#and the abyss stares back. it looks at your hand. At the basket full of fruits and flowers besides you. at the soft warmth that has not once

[lanternlightss]

today i have thought sm about my beloved oc’s mel and cerelia and i am feeling so completely normal about them (this is a lie i am so unwell)

[kaydreamer]

Hell and Heaven

“You can’t be serious,” said Fahrenheit, leaning against the wall of the tiny apartment, arms crossed and a scowl covering her face. “Hot piece of ass in a vault suit walks through the door and you lose your fucking mind.”

“I haven’t lost my fuckin’ mind,” Hancock parroted back as he pulled old food and rubbish from a pantry, throwing everything inedible into a basket. “And it’s not because she’s hot. It’s for a good cause. Figure this place doesn’t see much action, the Minutemen can put it to better use than I can.”

“You use it every other week, Hancock.”

“Yeah, and I can use my own digs upstairs at the Statehouse just as well. Less soundproof, but hey. I ain't shy.”

“So it’s for the Minutemen,” said Fahrenheit, her voice laced with skepticism. “Which is why you’re cleaning it, filling it full of new food, and cooking a fucking stew for when she gets back from Pickmin's. If she gets back from Pickmin's.”

“Okay, so maybe I’m goin’ a little further than I would if she wasn’t the prettiest fuckin’ woman I ever saw,” Hancock admitted, taking a rag and wetting it in a small bucket of Abraxo-soaped water. “And she’ll be back. I only asked her to scout.”

“She’s a vault dweller, Hancock,” said Fahrenheit, exasperated. “She’s greener than a super mutant’s asscheek, still wearing the fucking suit. You think she’ll last long down East Boston way?”

“Quit ya pessimism. She got herself here, didn’t she?”

“With Valentine’s help.”

“...Look, she’ll be fine, okay?” said Hancock, firmly. “I ain’t in the habit of sendin’ people off to their deaths, and she wouldn’t be with the Minutemen if she couldn’t hold her own.”

“Right. Because the Minutemen are flush with recruits after Quincy,” muttered Fahrenheit, but she dropped the subject. “Want me to check on that stew before you burn down the Statehouse with it?”

“Should be good for another half-hour,” said Hancock. “But if you’re offerin’, chuck in a cup of water and a half-cup of brahmin milk. Should keep it goin’ ‘till I get back there.”

“On it,” said Fahrenheit. “Have fun cleaning.”

---

Hope returned to the Statehouse at sundown, ashen-faced and bloodied, with a haunted look in her eyes. Hancock had just kicked his feet up on his favourite couch with Fahrenheit, ready to settle in for the evening with some Jet and a bottle of moonshine, but he was on his feet as soon as he saw her, concern etched in the twisted grooves of his face.

“How’s my little scout doin’?” he asked, steadying her elbow with his hand when she swayed slightly. “You find out what’s happenin’ at the Pickmin Gallery?”

Hope shuddered, visions of gore and dark red paintings flashing through her mind, accompanied by the overwhelming metallic cloy of fresh blood and butchered flesh.

“How do I even start,” she said, through clenched teeth. “You know why they called it the Pickmin Gallery?”

“No, that was the point of the whole job, remember?” said Hancock, his tone teasing but not unkind. “What are you trying to say?”

“Oh God, it was awful.” Hope swallowed before continuing. “Pickmin was a serial killer and… he was using dead bodies for his… art.”

“Woah, seriously?” Hancock recoiled, his face twisted in horror. “That’s messed up, even for this town. I’ll put the word out to avoid that place.”

“Should be safe enough now, he’s dead,” said Hope. “So are all the raiders. Though I wouldn’t recommend a gallery tour.” A small, haunted laugh escaped her. “Doubt Pickmin’s ‘art’ will have much resale value once those bodies start decaying.”

“You took ‘em out?” Hancock looked impressed. “Good work. You ended up in the abyss, but ya crawled back in one piece.” He dug around in his pockets and withdrew a pouch. “Here’s your money.”

She took it soundlessly.

“Got somethin’ else for ya too,” said Hancock, beckoning her through the doorway. “Follow me.” 

Hope followed without a word, glancing back at Fahrenheit as she stepped through the threshold. The red-haired woman just stared, her face impassive and unreadable.

Hancock led Hope across town and down a little alley beside the Memory Den to a door concealing a cramped elevator. It was sealed with a code lock, his fingers finding the right buttons easily in the gloom. He ushered her through first, squeezing himself into the opposite corner as Dogmeat wove his way in to sit between their legs.

“Where are we going?” she asked, as the doors groaned shut.

“It’s a surprise,” said Hancock, with a cheeky wink. “Nothin’ nefarious, don’t worry.”

“You have a reputation for the nefarious?” said Hope, a bit of her own spark returning to her eyes.

“Oh, you got no idea,” Hancock rumbled, leaning a little closer just as the elevator jerked to a stop. He stepped through the door as it opened with a chime, throwing his arms wide as he walked into a tiny but neatly-furnished apartment. “Tada!” he sang. “Welcome to your new home in Goodneighbor.”

Hope stood in the elevator door, staring around as every coherent thought abandoned her.

“This… is for me?” she said.

“For the Minutemen, technically,” Hancock said with a small shrug of his shoulders.

Hope walked forward, taking in the little space. It was tidy and surprisingly nice, softly lit by a warm ceiling light. More light spilled in from the streetlamps outside through a large wrought iron window looking over Goodneighbor. A double bed was tucked into one corner, a red velvet curtain separating it from the rest of the space. Dogmeat sniffed around a small but well-equipped kitchenette, with a stove, a pantry and a fridge. A few shelves and a work desk with a terminal had been squeezed in as well. To her right, a glass door concealed a little bathroom within which she saw, with a shiver of excitement, what looked like a shower.

It was pleasant. Truly, refreshingly pleasant. She could scarcely believe it was real.

“Did this belong to Finn?” she asked, thinking that perhaps his death was the reason Hancock could offer her such a space. Hancock laughed.

“Oh, hell no! Finn didn’t have the friends ya need to score a place like this. No, it’s mine, but I got my own digs upstairs at the Statehouse. This place only ever got used for entertainin’, uh…” he cleared his throat, a devious expression on his face. “…special guests. Figure I can make do without it.”

Hope was floored. It was Hancock’s love nest?

“Wow, Hancock, are you sure?”

“Told ya I believe in what you’re doin’, sister,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Commonwealth was a better place with the Minutemen around. Consider this my contribution to the cause. Somewhere for you and yours to sleep safe and freshen up when you’re passin’ by this way.”

“Oh my God, I…” Hope struggled to find the words to express her bewildered gratitude. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Hope carried on, doing her best through shock and exhaustion to give voice to how much his generosity meant. “This is the nicest little space I’ve been in since I woke up to this hell, I don’t know what to say, its…” She wandered over to the bed and pressed down on the mattress, startled by how deliciously soft it was. “Oh God, it’s a real bed.”

Hancock chuckled warmly from behind her, the sound sending an unexpected tingle down her spine. “Well, I’ll leave ya to get acquainted with it,” he said, before turning back toward the door. “Oh yeah, check the fridge tomorrow mornin’. Left a little somethin’ there for ya.”

“Hey, Hancock?” Hope asked, a nervous quiver in her voice.

“Yeah?”

Hope had spoken before she could stop herself. She certainly didn’t want the kind of ‘entertaining’ he usually used this apartment for, but she also didn’t want to be alone with her rather vivid imagination after everything she’d just seen. Nor did she want him to know that, reluctant to be perceived as weak. She froze for a moment, then chose to play it safe.

“Thanks again,” she said, with a tired smile.

Hancock shot her another wink. “You’re welcome. Again.” He fished around in a pocket, withdrawing a cigarette box and leaving it on the coffee table. “Sleep well.”

“That was fast,” said Fahrenheit, in a deadpan tone, when Hancock returned to the Statehouse.

“Damn, feelin’ brutal tonight, are we?” Hancock laughed and put a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “Have a little faith Fahrenheit, that ain’t what why I went with her. She don’t strike me as a tourin’ kinda woman, and I ain’t gonna jeopardise a potential alliance with the Minutemen by thinkin’ with my dick. Not with the Brotherhood loomin’ over us.”

“Fair,” said Fahrenheit. She took an inhaler of Jet from the table as Hancock sprawled out on the couch opposite hers, grabbing his own hit on the way. As the fumes dissipated, she spoke again. “So, when she said Pickmin and the raiders were all dead… how many do you reckon she took out?”

“Didn’t ask,” said Hancock. “She looked pretty fuckin’ spooked.”

“Well, she survived,” said Fahrenheit. “That’s more than I expected. You give her some Med-X or something for the shock?”

“Nah,” said Hancock. “Vault dwellers can be weird about that shit, didn’t wanna overstep. Left some nice cigarettes up there though. The good stuff the caravans bring from the South.”

Fahrenheit hummed a small sound of assent before they both fell into a familiar, companionable silence, their night stretching pleasantly through an assortment of chems, booze and a wordless game of chess.

Hope felt exhaustion crash over her in a wave as soon as Hancock left. She unclipped her combat armour piece and stripped out of her bloodied vault suit, stained with the nightmarish butchery she’d waded through, and opened the glass door to the little bathroom. A cold shower would only add to the bone-deep chill she’d felt since walking out of Pickmin’s, but she was covered in dirt and blood, and desperate to be clean. She turned on the shower and a weak but steady spray sputtered from it. Thankful for the sheer convenience of running water, she disrobed from her underthings. She was prepared to brace herself for a quick and frantic duck and scrub under the cold stream when she noticed steam rising.

“Oh my God, warm water?” she said in disbelief, slipping into it with a blissful moan. Never before had a warm shower seemed so absurdly luxurious. She grabbed a bar of soap and took her time scrubbing herself cleaner than she had been in weeks, blood and dirt swirling down the drain and out of sight. Then she pulled the vault suit in with her, rubbing soap into every stain and wringing the gore from it. The fancy, high-tech fabric dried quickly, and she knew it should be good by morning. By the time she was done, the water had begun to cool a little. Probably for the best, she figured, or she’d never leave the shower.

Hope was barely awake as she dried herself. By the time she crawled into the soft bed, Dogmeat already stretched out and snoring along the end of it, she had no energy left for the horrors of the day to play out in her mind.

She fell gently and immediately into a dreamless slumber.

---

Hope awoke the next morning having forgotten the apocalypse. She was clean, warm and dry, snuggled in a soft bed with the dawn light falling gently on her face.

Then a gunshot rang out, and she remembered.

She opened her eyes, realised there was no way for the gunshot to be in the room, grabbed a pillow from beside her, shoved it over her head, and went back to sleep.

When Hope woke again an hour later, the dawn sun had grown brighter with the morning, and the communal babble of the voices on the street below rose gently to rouse her. She lay there, drifting in and out of slumber for a few more minutes, before standing with a slow stretch and pulling on a robe she found hanging by the door. The cigarette box Hancock had left her caught her eye. She picked it up, noticing an unfamiliar logo stamped on the front. ‘Tato Hills Tobacco.’

She pulled one out and lit it, taking a deep draw and breathing out with a long, indulgent sigh. These weren’t two-hundred year old scavenged packets of cigarettes, turned half-dust with time. These were fresh. They also tasted of more than just tobacco - a floral, earthier flavour going straight to her head with a mellow haze. She melted into the couch and wondered if this was a blend or if, like the tato, some mutant hybrid of tobacco and marijuana was the dominant surviving strain of smokable plant.

She realised, too, why Hancock had left them there for her last night, given what she’d just walked out of.

Another little gesture of kindness.

After enjoying her not-quite-a-cigarette, Hope opened the fridge door and was surprised to be met by a puff of cold air. A slight antiseptic smell told her it had been recently scrubbed clean. The middle shelf held an assortment of re-usable screw-top tins and preserving jars, with labels tied around their middles. The top shelf had been removed in favour of hooks holding strips of dried meat. But what drew her eye first was a bright purple hubflower sitting atop one of the tins, a folded note propped against its side. Hope took it with a smile. It was written in a somewhat clumsy yet flamboyant script.

Morning sunshine, The food in the tins and jars is all preserved stuff. Pickles, soups, potted meats. They should keep for about a year in the fridge, maybe a few months on the road. Take them with you, or leave them for when you or yours are passing through. The tin with the flower holds a little something I made for you to start the day with. Hope you enjoy. Hancock

Hope smiled. The man couldn’t help but flirt even when he wasn’t there. Perhaps she’d completely taken leave of her senses - he was definitely a playboy - and heaven only knew she’d had her share of those before the war, each tryst ending in disaster. But wise or not, she had to admit the attention made her slightly giddy. Nothing she couldn’t ignore, but nice nevertheless.

She took the tin and opened it carefully. It was a stewed mix of a few different boiled grains and slices of root vegetables in a light purplish sauce, with strips of meat Hope figured she probably didn’t want to know the origin of. She gave it a careful sniff. It smelled decent enough - savoury, with sweeter notes of spices she didn’t recognise.

‘At least it won’t be poisonous’, she thought, as she emptied it into a saucepan and tried the gas cooker. That worked as well, and soon the little apartment was filled with the scent of whatever it was Hancock had cooked up.

Once she had it bubbling she took it from the stove, emptied it into a bowl, and tried a careful spoonful.

A primal groan escaped her at the taste. It was by far the nicest food she’d eaten since she’d left the vault. Perfectly balanced between savoury and sweet, and spiced to mouthwatering effect. She began to shovel it down like a starving woman before catching herself and deliberately slowing her pace. Something as delicious as this deserved to be savoured.

Far too soon, she was scraping the bottom of the bowl. She put it down for Dogmeat to lick before scanning the room for anything else he could eat. There was a pantry to the side, filled with more jars and little sacks of grains and lentils. A few tins of pre-war dog food were set toward the back. She cracked one open for him and emptied it out into the bowl he had just finished licking.

With Dogmeat taken care of, Hope showered again, enjoying every decadent drop of warm water to hit her skin. Once she was dried and dressed in her newly-clean vault suit, she whistled for Dogmeat to follow and pressed the button for the elevator. She didn’t want to leave this little slice of heaven, but Hancock had given it to her for a reason. She had to find work so she could make the caps she needed… both for the Minutemen, and for Shaun.

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

[missiletoe]

apologies for incoming spam, i'm currently doing yuri shipping olympics (LET'S GO TEAM KITTYURI) and will be dumping all my bonus drabbles here o7

Prompt: Accidental Telepathic Link Word Count: 955 the timeline is lowkey a wreck and let's just say juliana is out of the picture at this point ;-;

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

Kitty’s slapped in the face with an exam her first day back at KISS. It’s a hell of a Welcome Back gift. For the record, she would’ve preferred cookies, maybe even a nice basket of merch.

Of course it’s from Professor Lee too. He probably drinks students’ tears for breakfast and then feasts on their failed exams for dessert. In her head, she thinks she hears Yuri giggle, like the little tinkle of a silver bell. God, she really needs to focus.

Keep it together, Katherine Song Covey, she tells herself, breathing deep in and out. It doesn’t make the words on the page any more coherent but hey, at least they’re less blurry. You just got un-expelled from KISS. Do not mess this up by flunking all your exams because you spent all your time daydreaming about how Yuri looks sitting by the windowsill. God, her nose is adorably perfect. 

You know it’s great that you think my face is cute but maybe not in the middle of our Cultural History exam.

Kitty screams. She can’t help it and someone’s pencil goes clattering to the floor. It’s only after a good ten seconds that she manages to smother her scream with one hand.

Professor Lee raises an eyebrow in the most condescending manner possible. God, Kitty hates his guts.

“T-There was a bug,” she stammers by way of explanation. From across the room, Q aggressively mouths LIAR. “It got in my hair a-and I just fixed it this morning. I’m good now though, thanks for asking.”

Professor Lee stares blankly at her. She swears that if they opened him up, there’d be a metal battery where his heart is supposed to be.

“The next time an insect tries to… annoy you, please keep it to yourself,” he says in that stiff, wound-up Nutcracker manner of his. “Some of the students are trying not to fail their exams.”

She’s fairly certain that last part is supposed to be a jab at her but the shock is doing a decent job of numbing the rest of her emotions. Kitty waits a full 30 seconds, tapping out the time with her finger before clearing her mind and thinking quietly into the abyss.

Yuri?

Present comes back the reply. 

You’re in my head, Kitty sighs. And just when she thought this day couldn’t get any worse. I mean you’re always in my head but now you’re literally in my head.

Pardon the intrusion, Yuri says. Somehow, she manages to transmit sarcasm across her thoughts. For the record, you’re in my head too.

Any clue how we could have ended up like this? 

It’s suspiciously quiet on the other end before she hears a long sigh.

Maybe I should have listened to Dae when he said not to mix those two chemicals. Kitty manages to suppress her groan at the last second to avoid another lecture from Professor McStuffyson.

Someone starts absolutely wheezing behind her and she turns to find Yuri in the worst coughing fit of her life. A tissue paper is placed on her desk and a bottle of water is ferried across the classroom.

KITTY. PLEASE blares loudly in her mind. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP BEING SO FUNNY DURING OUR EXAMS.

Kitty zeroes in on the end of that statement like it’s a lifeline tossed into the ocean.

You think I’m funny?

Oh my god, yes. Of course. Professor McStuffyson? Hilarious, but please save the rest of your arsenal for after the exam. My mom will kill me if I get detention again.

“Ten minutes left,” Professor Lee announces, staring her dead in the eye. She glances back down at her completely blank paper and rubs her forehead. This semester is off to as atrocious of a start as the last one. If only she had one of those phone-a-friend call–wait.

Hey, she thinks.

Hey comes the exasperated reply.

Can you help me with question 2?

Sure, I’ll take a look. Kitty focuses on penciling in the date while she waits for an answer. She’s barely finished the year when Yuri speaks again. Or thinks. Think-speaks?

Yeah, I got no clue.

Really? 

Hey, I can feel your disappointment from across the room. Cut it out. Dae tutors me, you know.

… wish I had a telepathic link with Dae then.

Huh. Personally, I would not want an inside look at my ex’s mind.

“That’s fair,” Kitty says aloud and then kicks herself under the table. Why is this link a two-way street but she’s the only one that’s getting into trouble?

Professor Lee, because he has a stick up his butt and no hope of dislodging it, leans down onto her desk to glare at her.

Technically, he has no proof that she’s doing anything… academically dishonest. He does, however, have a glare that can shrivel plants and Kitty wills herself to not die on the spot.

Behind her, she hears Yuri snort into her fist. Professor Lee whips around like a cat drawn to a laser pointer.

“Keep it down during exams,” he finally settles on, pulling at the end of his coat.

I cannot believe your mom went out with that guy, Kitty thinks.

Tell me about it. What did she see in him?

I don’t know. Maybe he looked like less of a straw-doll at 16. Oh fuck, there’s only two minutes left.

Kitty scrambles to put something–anything–on the paper. She’s writing nonsense about the birds she saw landing on the telephone poles by Gyeongbokgung Palace during her last visit.

Less than pleased does not begin to describe Professor Lee’s expression when she hands him her paper. The bell rings and Kitty bundles up her books to run to the next class.

So. You like girls.

Kitty trips over her own feet and wishes that the floor would swallow her whole.

[luveline]

ok so !!! since reqs are technically open, i'm here hehe. no pressure tho, take ur time or just do it whenever you feel like doing it!

i feel like sometimes steve realizes he's in love in a strange way (kind of). for the others, it's already painfully obvious that he's in love with the reader but he's always like "nah, i'm not we're just good friends" yada yada. but then he sees you wearing his shirt and he's like "holy shit I AM in love" and it's cute 😭

This is the cutest concept ever! Thank you so much for requesting, I hope this is alright! 0.9k fem!reader

He doesn't mean for it to happen. Dustin's being a mouthy little shit and Steve's trying to assert some dominance. The shove is purely playful, Dustin's less so, and the second sends his young friend careening into you at high speeds. 

The paper plate in his hand ends up pressed flat to your chest, ketchup and mustard instantly ruining the fabric of your cute shirt. 

He feels a pinching, unbearable feeling at the sad frown on your lips as you look down. There's a smattering of condescending applause and cheers from the pool, a monotone, "Good work, idiot!" from his favourite coworker. 

Steve is never hosting a barbecue again. 

"Shit. Y/N, I'm sorry." 

"It's okay," you say, smiling at him despite the terrifying glassy quality of your eyes. 

Dustin gives a similar, ashamed apology and you give him the same response. Steve stares at you with wide eyes, alarmed, and Robin pinches his arm until he flinches back into her, elbow jabbing for her waist when she says, "You need to take her inside and fix your mess. Like, now." 

"Shit," he says again. He clears his throat and calls to you, "Come on, I have something you can change into." 

You follow him inside. Steve ignores the giggling and suggestive looks he gets. His friend are insistent; if you ask any of his dorks they'll all say the same thing – that Steve is in love with you. Not just likes you, the full L word. Steve resents this. He would know if he was in love with you. It would be pretty obvious. 

You know where his room is. He's quick for the closet, searching through clothes for something that's going to fit you well. He picks out a soft t-shirt, finds you wringing your fingers in the doorway. 

"I'm really sorry," he says. "I'll pay for dry cleaning. Or the shirt. Even though it was totally Dustin's fault."  

"It's okay. Really, Steve." You give him a smile he's seen a thousand times before, soft as a flower petal and twice as pretty. You've always been beautiful, more as you get older. 

Steve passes you the shirt and looks at your hands as you take it, the guilt heavy. You already know where his bathroom is. "There's-" his eyes dart to the red and yellow stains on your collar, "towels and soap and whatever. Don't worry about making a mess." 

"Thank you," you say. You sound more than genuine. 

Steve nods and you disappear into the ensuite. He decides to wait on the bed for you, kicking his guilty feet. He can hear your comings and goings, the running tap, the sound of your shirt hitting the laundry basket. 

Steve feels something sharp when you open the door. He doesn't know if it's coming from his chest or his heart or his brain, maybe somewhere deep in the abyss of his stomach. It's like a shock. 

He hadn't expected to feel like this. 

You're in his shirt. You've wiped your chest and neck and face with a washcloth and your skin still glows with dampness. You don't seem so upset now that you're clean, beaming as you emerge. 

"Steve, your hand soap smells really good." 

"Yeah?" he asks, swallowing around the lump in his throat  

The hair surrounding your face is wet. "Yeah, it's amazing. I left my shirt in your bathroom but, honestly, maybe you could just throw it out. I think it's done for." 

You giggle. Steve feels startled. Has your laugh always sounded like that? He needs to hear it again, to be sure. 

"More done for than your flour sack baby senior year?" 

You laugh, tracking towards him on light footing. Closer, he can see where his shirt hangs off the hills and lines of your body. 

"Maybe the same amount." 

Shit, he thinks. Those shitheads might be fucking right. 

I think I'm in love with her. 

"Are you okay?" you ask, paused in front of him. Worry lines your features. 

"I'm great," he says, taking you in, feeling like this is the first time he's ever seen you. "Never better." 

His realisation crests a well of elation, elation and desperation, because suddenly he wants to tell you how pretty you are and how good you look in his clothes, how he wants to be closer to you. The words burn a hole in his tongue. 

Affection for you hikes up high. He reaches out, unthinking, and takes the hem of your borrowed shirt in his hands, neatening it up though there's no reason to. You let him without any complaint or suspicion. 

"Do I look okay?" you ask him, striking a small, awkward pose that has his heart skipping a beat. 

"You look killer," he says, tone joking though he's never been more serious. 

"Thank you." You grin, spinning on your heel and trailing out of the room. 

You double back when he doesn't follow. "Steve?" 

Seeing you for a second time isn't any less evocative. 

"Yeah, I'm coming," he says, following you down the stairs. He's struck by the realisation that he might follow you anywhere, and then wonders if Dustin gave him a concussion without his noticing. Fuck, he thinks, I'm so screwed. 

[noodles-n-soba]

Till dawn

Scenario: Donna is quite bothersome, since you too have a crush on the richest person in Mondstadt, Diluc. :)

Characters: Diluc, you

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Masterlist

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

It had been a busy day for you, helping out tons of people who needed assistance in some kind of way. Mining new ores for Wagner, delivering goods to the Angel's share.. And your last task was gathering flowers for Flora's flowershop.

You weren't someone who rared to go gathering such things, you were an adventurer who preferred fighting against the abyss order.. Not a flowerperson.

But, because they really commissioned someone to gather flowers in a dangerous area.. You did it. 'I'm back..' You announced, walking around with a giant basket of flowers. Flora looked up as she yawned, you have been going all night.. But for the little girl it was her first hour of the day. '(Y/n)! That basket is full.. I'm so grateful.' You unloaded the carrier off your back, placing it right in front of Flora. 'I just did my job. Heh.' You answered with a broad smile.

'Ah! (Y/n)...!'  You immediately turned your head around to face the one who just called out to you.. And to your bitter hope, it was that one girl who you claimed to be your enemy. Maybe enemy was a tad too extreme, but you just thought she was the most annoying woman in whole Mondstadt. You had been literally everywhere, from Mondstadt to Liyue and from Liyue to Inazuma.. But never ever had you found someone so incredibly irritating as that girl who always stood behind Flora.. Literally every hour.

Donna.

Your patience was big, as an adventurer that surely was needed.. But she to be specific, was the one that really got your blood pumping. Glad people didn't knew that you actually despised someone.. What kind of good hearted adventurer would you be if they knew that you actually didn't like someone. 'Hello.' You answered as short as possible.. Your eyes glittered in the sunlight and your smile was as beautiful as always, but deep down you felt resentment.  'Sorry to ask, but have you seen Diluc?' With hands folded together she held them against her chest, sighing dreamily and stared up to the sky. There you have it.. The exact thing that milked all that sweet patience out of you.

"Oh (y/n)! Have you seen Diluc?" "is Diluc still running the night shift at the Pub?" "All I can think about is Diluc~!"

'I haven't.' You grunted, trying to sound as friendly as you could… But that was hard. 'Ah.. I see, how sad. I wanted to see him very badly! It's quite a nice night, isn't it?' She smiled to you, you forced a meaningless smile on your face to return the gesture. 'Yeah. It's a nice night for sure.' You made an 180 degree turn, walking away as quickly as you came. 'A-Ah! Wouldn't you like to have a drink at the pub?' She waved to you, but you shrugged your shoulders. 'I have loads to do Donna, can't come for a drink. Am sorry.' Afterwards you raised your hand as a goodbye and left the place. You couldn't deny that you too were as cringy as the flower shop assistant.. Never had your childhood crush on Diluc left. The two of you were best friends since you were toddlers, you knowing his dad before he passed away.

Happy that Donna would stay right on her spot like always, you avoided every gaze and made a detour around the flower shop to go outside the city and head to the Dawn Winery.

For some reason you knew the exact hours that Diluc would be there, and this time you were also right. The lights were on, that you saw through the windows. You knocked and opened the door, entering the Dawn Winery. 'I knew it would be you. Only you would knock on the door and let yourself in.' You never really took his comments too serious, and he knew you thought about it like that. 'Of course! Why should you stand up to let me in oh dear Diluc.' You walked towards his desk and sat down on it while he finished signing some papers. 'Very thoughtful (Y/N), though, I know that you tend to do this because you think you're such an individual soul..' He answered, looking up from his paperwork and stared you directly into the eyes. Your heart skipped a beat while you tried swallowing, Diluc sighed and flashed a soft smile to you. Even though you didn't let him notice, you were absolutely FANGIRLING from the inside.. Screaming out all kinds of words and even cursing Donna that Diluc smiled to you, while he absolutely avoided HER. HEH- 'Ah. I forgot. Donna was asking for you, again.' You brought out with a light pout, Diluc rolled his eyes. 'Ah, yeah. That girl. I'm not interested in her whatsoever to be honest. She kind of annoys me.' You couldn't believe your ears, did he really just say that!?

'Same! Like why is she asking for you all the time..' Once you realized what you just said, you gulped nervously. 'I mean! That's the only thing she asks me you know!? Like I don't have any other business to attend to..?' A blush settled on your face, scratching the back of your neck as you smiled to the red haired man. 'She does? If she keeps on bothering you, I'll let one of my men handle it.. I wouldn't want you to be bothered too much by her.' Diluc offered, tapping his pen against the table. Your heart couldn't handle this for ONE bit, he was so protective! You absolutely LOVED this.

'Would you? If it wouldn't hurt your reputation.. Yes please.' You pleaded and clasped your hands together, Diluc hummed. 'Sure. My interest lays with another person anyways you know, I think I haven't told you that yet. As my best friend or whatever you call it nowadays, I think you should know this.' The mood turned from one-hundredth to zero real quick, your heart pounding in your throat as your eyes were widened. 'Eh?! Wait, you have a person!?' You asked him.

Diluc softly chuckled, even more surprised and startled you hopped off the table and stood right in front of him, hands leaning on the desk. 'Not yet, (Y/n), but do not fret. They're more near to me than you'll ever expect..'

[3rdgymbros]

— title; i will love you if i never see you again.

— pairing; diluc ragnvindr x ancestor! reader (platonic)

— summary; in which you’re diluc’s ancestor, and it’s after saving him that you realise that he bears a striking resemblance to your former lover, and you ache.  

— notes; the red-haired warrior referenced in the fic has no official name, so i made one up !! this is also dedicated to @starfell-traveler​ for helping me in co-op !!

“Who are you?”

You know that voice. It sends shivers down your spine and sets your heart racing, fills you with hope you haven’t felt in a decade. You know it’s impossible, but you would recognize that voice anywhere.

The man slumped against the wall is pale, so pale, that the blood painting his side seems so violently red in comparison. The man has your lover’s face, as well as his voice, the same vibrant eyes and round cheeks and full mouth. The same tall, reedy frame. The same untamable mess of scarlet hair that he used to let you braid, woven with fragrant white Cecilias.

You want to cry out, to run to him, but you understand that it isn’t him. You know this. You held his hand as you watched the life leave his eyes.

The world had known him as the Red-Haired Warrior, and so had he been immortalized in stories and songs, but to you, he had simply been Luc. Your Luc, with his flaming red hair, and his warm, easy smile, with small crinkle lines around the blue eyes that you had fancifully likened to sapphires.

He holds onto your arm as the two of you weave a path through the evening crowd, filled with those going home after work or possibly seeking nighttime entertainment. Luc tells you that you look beautiful, and the two of you talk of inconsequential things: the weather, gossip, day-to-day affairs . . .

Luc takes you to a secluded spot, just outside the walls of Mond. There’s a thick woolen blanket spread out on the grass, with a wicker basket on top and a lantern to keep it from blowing away in the wind. You stretch out next to the lantern and lie down on your back, staring up at the black velvet sky above, studded with thousands of diamonds. There’s a chill in the air, but it’s just enough to dull an otherwise warm evening. Luc settles down next to you, closer than you think he would if the two of you were anywhere else. A strange, yet warm peace blossoms within your chest, the most beautiful flower.

An amused smile quirks up your lips. “I have questions.”

“That’s fair.” Luc says, revealing the contents of the picnic basket for your approval. A bouquet of flowers, a bottle of dandelion wine, two long-stemmed glasses, a small chocolate cake, still warm from the oven, and two forks.

There’s a prickle over your skin, the smallest energy change as the wind picks up speed, chafing your cheeks and your hair. “Why is Barbatos hiding behind a bush?”

“Moral support.” Luc spits out the words almost like a curse, and his tone implies that if he could, he would be chasing the Archon off into the wilderness.

You have to muffle your laughter with the back of your hand. “Next question. Why are there flowers?”

“They’re – They’re Cecilias. They grow only on Starsnatch Cliffs. And they’re for you.”

“Why would you go all the way to Starsnatch Cliffs just for flowers?” Your chest cramps at the thought of Luc getting hurt. You know he’s more than capable of protecting himself, but human lives are so fragile, so easily snuffed out. The Bard had been proof enough. And even the Gods themselves had been unable to bring him back. “That was so dangerous, you could have gotten hurt!”

“They’re for you,” Luc repeats, his cheeks reddening in the flickering lantern light. “And – I was hoping – I want to – I want to court you. If you’ll allow it.”

Oh.

Your heart clenches, and your eyes sting as a thousand different emotions hit you in a tidal wave, overpowering the fear, the uncertainty. It’s a mixture of emotions you recognize, but haven’t felt in a very long time. And this is stronger. It feels real. It’s palatable; it tastes like salt, like tears left in the cold. It’s warm too, as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug, pressing your entire body to his.

“Okay. Yes.” The hope, the joy, bubbles out of you in a bright rash of laughter. “You can court me.”

And Luc’s answering smile had been dazzling.

You bring yourself back to the present with an effort, your eyes losing their dream-like haze. The sense of security and warmth vanishes with the last vestiges of the dream; when you blink, there are Abyss Mages in front of you, and an injured boy at your back. The pages of your Catalyst unfurl, glowing with a silvery light. It’s a beautiful book, aqua-coloured, lined with gold and decorated with pure-white feathers.

Your back straightens, your hands fisting at your sides. “Back off. Last warning.”

You’re rewarded with a laugh, sliding over you like shards of glass. And that’s answer enough, really. You haven’t fought in centuries, but your body remembers what your mind has forgotten, and it eases back into the most beautiful, deadly dance. Water pours out from your fingertips, bending to your every command, wreaking blood and pain with each blow.

You’re vaguely reminded of your early days, when the rebellion had reached its brutal peak. When you had fought alongside your allies, watched as they had struggled and bled and triumphed.

You don’t stop, not until the last Abyss Mage has crumbled into ash, blown away on the wind.

“Who are you?”

The man asks again, as you tuck your Catalyst away, into the pouch upon your hip, and set to treating his wounds. The contact tenses his frame like a bow stretched taut enough to break. But he allows you to continue your ministrations as you labor over him. It’s rudimentary treatment at best, strips of your shirt torn apart and used as makeshift bandages. The white strips bloom instantly with red, and your forehead pleats with worry.

This isn’t good.

You lift your head up to stare at him, searching his face. Now that you and him are put together, side by side, you can see that there are definite similarities. It's not in the shape of the mouth but the set of it, the sheer determination that silvers both your eyes. Your blood flows through his veins, after all. You wonder if he can see it too, the resemblance hitting you like a well-placed knife to the gut.

“Why did you save me?” Your descendant asks, and for the first time since you’ve met him, he sounds vulnerable. Unsure.

Your smile is fragile, and your eyes are soft. “You just – Reminded me of someone. That’s all.”

[harfanfare]

Aether x Reader || Glaze Lilies

"This one is delicious too," you said, swallowing another piece of the dish. “Paimon would probably create another stomach for these miracles.”

Aether chuckled softly as he bites off another piece of hot roll filled with traditional Liyue-rich stuffing. “I guess even that is not enough when the competition is the Sticky Honey Roast that Amber offered her.”

You smiled in response.

Late fall in Liyue was a beautiful time of the year.

The city was always full of red and gold colours like towns straight from fairy tales, but in this time, when the leaves have already turned dark orange and the air was carrying an aroma of seasonal seed cookies, Liyue looked even more breathtaking.

You were sure that it was Amber who made it possible for you to go somewhere on Aether's day off from doing… everything. Normally, you would be sitting in some restaurant watching Paimon heartlessly ordering all the dishes from a menu without looking at the number of zeros of each price.

But when Amber heard you mention dates accompanied by beautiful, falling leaves, she blushed as the flame of pure determination appeared in her eyes. In the evening she appeared in front of Paimon and offered her to go out to the city for one day.

Oh, if she only knew how much it will cost her...

"[Name], stay close to me, or I will lose you in this crowd." Aether gripped your hand tighter.

"Getting lost in such a big city would be romantic, wouldn't it?" you giggled.

"Getting lost and being found in the wrong place and time wouldn’t be," he replied. “Every city is much more dangerous when the night comes.”

You turned into another street to finally reach the viewpoint in Liyue.

You could see a lot more from there, but less people could see you. Who would twist their neck to see two little dots on top of a mountain?

"It's going to rain soon," Aether nodded at the clouds, which were moving quickly toward the city. He clicked his tongue. “If we don't want to get wet, we should be getting ready.”

"Oh, isn't that Aether?"

You turned around to see a girl approaching you two.

She was gorgeous—her long blonde hair waved in the breeze as if it existed only to be an effect for them. She had every girl's dream figure, bright, sparkling eyes, and rosy cheeks.

Perfect girl.

And the perfect person to compare yourself with to create a trillion complexes about your body.

She had a very charismatic, attractive aura around her, but the way she behaved towards Aether was slowly starting to bother you. Of course, it might just be some kind of funny, totally wrong prejudice against her, but ...

“[Girl's name]?” Aether muttered, not noticing your pleading gaze saying: ‘let's get out of here.’ “—What are you doing here?”

"I was just passing by," she laughed, her voice soft, pearl-like. “I couldn't go without saying hi, haha!” Then she looked at you and fixed you with a stare. It wasn't a cold look, but it wasn't friendly either. “And who is that?”

"Ah," Aether shook his head, as if only now remembering that he had not come here alone. He put his hand around your waist. “This is my girlfriend, [Name]”

“I didn't know you had a girlfriend! You always have to be so mysterious?” Aether rolled his eyes at her words, even if he smiled slightly. Then she turned to you. “Could I kidnap him for a moment? I need help moving my luggage to my new apartment.”

She grabbed his hand without waiting for your answer, as if it were a rhetorical question. As Aether released his hand from your waist, you felt as if you were left alone in a foreign land.

“I'll be back in a minute!” After these words, he turned to the blonde and at an equal pace, they turned around the corner of some house, behind the wall of which you could see an extremely high pile of boxes.

"It probably won't be a minute," you sighed.

You leaned against the railing and stared at the toes of your shoes, telling yourself that you should have opposed her. Would that be selfish? You've been dreaming about a date with Aether for so long, without third parties, and now that the moment has come, it turns out that someone will take from you your boyfriend anyway.

Five minutes passed... eight minutes... ten... thirteen...

After fourteen minutes, you got up and decided to check how much was already packed. Some of the super-heavy boxes seemed to be gone, but that was up for discussion since there were dozens of them here.

You couldn't find a familiar face in sight. Did... they just leave you here? More likely, they were just carrying some luggage into one of the nearby houses, but you couldn't knock on every door to find them—it would take hours.

You felt yourself slowly breaking down.

You knew you were a little (a little very much) jealous of this girl, but more depressing was the fact that this was going to be yours and Aether’s day. COMMON. Now you thought you were the loneliest person in the universe.

"I'm not going to get upset," you repeated aloud, trying to motivate yourself to leave this place. "I'll go... I’ll go somewhere and have a good time... alone."

With a quick step, as if you didn't want to think about this anymore, you turned back and followed the alleys you and Aether had previously travelled. You came to the food stores that you had only glanced at before, but you didn't have time to taste anything else because you were in a hurry to get to the viewpoint.

It is true that you ordered take-out rolls, but the whole range of different types of food seemed very tempting despite the filling bread.

And the smell of such highly seasoned dishes was tempting—very much.

"Sorry," a young girl approached you after you shoved a piece of meat into your mouth. You swallowed it quickly, almost choking on it. “Would you like to buy some flowers?”

“…Why not?” you replied.

The girl put the money in the pocket of her dress. Instead of putting a flower on your hand, she came closer and gently braided a glaze lily into your hair near right ear.

"Here you are," she replied and looked at you. A smile beamed across her face. “You look really pretty!”

"Thank you," you replied. You noticed that this was the last flower in her basket, and because of that, the ten-year-old girl seemed proud of herself. She walked away, thanking again for the purchase.

I think that one more on the other side and all would be perfect...

You glanced at the setting sun and concluded that you could give Aether a similar lily. Wouldn't that look cute on him? There was still some time before it will get completely dark. Even the rain clouds that had previously seemed to be crossing the sky at an alarming pace now seem to have stopped.

You finished eating and walked briskly towards the Danyu Ruins, hoping to find some pretty lilies on your way.

The silence, or rather the sound of the wind and the leaves rustling against each other, were the only thing that accompanied your footsteps since you left Liyue. It seemed relaxing at first, but now that the skies were a deeper blue than orange, you concluded that a travelling companion would not be a bad idea.

“They're here!” you finally found two lilies that glistened slightly in the dark. You collected them quickly and turned to head back into town.

…You were surprised when you encountered many, many roads, each of them unfamiliar.

"I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs," you joked, though panic had already paralyzed your legs.

Your problems were not diminished by the fact that you heard mad laughter near you. You felt your heart leap into your throat, tears welling up in your eyes as a figure emerged from behind the bushes.

Abyss mage.

You have heard about them from the stories of Aether, who sometimes told you about his adventures when you tried to bandage his wounds with a bandage, herbs, or other medicines.

As soon as your heart was beating, so quickly the magician saw you. He teleported a meter away from you and you started running.

Faster, faster, faster.

Before you ran a hundred meters, a mage appeared before you. You didn't even have time to stop when he waved his hand, and a large ice crystal formed in front of him. Huge and pointed towards you.

Almost as soon as it was launched, a certain force pushed both of you backwards. You felt pain in your left leg, but somehow you didn't fall. Strong arms held you and made you be in a comforting, familiar embrace.

You looked up to see Aether running towards the cliff to finally jump, open his gliding set and take you two away from the icy monster.

You didn't say a word to each other all this time.

As soon as you touched the ground, you stepped out of his embrace, as if feeling that you had abused his closeness too much. Instead, he grabbed your wrist, turned to face him, and initiated a long, passionate kiss.

He didn't pull away until you both were breathless, and your cheeks were burning like hot coals. You couldn't say you were cold anymore.

“Why?” He took a deep breath. However, his voice still trembled. “Why didn't you wait for me? If I did not make it on time—"

“I was waiting for you!” You interrupted him. You bit your lower lip as you tried to contain the tide of frustration. “It's you who disappeared somewhere. You went somewhere with that girl. I already thought you weren't coming back.”

Aether, an intelligent boy, immediately paraphrased your words "I was maybe jealous". At the thought, he smiled apologetically.

"Sorry," he said, scratching his neck. “I accidentally dropped a box on her leg and, oh, it was hard to treat someone who screams in pain before even a finger touches them…”

"Oh," you felt a deep flush of embarrassment coming up to your cheeks. Indeed, the previous redness of the cheeks did not disappear, but now it only preserved their shade for the next minutes. “I'm really sorry. I left you, put you and myself in danger, just to find some stupid flowers...”

For the third time since finding you, Aether hugged you tightly. He planted a kiss on the top of your head. You stood for a few minutes in pleasant silence, cuddling tightly to each other, and finally, you both relaxed completely.

You took the tangled lilies out of your pocket; one was practically worn out, but the other seemed to be in good condition. You dropped the massacred one, and you tried to straighten the petals with your fingers.

"Turn around," you told him.

He did it without batting an eye. You ran your fingers through his hair and braided his plant into a braid.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought yours, still artfully arranged, flashed a pleasant blue light as Aether examined his looks.

"It suits you," you said. You both decided to go back to Liyue and spend the rest of the night there. You held hands all the way back.

"You too," he replied. "We are complementing each other very nicely now with these flowers ...and also without them," he added with a smile.

"So, you still think getting lost isn't romantic?" You looked at him from under your lashes.

“Still. I wish I could have you with me without any excuse that you will get lost.”

[hellsenthero]

Indigo

Written by: hellsenthero

Bucky X Reader

A lazy day in bed quickly turns into another mission. But that’s okay, because the Hydra base was supposed to be empty. It was supposed to be an easy mission. But when are things ever easy for Bucky and Y/N? 

Warnings/themes: Guns, angst, fluff. (2K Words.)        

*Main Masterlist*      *The Colour Series Masterlist*

----------

THE NIGHT.

The indigo night is a cold one. The shot rings out clear in the air and before you know it you’re falling back, back, back into the indigo waters below. Bucky’s outstretched hand scims your own. He’s so, so close. But not close enough. He screams and you think it’s your name, but the rushing wind swallows it up before finally, everything is swallowed up. 

And all there is is indigo. Infinite, icy, indigo. 

And then nothing. 

THE MORNING. 

You know it’s a good morning when you wake to your boyfriend’s feather light kisses rather than a blaring alarm. The smell of coffee drifts through the air and before you even open your eyes you know Bucky must have made you a cup and brought it back to bed for you. 

“‘S my birthday or som’thin’?” You mumble out into your pillow. You can feel Bucky pause in his kissing against your neck as he lets out a chuckle. 

“No doll, it’s just a good day.”

“Yeah?” You half ask before rolling over. The blinds are open in your room, morning sunlight streaming inside and your poor eyes are too sensitive still, so you look up at Bucky with only one eye open. 

“Yeah, I had no nightmares last night.” You’re still half asleep when Bucky says this, so it takes a second to register, but once it does you’re throwing your arms around him and giving him a big kiss, morning breath be damned. 

“Bucky baby, that’s great!” Bucky’s smiling when you pull away and he turns to grab the cup of coffee off the nightstand before handing it to you. He put it in your favourite mug, you notice. The drink is warm and delicious on your tongue. Not too bitter, not too sweet, just how you like it. “This is cause for celebration, Buck.” 

Bucky lifts a brow at you as he sits propped up on his flesh arm. “I wouldn’t go that far, doll.”

“No no,” you shake your head as you set the cup of coffee back on the nightstand. “It is. And it can be small.” You reach over and tuck a stray piece of dark hair behind his ear. “How about dinner, yeah? I’ll make your favourite. And desert too.” You say with a wink, knowing desert won’t be taking place at the kitchen table. That can be saved for the rowdy round two. 

Bucky’s smile can’t help but brighten. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Great.” You say before tossing the blankets off of yourself. “Let’s get on with the day.” 

The kitchen smells of Indigo flowers when you walk into the room. A white vase of them sits on the counter by the sink. Dark and blooming they soak up the light, but it’s beautiful. You rub a velvet soft petal between your fingers, the smell rubs off on you and you smile before facing back to Bucky. “I’ll make pancakes. Part one of our celebration.”  

Part one of the celebration goes off without a hitch. Both you and Bucky smile at each other from across the table as you sit and eat. Pancakes covered in sweet and sticky maple syrup. Part two won’t be until dinner and so you take Bucky’s hand and offer to spend the rest of the day in bed, which he gladly accepts. 

“There’s no mission today.” You tell him. “So let’s just skip training and have a lazy day.” 

You spoke too soon about the mission. Because when evening rolls around and the sun begins to lower in the sky and you take that first step out of bed after rolling around the sheets all day to start cooking Bucky’s favourite meal, that’s when the Compounds alarm goes off. 

THE NIGHT. 

When you rush towards the Quinjet on the roof of the Compound you find the sun is all but gone. Taunting at a night of Indigo sky’s. The air is cool, cold really, despite it being late May and a shiver crawls up your spine. Tony, Steve and Sam are already on the jet, and a second after you come on with Bucky Natasha follows with Clint. Steve’s all-seeing eyes roam over the group before he determines everyone’s onboard and he points at Clint to pilot up the plane. “Coordinates are set up for you Clint.” He tells the other man. Clint answers with a silent nod before he disappears to the front of the jet. “We found a Hydra base on Wrangel Island, Russia. We’re unclear if it’s in use so expect some trouble, but for the most part all’s been quiet. We’re hoping this can be just a simple recon for information. Understood?” A round of affirmation goes through the jet and the rest of the ride is spent in silence. 

The jet drifts through the open air smoothly. Through the small window you can see the indigo water below, blending in with the matching sky. All of it is an open abyss. Inky, like an overturned bottle on a writer’s desk. 

Steve yells out that you’re landing in two minutes and you look over at Bucky who sits beside you. You’re holding onto his metal hand, your thumb rubbing over his metallic knuckles. He gives you one of his wavering smiles and you know he’s nervous. He always is when it comes to the Hydra missions. But he’s a soldier, a trooper, he pulls through, time and time again. 

“We got this.” You say to him softly. 

And then you’re landing. And then you’re making your way towards the base. 

The base sits on the edge of a cliff. Not too high, but high enough that you’re careful to stay away from the edge. It’s big and grey and ugly and just seeing it makes you want to burn it to the ground. Maybe after, you can get away with dropping a lit match in a waste paper basket? But now you have a job to do. Steve splits everyone into pairs, save for Tony. 

Steve and Sam take West. You and Bucky take North. Clint and Nat take East. Tony takes the air. 

And then you’re off. The North end of the building is the side that sits on the edge of the cliff. It hangs off of it, dangling like a worm on a hook over open water. Neither you nor Bucky like it. But a job’s a job. The hallways are grey, filled by dusty light. There’s no doors, no forks in the path and it’s starting to look like you and Bucky got the easy side of the building. 

“This feel like an eerie quiet to you babe or a good quiet?” You ask your lover who walks a step ahead of you. He’s always doing that, going ahead of you, not because he thinks you can’t handle yourself (he’s seeing just how damn well you can handle yourself on and off the field,) but because of his need to keep you safe. His need to protect you. 

“I’m thinking-” and that’s when you hear it. It’s soft, quiet, but there. A click that came from neither you nor Bucky. Neither of you have to share even a look before you know your next move. You go low and Bucky goes high and you switch positions. At the end of the hallway stands a dark figure. They shoot, miss, and then start running away. You and Bucky give chase. 

The dusty light of the hallway turns darker and darker and you quickly realize you’re running towards the night. An open balcony ahead. “We’re not alone.” You breathe out into your comms as you run. “North end, headed for the balcony.” A round of the team answering you goes through your comms as you race after the dark figure. Bucky’s ahead of you, practically on top of the guy when another shot goes out and you wince. Praying he wasn’t hit. 

When you reach the balcony you find your lover to be okay, for now. He’s staring down at the figure with fury in his eyes. The figures a man, who lays sprawled out on the ground, breathing heavily and bleeding from a gunshot wound in his left thigh. 

In the dark indigo night you don’t realize the balcony you stand on is really a launching pad. Not with the lights out. There is no railing, no safety net. Just the pad and then open air beneath and indigo waters below. But you don’t focus on that. You’re focused on the bleeding man before you. 

“Who are you and how many others are there?” Bucky growls out. You see he’s kicked the man’s gun towards the edge of the balcony and you go to grab it. Neither of you realize the man has a second gun on him. And when you do, it’s too late. 

The man’s eyes are dark when he looks between you and Bucky and you think they’re black. But a glint of silver light from the moon shows their true indigo color. There’s something wrong about it. Like the colour doesn’t quite belong to him. It’s too vibrant, too full of wisdom and intelligence and spirituality. It’s not befitting, it’s distracting. And it’s all the distraction the man needs. 

“Hail Hydra.” He spits out before pulling the second gun out. 

The indigo night is a cold one. You didn’t realize that before now. It was a background thought, but now it comes to the forefront of your mind. The shot rings out clear in the air and before you know it you’re falling back, back, back into the indigo waters below. The bullet skimmed you really, but so close to the edge that’s all that’s needed. The water’s cold too. You know it will be. Like death’s icy breath. That’s what you think anyways. You used to think death was a burning, scorching, unforgiving thing. But now you realize how cold it really is. Bucky’s outstretched hand scims your own. He’s so, so close. But not close enough. He screams and you think it’s your name, but the rushing wind swallows it up before finally, everything is swallowed up. 

And all there is is indigo. Infinite, icy, indigo. Death’s icy breath.

And then nothing. 

Bucky screams. A gold light follows after you. You’re like a shooting star. Still, Bucky screams. He screams your name, a cry for help, a plea for time to reverse. He hangs over the edge of the pad, looking down at the open indigo sea below. You’re gone, the gold light is gone, there’s nothing. The rest of the team runs out onto the pad, surrounding Bucky, but he doesn’t see them. He doesn’t feel their touches. He doesn’t hear their calls, asking him what happened, where you are. 

“Y/N,” he breathes. “Y/N, no, god, no please. Come back. Come back. Please. Y/N.” You don’t come back. “I need you.” 

And then the gold light. A crimson metallic suit emerges from the water below, and with it, you. Tony brings you onto the pad, still and unmoving and Sam is quick to start chest compressions. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven… Sam gets to twenty eight when you try to take your first breath, only to begin coughing up water. Bucky rolls you onto your side, hitting your back, letting all that salt water come up. And though he can barely stand to look away from you for even a moment, he shares a look with Tony. 

Thank you. Is what the look says. 

She’s one of us. Is the look the billionaire sends back. 

When your breathing gets back under control Bucky’s quick to wrap you up in his arms. His hands grasp desperately at you, pleading for you to stay with him. As if you’ll ever leave him. You kiss his jaw as you cling just as tightly back. And he whispers the same thing over and over again as he gently rocks you. 

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

[lupically]

#6A96E7 | KAEYA.

genre | fluff

word count | 1312

warning | mention of the death of a pet

note | this is way long overdue but i am back from my vanishment... kind of... thank you for requesting.

request | from anon

what was supposed to be a nice little late-night picnic date turned into a disaster when your clumsiness decided to show itself through the form of you toppling over a rock in the woods and scraping your knees.

you had planned to head to the ocean shore with kaeya, which was where the picnic would take place. you brought him along a scenic route through the whispering woods; the lamp grasses that often glow a pretty ocean blue a sight nothing less than breathtaking.

you had everything planned from head to toe, as you would for all the dates that routinely take place the night before his longer missions. who knew you would get tripped by a rock on the ground when you ran ahead of him?

"i am so sorry," you muttered against his shoulder and your arms tightened around his neck. "this is embarrassing."

kaeya laughed easily, his hand gripping the back of your knees to keep you hoisted on his back. you could not see his face, but you suspect his eye has squinted into a faint line of a crescent moon. "everyone trips from time to time."

you frowned and propped your chin on his shoulder to rest. your feet swayed as he walked slowly, at a pace that almost felt as if he cared more for some spending quality time with you rather than rushing to get your scraped knees checked, and you felt the side of your shoes brush against his thighs once in a while.

"i have never seen you trip," you muttered, "neither have i ever seen diluc trip."

"he will be dead before he lets anyone see him topple over a rock, [name]."

you hummed faintly. kaeya made a fair point. you wondered if diluc would hate being seen smiling or being clumsy, that was if he even had it in him to be clumsy at all.

silence settled in after your third apology for the night, one kaeya continuously shot down and reassured that it was not your fault. then, once again, you two were rendered speechless by the semi-awkward, semi-disappointing situation.

kaeya was probably too busy carrying both you and the basket full of food to carry a casual conversation while still being his old, witty self. you did not want to cause him more trouble. you already pulled him out of his last-minute mission preparation, you wouldn't want to bother him while he carries you back to mondstadt.

what a shame. you had so much to say tonight.

"have you fallen asleep on me, darling?" kaeya asked, visibly turning his head. "don't fall asleep on me now, i cannot be left with my ego alone."

"i am awake!" you replied after his joke, purposefully jolting around to prove a point. he did not budge at all and continued to walk with a brief giggle.

turning back to face the front again, kaeya shoved aside the millisecond where his heart jumped out of his chest upon feeling your face through the soft brim of his hair. if he had turned his head fully, he might have just bumped his nose against yours, he might just have kissed you—a shiver ran down his spine, the thought of it alone might just melt him up.

"i'm sorry. should i talk about something?" you asked then.

he nodded. "yeah, go ahead."

you thought for a while, the sound of your thinking a numbness to his ears. it was way too close for comfort but not nearly close enough for desires; it was kaeya's thing, his contradiction where he both pushes you away (because he doesn't deserve love) and pulls you back in (because he has to have love).

and what happens when someone has to have something they do not deserve?

confusion happens. withdrawal happens. pain happens.

"my mom wrote me a letter from liyue," you said, looking up at the sky where the moon followed your trail. "our pet dog is dying."

kaeya cheered silently at the drastic change in topic. it was something he would latch onto other than just you, you, and you.

"i am very sorry to hear that," he said. "are you okay? would you go back to visit them?"

you laid your chin on his shoulder, staring ahead of you at the approaching city, and you shook your head.

"no, i don't think i will," you replied surely. "i actually... i have only met it three times, once every year, because i visit my parents once a year. and each year, i only visit for two months. i don't think i am attached to the dog enough to travel such a long way to put it down."

there was a downcast of your gaze. kaeya can sense from your silence and your heavy sigh that there was an additional point to what you said: but, somehow, i feel upset that it is leaving me.

"hey, kaeya," you called, and you asked, "what do you think about our moon?"

he raised a brow. "you mean the moon?"

"no," you immediately retorted, "our moon."

the moon in mondstadt, you meant. the moon that shadowed over you and trailed after your journey. the moon you would grieve to if it is to fall. the moon you knew nothing about but still deeply cared for simply because it has been a part of your life for too long to not exist anymore.

"i think i would be upset if it stops following us one day," he replied.

you smiled slowly. he understood, on a metaphorical level, on a heart-to-heart level, kaeya understood.

"me too," you mumbled. "it is kind of like you too. even though i know so little, i still liked her very much."

with that, kaeya halted his steps.

did you just confess?

"ah! oh, oh god! i–oh no," you panicked, "hold on! i wasn't–that was not supposed to come out that way–i'm sorry, kaeya, it's just–"

"[name]." he stopped you with ease. "do you like me?"

you licked your lower lip. you felt like if you lied, he would know. he does have very keen senses, after all. sometimes it felt like he knew more than he should too. there was likely no point in denying it at this point.

"i... yes," you said timidly, squeezing his shoulders. "i do like you."

there was a spark in his eyes—a dream come true? a confusion? a conflict that resonated with his desire to have you and his disagreement in his priorities?

kaeya wants you, he really does. he recognized his affection so early in your friendship that he has only given it space to grow. now he wants you more than anything; in reality, in dreams, in infinity, in the abyss—he wants you no matter where and what. just thinking about it alone makes his priorities shift; one second it was the knights and mondstadt, the next second it was just you, you, and you.

but which part of him deserves you? people suspicious of him, the traveler seemed to have met far interesting people outside, even his own brother holds a grudge against him. you would have your turn, something to go against him.

"[name], that is a–"

"don't!" you shot out in a rush before you backed down. "don't tell me now. wait until when you come back from your special mission, then you can tell me."

stay alive, don't die, come back and end this conversation, was what you meant.

he smirked, endeared. "the fatui doesn't care that i have someone to go home to."

you scoffed, but you smiled. what a discreet way to accept the confession, you sneaky knight! 

"yeah but you care, so you have to fight extra hard."

kaeya laughed, feeling defeated. 

"i will have to fight extra hard, i suppose."

but as always, it is everything you say, goes.

[februaryflowers]

the world in your eyes

41 (laughing/smiling until your cheeks hurt) + 47 (“we’ll get lost together, let me fall. don’t ever let me come down from your love.” - ten (dream in a dream)) + 57 (seeing the stars in their eyes)

prompt list

warnings: reader is in a blindfold in the beginning (it’s bc jun wants smthn to be a surprise though)

fluff, 709 words, junhui x reader

Jun ties a blindfold over your eyes before taking your hands in his and leading you over the uneven terrain. Grass tickles at your feet as he leads you further and further from the car. 

You take a careful step, but the feeling of soft grass against your skin doesn’t change, leaving you wondering where exactly he plans on taking you. 

You’re sure Jun has his cat-like grin on his face from his perceived brilliance. He claims that this will be the best date you’ve been on yet, and he doesn’t use those words lightly. 

The thought of his pretty smile makes your own grow wider and wider until it pulls at all of your features, even under the blindfold.

“What’s so funny?” Jun teases. 

“Nothing,” you sing-song. 

“Mmhm,” Jun tsks disapprovingly, causing your smile to grow even more until you can’t contain chuckles and your cheeks have a soft, dull ache. 

Jun slows his pace to squish your cheeks. “Who gave you the right to be so cute?” he mutters, causing your smile to falter. 

“W-what?” you stutter.

You have no doubt he’s grinning even more at your flustered state.

Before you can get an answer, Jun lets go of your hands. 

“Hey, wait!” you cry, only until you feel your boyfriend’s hands behind your head, untying the blindfold.

“We’re here,” he announces. 

In front of you lies a small picnic blanket under a navy sea dotted with bright, brilliant stars. The sky is completely clear and the moon casts a soft, romantic glow on the whole scene, making you feel as if you’re in a postcard. 

“Jun, it’s wonderful already,” you say softly, brushing your hand against the soft, checkered blanket. 

He sits across from you and moves the basket towards himself, pulling out and putting down various food items that you’ve happened to mention liking in passing.

You can’t believe he’s remembered all of them. There are some that you don’t even remember saying you liked, but he still somehow found them. 

Of course he remembers. He can’t imagine not remembering. He wants to commit your favorite things to memory, to be able to bring you joy, to make you smile your wonderful smile, just as you are now. Gosh, he will never tire of seeing it. Just a glance at it makes his own appear.

You talk animatedly as he dishes out the food to your fancy plates and miss how he nods along, a smile pulling at his lips from hearing you so enthusiastic about something. 

“Here,” he says when you finally quiet down, handing you a dish full of big helpings of your favorite foods. 

“I never took you for such a sap,” you tease. 

“I’m full of surprises. What can I say?” he replies mischievously. 

You offer a small smile at his words before looking upwards, towards the abyss of stars. Falling into a peaceful, relaxing silence, the two of you simply stare at the world around you, in awe that somehow you found the perfect match for yourselves. Your gaze flickers to his eyes, where you can see the beautiful image before you reflecting in them, before you look back up. The only thing you can think about is that the world looks even more magical through his eyes.

In the quiet, Jun’s clinking of silverware on the dishes catches your attention. You watch as he scoops a portion of pasta up and points it in your direction.

“Now you’re trying to feed me? You really have become a sap,” you kid. 

But you decide to entertain him and his newfound inner sap, leaning in to take the bite anyway.

It’s then that he pulls the silverware away and puts the bite in his mouth instead. You chuckle, amused, “It’s nice to know you haven’t completely caved.”

He quirks his brow at you. “What could you possibly mean?” he asks dramatically, feigning ignorance.

You’re about to answer when a rush of wind blows by, sending shivers down your spine and taking the words from your mouth. You go to rub your arms, but Jun takes note and slips off his jacket, placing it on your shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

“To our home,” you correct.

“Right.” He smiles. “Our home.”

[maeve-writes]

Beautiful Hell

Inspired by:  Beautiful Hell by ADNA 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (tfatws) x Reader (experiment/mutant!Reader) Rating: 18+, Minors DNI Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk. Summary: Your past shows up in an unexpected way thanks to Bucky Barnes. You just wanted to be... normal, not caught up in the life of a hero or worse, and yet you’re drawn to him, addicted to him even. You thought that part of your life was over, but your relationship opens up a whole new chapter that you’re not sure you’re ready for. a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. I have not written anything that wasn’t work related in about three years, so I’m a little rusty. This is just a dip of my toe back into the water. I’d like to continue this if there is any interest! Thanks for reading!

There’s very little that makes you upset these days. You have a great job, a cozy apartment, and wonderful friends. It’s taken a long time for you to find stability and even longer for you to accept that it was okay to have it. Most of that struggle was on your own, but you eventually found others like you that were dealing with the same inner turmoil and you’ve grown.

The group still meets twice a month, but now you run it. You see the same pain and anger in the eyes of strangers that you once held, you’ve been in their shoes and you want to help start their journey of healing and self discovery. You would never turn someone away who wanted help, who sought out the chance to better themselves, but six feet of muscle and adamantium shuffles into the recreation room of the local Boy’s and Girl’s Club, and you bend the already folded aluminum chair in half. 

The squeak of the metal catches his attention and his brow knits together. His eyes dance between your face, the chair, and back again. “Cheap material,” you say weakly with a lift of your shoulders. You watch as he puckers his lips in thought and his hands are shoved into his jacket. 

One of your regulars, Sarah, takes the chair from you and tries to right it once more, but finds it more difficult than you played it up to be. “Set up the rest, I’ve got this,” you tell her, happy to tear your attention away from the man. You reset the bars of the chair and unfold it, placing it on the floor to see if it will act as it should. It’s a little wonky, the bend leans it too far back, but it will hold you - it’s a chair.

You sit among the circle and begin. People sip their coffee and share their stories for the week. The new people introduce themselves, including him, but everyone already knows his name. He didn’t share this time, but you could tell he wanted to from the way his jaw clenched and the uncomfortable shifts in his sheet. You were like that once, you know just how he feels.

Two hours pass and the crowd slowly trickles out. You start the clean up, the putting away of the chairs. You move around the room and do your best to ignore his eyes burning into you - into your soul. “You could at least help clean,” you tell him without looking up from the sink against the far wall where you now stand. “Chairs still need to be put away.”

It takes a few beats, but you hear his heavy footsteps fall behind you and the eventual scrap of metal as the chairs are being folded. There’s a steady rhythm to his method, a clink of his metal arm against the chair, the screech as the chair is closed and his footfalls to the corner to put it away.

You finish your last coffee pot, drying your hands and turn to see the wonky chair in his hold. “Cheap material,” he repeats, looking down at it before he bends it back and forth. You see him trying to mold it back into better shape than you had earlier as your face grows hotter by the second. When he deems it “good enough,” he brings it over to join the others. “Who are you?”

“No one,” you reply instantly. 

His head snaps around, blue eyes burning, “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Not true,” you counter, “I’ve lied to myself for years.”

He turns to you fully and crosses his arms over his broad chest. He doesn’t find your attempt at what he thinks is a joke funny. “Who are you,” he asks again, his voice becoming clipped and impatient. 

You tell him your name, your full name but it does not ring any bells to him. It wouldn’t, not in a way he would realize. “You saved someone years ago, not as… you, but as,” you pause and wave the towel you used to dry your hands, “you know.” You try your best to ignore how his body tenses up and you continue, “You killed his wife and his unborn son. You changed him. Changed everything, really. Somehow, I got caught up in it all.”

His hardened stare quickly shifts into curiosity and you force yourself to look away before you crash into the stormy blue. “They pumped us full of all sorts of stuff. A lot of us didn’t make it. I can still hear the screams if I try.” You grind your teeth to make yourself stop falling into that abyss. “But my dad raised me by himself, he taught me how to survive, how to be strong. He always told me: Girl, if you’re gonna go down, go down swingin’. And I forced myself to keep going, no matter what they did, I wasn’t going to let those assholes get the best of me.”

The towel was back in both of your hands now, pulled and stretched as you tried not to think about the pain and the loneliness that followed. “But eventually I was freed, just like you freed that other guy. I got a chance to be him now… but I didn’t take it.” The terry cloth ripped in half and your arms fell by your sides. 

You dared to look up at the man and you inwardly swore. His face was so painfully beautiful, full lips were in a pout and his eyes twinkled blue in their sadness, in their empathy. “They wanted us to be something and I wasn’t going to let someone else define me. I ran for years, scared and alone. I had to change my life over and over because I didn’t want them to find me, then I realized I was actually doing what they wanted… I was being someone I’m not.”

You crossed the room to the trash can nearby and not too far behind he followed. The two of you began to toss half-eaten pastries and empty disposable coffee cups. “So, I settled down here, started to go by my real name and took any threat that came my way.” You watched him sniff at an uneaten danish, “Cherry, I think.” His shoulder lifts in a ‘what-the-hell’ kind of way and he takes a bite. “It took about two decades for them to stop,” you finish, “and I was able to finally start to live my life.”

He silently offers half of the danish to you, which you decline. “And when the world went to hell in a hand-basket, you what, sat here and lived your life?” The blow was meant to sting and it did. He didn’t know if you were gone in The Blip but from your recoil, he got his answer. “I don’t know what they did to you, but you obviously have the ability to help people, you should use it.”

“I do,” you reply, offended. “This,” you wave your hands around for the second that evening, “helps people. Just because I don’t strap on leather and beat up bad guys doesn’t mean I don’t make a difference.”

Bucky stills completely, even his breathing, and he looks down into the trash can he has been pushing around for you. It looks as though he wants to toss himself in it. “You’re right,” he says with a heavy exhale, “that wasn’t fair of me. It’s just… the world is running low on heroes, they’re now relying on a guy in a bird suit.”

“I thought that guy was your friend,” you ask with a tilt of your head.

When the corner of his mouth tips up into a boyish smile, you mirror it with a toothy grin because of how infectious it is. “Yeah,” he nods, “I guess he is. But I just hate being the only muscle.”

“You’re plenty enough for this hemisphere,” you laugh and reach out to pat his shoulder, when you feel the muscle packed there, you whistle through your teeth, “and maybe the other one, too.”

He laughs and rolls the shoulder you tapped, tossing off your hand playfully. “Yeah, well it wouldn’t hurt to have more because getting hurt hurts.” You two exchange smiles and finish trash detail. He ties up the full bag and prepares to bring it out while you work on putting a new one in the can. 

You lead him out back to the dumpsters and he tosses the bag in after you open the heavy metal lid. When it falls closed again with a loud, ringing bang, you pull out a pack of sanitizing wipes and offer him one which he gladly accepts. “This might not be the right time,” he begins, eyes drawn to the large, smelly trash bin next to the pair of you, “but would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“Who knew you were so romantic, Sergeant Barnes,” you tease to hide your fluttering heartbeat that he can undoubtedly hear. Under the pale yellow beam of the streetlights you can see the flush forming on his face that mirrors your own. “I’m free tomorrow around seven.”

Bucky straightens to his full height and his eyes sparkle brightly when that boyish curl makes its way back to his lips. “Then it’s a date,” he nods as you both pull out your phones to exchange numbers and you give him your address.

“Don’t be late,” you warn him, tone playfully serious, “I get angry if I don’t eat before eight. Bad things happen if I don’t eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods with a low rumbling chuckle, “I don’t plan to disappoint you.”

Your face splits into a smile and you lead your way back in, “See you tomorrow, Sergeant.”

“Tomorrow,” he says, his eyes trained on your every move. “And it can’t come soon enough,” he adds under his breath.

x

Your day goes by in a blur. Work is stressful but rewarding. Even though you love your job, your mind was not completely on it. Just past noon you received a text: Just seeing if this works. I’m looking forward to tonight. Have a good day. BB

It is unclear if he does not really know how texts work or if it is his excuse to send you one, but either way it makes you giddier than a schoolgirl. You reread it several times, answer a few work related calls and emails before you finally answer back: It works! I’m also looking forward to tonight. My day was good, but your text made it better. Hope yours is fantastic! xx

You are hesitant to hit send, but if you are going to shoot your shot, then you might as well go all in. Your phone doesn’t even go to sleep before you get another text in return: I’m about to see the prettiest gal in town, my day will be more than fantastic. How do you feel about sushi and bowling? BB

Of all of the things to do, especially together, you would not think of Bucky Barnes to pick that as your first night out together, but you had a weakness for sushi and your competitive side could never say no to a game or two: I haven’t been bowling in years, but I’m sure I can teach you a few things. xx

Oh, sweetheart, you’ll be learning a thing or two before the night is over. BB

You aren’t sure if you guys are talking about bowling anymore and that thought lights a fire in your belly. With a shaky breath you send your last reply: I’ll be happy to learn anything as long as I get to call you Professor Barnes and I can stay after class for extra credit. ;) xx 

It isn’t until two hours after your lunch that you get your last reply from him: Looking up that reference sent me to the part of the internet that I’m still not used to, but I’m glad I did. You don’t happen to have a skirt and some of those socks that go up to your knees, do you? Don’t answer that, I won’t be able to make it through dinner. See you at 7. BB

You did happen to have just what he asked for and it was tempting to wear it, but you tucked the idea into your pocket for another time. Instead, you picked something more appropriate for bowling, a pair of navy skinny fit cotton dress pants with enough stretch to not rip when you bent over to toss a ball, a curve hugging camisole that was draped by a soft, cream colored cashmere sweater. 

After messing with your hair for an hour, you settled for a messy bun and just finished your makeup when your doorbell rang. You call out to him to “hold on” as you shuffle through your apartment, trying to wriggle into your loafers on the way to open the door. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry,” you apologize as you pull open the door.

He’s standing in the doorway dressed in a canvas jacket over a plain black shirt, dark jeans over his long, thick legs and his normal boots top it off. “You look gorgeous,” he says, forcing you away from your lingering gaze as it continues to travel up and down his body like he’s the one for dinner. “These are for you,” he presents a bouquet of flowers with an unsure smile. “They’re beautiful,” you say wistfully, taking the flowers and stepping aside to let him in. “Thank you.” He nods and stands near the door as you finish putting on your shoes. “Let me put these in water and we can go.” “Take your time,” he says and trains his eyes on you. They follow you through the apartment, to the kitchen as you look through your cabinets for a vase. When you bend over, his head tilts ever so slightly which you can see out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to try and catch him, he just smiles innocently. “Need any help?”

“I’ll manage,” you laugh and eventually find a vase. The flowers are arranged not so elegantly into the glass, but you add water and place them in the center of your kitchen island. “Now, I’m starving and getting hangry.”

“Hangry,” he repeats. “That doesn’t sound good. I guess I should feed you before that happens.” He holds out an arm and like a magnet you are drawn to him and latch to it, maybe it’s because of the metal. Nevertheless, you walk arm and arm to the sushi hole-in-the-wall two blocks away, eating in a small booth in the corner to hide away from prying eyes.

You learn about Bucky Barnes for the first time. Like everyone else, you hear things from the news, from the internet, you try to shift through the lies and mess. But here you’re learning what he likes, what he’s learned, what he wants to learn. He doesn’t give his past up as freely as you did, it’s obvious he’s still coming to terms with it, but everyone travels at their own pace.

He learns about you, too. He asks you about things none of your past dates have asked. Hell, even your past boyfriends and girlfriends weren’t interested in half of the stuff Bucky manages to squeeze out of you. And you find it so easy to talk to him, so natural. You’ve only known him for two days, but it feels like decades.

Your hand slips into his when you leave the restaurant and head to the bowling alley. He laces your fingers together two blocks into your walk and you once again wrap your free hand around his arm. It pains you to move away when you have to go in and put on the bowling shoes.

“Before we begin,” he says to you as he watches you put your names into the computer, “let’s make a bet.” You finish entering the ‘y’ of his name and lift an inquisitive brow his way. “If you win, you can have one thing you would want from me.”

You twist in your seat and narrow your eyes, “And if you win?”

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, you watch it disappear with a pout, “I get a kiss.”

“You could just ask for one,” you laugh and slowly lean towards him.

Bucky, too, leans in and bumps noses with you, “Yeah, but it’s more fun if I work for it.” He sits back and winks, trying not to laugh at your deflated and deepening pout. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’re up first.”

You sigh heavily and pick up the bright green ball that you picked from the line waiting to be thrown. “Okay, if I win, then I get to wear that skirt and socks for you,” you say over your shoulder before you toss the ball down the lane. It rolls down the center and knocks down all ten pins as STRIKE flashes on the screen above you.

When you flop down in the chair next to him, he’s still staring at the spot where you stood moments before, gears still churning. “Hey,” you laugh, snapping your fingers in front of his face to knock him out of his daze, “are you okay?”

“Would it be wrong of me to lose on purpose,” he asks sheepishly. You roll your eyes and cross your arms and he lifts his own in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it, that’s no fun. Just know, darlin’, I don’t go down without a fight.” He steps up and takes the same ball you used and chucks it halfway down the lane before it, too, knocks down all ten pins. He turns to you, a smirk plastered on his face.

As much as you loved to have fun, you loved to win more. “Is that how it’s going to be,” you asked, getting up to pass him on the way to take your turn.

He laughs, pressing close as you both slow when you come into each other’s orbit. “That’s how it’s going to be,” he nods and rakes over his lip with his teeth. A challenge is set and you don’t back down. Strikes and spares are thrown by the both of you in between lingering touches and whispered sweet nothings. 

In the hour you two have rented the lane, you managed two games and with one point over you, Bucky wins. He doesn’t claim his prize right there, it’s too public and there’s far too many people around. Instead, he offers to walk you home and you happily accept as long as you can wrap yourself around him once again, which you do.

You two try to take your time on the way back, enjoying the crisp evening air, but more so each other's company. The conversation from dinner continues as a flow of likes and dislikes between more sweet nothings. You’re lovedrunk by the time you’re at your front door and you don’t want the night to come to an end.

Reluctantly, you release him from your hold and he looks as disappointed as you feel. “Tonight has been wonder-” “I had such a great-” you both begin simultaneously and trail off together, ending in nervous laughter. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “for such an amazing night.”

“I should be thanking you,” he says, a hand timidly reaching out to rest on your hip. “I’ve been a little rusty at this kind of thing, but you made it easy.” His thumb traces the arc of your hip bone and you step closer to him. “But, you know, I might need some more practice.” You resisted to roll your eyes, but the laughter bubbles between the both of you. The distance closes by one of you, and you don’t care who, but you find your hands splayed across his chest, “I think I can help you out there.”

“That would be my second win of the night,” he grins down at you, his eyes trained on your lips.

“Speaking of my win,” he trails off. His flesh hand raises to your cheek and you instinctively lean into it. Your nose wrinkles at his chuckle but it doesn’t stop you from raising on your toes to close what little space there was between you.

You could sense his hesitation, the silent question of what was enough and what was too much. A small hum bubbled in your throat as you pushed your hands up his chest, nails scraping up his neck and into his hair. You could feel the shiver ripple throughout his body and his teeth came out to bite down on your bottom lip.

It was your turn to laugh now and he licked into your mouth in return, turning it into a whimpering moan. You could feel his triumphant smirk against your lips and you reward it with a tug of his hair. His hips instantly buck against you which throws you off balance, but he catches you with his metal arm winding around your back and pins you against him. 

Your tongues slip and slide against one another, the taste of his sushi and beer choice mixes with your own. Your nails once again claw along his scalp and cause him to growl into your mouth. He surges forward with you in his grip and crowds you against your door, reluctantly breaking away for air, “We should say goodnight,” Bucky whispered against your kiss swollen lips.

“You can tell me good morning when you wake up next to me tomorrow,” you shoot back and roll your hips against his, causing both of you to react with a strained moan.

“Are you sure,” he asks, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“I’ve got a spare toothbrush with your name on it,” you nod. You watch him debate the issue with himself before placing one last chaste kiss on your lips before losing his grip just enough to let you open the door.

You two stumble in, Bucky pulling you back to him, his mouth kissing along your jaw as you try to lock up for the night. You barely got the deadbolt turned when his teeth sank into your sink causing you to cry out. He instantly licks at apologetically and turns his attention to getting you undressed instead.

When your sweater is pulled over your head, you push off Bucky’s jacket, both falling to the floor near the door. Shoes are next to go, sloppily kicked off near each other and once again you two are drawn back together, tongues dancing. Your fingers twist into the short brown locks and his hands snaked down to your ass. He lightly cups each cheek, using them to bring you as close as possible, and even though your bodies leave very little room for air to pass through you still try to move closer.

“Bed,” he breathes into your mouth. You give him a quick nod. With a happy groan, he squeezes you by your bottom, picking you up to carry you to your room, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. 

Your small one bedroom apartment isn't anything special, but it is yours and it has the biggest, comfiest bed that you are in love with. Bucky easily guides you both there, not once breaking your kiss aside from grunting or growling from your teasing hair pulls or the rolls of your hips. 

He climbs onto the mattress with you still wrapped around his upper half, crawling up to the pile of pillows near the headboard where he eventually lays you down. His weight settles above you, and normally, you would welcome it’s warmth and comfort, but at that moment, you want it to be rough and needy. “Bucky,” you whine, this time the one to break the kiss.

Flushed cheeks and blown pupils, he looks down at you, boxing you in with his arms on either side of your head. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“You’re wearing too much,” you tell him as you try to pull off his shirt, it makes it up to his shoulders before it stops. His laugh shakes his entire body and yours, which makes you pout in return. 

“You’re wearing the same amount, doll,” he reminds you, looking down to see your breasts sway in your camisole. “Far, far too much, in my opinion.”

You roll your eyes and playfully slap at his chest, “Then do something about it.” He mutters something about impatience and sits on his knees between your parted thighs as he pulls his shirt over his head to toss it aside.

“Your turn,” he nods to your shirt while he works on the buckle of his belt. You hastily pull the top over your head and work on your slacks, wriggling out of them just as does his own. He sits back on his hunches and looks you over, laying spread out in a matching white lace bra and underwear set. Now at he’s down to his boxer briefs, you can see how big he his, how hard he is, and when his wandering eyes rest on your covered sex, you can see it twitch with anticipation. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful.”

You didn’t think your entire body could blush from embarrassment, but Bucky just proved you could. “That’s my line,” you return, taking in every inch of his exposed skin over hard muscle. Super serum or not, Bucky Barnes was a gorgeous specimen. When you two finally lock eyes once more, you both shiver. “Are you going to touch me?”

He lets out a shaky breath and reaches out to run a hand lightly over your damp panties, slick from your want for him. “I’m afraid I’ll never stop,” he replies honestly, instantly addicted to the needy whimpers you are giving him.

“I don’t think I would want you to,” you groan. “Please?” You feel his fingertips dance over the lace, tracing over the pattern and causing you to throb with need. “Bucky!”

“You need me, don’t you,” he asks, voice dropping to a low rumble that hits you right at your core and makes your toes curl. “You need my touch. Need me to satisfy that ache?” You nod desperately trying to sit up to pull him down on top of you, but he pins you down before you could rise. “Tell me,” he purrs.

“I need you,” you respond instantly. You’re rewarded with his fingers pushing the panties aside and begin to dance along the slick folds.

“You need what,” he goads. He finds your clit and rubs it once to draw a happy mew from you but stops much to your disappointment.

“I need you, Bucky. I need you to touch me, to kiss me,” you whine with a rock of your hips, trying to get him to move again, but he doesn’t. “I need you to taste me, to lick me, to fuck me.”

Smile on his kiss bruised lips, his thumb swirls around your bud and he sinks his middle finger into you with a groan. “You’re tight,” he hisses as he sinks knuckle-deep, “and dripping. Shit, you’re going to feel like heaven.”

You can’t focus on what he’s saying too much. The feel of his fingers pumping in and out of you feels good, feels right, but it’s not enough, even when he adds two or three. He works you open, your slick starting to run down his fingers, and he palms himself over his briefs.  “Bucky, please,” your voice cracks, “I need more.”

He nods, he has time to take you apart with just his fingers later, but it’s been so long since he’s been with someone like this, someone he’s felt like this with, he needs it as much as you do. When he removes his fingers from you, you whine at the loss but it cuts off into a gasp as you watch him lap and suck off your slick from his hand. Bucky freezes, eyes narrowing, and for a moment you’re wondering if you did something wrong. “What? What is it?”

“Trying to stop myself from eating you alive,” he says through clenched teeth, jaw visibly flexing with the effort. You blink up at him, confused, but he shakes his head and forces himself to remove his boxer briefs. “I’m having you for breakfast,” he decides.

“Uh huh,” you reply absently, your mouth watering as his cock bounces against his stomach when it’s free. It’s long, thick, and leaking, trying to hypnotize you and very much succeeding. 

“I’ll let you return the favor, sweetheart,” he laughs. His flesh hand spreads his pre-cum down his shaft and he pumps slowly while his metal hand pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Still with me?”

Blinking free of your daze, you stare at his lustful gaze and nod. He moves closer, hooks your legs over the bends of his elbows and runs the head of his cock along your folds. Your hole twitches desperately for him, “Such a pretty little pussy, so needy.” Your hands wrap around his wrists and grip at him tightly, hard enough to make him hiss. “You’ve been a good girl, I guess I can give you what you want.”

He pushes in agonizingly slow, the head of his cock sinking in what felt like centimeter by centimeter. You clench around him, trying to draw more of him in, but Bucky takes his time to bottom out. When he is finally fully seated in you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and apparently so did he. “Fuck,” you say simultaneously. 

Your legs are positioned around his waist and he once again frames your head with his forearms, which, in turn, pushes him further inside of you. “You feel so good, doll,” he whispers against the ‘o’ of your lips. “So warm, so tight, taking me so good.” Your hands find their way up his arms and into his hair. All it takes is one tug that has him growling, “And I’m going to ruin this pretty pussy so good that it’s going to feel me all week.” He rolls his hips back as slowly as he originally pushed in, “And I wanna hear you tell everyone who it belongs to while I do it.”

He snaps his hips forward driving you up the bed and further into the pillows, a cry getting caught in your throat from it. His pace is brutal, skin slaps against skin, and his mouth seeks out yours. The kiss is sloppy, but hungry, just as primal as his pistoning hips. You hold on to him the best you can as the bed rocks, headboard slamming against the wall. Your nails trail against his skin, egging him on and drawing sinful noises from love-swollen lips. 

His hips shift angles and eventually find that spot that makes you see stars. “Bucky,” you cry out breathlessly, uncurling your toes and removing your nails from his shoulder blades. He buries his face in your neck and marks you with his teeth and tongue as he relentlessly fucks towards your brink. “So… f-fuck- so close.”

“Cum for me then, sweetheart,” Bucky growls against your skin, snaking a hand between your bodies to work at your clit. “Show me how good I make you feel. Cum for me.” His thumb rubs over your bud once, twice and a white hot punch in your gut blossoms throughout your body as you let out a strangled cry of his name. 

You can feel yourself clamp around him, working him impossibly deeper, begging him to fall down into the abyss with you. And he does, hard. He chases his bliss with you, your name a mantra spilling from his lips as he spills inside of you. He doesn’t stop until you’ve both become too sensitive to handle anymore. He pulls out of you with a heavy sigh and falls next to you on the bed onto his stomach. 

“Holy shit,” you finally break the silence, “that was…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his head turned to look at you with tired, blissful eyes. “Goddamn, yeah it was.”

You weakly reach around to search for his hand and eventually find it, he lances his fingers with yours. You don’t break eye contact when he leans over to share a few chaste kisses before collapsing again. “You’re fantastic, Bucky, and I want you to know that was the hottest sex I have had to date.”

His post orgasm bliss is shattered and replaced with a furrowed brow, “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“...but as hot as it is feeling you drip out of me, I need to shower,” you finish. You can see the relief wash over him and he nods in understanding. 

“I’ve got a good memory,” he yawns and taps at his head, “that image is stored right here.” You fight a blush and slide off of your bed to head to the bathroom when seconds later you hear him do the same. He shrugs at your questioning look, “No need to waste water, right?”

You laugh as you turn on the faucets only to be crowded against the wall and your mouth is covered with his once more. The water splashing against your bodies and the echoing sounds of your moans drown out the repeated calls to Bucky’s phone. Mission. Suit up. SW

Answer your damn phone. SW

It’s the green button. SW

Green button and slide right. SW

Dammit, if you blocked me again, I stg. SW

Man, what are you doing in Soho? Yes, I’m tracking you. OMW. SW

a/n: To be continued? 

[jordanstrophe]

A Cinnamon Bun too Pure for this World, part 5

CW: Conditioned whumpee, afraid of punishment, wounds mentioned, Whumpee attached to old whumper, panic attacks, fear of abandonment (It’s relatively short, but if I added the next part it would be too long)

Masterlist

Just before the sun rose, Richard was awake. He tossed his robe on and slid on his fluffy slippers. He hoped if he got up early enough and made breakfast before Cin was up, he wouldn’t try to help and get himself hurt again.

 He felt so bad yesterday...  He had tossed and turned all night from the image of Cin’s bruised and battered body burned into his mind. He really had a handful on his hands, didn’t he?

He shuffled into the kitchen, there was a low humming sound coming from the counter as he froze. Was he hearing things? It was dark as he braced himself for the pain the light would bring as he flicked it on. 

There Cin stood, bags under his eyes as he blankly stared into the abyss holding a mixer in hand with ingredients and pans sprawled all over the kitchen. There was a flower covering half his face, as his expression looked half asleep. 

“C-Cin? What are you doing?!” Richard gasped, catching himself at the end as he reminded himself to keep his tone calm and soothing. Cin snapped out of it as he perked up- or... More like he woke up as his eyes looked frightened and wide. He shut off the mixer as the humming slowly died.

Cin stared at him trying to read his emotions. Was he happy? Angry? Did he do good? Bad? Richard didn’t have to read into his very much, frustration was written all over his face.

“Cin, it’s too early, you need to be resting.” He soothed. Cin looked down at the bowl on the counter, then back up. “But I have to make breakfast.” He slurred, struggling to stay upright.

“No sweetie! Not now. Did you even sleep last night?” Richard asked. 

“S-sleep? But you didn’t tell me how long I could.” He looked at him with a sad guilty expression like a puppy caught red-handed in a trashbin. “What are you talking about? You don’t need permission like that! Put the mixer down please.” Robert ordered, Cin looked devastated as he slowly set it down. 

“B-b-b-but I thought I was doing good! Was I not early enough? I can wake up earlier I promise! I’m sorry... I didn’t know when you got up!” He stuttered, his began to tremble as his voice shook, his left hand violently jittered and twitched. 

Guilt struck Richard’s heart... He had messed it up again. It was like everything his did only played with Cin’s emotions, toyed with him like a clueless doll. He glanced up to see Cin had a bowl in his hands while blankly stirring, still trying to finish what he started.

Richard sighed. He was dreading having to do this, but it was time he came clean that he was in over his head. Cin was such a sweet young man, he deserved the best care he could get.

It just wasn’t here.

“Cin, but the bowl down please.” Robert coaxed, placing a hand on the bowl guiding it down to the counter.  Richard used his sleeve to clean his face off of the flower. He opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated.

“...I’m not the best qualification to give you what you need. You’re hurt, really hurt and I don’t know how to help you. You deserve professional care, so... I’m going to call the hospital and drop you off today.” 

Cin immediately inhaled with horror, the wooden spoon in his hand dropping and clattering to the floor. He latched onto Richard’s robe as his lip quivered, desperately trying to say something, but Richard raised a hand to stop him.

“No no no! It’s okay. This isn’t a bad thing. You’re going to get the best care, who’s going to help you, I promise.” He gave him a reassuring smile as he gently cupped his hand over Cin’s that was turning white while clutching his robe.

His face was twisted with confusion and terror. He didn’t really understand what he was saying... He was being abandoned again, wasn’t he? Nathen left him and now Richard was too! Why?! Why was everyone leaving him? Nathen was... 

Right.

He was right all along.

He was a fool to think otherwise.

“Cin, you’re going to be okay. Right?” Richard asked. The more he studied his face the more his concern grew. He looked like he had seen a ghost. Richard placed a hand on his cheek, as Cin surprisingly leaned his whole head into the touch, like it would be the last kindness he would ever receive. Cin’s head fell a little as his hand retracted. 

Richard dug through a basket full of tiny papers for the hospital’s number as he took a phone. Cin just stood with his hands gribbing the counter behind him as his breathing quickly escalated. 

“Hi, can I scedu-” Richard was cut off as a weight slammed into the back of his knees. He gasped as he looked down to see Cin collapsed on the ground, hugging his legs for dear life. He pressed his forehead into his knees while sobbing with a muffled voice into his soft robe.

“P-please d-don’t! Please don’t abandon me, I’ll be good! Give me another ch-chance, PLEASE!” Cin sobbed. Richard quickly excused himself on the phone and hung up.

“It’s not f-f-fair! Wh-why did he have to l-leave me!? I understand you don’t w-want me, I’m nothing b-but a burden to you... B-but why did he have to?! He s-said... He said he was the only one who could p-put up with me! Why did he leave!?” Cin belted. His voice was broken as he cracked the lid open and let out a sliver of his bottled emotions. 

Richard was left stunned as he just listened, the more he grew to know Cin, the more horrified he was to know he had only scratched the surface of his torment and conditioning. He was gripping the counter for balance as Cin was desperately squeezing his knees together. Richard managed to sink down low enough he could twist his body around so Cin was clinging to his chest instead. 

He sat crossed legged as he pulled Cin into his lap as he buried his face into his neck. Richard could feel how hard he was trembling against his chest and he let out a sigh, running his fingers through Cin’s soft hair.

“He didn’t abandon you, he simply got caught. And I’m glad he did...  I know you’re not happy right now, but you’re safe. Happiness will come in time. I’m not abandoning you, I’m giving you to someone who can take better care of you then I can. This is the best choice for you! I know you don’t really see it, but you’re really hurt. It would be selfish of me to try and take care of you myself.” He explained. 

“No!! No! Please! I can do better! Please!” Cin wailing harder with each word.

“It’s not about you doing better. You’re not doing anything wrong, please don’t think this has anything to do with something you’ve done.” He rasped, holding him tightly in his arms. 

Cin cried as Richard held him, he eventually quieted down to occasional hiccups and whimpers. Richard felt like he was torn in two. Part of him knew if he took care of him any longer he would get more attached then he already was. 

Every shift he made in his movement Cin clung to him tighter like he was preparing himself when they could get torn apart. 

“please please please please please” Cin muttered under his breath. 

Richard let out a long pained sigh. “Sweetie listen to me...” He whispered. His brain was screaming at him to shut his mouth and call the hospital, but his lips and heart ran off on their own. He could feel Cin holding his breath.

“You can stay, but-” “-THANK YOU! Thank you thank you thank you!” Cin crawled up into his lap further and latched onto his neck tightly, almost knocking him over. 

“Easy there! There’s still a but. I’m going to do my best to bandage you up, so I need you to be good, listen to me and do what I say, okay?” He asked.

“B-but I’m fine! I’m used to it!” He argued.

“Being used to it doesn’t mean you're not hurt. Neglecting your wounds like this could make it worse in the long run. If we’re going to do this, I need you not to argue with me.” Richard said. 

Cin quickly shut his mouth as he went pale. 

“And I’m not going to punish you either.” Richard added, worried about his conditioning. He was always paranoid of saying things that might set him off, he learned when Cin’s left hand started twitching meant he was expecting pain. He would try to hide It, but Richard knew it was still violently jittering. 

“Alright, I’ll grab a first aid and we’ll see what we can do.” He smiled. 

@milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101  @sillypizzazineoperator @as-a-matter-of-whump @alien-octopus @unicornscotty  @yesthisiswhump

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ  Thank you for reading!

[trentaafcsblog]

Writing Challenge - Angst

“Please say something” - Leon Goretzka

Thank you to the beautiful @penguintransporter for this one 🤍

The corridor of the familiar Gründerzeit residential building seemed to be darker than it used to be; longer and wider, and yet, it was the same as when she had left it, thinking that it would be the last time that she was walking the black-and-white, tiled floor.

There was still the same dried out monstera plant in the corner, the same advertisements on the cork-board, same basket for the wet umbrellas that no one really used, and the same line-up of the vintage lamps mounted on the wall – illuminating the darkness which seemed to be present even in the middle of the sunniest days.

Emelie had to take a deep breath, exhaling softly.

To say that it didn’t feel strange to be there again, after seven months, would be a lie, and as she made her way towards the winding stairway that would take her to the fourth floor, she felt a wave of melancholy wash over her. Everything was the same, and yet it felt so different – walking down the corridor without stopping to check their mailbox, holding onto the railing, yet feeling detached from it as if she wasn’t really present; seeing only his name written on a silver plate on the doors.

She didn’t belong there any more.

Her hand was shaking as she knocked on the doors, and taking an insecure step back, she breathed out a slight and nervous breath she was holding in. She hadn’t seen nor spoken to Leon since she had moved out, wheeling the last bits of her belongings in a small suitcase while he was still at the training, proudly keeping her tears away – a flower pot with devil’s ivy pressed against her chest.

Seven months of denial, fake smiles, and crying when no one could see her.

Seven months of telling herself that she will be okay, that she needed to accept that he wasn’t part of her life any more, and that she had to move on and try to forget.

As if that was an easy thing to do.

Emelie’s heartbeat quickened when she heard the familiar sound of the locks being twisted, and when he finally opened the doors, she felt as if there was no air left in her lungs—just painful scratches while she tried to stay composed.

“Hi, Emelie,” he greeted her, giving her a small tight-lipped smile, and she waved shyly, as if they were just some random strangers, and not two people who have spent more than five years sharing the ups and downs, laughter and tears, sorrow and happiness.

“How have you been?” Emelie asked, trying to keep her voice steady, but under Leon’s gaze, she felt like she was about to crumble any second. “Sorry, I am a bit late, you know – the traffic…as usual,” she trailed off nervously as if she needed to explain herself for being late.

“Don’t worry,” Leon nodded before leaning against the door frame casually, sticking both of his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. “I’ve been good. Yourself?”

“Same,” she smiled weakly, but his face expression didn’t change, as if he knew she was lying; as if he didn’t care. “I’ve been good, too.”

She wasn’t.

Emelie missed him, more than she dared to admit out loud, and no amount of overcrowded clubs every other weekend, new haircuts, and listening to her friends and family badmouth him—none of it helped. If anything it made her only feel miserable, lonely and reminiscent of what she once had with Leon.

They were each other’s worlds, centers of gravity – pulling one another, reading each other’s mind, and Emelie knew that what she had with him will stick to her for as long as she's breathing. Impossible to erase — a part of her body; a vital organ that kept her alive.

“Do you want to come in? We don’t have to talk at the doors,” Leon suddenly asked, pushing himself away from the door frame with ease, “it’s a bit weird, no?”

Emelie didn’t know what to say, so she only shrugged in response. She knew that it was a bad idea to follow him, and yet, when he stepped aside, her legs carried her inside as if she had no power over them, and before she knew it, Leon was closing the doors behind her, trapping her in the hallway of the place she once used to call home.

It still smelled the same - airy and clean. The walls were still white, and the side-table was still littered with envelopes, magazines, and random leaflets of his favourite take-away restaurants. His raincoat still hung where it used to, and his sports bag was on the ground, haphazardly discarded, as many times before.

The only thing that was missing was a framed photograph that used to hang on the wall – the two of them on their first hiking trip together all those years ago – all smiles and slightly sunburnt under the Pyrenees’ sun. Emelie felt her eyes brimming with tears as she stared at the discoloured spot on the wall – a simple square of shadow, silently narrating their story – a story of something that used to be, but it's not anymore.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, looking away from the wall – words rolling off of her tongue on their own accord—unstructured and unplanned. 

“For what?” he asked, picking up the box that was on the floor behind him. “For the package? It’s okay. I don’t blame your aunt for sending you a present to this address. It was probably a force of a habit. Stuff like this happens.”

Emelie forced herself to nod – her emotions boiling inside of her. 

She wasn’t sorry for the present that was delivered nto the wrong address – far from it. Emelie was sorry for everything she had done, had said, and how she acted in the past; all the times she was overprotective, jealous and overbearing. She was sorry for all the matches she had missed because she was selfishly needing time for herself, she was sorry for letting go of what they had; for not fighting harder.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she finally managed to say, taking the box out of his hands before holding it to her chest, and hooking her finger around the cord that held it together.

There was a brief moment of silence as Leon looked down at his watch before glancing at her. “Well…,” he started, running a hand through his hair, and Emelie could remember how his locks felt under her own fingertips—soft like a feather; comforting.

“Leon—,” she started before stopping to take a deep breath.

“Yeah?”

Now or never.

“I will probably regret this later, but I’m—I feel like I need to…” Emelie began, surprising herself with her own courage as she hugged the box tighter. It wasn’t particularly heavy, but in that moment, it weighed like a tonne. “I lied when I said that I am feeling good, because I am not,” she stopped for a second, sucking in a deep breath—her chest feeling like if it was on fire, “—I’m aware that the last year of our relationship wasn't something to be proud of, we misunderstood each other, and we said some really awful things we never should have said, but, Leon…” Emelie felt the tears prickling her eyes yet again as she glanced back at the square shadow on the wall, “Leon, I miss you. I miss what—“

“—Emelie,” he interrupted her, running a hand through his hair in frustration as he took a step back, but she couldn’t think straight. 

Her brain was racing, her heart was breaking all over again, and she needed to get rid of the heaviness that was pressing on her chest.

“Please…,” she whispered, glancing down at her shoes – the uneven wrinkles on the sides of her red Vans greeting her, “—do you think we can give it another try? We fought before and we always...”

Emelie bit down at her lip, not able to continue her thoughts. 

“Emmie,” he finally whispered, still avoiding to look at her, and her heart soared at the sound of the nickname he had for her. No one else called her Emmie. No one, but him. “Don’t ask me that…why are you doing this?”

“I think if we only sat down—talked the things through, no?” Her words were leaving her mouth quickly and desperately – running free after being trapped for too long. “I'm doing this because I still love you.”

There it goes. Four little words to break her all over again.

“Emelie,” Leon sighed quietly - both of his hands cradling his face.

They stood in silence, and below the surface of the pain she felt, Emelie was falling deeper and deeper into abyss of regret. Each second felt like an eternity; each intake of a breath unnerving and more painful than the previous one. She was watching him – his jaw clenching as he looked everywhere but her.

“Please, can you just say something?" Emelie asked in a small and timid voice, "Leon, it’s me, please—”

“—What do you want me to say, Emelie? I didn’t expect any of this—” His voice was louder than before, and it made her take a step back, and not because she was scared, but because she realised what she had done. “I miss us too sometimes, but I—,” he looked down at his own sock-clad feet. “I’ve been moving on Emelie. It's been seven months.”

“Oh—,”

“—I am seeing someone else.”

Emelie didn’t say anything, fighting back the tears as she took another small step backwards – her hands feeling sweaty as she brought the box closer to the chest. Leon was watching her – his face full of concern and a mixture of realisation, but she just smiled at him – brave as big girls do before turning around, putting her hand around the door handle; lingering for a second.

“I am happy for you,” she whispered, "I'm happy you're able to move on."

“I’m sorry, Emmie."

“Don’t be.”

Emelie felt nothing, and yet she felt thousands different emotions as she made her way downstairs. Like a ghost, she floated in the sea of the memories – tears trapped on the surface of her eyes. Pushing the heavy doors open, she exited in the sunny afternoon before looking up at the big window on the fourth floor, only to find him watching her – arms resting against the window sill.

With a small wave, she smiled up at him – one of the smiles that only a heartbroken people knew how to paint on their faces, and crossing the road, she turned her back to the past she once thought was her future.

“You wear your heartbreak like your body is a world at war; and every time a soldier dies within it he whispers one last word, and always, it is your name.” - N.G

This imagine is in collaboration with CoppaFeel! 💗 please feel free to follow the link if you would like to donate, but as always, there is no obligation 🦋 if you have the time, then please have a little look at their website and check out the amazing work that they do 🤍 they also have a free text reminder service where you can receive a monthly reminder to check your boobs, as this is something that is often forgotten about 🍒 a lot of celebrities are also ambassadors for CoppaFeel! - Perrie Edwards, Giovanna Fletcher, Frankie Bridge - so keep your eyes peeled on their social media accounts for any campaigns or fundraising events that may be coming up (they trekked through the Himalayas in 2019 and raised over £1 million!) x

[heavenunderthemoon]

Growing Pains- Spencer Reid x Reader {Chapter Two}

Prologue, Chapter one

The newly acquired I.D. badge battered her hip as y/n entered the bullpen, the heavy glass door shutting with a 'click' behind her.

It was as hectic as it normally was on a Wednesday on the Behavioral Analysis Unit's floor. Clerical agents walked to and fro amongst the sea of desks and strangely enough, rather than being overwhelmed by the vast amount of bustle before her, the newly entered female's lips quirked a bit at the corners at the constant foot traffic.

She hadn't heard him, Spencer thought with reassurance. Of course she hadn't heard him. A whisper, your name dancing across his tongue in a moment of surprise as you had entered, lost into the wind, floating into the abyss that was the sixth floor of the federal building, only heard to the small group surrounding him.

But not to you. Not to the woman whose eyes had sharp swept the room, passing over him with ease. A small part of him was struck with a small horrific thought: Was he forgettable? Forgettable enough that you had forgotten him entirely, all those years of whispered secrets, tree climbing, and treasure burying? All the years that you had knocked on his front door, bidding his mother a hello regardless of the mood she was in, strutting into his room until you flopped onto his floor (even if he was okay with pinky promises, slow dances, and arms thrown over his shoulder he never could allow you to sit on his bed and you were okay with that). Had you erased him from your memory?

And then another terrible, stomach-twisting, nausea-inducing thought struck next: Did you recognize him and simply steel yourself to appear ad if you hadn't? Did you not want to recognize him? The fizzling of your friendship had been neutral, he could remember that clearly. His mind wouldn't allow anything different. His mind had been haunting him all morning and it taunted him once more, sucking him into the last conversation he could recall the two of you sharing.

"Hold on, Spencer," Your father's gruff voice asked the boy, and the Reid boy nodded despite the man not being able to see him. Your father always had that affect on him. The hard stares, narrowed eyes, stiff posture; It all told the Reid boy that the man lived in a cloud of suspicion around his relationship with you. Friendship, Spencer corrected himself mentally, cheeks heating up at the mere thought of anything more.

There was shuffling on the other end of the phone, your father yelling for you to hurry up and the sound of your loud footsteps. He could close his eyes, imagining precisely what your movements would be. He could see you clamoring down the stairs, jumping halfway down the staircase because you were a bit too impatient to actually walk down them all the way. He could see you rounding the corner, the way your hand would use the bannister as a device to twist yourself around the corner, coming into the eye line of your father. He could see all the forgotten work boots and soccer cleats that lay discarded near your kitchen door (your brothers were awful at putting them away and your father hardly cared enough to tell them not to. Even you had a pair of sneakers propped against the baseboards.).

"It's Spencer." Your father said in that tone he used with the boy, saying his name similar to how Spencer might have said he had found a bug on his shoe- petulant and irritated- and suddenly he was opening his eyes back up, grateful to be in that stuffy phonebooth, the hot sun beating through the tempered glass window panes.

"Sherlock?" Your voice sounded different, he decided immediately. Deeper, but not by too much. He wondered if you had grown in the time between your last sighting of eachother (a full year, at this point).  He wondered if your hair was longer- before he left, you had convinced yourself that cutting your own hair was a good idea. You had been obsessed with the Bangles and Susanna's bangs were the peak of your hyper-fixation. He had tried to talk you out of it, but, you were, well, you. You were a 'do first, think second 'person. You always had been. You had been when you broke your arm in the fifth grade deciding to make the leap from your roof to your father's truck bed (It was much farther than you had estimated). You had been when you kept the fish you had won from a carnival (Pickles the Fish had not lasted very long in the Y/L/N household, his bowl a bit too close to the cat's resting place). And you were when you had stood in your bathroom, Spencer sitting on the bathtub's ledge as he covered his eyes, his green orbs peaking out from open fingers, watching as you chopped your hair with kitchen scissors.

"Watson." The nickname, one he hadn't spoken in what seemed like ages flowed freely from his lips. He remembered when he had first introduced you to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. how you had leant against him underneath the shade of that old Willow tree at the end of the block. Your head on his leg, his own propped up on the trunk of that tree. Your initials were carved onto it- Spencer's idea, surprisingly, and it showed by the sloppiness of that carving because his mother hardly ever let him near knives. And under the shade of that tree, the wind whistling through the barren branches he had read, hardly stumbling over the large words before him and even if you didn't quite understand everything he was saying you listened because this was one of the few times he didn't stutter- not once.

"You were supposed to call last night." You said sullenly. It was true. You had scheduled your call times for at least once a month on the third Wednesday of each month. It was the only days you got out of school early, early enough to catch him when he wasn't in lecture or seminars or library study sessions.

The boy's eyes flickered down to his shoes. Sneakers- you would be proud. He had never worn Converse before. He was lucky if his mother remembered to buy groceries, let alone new shoes and the boy found himself grabbing the cheapest pair at Salvation army's and Thrift Stores. He had seen the chucks on you often enough, how free you looked when you ran across the desert roads, shoes against pavement. And now, away from home he had splurged and gotten a pair, a small piece of you, a small piece of home.

"I know, I'm sorry. I got caught up in my book-"

You sighed and Spencer could tell you were wishing he had a better excuse. A better excuse than getting lost in the pages of something he could've read later. Something he could have set aside for time spent talking to you. But, because it was you, he knew you wouldn't say that. You wouldn't express your feelings because you had never really been good at that unless it was also followed with a swift punch to the gut.

"I'm sorry." He settled, and just like that you were telling him about the current events in his hometown, how his mother was, how the boys that had once chased him through the halls were finding themselves after graduating, but he could tell a shift in your tone, a loss of trust, and a pang of hurt.

"Spencer. Spencer." JJ's voice made the Reid man glance up from where he had been staring at you- or where you had been? A quick glance around the room had him planting his eyes on your moving figure. Your boots made swift, definite steps across the bullpen, eyes focused solely on Hotch's door until you reached it.

"You know her?" JJ asked and, apparently, it was just a repeated question because Spencer could tell that the agents surrounding him were staring at him intently, analyzing the way his cheeks had flushed, skin paling, eyes widening at just the mere appearance of the woman that was now entering the Unit Chief's office.

Spencer tried to think of what to say. 'You know her?'

Did he?

Did he know you? Or had he known you? The two were very different. He had known you before. before those promises set in stone by pinkies were broken and before he had outgrown that necklace you had given him all those years ago. He had known you when you had told him your 'happy place' was the beach and when Spencer had very expertly questioned how that could possibly be as you had never even been to a beach before, you had glared at him until he took it back.

And you had known him. You had known him when he was forced to ride on your bike's handlebars whenever he wanted to go the library (Your bike had a basket that he could fit all of his books on and his did not). You knew him when he broke that snow globe in the cornerstone that one holiday season, how his face had morphed into one of horror at the idea of getting into trouble. You knew how you had taken the fault for that incident, hating how the boy's hands had started shaking when the storeowner had asked who had done it.

You had known each other, sure. but did he know you?

His eyes watched your hand go out to shake Hotch's, the smile on your lips enough to make him want to faint, the mere weight of his memories pulling at his brain.

"Kid? Kid, you really don't look good." Morgan was expressing his concerns and Spencer had half a mind to tell him that the reason he might not look so good was because he was, in fact, not good. He was not good because this was one of the few times in his life that his past caught up to the present. When he was forced to relive those memories from so long ago, from a time that he tried to keep very, very separate from the now. A time that he had all but run from, packing his belongings in that teeny-tiny duffel bag (you had helped him pick it out, he realized with a frown) and boarded that bus to Cal-Tech.

"I'm-" Fine? Spencer didn't have a clue what he would say, which, he would suppose would be a first, but the embarrassment that would have caused was halted because the Unit Chief's door was opening and Aaron Hotchner was extending a hand to you, as if showing you off and the team was standing, like a crowd waiting to see the newest performer.

And there you were, your front finally facing him. Your eyes were that same, chocolate-y brown color that he could feel himself getting lost in. They held that same sharpness, that fierceness in your eyes that Spencer had seen directed always at those who tried to mess him and never at he, himself. A fierceness that had hardly needed the support of your quick tongue and curled fists but received it anyways. A watch on your wrist glinted, the leather worn and sun-soaked. Even from where he sat, his vision minority blocked from Derek's muscular body standing in the way, Spencer could see the familiar material, the government-issued time-piece recognized by the team of agents immediately.

Had you served time in the military? Spencer would've guessed so, if not for the go-bag in your hand displaying the military insignia, but the way your shoulders were poised back, pin straight and at attention. Or the way your eyes swept the floor, checking doors, windows, standard procedure. Where had you been? Spencer asked himself. What had you seen? What had you done? Without him, he tacked on as an afterthought, because maybe if he had kept on top of the friendship, stoked those withering flames of your relationship, things might've turned out differently. He wouldn't be sinking into his chair as Hotch pointed out to the floor, introducing each member.

"...And you can meet everybody. Everybody, this is Y/N L/N. Y/n, this is Jennifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia, and Spencer Reid."

And just like that, the fierceness was gone. The rigidity, the stoic-like confidence, the intimidating stance, and Spencer could just about see the girl who had cut her hair with those kitchen scissors, the shock on your face and locks on the floor.  It was all gone and your eyes were searching the crowd of agents just introduced to you and when they landed on the one you had been searching for, that lanky figure that looked so much like the one you had thought you would never see again, your lips parted in shock.

"Spencer?"

[tiamat-zx]

“ wet floor signs are there for a reason, you know” beauyasha -LyricalPorcupine

1.1k, post-date, classic disaster lesbian energy here. You asked, and thus I shall deliver.

@lyricalporcupine Hope this is to your liking. And just for good measure... it’s also now on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/31241612

Rated T for language, obviously.

“Babe?! Are you okay down there?!”

Upon hearing the clattering noise downstairs (like very far down) as she stepped beyond the threshold to her chambers, Beau didn’t even bother with floating down; her dope monk shit already allows her to slow her fall as is.

Yasha had wanted to grab some grub, so following what was one of many makeout sessions they shared in her room following the hot tub and firework show (Beau had honestly lost count of how many times they kept going at it like desperate teenagers, but fuck it), she headed down to the dining hall.

Beau had protested, saying that they could’ve just asked the dachsies to bring anything as they would as cats, but Yasha had insisted claiming that she didn’t want the poor puppies to do all the work. Though Beau also suspected that Yasha just wanted to go downstairs to give them all the scritches they could want.

Endearing, but scritches usually don’t result in a loud clattering noise like that. Well, unless you were someone like Yasha or Beau now that they were proper girlfriends. Seriously, this was the best night ever.

But that elation quickly dries up as Beau makes a beeline for the kitchen, her hand clawing for the door. But no sign of Yasha, just the aforementioned pups still hard at work making meals and preparing for the morning.

“Carry on, Omar.” She says as she winks and salutes the head hound of the kitchen, getting a happy “yip” in response.

Turning to the open iris on the floor, she notices that the steam from the hot tub wafts upward even this high up and Beau can only shake her head in confusion as she attempts to peer down.

Unable to see through the steam, she opts to float down this time, as the salon was a lot larger and wider than the floors above.

She wisely assumes that even with her dope monk shit, she would still take a bit of damage. And the last thing she needed was a sprained ankle.

Truly the fucking worst when you’re someone who’s fast on her feet regardless.

Making her way to the iris below, the steam rises still. And as Beau gets closer, she starts hearing noise. Namely, splashing sounds and the telltale grumbling of a feminine voice, cursing in Abyssal, if Beau is guessing correctly. And after a moment, sounds of motion and then a sudden yelp followed by a sliding sound, and then a loud thud accompanied by a cry of pain.

The steam clears enough for Beau to see the only person it could possibly be at this time of night: Yasha Nydoorin, soaked in herbal-scented hot water and skin showing a contrast of pale and red, whether from the water or from embarrassment is anyone’s guess.

Right beside her are the clothes they left behind before getting into the tub courtesy of the water slides, just as soaked as she is, along with the picnic basket from earlier. Miraculously the wine bottles survived, but the black moss cupcakes that were not immediately tossed aside from their first kiss were tragically smushed and bits and pieces of them clung to Yasha’s ivory hair.

Truly a mess, but in a way it’s still very much like Yasha.

“Babe?” Beau called out, not wanting to break the spell of this moment but still eager to see if Yasha is okay.

Yasha looks up to see her olive-skinned lover staring from above, eyes of blue and hair shorn on the sides, though you couldn’t tell as her long dark-brown hair was undone and framing her face.

“Hey, baby. Um… Sorry, I was trying to get our things.”

Beau couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yash. You could’ve just left that to the dogs. And besides...” She then points to a sign affixed to the stone tub. “Wet floor signs are there for a reason, you know.”

Yasha is left dumbstruck for a moment before breaking into a giggling fit, which Beau ends up joining her in. The sheer absurdity of the moment just has them laughing so hard they would need stitches.

After a moment, Yasha manages to catch her breath and resorts to crawling to the iris instead. “Gods, I feel so silly.”

“Yes, you do,” Beau responds as Yasha wills herself to float up to meet her. Beau chuckles as she brushes off the cupcake bits and combs her fingers in her hair. “But I love that about you.”

“Thanks.”

The two sentinels slowly float back up to the sixth floor, embracing and kissing all the while, black and blue petals still swirling around them. If this was Elysium, Beau didn’t want to leave. Not with a literal angel in her arms.

Eventually, they return to Beau’s room and as Yasha lays back down on the bed, Beau stops for a moment.

“Beau, what is it?” Yasha asks. She sees that Beau has that mischievous look on her face, a look normally worn by Jester. Yasha is on her bed, naked as a newborn, and thus she cannot help but want to fulfill an image that has been in her mind since she first thought of ideas for their date.

She opens the door through where the dogs would come in and claps her hands loudly. Yasha has only seconds to wonder what is going on before, as if like a stream, wiener dogs of amber color pour out of the door and bombard Yasha relentlessly. They waste no time nuzzling her, licking her face and arms, and getting the aasimar to laugh and coo as she gives scritches to every single one of them.

Smiling, Beau then dismisses the puppies and as soon as the last amber dog leaves the room, she finally joins her on the bed and holds her close. “Did you enjoy that?”

“Yeah,” Yasha replies. “That was so sweet, Beau. You’re always full of surprises.”

“Heh. The same can be said of you.”

For a while they lay there, staring into each other’s eyes.

“I love you, Beauregard Lionett.”

“I love you, Yasha Nydoorin.”

The rest of the night passes by peacefully. A successful first date, one for the history books.

The only thing Beau thinks about randomly is whether to have the dogs clean up the water spill before deciding against it. If the rest of the Mighty Nein end up slipping as well, not her problem.

Nah, she wants to just… be here. With Yasha. Just as she had hoped to do for so long.

And now, at long last, she can.

[writercherub]

c’mon take a shot - miya osamu

notes: fluff, smut, osamu x f!reader

warnings: masturbation, indication of past trauma

word count: appx. 1200

you were an angel.

what else could you have been?

your hair flowed so endlessly past your shoulders as you picked up tiny rubbles into your woven basket. the water gleamed bright beside you, and osamu could only stare at what now looks like a halo hovering above your head as the sun pours its light from higher up.

bent over the watercourse with your lips parted open and unaware like this, you look beautiful. impossibly so.

ouch, what’s this ba-thump in his chest? he rubs uncomfortably at it and wishes it would go away. but then you sat down, dipped your legs into the cold water and thinks that maybe, you’re someone who he doesn’t mind having stuck between his teeth. how could he not, when you’re a fairly bewitching girl? you run your hand through your hair before leaning back on your elbows to lift a leg; fluttering your baby pink toenails in the air. you notice that the hem of your dress is wet now, but you don’t mind.

unable to move, osamu watches — remaining silent and observant until the last few minutes where you rise onto your legs and brush away any dirt from your cloth.

the little picnic osamu’s having with his friends turn subdued as he watches you glide by, completely unaware of the little nibbles of rice stuck to the side of his mouth.

he flinches when suna bumps into him, trying to snap a few pictures of atsumu as the blonde shouts, “stawpf eet!” around a full mouth (he looks ridiculous — what is he, a rodent? osamu scowls).

quickly, you turn your head around at the commotion and there, past all the ruckus, past the hollers of his stupid twin brother, past the ribbons in your hair and the seraphic pout of your lips, you two lock eyes and he catches a glimpse of your mean, mean gleam. and maybe he senses something deeper, but it’s a gaze so utterly rousing that it devours and raises the little hairs on his arm. it taunts him, and glides its tongue against his ear.

‘come here.’

x

it was a quiet night, he made sure of it. because that night was for him to take the lecherous time to picture you; of your pretty face all lewd from him fucking you.

osamu should feel bad, really. he barely even knows you, yet lust emanates off him and broods into every single corner of his room. arousal pools in his lower abdomen and coaxes him into tightening the grip he has around himself. it’s throbbing, and it hurts. it hurts from osamu trying to dismiss its swollen presence earlier. and maybe he does feel bad, but he just can’t stop himself from pulling down his pants and touching himself for the night.

he parts his lips, groaning as he pictures his thick dick sliding in and out of you. he pumps his hand quicker as he imagines how utterly vulgar and wet his head would look as he circles it around your opening. he imagines going past your soft walls and feels the way you’d tighten around him — suctioning him in as he pulls out inch by inch, right before slamming into you again. now your toes are all curled and your face is flushed, just the way he likes it.

he replays the scene over and over again as he fucks his hand through the dark; and osamu finds himself unable to stop the continuous thudding of his heart when he comes on his hand ten minutes later  — all sticky and wet.

osamu remembers that night and admittedly, he’s feeling a little ashamed to have you sitting right beside him.

you suck on a popsicle and pay no mind to the way it drips and stains your ivory dress blue. he catches the way it pearls on the bottom of your chin, and drops as you open your mouth to take another lick.

“look at that swan, isn’t it pretty?” you ask.

osamu puts his hands behind his head as he hums in agreement. a slight breeze whizzes past from where you two are sheltered beneath a large tree, and you hear a little duck cluck at the water where a passerby has thrown a piece of bread.

you brush your hair back, and he looks away from the now half-exposed rift of your breasts. you roll your eyes. he’s doing a damn good job at retaining his poker face but you’re not stupid, you can practically smell the stench of his dirty act from the night before — but you couldn’t care less. you have your fair share of stringed nights where you bring somebody home and kick them out the door right after. you know you’re desired, and you make sure to look the part too, but to move past longing and grant a person access to your soul in order to be loved all the way through meant opening a door to the abyss.

you’re not here to love.

x

a bite. and another bite.

he hands you all sorts of milkbread with a smile on his face, and chuckles every time you chomp down a mouthful. you find yourself softly swaying back and forth beneath the mammoth of a blanket osamu’s wrapped you in. he senses your motions, but continues to sit silently beside you as he eats his meal; a leg propped up as he rests an arm on it.

“you’re not cold?” you ask.

“nah. i saw how much you were shakin’ ‘cause of the ac.”

you bow your head. why’s he being so cute?

the room is still, yet comforting. and life’s kind of crazy, with the way it bent and molded itself until you and osamu kept bumping into each other. soon, your little occurrences by the park turned into warm café meetings and you felt your heart warm every time he insisted on paying for you, smiling as you stood beside him at the cashier.

all your prior convictions about him had been wrong. you were wrong thinking that he only sees you as a means to derive pleasure from when he held an umbrella over your head, making sure you were completely sheltered and completely shrugging off the fact that the other side of his shoulder was drenched from the rain.

he cooks for you, too. always filling up your tummy with something warm and feeds you strawberries that he’s slathered in sweetened milk, just because he thinks you look adorable munching on it.

and you still ache sometimes. the siren façade you’ve masked yourself with to hide your misery is still very much there. but even then, you continue taking tiny leaps from the black and into the blue. you’ve gotten better, and he’s held you through it; patching up your bruised little heart and peppering it with kisses to let you know that he’s here. he’s here and he always will be.

life had seemed like a long, horrible day and there’s no denying that it gets dark sometimes — you’re not always going to find yourself in a meadow of flowers, you know that, but you also know that you’ve got yourself. and having this boy by your side makes things much, much easier.

you tilt your head back, your full and rosy cheeks causing your eyes to scrunch from how hard you’re beaming. osamu shakes his grey head of hair as he reaches for his glass of water, “what’re you so happy for?”

a butterfly begins its tender sprout in your chest, “nothing.”

and if you were in love, then so be it.

-------

a/n: caught the lil lana (and marilyn monroe) reference there?

uh, osamu’s a hard character to pin down, isn’t he? lol but seriously, thank you if you’ve made it through this far. i really hope you enjoyed it <3

(also if you have any tips on writing dialogue, pls send them into my inbox xox)