as you grab Bucky’s hand, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. Your heart speeding up in your chest, as you stare at anything but him.

“I’ve got one last question,” you whisper softly, moving your eyes to stare at the table top, Bucky tells the waitress if she could wait a bit longer.

“Did you mean...when you said…,” your voice stops as Bucky moves your chin with his free hand so that you’re starting at him completely.

“Yup,” he says with a wide grin without missing a beat, “Have for a long time now, doll.”

“Then, you owe me a birthday kiss, big boy,” you giggle out in excitement and relief as his blue eyes sparkle with something else completely. The table makes it awkward, but be manages to have enough room to move you into his body and give you a peak on the lips, but as he moves away you grab his cheeks and drag him back into a longer, more desperate version that has the both of you smiling.

“Finally!” a female voice declares, dragging you and Bucky away from each other with nervous chuckles as your usual waitress just shakes her head, “Took you guys long enough.”

She smiles, as you order your usual and for once, the taste of the french toast had never been sweeter.

[3rdgymbros]

Wash Away (The Mess I’ve Made)

( PROMPT: The reader is the Vulture's daughter, she's the enemy of Spider-Man, but she's friends with Peter in real life. But at one point, she accidentally knows that Peter is Spider-Man, but her father asks her to kill him, but she can't because it's his friend and also his crush. ) 

A/N: AHHH this is my second request, so I hope I did it justice?? I was so thrilled to get one, so I hope this is what you were looking for, dear anon! ( If I get begged enough, I’ll make a second part! ) Also in other news: I desperately require a date with Tom Holland. Please give me a date with Tom Holland. 

Taglist: @mainspidey | @x-wing-starwriter | @tomsleftbrow | @tryn25 | @tanglefire

Warnings: Child abuse, so I’ve put it under a read more! 

You’ve never seen your father like this before. He’s calm. Too calm. There is a wild, whacked out crazy in his eyes. No, you think, correcting yourself bleakly, he’s not ‘Dad’, he’s ‘The Vulture’ now. Dad had taken you in after your parents had died. Dad took you out for sundaes every weekend. Dad helped you with your homework. He wouldn’t do this.

Blinding lights and fire fly through the sky, spinning the earth off her axis. Your ears ringing and deafened, you stumble over debris and your own feet. Heat sears your face and hands. Your knees quiver so badly as you come to stand beside The Vulture. You’ve done what he requested, to play bait for Spiderman, who wouldn’t be able to resist swooping in to save his girlfriend. You were good.

The Vulture wouldn’t hurt you if you were good.

You can’t look Peter in the eyes, the sharp sting of betrayal weighing heavily on your mind. You know it weighs on his, too. His eyes – even under the mask, you know that they’re a warm shade of brown – are fixed on you. In anger? Disgust? Instead, your eyes trace over the tiny hole in your Converse. Red – the perfect colour for a traitor. Only now, they remind you of Peter’s suit, and a tiny, tortured gasp escapes your lips.

You’d gone to Midtown High for the sole reason of tracking down Spiderman. You’d struck up a friendship with Peter Parker soon after. He’d seen you snapping pictures of the students mingling in the quadrangle, taking advantage of the sunny day, and had offered to take a picture of you. You’d agreed, but only if he would be in the shot too.

You’d kept that shot – you and Peter clowning about for the camera, silly smiles on your faces – in a plain wooden photo frame, perched on your nightstand.

And the rest was history.

It wasn’t an uncommon sight to see you and Peter – sometimes with ned tagging along – walking together in the halls. You would snap pictures, sometimes with your camera, sometimes with your phone, while Peter and Ned would horse around.

You’d taken pictures of the other students at first. You weren’t sure when they had slowly, but surely, turned into Peter Parker.

Peter rummaging through his locker. Peter measuring out trace amounts of Hydrochloric acid and Limestone in test tubes, his brow furrowed. Peter, turning his face up to the sun and smiling that sweet, sweet smile of his, brown eyes gleaming.

He’d kissed you a month after you’d moved to his school. His hands were soft, almost trembling as he’d cradled your face, but his lips were warm as they brushed over yours. Your first kiss had been awkwardly sweet, teeth and noses bumping together more often than not, but you and Peter had been laughing, cheeks pink, at the end of it.

The shift from best friends to lovers had been as easy as breathing. Nothing much had changed. Only now, you would greet Peter in the hallways with a kiss to his cheek, would hold his hand as the two of you walked to class together. After school, you’d head to his place to do ‘homework’. Which meant that the two of you would make out, either on the couch, or on Peter’s rumpled bed, until Aunt May came home from work. After which, the real homework would be done in earnest, until one of you decided to take a break.

You’d jumped at the chance for a slice of normalcy, to be a normal girl with a normal crush.

But you should have known it was too good to be true.

Peter Parker was Spiderman. You’d had your suspicions, of course. The bruises staining his skin were obvious, his hasty excuses flimsy and easy to see through. You’d thought he’d had problems at home, too, but that theory had been disproven when you saw him slip into his Spiderman costume at Ned’s.

Haltingly, choking back tears, you’d reluctantly told The Vulture, hating yourself more and more with every barely-audible word that you’d mumbled out.

The Vulture had been pleased, laying a warm hand on your shoulder. He’d asked you for one more favour, to tell Peter that you were being held captive.

And so you had.

What else was there to do, really?

And so you’d thrown away friendship – maybe even your only chance of finding love and happiness – because you were too afraid of The Vulture.

Too afraid to stand up to him.

“(Y/n).” The Vulture barks, sounding as though he’s in a particularly foul mood. You startle, but shuffle over obediently, each step painfully slow. The Vulture nods at Peter, his limbs trembling as he struggles to rise. You feel the cold press of steel in your hands when he presses the Heckler and Koch into your hands. “End it.”

The truth is a heavy burden to bear. Your knees buckle, but you barely feel the sharp sting of pain. The colour drains from your face. Your hands shake violently, the gun weighing heavily in your hands. You can’t do this. You’re going to throw up. You try to breathe past it, to force air back into your uncooperative lungs, but your airways feel clogged with cotton.

“You can’t,” You plead, the words clumping together in your mouth. “He’s – He’s my friend.”

“End. It.” The Vulture’s voice sounds as if he’s fast losing the kindness he never has enough of.

“Please!”

“Spiderman is Tony Stark’s ally. That makes him our enemy.” That unhinged glint in The Vulture’s eyes grows wilder. “So we have to eliminate him.” His expression hardens. “You don’t want to make The Vulture angry, do you?”

If The Vulture sees your pallid face, stricken with grief and misery, or the tears pooling in your eyes, he doesn’t comment on it.

“DO IT!”

You flinch at the thunderous tone. Your hands quiver so badly as you raise the gun to shoulder height. You have to set it down again, pale, wide-eyed and frightened.

“(Y/n).” Peter says quietly. He doesn’t sound mad or bitter. Just pained, and softly concerned. “This isn’t you. Please don’t do this.”

“How could you possibly know me?” The words come out harsher than you mean them to. “You know nothing, Peter.”

He doesn’t know what you’ve had to do to survive each day. He doesn’t know that you’ve had to watch innocent people get tangled up in The Vulture’s schemes. He doesn’t know that there’s blood, death, and a whole lot of guilt on your hands.

“You’re right. There’s a lot I don’t know.” Peter exhales, the sound taut with pain. “But I do know that you’re a good person. The (Y/n) I fell in love with wouldn’t do this.”

Even bruised and battered, facing imminent death at your hands, he’s still thinking about you. Not a way to escape. He’s worried about your well-being. More tears threaten, but you suck them back, knowing that they would make everything worse.

“The Vulture’s going to be mad,” You whisper in response, thinking of the bruises that echoed more than just skin-deep. “You don’t know what he’ll do to me.”

“I’d protect you,” Peter whispers, just as softly. “I would never let anyone hurt you, (Y/n).”

You fix your eyes on Peter. Indecision flickers across your face. Your lips quiver. You wish there was a way out – some eloquent way that can both satisfy The Vulture and your own conscience. But there’s none that you can think of that doesn’t end up with you and Peter both dead on the ground.

“You’re a good person, (Y/n). The Vulture isn’t. Please don’t do this.”

This isn’t the news that you want to hear. Your mouth tightens. You draw back your shoulders, almost as though you’re squaring yourself up for a typhoid shot – something painful but necessary. Swallowing hard, you lurch to your feet.

Your finger finds the trigger.

And you shoot.

But not at Peter.

You were aiming at The Vulture’s midsection, but The Vulture’s too quick. He dodges, and the bullet ricochets off a metal wing.

“I think you should leave,” You say, in a small but firm voice. You try to keep your hand steady on your pistol. “Now.”

“You know what’s going to happen if you do this, (Y/n). There’s still time for you to be a good girl.”

You think longingly back to the few father-daughter bonding moments you can remember. But had he ever really loved you?

“No.” You say, more firmly this time, the steel in your voice surprising even yourself. “No. Leave, or I’ll put a bullet into your skull. I’m not your daughter anymore, so don’t come looking for me!”

The Vulture leaves, and you can cry at the relief filtering through your bloodstream. You sink to the ground and let the warm debris burn into the back of your legs. There’s an odd mixture of pride and fear clouding your head, but there’s also the sense of freedom, of a bird being set free from a cage.

“You didn’t kill me.” Peter says, still sounding dazed with pain.

“I couldn’t,” You confess shakily. “I love you. How could I – When you –”

“I meant it. When I said I’d protect you.”

“I know.”

Closing your eyes, you drag yourself over to Peter, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He rests his chin on the top of your head, whispering I love yous I love yous over and over again, holding you close to him.

And that’s when the tears finally start to flow.