#friends who kept me alive for years who we stopped really being in touch after covid

[larry-ben-kenobi]

I just cannot escape the yearning to die

Its almost been a decade and if I think about it it still brings my mental space into the molten core of the earth

I'm just so tired of being depressed im not depressed like I used to be, though, it just gets duller because I'm so damn used to it unless i let myself think about how much I don't want to be alive

Bleh. Ive said it for years and still true, if I could find 18 year old me id tell him to do the attempt better, rather than anything about how life is worth it. It's been eight years and honestly it only got worse. Was supposed to have done it when I was 14 probably, and never bothered anyone.

Hate being such a stereotypical zoomer freak about my own existence though.

[savage-rhi]

Wesker: Chris, really. Ask yourself a question. Even if you do manage to kill me, and destroy umbrella, what do you think you’ll really accomplish in the long run? Do you think BOW’s will end with us? That my ambitions will end with me?

Chris had seen his share of many hells. Being backstabbed by Wesker at the Mansion was one, and almost losing Jill to him was another. He spent a great deal of time healing, years of work repairing the emotional damages that had been done to him, and now he was tied up back to back with the son of a bitch himself.

The whole affair was stupid. Chris admitted to himself that he and Wesker had been too cocky for their own good, enough to where the deuteragonist on his mission was able to slip them a fast one. He couldn't believe he had fallen prey to his vengeance, not realizing who the more dangerous enemy had been this whole time.

Wesker cleared his throat, ignoring the blood that ran down his head. "Redfield, how are you faring? You've been too quiet."

"I was doing just fine until you spoke." Chris sighed, grunting as the rope around his waist tightened. He ignored the chuckle that escaped from his nemesis.

"Our mutual friend sure saw you coming."

"No, no," Chris corrected, growling under his breath. "He saw you coming. We wouldn't be in this mess if you weren't involved in the first place."

"And we wouldn't be tied up right now if you kept your nose out of people's business," Wesker said as a matter of fact. "We've both made our mistakes, Chris. Now the question is, what will we do about it?"

"I'd prefer nothing because it beats working alongside you." Chris spat.

"You'd choose death so easily?"

"Not unless I could kill you after I'm untied."

"Chris, really?" Wesker sighed and winced when he felt Chris struggle against the rope, keeping them locked together. "Ask yourself this question. Even if you manage to kill me and destroy Umbrella, what will you accomplish in the long run? Do you think BOWs will end with us, that my ambitions will end with me?"

"I'm hopeful, but I'm not naive. I know killing you won't solve the problem at large," Chris countered, furrowing his brows as sweat and blood trickled down his lips. "But it would make me feel much better knowing there's one less bastard like you running around."

"Finally, something we have in common," Wesker smirked. "I know killing you won't stop your fellow Boy Scouts from trying to meddle with my affairs, but I could sleep easier."

"Touching," Chris muttered. "So what's your grand plan to make it happen? Neither of us will get what we want if tied up."

Wesker raised a brow, turning his head to the left to catch a small glimpse of Chris's face. "I thought you'd rather die than work together?"

Chris's shoulders tensed, knowing Wesker had him there, and he couldn't admit it. "Just enlighten me."

"Huh," Wesker hummed in thought before he grinned. "I never thought you'd ask. Well, in that case, I think we need to play to our weaknesses."

"Come again?"

"The stab wound you gave me," Wesker bitterly mentioned, biting in the side of his lip before continuing. "I'm not dying, but our friend doesn't know that. If you can handle the weight, I can play dead. His lackeys are bound to see that on the cameras and come rushing. Remember, we're both no good to him if killed. You and I will strike once the enemy is lured into a false sense of security. Then we can continue our personal grievances elsewhere unless, of course, you'd prefer working with me for a bit longer to take down our friend who tied us up in the first place."

Chris mulled over Wesker's words for a moment. In the grand scheme of things, the idea was stupid, but he did have a point. Their lives were both worth something to their adversary. They could only enter negotiations with the BSAA if Chris were alive, and they couldn't access the classified BOW documents in the facility without Wesker's brains at the helm.

"Y'know," Chris swallowed, letting out a laugh. "Playing dead is probably one of the most sane things you've suggested."

Wesker scoffed, shaking his head before he grinned. "I see we agree with the plan then."

"Let's get this over with," Chris whispered. He braced himself as Wesker went through the motions, feigning he had lost consciousness. Chris fell to his knees as Wesker became limp, letting out a pained grunt. Sure enough, as Wesker foretold, the sound of quick feet came marching in their direction, soldiers barking orders, worried that one of their captives was deceased.

Son of a bitch was right...Chris shook his head. Wesker had put him through many hells, but this one time in silence, he'd admit this was ingenious.

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[aughby]

Lines We Can't Cross

I still remember the first time I noticed Yuki in a different light. It wasn't during one of his many jokes, or when he was laughing with the rest of our classmates, carefree and easygoing as always. It was during one of those moments when the world felt like it had stopped spinning for me.

We were practicing for a chorale contest at school when I received the news—my close relative had passed away. My chest tightened, and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me for not being with my family, for missing practice, for everything. I didn’t know what to do, but for some reason, I messaged Yuki about it. I don’t even know why I chose him out of all people, but in that moment of vulnerability, I just typed out my grief and sent it to him.

Yuki responded almost immediately. His words, though simple, were sincere. "Hey, don’t beat yourself up. Your family understands. And you know what? It's okay to feel sad, but don’t carry the guilt. We’re here for you." There was something about the way he made me feel heard and understood that struck me deeply. From that day, I found myself sharing more with him—not just the surface-level stuff, but the real, raw things I couldn't share with anyone else. He became more than just the class clown; he became my confidant, my source of comfort.

Before I knew it, I had fallen for him.

It wasn’t planned, of course. I mean, how could it be? Yuki, with his lighthearted teasing and jokes about how "no one should fall for him," made it seem impossible. I laughed along with him, but secretly, I was sinking deeper into my feelings. The pandemic hit, and suddenly, we weren’t seeing each other every day. At first, I thought that the distance would help me forget about him, that being away from him would allow these feelings to fade.

But the opposite happened.

Late-night chats became our norm. We shared everything—our frustrations with online classes, the emptiness of not seeing friends, the isolation. It was during these moments, behind the screen, where I realized my feelings for Yuki were more than just a crush. I was in love with him. But I never told him, not then. How could I? He was Yuki—my friend who joked about not wanting anyone to fall for him. It seemed too risky, so I kept my feelings locked away, hoping that maybe, just maybe, things would eventually sort themselves out.

Then came the end of senior year. I landed a job, one that would take me far from home. I told Yuki, expecting the same warmth in his response that I had grown used to. He congratulated me, of course, but something felt off. He was distant, not like the Yuki I had shared everything with. I tried to organize a farewell dinner, but he told me he was too busy. I even planned an outing for our whole group, but when my trip got pushed up, I had to leave without saying a proper goodbye.

I still remember the hollow feeling in my chest when I left. I hoped we would stay close, that we would keep in touch like we always had. But as the weeks turned into months, the late-night chats grew sparse. Our conversations faded, and with them, my hope of keeping that closeness alive.

Graduation day arrived, and I came home. After months of being apart, I saw Yuki again. But something was different. There was a stiffness between us, a wall I couldn’t quite place. We didn’t talk that day, not really. My best friend managed to take a few pictures of us, standing side by side, but we didn’t say a word. I congratulated him later, and he did the same. That was the last time I saw him in person.

When I heard from a friend that Yuki was moving to Italy for work, something inside me shifted. I realized this was it. If I didn’t say something now, I might never get the chance. I spent hours drafting a message, pouring out every unsaid feeling, every hope, and every fear. I hesitated to send it, but in the end, I did. I posted it in a blog, protected by a password only he could read, and messaged him right as his plane took off.

He said he’d read it once he arrived.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then months.

I never got a response. The silence stretched on, and with each passing day, I felt more foolish for confessing. Maybe he didn’t read it. Or maybe he did, and my worst fear was true—he didn’t feel the same. Eventually, I accepted that what we had was gone, the connection we built now only a memory.

Then, on Independence Day, months after I had given up hope, his reply came.

He apologized. He thanked me for sharing my feelings. But in the end, he didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about me—he did. But not in the way I had hoped. His rejection was gentle, kind, but it didn’t change the fact that my heart broke. The friendship we had once cherished now felt tainted by the weight of my unspoken love.

I couldn’t blame him. He had always been genuine with me, always honest. But in trying to express my heart, I had crossed a line that couldn’t be undone. I told myself we could still be friends, that we would move past this, but deep down, I knew things would never be the same.

Two years have passed since that message, and we haven’t seen each other since. We’ve stayed in touch, barely, but the closeness we once had is gone. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the courage to face him again. Part of me wonders if I did the right thing, risking everything for the chance to love him. Another part of me knows that, even if it didn’t end the way I wanted, I had to let him know.

But now, all I’m left with are the memories of what we once had, and the understanding that sometimes, love isn't enough to save a friendship.

Some lines, once crossed, can never be redrawn.

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Yuki's POV:

People always say I'm the funny guy. The one who can make everyone laugh, turn awkward moments into jokes, and lighten the mood no matter how heavy the situation is. That’s just who I’ve always been—the joker, the guy people don’t take too seriously, and I’m okay with that. But what most don’t know is that when someone comes to me with something real, something serious, I drop the act. I listen, I care, and I try to be there for them, even if it’s just with words.

That’s how it started with her.

I didn’t think much of it at first. She was just a classmate, someone I saw around school, someone I would joke with like everyone else. But that changed when she messaged me one day, telling me that someone close to her had passed away. I could tell she was hurting. The usual jokes weren’t going to help this time. So, I said what I thought she needed to hear—something real. I told her not to carry the guilt, that her family would understand, that it was okay to feel the sadness.

What I didn’t expect was how that one conversation would change things between us.

After that, she started talking to me more, sharing things that were deeper, more personal. And honestly, I liked being that person for her. I liked that she trusted me. We became close, closer than I had ever expected. We messaged each other every day, and I found myself looking forward to our late-night talks. She was someone I could be serious with when I needed to be, but also someone I could laugh with. It was... easy.

But there was always this underlying thing. I could feel it—how she sometimes looked at me, how she would hesitate when we talked about relationships or love. I could sense that she might be starting to feel something more, but I never addressed it. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that, if I could give her more than what we already had. So I kept things light, made jokes, even teased her about not falling for me. It was my way of keeping distance, of protecting whatever we had.

Then the pandemic hit, and everything changed.

We couldn’t see each other in person, but we still talked—about school, life, frustrations. It became a routine, something that kept us both grounded during all the chaos. And then, before I knew it, senior year was almost over. She told me she got hired at a company and would be moving away. I congratulated her, of course, but there was this sinking feeling in my chest that I didn’t want to acknowledge. I should’ve done more. I should’ve made more time for her before she left, but I didn’t. I made excuses, said I was busy, and when she planned that farewell outing, I thought I’d catch her later. Only, she left before I got the chance.

Months passed. She was gone, and we still messaged each other sometimes, but things felt different. Graduation day came, and when I saw her again after so long, I could feel the awkwardness between us. It was like we didn’t know how to talk to each other anymore, like something had shifted, but neither of us wanted to acknowledge it. We didn’t even really talk that day, just a few words exchanged, and then she was gone again.

Then came the news—she found out I was moving to Manila for work. I didn’t tell her myself; she heard it through a friend. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t reach out to her first. Maybe because I knew things had already changed, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. That’s when she sent me the link to her blog, said she had written something for me.

I told her I’d read it once I got to Manila. But I didn’t.

Days turned into weeks, and I kept putting it off. I don’t even know why. Maybe I was scared of what she might’ve written, scared that it would confirm what I already knew—that she had feelings for me, and I wasn’t ready to face it. Months went by, and the guilt of not responding started eating at me. I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say. How could I? I didn’t want to hurt her, but I knew I couldn’t give her what she wanted.

Then, one day, on Independence Day, I finally read it.

She had confessed her feelings—feelings she had been holding onto for so long. I could feel the weight of every word she wrote, the care, the hope. And I felt terrible for making her wait so long for a response. But I had to be honest with her. I couldn’t pretend. I couldn’t lead her on.

So I replied, months late. I told her how much I valued our friendship, how much she meant to me, but that I didn’t feel the same. It was hard to write those words, knowing that they would hurt her, but it was the truth. I couldn’t be the person she wanted me to be, and I didn’t want to give her false hope.

After I hit send, I didn’t know what to expect. I figured that was it. Our friendship was over, ruined by feelings we couldn’t control. Part of me felt relieved, like I had finally addressed the elephant in the room, but another part of me felt like I had lost something important. Something irreplaceable.

It’s been two years now since I last saw her. We don’t talk like we used to. The late-night chats have stopped, and the easygoing friendship we had has faded into something... distant. I know she’s probably moved on, and I’ve tried to do the same. But sometimes, I think back to those days when things were simpler, when we could talk for hours without the weight of unspoken feelings hanging between us.

I don’t regret being honest with her, but I do regret that things had to change. I wonder if we could have stayed friends, if there was a way to keep what we had without crossing that line. But now, it’s too late.

Sometimes, the hardest part isn’t the confession. It’s realizing that once you cross that line, you can’t go back.

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Years had passed, and life had moved on, or so she thought. The memories of Yuki were tucked away somewhere deep in her heart, only surfacing in quiet moments when she allowed herself to remember the time they had spent together—the late-night conversations, the friendship that had once been so easy. It wasn’t until tonight, at a concert she hadn’t even planned on attending, that all those buried feelings came rushing back.

As the music boomed around her and the crowd swayed to the beat, she scanned the sea of faces absentmindedly. Then she froze. There he was. Yuki. Laughing with a group of friends not too far away, looking almost the same as he had in school—except more mature, more... distant. Her heart raced, and a wave of panic hit her. She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready to face him.

Without thinking, she turned and ran.

Yuki had been enjoying the concert, trying to lose himself in the music, when he saw a flash of movement in the crowd. It took him a second to register the familiar face—her face. His heart skipped a beat. She was here. After all these years, here she was, just a few feet away. But before he could even process what he was feeling, she was running. Running away.

“Wait!” Yuki called out instinctively, his feet already moving to chase her.

She wove through the crowd, her heart pounding louder than the music. She didn’t know why she was running. Maybe it was the shock, or maybe it was the fear of facing everything she had tried to bury for so long. But she couldn’t face him—not after all this time, not after everything that had happened between them.

Yuki wasn’t about to let her disappear again. He pushed through the crowd, calling her name. The sound of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she kept moving. Finally, she reached the exit, breathless and shaken, but before she could make it out, a hand gently grabbed her wrist.

“Please, wait,” Yuki’s voice was soft but urgent.

She stopped, frozen in place. Slowly, she turned to face him. The years had changed him—there was a seriousness in his eyes now, something different from the carefree boy she once knew. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of the concert faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in the moment.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said, his voice low but steady.

She swallowed, her heart still racing. “I... I didn’t mean to run.”

Yuki smiled gently. “I know. But... we can’t keep running forever, can we?”

The weight of unspoken words hung between them.

The moment felt like it stretched forever, yet it passed too quickly. She stared at Yuki, his familiar face now so different in the dim light of the street outside the concert venue. Time had changed him—broadened his shoulders, deepened the lines around his eyes—but there was something else. Distance.

“Yuki…” she began, but her voice faltered. What could she say to bridge the years of silence and the painful words left unspoken?

Yuki’s smile faded, replaced with a somber expression that mirrored the weight in her chest. “I’ve thought about you a lot,” he said quietly, his eyes not meeting hers. “About what happened between us, how we just… drifted apart.”

She felt her heart twist at his words. The memories came flooding back: late-night chats, stolen glances, the warmth of their friendship turning into something she had kept hidden for so long. The confession she had finally sent him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’d feel the same. Only for it to be met with silence.

“You never responded,” she whispered, the hurt she had buried for so long rising to the surface. “I waited, Yuki. For months, I waited.”

He winced, the guilt clear in his eyes. “I know. And I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to reply. I didn’t want to hurt you… but I didn’t realize how much I already had by saying nothing.”

She felt the sting of tears, but she blinked them back. “You broke me,” she said, her voice trembling. “I put everything I felt into that message, and you just… left me hanging. I thought we meant something to each other. I thought I meant something to you.”

Yuki took a deep breath, the regret etched into his features. “You did. You do. But when I got your message, I… I was scared. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, and I didn’t know if I could give you what you were asking for. I wasn’t ready.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. All this time, she had held onto the hope that maybe, deep down, he had felt the same way but was too afraid to admit it. But hearing him now, she realized how wrong she had been.

“I loved you, Yuki,” she said, her voice breaking. “I really loved you. And you just… let me go.”

The silence between them was suffocating. Yuki looked at her, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m sorry. But I couldn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved.”

Her heart shattered at his words, the final confirmation of what she had feared all along. There was no ‘what if.’ There was no going back. Everything they had was truly lost.

She looked down, biting her lip to keep from crying. She had promised herself she wouldn’t cry in front of him, not now, not after everything. “So that’s it, huh?” she said bitterly. “We’re just strangers now, after everything?”

Yuki’s silence was answer enough.

She felt the tears start to slip down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them away. She couldn’t do this anymore—couldn’t keep holding onto something that was never going to happen.

“I thought seeing you again would change things,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But now… I realize it doesn’t. We’re not the same people we were, Yuki. And I can’t keep pretending that we are.”

He reached out as if to comfort her, but she took a step back. She couldn’t bear his touch. Not now. Not when it was all too late.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice cracking with emotion. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

She looked at him one last time, memorizing the face of the boy she had loved, the boy who had broken her heart without even knowing it. “Goodbye, Yuki.”

Before he could say anything, she turned and walked away. This time, she didn’t run. She didn’t need to. Because she knew—deep down—that this was the real goodbye. Not just to Yuki, but to the hope she had carried for so long.

And as she disappeared into the crowd, Yuki stood there, watching her go, knowing that he had lost something he would never be able to get back.

[charlies-letters]

August 25, 1991

Dear friend, I am writing to you because she said you listen and understand and didn’t try to sleep with that person at that party even though you could have. Please don’t try to figure out who she is because then you might figure out who I am, and I really don’t want you to do that. I will call people by different names or generic names because I don’t want you to find me. I didn’t enclose a return address for the same reason. I mean nothing bad by this. Honest.

I just need to know that someone out there listens and understands and doesn’t try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist.

I think you of all people would understand that because I think you of all people are alive and appreciate what that means. At least I hope you do because other people look to you for strength and friendship and it’s that simple. At least that’s what I’ve heard.

So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.

I try to think of my family as a reason for me being this way, especially after my friend Michael stopped going to school one day last spring and we heard Mr. Vaughn’s voice on the loudspeaker.

“Boys and girls, I regret to inform you that one of our students has passed on. We will hold a memorial service for Michael Dobson during assembly this Friday.”

I don’t know how news travels around school and why it is very often right. Maybe it was in the lunchroom. It’s hard to remember. But Dave with the awkward glasses told us that Michael killed himself. His mom played bridge with one of Michael’s neighbors and they heard the gunshot.

I don’t really remember much of what happened after that except that my older brother came to Mr. Vaughn’s office in my middle school and told me to stop crying. Then, he put his arm on my shoulder and told me to get it out of my system before Dad came home. We then went to eat french fries at McDonald’s and he taught me how to play pinball. He even made a joke that because of me he got to skip an afternoon of school and asked me if I wanted to help him work on his Camaro. I guess I was pretty messy because he never let me work on his Camaro before.

At the guidance counselor sessions, they asked the few of us who actually liked Michael to say a few words. I think they were afraid that some of us would try to kill ourselves or something because they looked very tense and one of them kept touching his beard.

Bridget who is crazy said that sometimes she thought about suicide when commercials come on during TV. She was sincere and this puzzled the guidance counselors. Carl who is nice to everyone said that he felt very sad, but could never kill himself because it is a sin.

This one guidance counselor went through the whole group and finally came to me. “What do you think, Charlie?” What was so strange about this was the fact that I had never met this man because he was a “specialist” and he knew my name even though I wasn’t wearing a name tag like they do in open house.

“Well, I think that Michael was a nice guy and I don’t understand why he did it. As much as I feel sad, I think that not knowing is what really bothers me.”

I just reread that and it doesn’t sound like how I talk. Especially in that office because I was crying still. I never did stop crying.

The counselor said that he suspected that Michael had “problems at home” and didn’t feel like he had anyone to talk to. That’s maybe why he felt all alone and killed himself.

Then, I started screaming at the guidance counselor that Michael could have talked to me. And I started crying even harder. He tried to calm me down by saying that he meant an adult like a teacher or a guidance counselor. But it didn’t work and eventually my brother came by the middle school in his Camaro to pick me up.

For the rest of the school year, the teachers treated me different and gave me better grades even though I didn’t get any smarter. To tell you the truth, I think I made them all nervous.

Michael’s funeral was strange because his father didn’t cry. And three months later he left Michael’s mom. At least according to Dave at lunchtime. I think about it sometimes. I wonder what went on in Michael’s house around dinner and TV shows. Michael never left a note or at least his parents didn’t let anyone see it. Maybe it was “problems at home.” I wish I knew. It might make me miss him more clearly. It might have made sad sense.

One thing I do know is that it makes me wonder if I have “problems at home” but it seems to me that a lot of other people have it a lot worse. Like when my sister’s first boyfriend started going around with another girl and my sister cried for the whole weekend.

My dad said, “There are other people who have it a lot worse.”

And my mom was quiet. And that was that. A month later, my sister met another boy and started playing happy records again. And my dad kept working. And my mom kept sweeping. And my brother kept fixing his Camaro. That is, until he left for college at the beginning of the summer. He’s playing football for Penn State but he needed the summer to get his grades right to play football.

I don’t think that there is a favorite kid in our family. There are three of us and I am the youngest. My brother is the oldest. He is a very good football player and likes his car. My sister is very pretty and mean to boys and she is in the middle. I get straight A’s now like my sister and that is why they leave me alone.

My mom cries a lot during TV programs. My dad works a lot and is an honest man. My Aunt Helen used to say that my dad was going to be too proud to have a midlife crisis. It took me until around now to understand what she meant by that because he just turned forty and nothing has changed.

My Aunt Helen was my favorite person in the whole world. She was my mom’s sister. She got straight A’s when she was a teenager and she used to give me books to read. My father said that the books were a little too old for me, but I liked them so he just shrugged and let me read.

My Aunt Helen lived with the family for the last few years of her life because something very bad happened to her. Nobody would tell me what happened then even though I always wanted to know. When I was around seven, I stopped asking about it because I kept asking like kids always do and my Aunt Helen started crying very hard.

That’s when my dad slapped me, saying, “You’re hurting your aunt Helen’s feelings!” I didn’t want to do that, so I stopped. Aunt Helen told my father not to hit me in front of her ever again and my father said this was his house and he would do what he wanted and my mom was quiet and so were my brother and sister.

I don’t remember much more than that because I started crying really hard and after a while my dad had my mom take me to my room. It wasn’t until much later that my mom had a few glasses of white wine and told me what happened to her sister. Some people really do have it a lot worse than I do. They really do.

I should probably go to sleep now. It’s very late. I don’t know why I wrote a lot of this down for you to read. The reason I wrote this letter is because I start high school tomorrow and I am really afraid of going.

Love always, Charlie

[annieintheaair]

I used to be yours, now I don't even know you

Wow, what a weekend!

Saturday morning I was up early for the women's conference. Even though I was in a room full of people I didn't know, I didn't feel nearly as alone as I usually do, which was really nice. The conference was uplifting and filled with positivity and encouragement. It was only for the morning but I was so glad that I went.

During the conference, they touched on depression, how isolating it can be, and how it's not talked about enough. Realizing that so many other people are dealing with it too, also made me feel less alone.

After the conference, I went to meet my friend Julie for brunch. I hadn't seen her in a while so it was good to finally catch up. I ordered an espresso martini and it was just as good as the Google reviews said it was!

I thought about stopping to run some errands on my way home but wanted to get back home to the dogs and I was totally drained. As much as I wanted to go to Shinayde's house, the traffic was awful and I was tired so I decided to enjoy an evening at home. I watched my church on TV at 5pm and then decided to settle in for a movie.

Hulu had a new movie called The Greatest Hits. I read the description and without even watching the trailer, I decided I needed to watch it. The main character, Harriet, was in a car accident with her boyfriend, Max. He died and she went into a coma for a week. After waking up, she suffered from some sort of brain damage that whenever she heard a song playing, it would transport her back in time to the first time she heard the song with Max.

In the movie, Harriet tried everything she could when she traveled back in time to bring her boyfriend back. She kept thinking that if she could change one thing, maybe he wouldn't die. She blamed herself over and over again for the accident because she was in a mood that day. Eventually, in the movie, she goes back and asks Max if he would rather live if it meant never knowing her or if he would rather know her and not live. Of course, Max tells her that he loves their life together and wouldn't want to not know her. When Harriet flips the script and asks Max if the roles were reversed, he says that he would want her to live.

In all of that, Harriet realizes what she needs to do. Harriet travels back in time, once again, to the day they met. When Max asks her to come with him, she says no and their story ends there. The life they had together never happens and he never knows Harriet.

It's a tough decision when you think about it. Of course, you never want to imagine losing someone you love but what if not knowing them would keep them alive? It made me think about Dan and I wondered what he would choose. If Dan could have lived if it meant never knowing me, would he choose to not know me? I really don't think that Dan would ever have given up the years we had together to live a longer life and still be here today.

When the movie was over, I went back into my voicemails so I could hear Dan's voice again. I listened to him tell me he loved me and that I was the best thing that ever happened to him. I want to be with someone in this life who loves me despite everything and no matter what. I want someone who wakes up every day and feels like Dan did-- that I'm the best thing that ever happened to them. What if I never find that again?

I went to bed later than I intended last night and got up this morning to go to Bible Study and church. It's nice being with other singles and feeling less alone. Ally spoke today about God's plan and how everyone thinks the grass is greener on the other side but sometimes, from afar, things look better than they really are and what we're seeing in the distance isn't even real.

Tim Tebow spoke at the service this morning, which was also kind of neat.

At home this afternoon, I sorted through shoes to determine which ones I'm keeping and which ones I need to get rid of, as I begin to go through things and pack for my move. It was less overwhelming than I had anticipated but was a good task to check off my list.

At 6pm, I went to yoga, which was the perfect way to finish out the weekend. After that, I went on a date with this guy Max (funny because the guy in the movie was also Max). I could probably write a biography about this guy at this point because he literally never shut up. He talked the whole time and whenever he asked me a question, I'd go to answer it and he would cut me off to tell me more about him.

It wasn't the worst date ever but it also wasn't the best. It left me with so many mixed feelings about moving on and dating in general. I hate getting back out there, meeting new people, and starting over when I was happy with what I had. But the truth is, you can't make someone love you and you can't be the only one putting in the effort. After over a week of not talking to Todd, I realized that if he cared about me at all, he would have reached out by now, but he hasn't.

My friend Dave, from college, messaged me saying he thought I moved on fast but is three weeks really fast?

I'm honestly not sure if I'd want to go out with Max again. My mom said that he was probably nervous, which is why he talked so much, but I can't say that I felt a connection. Either way, I'm going to a festival next weekend with another guy, Brady. At least I can say I'm trying to move on.

Anyway, this morning, as I was driving to church, this new Ryan Hurd song came on and I've played it at least 100 times today.

And I say I don't miss you Yeah, I say that I'm fine But my heart is up on a shelf And everybody can tell I'm lying

Got a drink in my hand cause I can't hold you I wake up alone with the same hangover I used to be yours, now I don't even know you Bottom of the glass and I'm still not closer I'm either tryna forget or just tryna get closure I can't get you out of my head, so I never go to bed sober

Other than the fact that I've barely been drinking lately, that song hit it straight on the way I've been feeling lately. Ryan Hurd always gets me.

xoxo

Annie

[therenlover]

One Last Night In Madripoor (An 18+ Helmut Zemo/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?

Tags: Smut, SoftDom!Zemo, Hook Up, Semi-Public Sex, Drinking, Safe Sex, Explicit Consent, First Meeting, Wall Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 4200~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

---------

Madripoor was a place like nothing you had ever seen.

It wasn’t that the sights were anything special. You could find seedy criminal underbellies lined with neon where the streets ran red with blood anywhere if you looked hard enough. Even the ocean view didn’t do much to set it apart from any other place visually. No, Madripoor’s scenery and architecture weren’t what kept your eyes wide with wonder whenever you found yourself wandering through the winding back-alleys without a purpose. It was the people that kept you around.

Thieves, pirates, and miscreants had been taking shelter at the docks since before anyone there could remember. It was a city borne of the underbelly of society, the people nobody sees, but you saw them. You saw them every day when you stood in the main market waiting for an easy bounty. There were faces everywhere; big and small, tall and short, scarred and flawless. No two people in the streets of Madripoor were ever exactly alike. If you needed to remember someone, their unique face was right there waiting in your mind.

After living on the island for almost 6 months, most people were already cataloged neatly in your mind as friend or foe. This man, though, he was new. He was different.

The night was still young. There was some trouble at the Princess Bar that ended with Selby dead and a few murderers loose in the streets with a price on their heads, but you steered clear. Going after the killers meant going up against hundreds if not thousands of trained bounty hunters and assassins and no amount of money was worth dying over now, not while you were so close to freedom. Instead of chasing your doom, you decided to head to your room, get dressed up, and head out to wherever the music was loudest in search of a place to forget about your problems for the night. The thudding sounds of poorly DJ-ed club remixes led you to Leonardo’s Place. That’s where you found him.

You were two drinks in and sticking close to the wall when he stumbled into your line of sight. What initially caught your eye was his dancing. He couldn’t move for shit. What kept your attention, though, was his face.

There was transience to him, like at any moment someone could bump into him and he would disappear without a trace at their touch. Despite that he was gaudy. Everything about his clothing screamed wealth and fine taste from the thread count of his obnoxious purple turtleneck to the shine on his boots. He was strange, a walking contradiction, and one who had never had the pleasure of gracing your presence or screwing you over in the past. In the simplest of terms, he intrigued you. With nothing left to lose you downed the last of your cocktail and made your way to the gap in the crowd where the stranger had staked his claim. It was game time.

“You come here alone?” You asked. Your voice was barely a whisper above the heavy thrumming of the music.

He gave you a long look up and down before answering as if he were trying to size you up. Something about having his gaze linger on your body made your heartbeat soar. “I’m not looking for company,” His accented tone was gruff but left a sliver of room for reconsideration. You took the chance. What could go wrong?

With as much tact and grace as you could muster you let yourself slip a little closer to him. “What, do I look too expensive for you?” you teased, before backing off with a grin, “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not here for that. My job is a little more… dangerous.” As you danced, the hem of your dress rode up your thigh just enough to reveal the knife holster in your garter belt. It pleased you greatly to see this handsome stranger do a double-take; that meant he was looking at your upper thigh in the first place. “I just liked what I saw in you… do you like what you see in me?”

Somehow, your little joke had endeared him to you, however minutely. Instead of brushing you off the man paused his jerky dancing for a moment to really take you in. Then, he caved. “Would you like a drink?” He asked.

You smirked. “Who would I be if I turned down a free drink from a handsome stranger,”

He met you in the middle as he offered you his hand. “I never promised it would be free,”

So, the two of you found yourselves at the bar, bodies leaned into each other and away from the rest of the sweltering crowd as the bartender slid you your order. The stranger was drinking a brandy straight while you opted for a sidecar. It was enough alcohol that you were starting to feel pretty buzzed, but you still felt in full control of yourself. You took a long sip before speaking. “So, what should I call you?”

It took him a moment to respond but once he did, he seemed sure of himself. “You can call me Helmut, but Baron is fine as well,”

You cocked up an eyebrow. “Is that a nickname?”

“More of a title,”

He took a drink as you gawked. “Like royalty?”

“Not like. I am,”

Your cheeks flushed. The rational part of your mind was so stunned by the ease with which Helmut lied that it seemed to short circuit completely, leaving you very puzzled and more than a little intrigued. “Well, pardon me, Mr. Baron. What’s royalty like you doing in a place like this?”

“There are plenty of reasons a man like me would have business here. A woman as beautiful as you, though… not so much,” he waved his hand in loose gestures as he spoke, “Why risk your life and beauty for this? A life living in the underground where you cannot so much as dream of seeing the stars?”

You finished your drink in one large swig. It burned down your throat but you relished in the pain. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be born in a place where we can see the stars. Funny enough, though, I’m just about to get out,”

“Is that right?”

“I finally saved up enough money from small jobs to buy my way out from under the Power Broker’s thumb,” Something about the way Helmut smiled at you made you feel safe. It was like you could tell him your worst, darkest secrets and not feel an ounce of fear or guilt. “I’m nothing special here, a small-time bounty hunter, and I kept it that way for a reason. I’m not valuable and I don’t know much. If I just pay my dues and keep the money coming until I can get their claws out of my back, I should be free to leave with a freighter tomorrow morning,”

Helmut was quick to respond. “Ah, travel by freighter. It’s terribly dangerous to be a stowaway, you know? Impossible to predict quite what the seas will be like,”

“Well, that’s just a risk I’ll have to take to get out of here and stop… what was it that you said I was doing? Risking my life and beauty?”

The two of you chuckled as Helmut took one last drink to empty his glass. Then, the conversation stilled. Around you people were alive, gyrating to the music as their pulses thumped to the beat, but it was like they weren’t even there. Instead, your whole being was focused on the strange man in front of you who had stolen away your sensibilities with his cool tone and thick accent. He made you feel alive. No, more than alive. Every color was brighter, every sound was sharper, every sip of your drink was crisper. He was a once-in-a-lifetime man, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime night. Oh, to hell with it!

“I like you, Baron,” you purred, pressing yourself close to him. His breath hitched the moment you touched him. He acted as if it had been a very long time since he was last touched like that. “And I think you like me too. In fact, I think you like me enough that we should take this conversation somewhere a little more private. What do you say?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gloved hand made its way around your wrist, and in a moment’s time, he was pulling you across the crowded dance floor towards a small, secluded hallway. You assumed that meant yes.

The instant you made it to the shelter of the shadows Helmut was on you like a man starved. One of his hands was quick to explore the skin just above the hem of your dress as the other pressed against the wall, caging you in and holding you as a more than willing hostage to his affections. He didn’t kiss your face, and you weren’t complaining about that, but he did put his mouth to good use sucking a dark bruise into your collarbone. His ministrations only stopped when a high, keening sound escaped your lips.

“You like that, don’t you, meine kleine schlampe?” he growled through gritted teeth. Something about his tone turned your already weak legs to jelly. The second you went limp in his grip, though, he pulled back. Straightening himself out, he offered you a steadying arm. You took it without hesitation. “I’m terribly sorry to be so rude. I assure you that I am not usually the type of man to hook up with someone on a whim, I’ve simply been… indisposed for many years and haven’t had many opportunities for pleasure, especially not with a woman as beautiful as you,”

His compliment was enough to have you blushing like a schoolgirl. You had killed more people than you could reasonably count, and probably fucked even more, but something about the way Helmut looked and sounded and acted made you feel almost innocent to his advances. He was a drug and you needed to get your fix before he disappeared forever.

“Does that mean you think I’m special?” You asked, all doe eyes with an innocent smile. Helmut ate it right up.

“Yes, schatzi. Very special,”

You hitched a leg up, letting your heel dig into his expensive dress pants and drag him closer to you once again. “First your little slut and now your little treasure? Which one is it, Helmut?”

“And so smart,”

“Move, Baron!”

At your insistence, Helmut was on you once again, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down your neck as he fiddled with his gloves, yanking them off and shoving them in his back pocket before he continued. “So demanding,” he chided, and yet he continued to lavish you with affection, his hand climbing higher and higher up your thigh. Your back was pressed flush to the wall now, and you were painfully aware of just how warm Helmut was. He smelled like a rich man’s cologne and yet his skin tasted of cheap soap when you leaned in to give him a bruise of his own.

“You love it,” you replied. He let out a husky laugh.

“I suppose I do,” he chuckled, and then his fingers brushed over your core. Your knees buckled. Helmut kept you upright with his body as he continued to taunt you through your underwear, but he seemed more confident now, almost cocky. “My needy schatzi, have you no patience?”

Your response was breathless; a confession.

“Not with you,”

Something about your words lit a fire in Helmut’s eyes. In an instant he had your leg hiked up while he ground his hardened length against your clothed wetness. Your mind went blank. He felt big. A mindless whimper fell from your lips.

“How do you want me?” Helmut asked. As he spoke he ran a light finger down your elevated thigh. You offered up another whimper. “I’ll need you to use your words and tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you,” His tone had you wet enough that you worried you were dripping.

With a gulp, you managed to fumble out the words. “I’ll blow you first if you promise to fuck me,”

That had him grinning like a wolf. “Perhaps you are my little schlampe, so eager to get down on your knees for me…” And you were. Even on shaky legs, you found yourself happily falling to your knees as the Baron fumbled with his fly. It was only then that you found yourself gazing down the hall towards the cacophony of lights and sounds and people maybe 20 feet away from your hiding place in the shadows. As if he could sense your discomfort, Helmut paused. “Are you alright?”

You nodded quickly. “I just forgot we were out in the open for a second,”

“Do you want to stop? If the location is the problem, I would gladly pause so we can find a new hideaway,” he stopped short, looking down and meeting your heavily lidded gaze, “or perhaps the idea of putting on a show excites you?” Your heart jumped out of your chest. Helmut noticed. “Well, if my little schlampe is so keen on putting on a show, she should get a move on,”

That was your cue to get to work. In a swift motion, you finished unzipping his fly and shifted his boxers, letting his lovely cock spring free. It was a pleasant penis and far as they went, average in length but thick with a leaking purple tip at half-mast. Just looking at it made you clamp your legs together.

Slowly, you gave a tentative lick up the underside of his length. He felt heavy on your tongue in the best of ways. Helmut jerked upward, a man possessed. You couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

“Less talking, more working little schlam-” you cut Helmut off quickly by taking most of his length into his mouth. That seemed to shut him up. His wolf-like grin had dissolved into a slack-jawed mess the second you started to suck him off. Oh, this was going to be fun.

For the most part, the Baron let you set the pace, bobbing your head and taking as much of his length as you comfortably could, but after a short while his hands were buried in your hair as he fought the urge to buck into your throat, hard. With a particularly rough snap of his hips, Helmut pulled away.

“You are an angel from heaven, schatzi,” he groaned, pulling himself slowly from your mouth as you got your first good deep breath in a while, “but a deal is a deal, and it wouldn’t be quite fair if I got to have all the fun, now would it?” Your breath hitched in your throat. Finally time for the main event.

Helmut was surprisingly gentle with you as he offered you a hand and helped you back up, only pausing to wipe a line of dribble off your chin with his thumb. With anyone else, it would have felt wholly humiliating but with Helmut… well, it did things to you you would rather not admit. You quirked up an eyebrow, though, when he got on his knees in turn, mirroring your past position. “What are you doing, Baron?”

“I simply assumed my sweet schatzi would enjoy a reward for taking my cock so well,” his words had you biting your lip as your cheeks flushed, “now be a good girl and take what I give you. I want to hear those pretty noises you made earlier,” With that, his face disappeared under your skirt. He pulled down your panties and… snickered?

“What now?” you groaned, squirming as his hot breath hit your exposed nub.

“You’re sopping wet,” he replied. Out of habit, you moved to shut your legs but found Helmut’s large hand was holding them open. “I do enjoy being sandwiched between your thighs, but you shouldn’t hide yourself from me. Take your pleasure. You’ve earned it,” That was when he began his assault on your folds.

You had been with plenty of partners over the years, all with varying proficiencies when it came to giving pleasure, but no one had ever made you feel quite as good as Helmut did while you gripped his hair and rode his face with reckless abandon. He always hit just the right spot, alternating between sucking on your sensitive clit and running his rough tongue in sloppy circles against it. In no time flat your pleasure was building toward’s its peak as your knees trembled.

“Helmut,” you squeaked, “Helmut I’m gonna cuuuUUOH!”

You were suddenly thrown over the edge of pleasure as the Baron worked you open with his fingers, pressing that spot inside of you just right. It was a revelation. Nothing would ever compare to him and you hadn’t even fucked yet. Once you had regained some semblance of stability he emerged from his place between your thighs, face slick with your juices, wearing the expression of a cat that got the cream.

“You make such lovely sounds for me, schatzi,” Helmut groaned, rising from his place at your feet and reaching into his pocket. While he fumbled for a condom you took the time to actually remove your panties, lifting one shaky leg at a time before balling them up and tossing them on the ground. You could grab them later. Or not! In all honesty, your ruined undies were the last thing on your mind as your watched Helmut roll the condom onto his proud cock, pumping himself a few times. “Now, are you sure you want this?”

You had never felt more sober in your whole life despite the drinks you’d downed earlier.

“God, yes,”

“Wonderful,”

He caged you into his body once again, lining himself up on your slick folds, and then with a pronounced bite against your collarbone, he was entering you. It wasn’t painful or uncomfortable, you just felt full, like a missing piece of your body had been completed. For the first few thrusts, you were too blissed out to really take note of anything around you, but once you tuned back into the world of the living you realized Helmut was talking. Well, babbling was more like it. He seemed to simply be speaking his stream of consciousness into your ear as he pistoned in and out of you like a madman. There was a jilted rhythm to it, but the abnormality kept you on your toes.

“I won’t be letting you go any time soon, schatzi, and definitely not on some dank freighter like a rat from the gutters. No, you will travel with me. Once I help my friends and slip away from the front lines I can take you anywhere your little heart desires. Paris, Vienna, Australia… Mein Gott, what a sweet cunt,”

Any sane woman, after hearing his sex-drunken musings, would have run. They would have heard the wild ramblings of a madman and left after their little fling was done to never see him again. It was only rational. He didn’t even know your real name. Sane women didn’t run away with strangers claiming to be barons they hooked up with in a seedy club selling stolen Van Goghs in a hub of the criminal underworld.

The only thing was, though, that you weren’t a sane woman.

You were a killer, a child left in the streets to live or die who had scraped themselves together and dragged themselves towards life. So what if the idea of some rich mysterious benefactor with a good dick coming in to save the day sounded fantastic? It was fantastic. Like your own personal version of Pretty Woman. Even if he wasn’t as rich as he claimed to be, being poor and getting dicked down by him was better than being poor and alone.

For just a moment, and with no regrets, you let yourself get lost in the fantasy and just let go.

It was as if Helmut could sense a difference.

“Are you close, little schlampe?” He gasped, letting his thrusts take on a faster staccato rhythm.

You could do little more than moan and nod as he pounded you into the wall. That seemed to be enough for him to get the message, though.

“What a good girl,” he purred. His mouth was so close to your ear, his hot breath tickling the sensitive flesh with each heaving breath he took. As he chased his own climax, he brought a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight, wet circles around your clit. It was already sensitive, your body was only barely recovering from your first orgasm, and yet something about the overstimulation was thrilling, like racing towards an impossible dream. With a shout, you came for the second time, melting into Baron Helmut’s arms as he quickly followed.

The two of you stayed there, slumped against the cool wall and still connected by your dripping sexes, for a few moments, breathing heavy. Surprisingly, you were the first to speak.

“Wow,” you breathed, letting a soft laugh escape your lips.

Helmut returned the sentiment. “You were wonderful,” In a strange moment of intimacy, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, but then he pulled out, tying off the full condom and tossing it to the ground as he tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his fly.

“Are you just gonna leave that there?” you made a gesture towards his litter.

“They have janitors,”

A burbling laugh escaped from your lips. “That they do,”

Back in the main room of the party, the crowd had only grown larger as the night progressed. Nobody had seen you, nor had they noticed your cries as they danced and drank and made merry under the neon lights. You were, for all intents and purposes, invisible at Helmut’s side. Within and without. There was something exhilarating about knowing he was the only one that truly saw you in a room packed with hundreds. It was like something out of a twisted fairytale.

“So…” you broached the subject gently while you pulled down your dress to protect your modesty, “Did you mean what you said back there about Paris and Vienna, or…”

“Oh, you heard that?”

You snickered. “It was pretty hard not to with you breathing in my ear,”

“I apologize,” he leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, “but yes, I meant what I said. I-”

Suddenly, from down the hall, a booming voice interrupted your moment.

“There you are!”

“Goddamnit, Zemo, I thought we told you to stay low not hire an escort,”

There, at the mouth of the hallway, stood two massive men. They were obviously displeased, and though their faces were obscured by the lights you could tell you weren’t the one they were after.

They called him Zemo… where had you heard that name before?

Helmut stepped away from the wall with a shrug. “At least I didn’t cause a scene by forgetting to put my phone on silent,”

The larger of the two men stayed where he was, while the other walked to meet the Baron in the middle.

“I swear to God, man, you’ve gotten ten times more insufferable since I learned you were rich.

The Baron shrugged. “It comes with the territory,”

“But you don’t have to be such a jackass about it,”

You felt it was a good time to chime in.

“Thank you so much for that, Helmut, but I think I should give you guys some privacy,” you said, straightening out your dress and walking deeper into the hallway. There had to be an exit somewhere…

“Wait!” When you turned, you found Helmut rushing to meet you. The men in the background looked shocked and almost smug. “Save your money. Meet me out at the airstrip tomorrow afternoon if you feel like seeing me again. If not, know that the Power Broker doesn’t let go of assets cheap, and you just slept with a man with a million dollar bounty, so buying your freedom isn’t an option. If you want to go without me, you’ll have to hitch a ride on a cargo ship but not as a stowaway. Working for your keep is the best way to stay under the radar. Nobody can touch you once you’r-”

You cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips. “I’ll see you at your private jet, Baron,”

He smirked. “So you will,” With as much gusto as a man could muster, he returned to his companions but not before offering one last goodbye. “Farewell, schatzi, until tomorrow,”

As you leaned up against the wall once more, you watched them go with a twinkle in your eye.

“Who was that?”

“None of your business, James,”

“Guys, what the hell did I just step on?”

“I believe that was my used rubber,”

“ZEMO!”

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a/n: I hope you enjoyed the filth! I haven’t written for Zemo before, even though I’ve loved him for years, but he’s definitely going into my main rotation now. If you have any ideas, send them my way! I’d love to fill the void, because there just aren’t very many Zemo x reader fics out there. If you enjoyed this, maybe reblog or leave a comment! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again!

Please do not post my works to any other sites, thanks! <3

[kxokiemonster]

“Look at them: dumb and dumber,” Regulus announced with a smile.

”Reg?” Evan called, not believing his own eyes.

Regulus felt like he was breathing after being drowning for too long. He was finally alive. He hadn’t felt like that in two years. Seeing Remus or James had appeased his heart, but seeing his bests friends was a completely new sensation.

Barty and Evan were a part of him. He couldn’t exist without the other two. Regulus didn’t know what being happy was without Evan’s arm around his shoulders and Barty laugh at some stupid joke. He hadn’t known sadness until he saw them crying. And he hadn’t felt death until he opened his eyes after the cave knowing he probably wouldn’t see neither of them again.

But now they were there. His eyes were running up and down both men trying to absorb their appearance which had change quite a bit in the last two years.

It didn’t surprise him when a hex was shot in his direction, dodging it with a move of his wand. The attacks didn’t stop, one after another kept coming in his direction. Regulus knew his friends well enough to see what their next moves were going to be, the only thing that prevented him from dying because not only they were fast, Barty and Evan were really good.

From the corner of his eye he could see Remus and James with a firm grip on their wands but he dismissed them with a gesture of his hand. It was his fight.

He spent a few more minutes in the duel until he saw his opening. “Expelliarmus!” he shouted. 

It was a stupid move. He knew the moment the word spilled from his mouth. Evan was good with wandless magic so he was still capable enough to hurt him and Barty was a force to reckon with.

“You’re going to die,” Barty promised and Regulus didn’t doubt his words for a second.

“Amicus ad aras”

Both Death Eaters stumbled, taken aback. “What did you just say?” Evan hissed, rage taking over his green eyes darkening them.

Regulus bent himself to pick the bottom of his trouser. He hissed when a burning hex got his hand. “Bloody idiots, I’m showing you,” he accused. He rolled the pant leg until his thigh was exposed, thanking his past self for not wearing something skinny. There, just above his right knee rested the words Amicus ad aras in fine lines. “We got them in fourth year after drinking half the cabinet in your dad’s office for my birthday,” he explained, his gaze never leaving Barty.

Evan patted his leg as if the words were directed to his own tattoo. “Barty did them with a rusty needle his mom used to sew with,” Evan chuckled at the memory.

“I’m still not sure how we didn’t get an infection,” Regulus let out half a smile.

“Because I cleaned the needle, you distrustful fuckers,” Barty complained althugh he was smiling

The three of them shared a look for a second before they started moving. Evan was the one who saw him first, but Barty was the one who got to hug him first. Remus, Sirius nor James looked too happy about it, but Regulus could only laugh as Barty almost knocked him with a hug.

Regulus buried his hands on Barty’s clothes, trying to remember every little detail: the smell of his hair, the weight of his hands on his waist, the sound of his laughter. He got about three seconds of a beautiful reunion before feeling the sharp stab of teeth trying to pierce his skin.

“Ow! Ow! He’s biting me! Evan, do something!” he yelled angry, ready to kick Barty, but the brunette was hugging him like an octopus so it was difficult to get rid of him.

James took a step forward, ready to hex Barty. Evan beat him to it, just grabbing Barty by the hair and yanking him until his face was far from Regulus’ neck. The Black touched his neck hesitant, not amused by the sight of blood. Nonetheless, the smile never left his face.

“Cass told me you went crazy. I didn’t know she meant crazy possessive, you little bitch,” he snarked with a smile.

Barty looked at him for a second before starting to laugh like a madman, who made the other two break laughing. The Marauders looked at them concerned, not knowing what to do.

“I told you his whole lot was just crazy,” Sirius murmured to James.

James nodded absently, admiring how Barty had fallen to his knees and was hugging Regulus by the hip, his head just hidden in the stomach of the Black, who was stroking his hair like it was a common occurrence. His eyes, however, were dark and ready to attack if Barty decided to bite him again. 

Evan, meanwhile, had opted to stand as close as he could to Regulus in fear he would disappear in any instant. To that, James could relate.

“Barty hexed four Death Eaters trying to find you. We had a handful of problems asking about you,” Evan started explaining.

“You never told us where you went,” Barty complained when Regulus started telling them his last two years.

“I died. Long story. That’s why I’ve come back. What I did worked and now I need your help”

Barty stood up quickly, frowning. “What are we going to do?”

“We are going to hex some more people, starting with the people that killed the McKinnons. After that,” he looked directly at Barty, a smile dancing on his lips, “you are going to become daddy’s perfect boy and get a job with him”

“You better be joking,” Barty sighed.

“I wish, But believe me, you are going to like where this ends”

[mysticalrambling]

Ending It All Part 2 (C.E)

A/N: Here you go guys. Much awaited part 2 is here. I am so in love with this particular fan fiction and hope you guys like it. If you want me to write any blurbs related to this series, do let me know.I am open to requests.

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Part 1 

Chris Evans Fan fiction (Fan fiction Masterlist)

Summary: Chris regrets divorcing you and he tries to mend the relationship. However, you have already moved on with Tom Hiddleston and are quite happy. He has to just stand back while you and your children become closer to Tom and it is all his fault.

Warnings: Angst all the way.

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“Coming in?” Chris turned his face towards you with a questioning look in his eyes.

“No, I have some work. Just wanted to drop the kids off myself.” Your ex husband’s house was on your way so you just saved him a trip.

“Not even for coffee, darling?”

“Sorry but I will have to say no.” You still got flustered when he called you with nicknames. You had once decided to tell him to stop calling you with all these terms of endearment but you couldn’t build up the courage to do it.

It has been over a year since your divorce and the moment you think you are over him, he is right there to bring those feelings back. You were a mess when he moved out and you had to see him on the weekends for the kids. It looked like you were drowning and you couldn’t come up for fresh air. It was exhausting but after several months, it didn’t hurt that much. It didn’t feel like your heart was tearing into shreds. You felt numb but that was better than feeling like your heart was being ripped out of your chest.

“That’s fine. See you Sunday?”

These were the only few sentences that were spoken between the two of you since the divorce. This was your new normal and you were starting to adjust to it. “Yeah, bye.”

“Who wants pancakes?” Sighing, he turned around and asked in a fake, cheerful voice. He didn’t get to be disappointed. These were the the seeds that he sow and he had to reap the results.

“I do.” A collective chorus came from the living room as they had already started to play with Dodger. Dodger was adopted from a shelter home about two weeks into the divorce. Loneliness was a destructive force and Chris hadn’t come to that realization until he was sitting in his home at eight, all alone. No laughter, no mess, no companionship. He went out that day and got a new dog. The apartment was eating him alive because it was a reminder of his ‘new life’. More like his ruined life.

“Daddy, you goin’ to be there for my match?” Jace looked up at his father and hoped that he wasn’t going to say no. There have been too many occasions this past year where he was not there for his children like Easter or Mia’s first day of school. He was either too busy with his career or he couldn’t bear to be with his family knowing that he wouldn’t be going home with them. He wasn’t strong enough to handle that truth.

“I’ll be there but I have work afterwards so I can only be there for half time.” The apologetic tone was all too familiar to the kids now so they just stayed quiet.

Chris noticed their disappointed look and continued, “When I get back, we’ll go to Disneyland for the whole weekend.”

“Mommy and Tommy will be going as well?”

Stopping in between making the pancakes, he asked with a venom laced tone, “Tommy who, Jace?”

“Mommy’s new friend. We like him.” Your son continued petting the dog without realizing the damage he is doing to his father. “New friend” was always a code for boyfriend and Chris didn’t know what to do with that information.

He knew that you had gone on a few dates with Tom Hiddleston because of the paparazzi. But he didn’t know that you both were serious. Your kids knew about him so it was pretty damn serious.

“He won’t be going with us.” Speaking with finality, he resumed cooking. You were his and that was not going to change. He knew he was being unfair but when it came to you, he lost all rationality.

“But he is our new dad.” Mia whined from her place and Chris just looked at her with a wounded look. His babygirl was putting someone else in his place.

His voice boomed throughout the house and both the kids looked at him with tears in their widened eyes, “I’m your only dad. Don’t you ever say that.”

“‘m sorry, daddy. Didn’t mean to make you mad.” Her chin wobbled and Chris was quick to realize his mistake. It was not your children’s fault. It was not your fault. It was his fault.

“Not your fault, baby. But you only have one daddy and that’s me.” Kissing her forehead, he wiped the single tear that managed to escape her blue eyes.

“’kay.” The kids got distracted again but Chris did not forget. He was still seething from the inside because Tom may have taken you away from him but he damn well couldn’t take his children.

They all get ice cream afterwards and the kids fall asleep in their rooms that Chris built from scratch. It was a lengthy process because he just kept remembering the times when he decorated their nursery with you. Such a beautiful memory and he was ruining it. The guilt ate him up inside when he realized that he may not get to ever decorate a nursery for your children again. He may not get to expand his family with you again. Again, it was his fault.

“Sorry, ‘m late. Work was hectic today.” Everything was so busy today because your boss signed up a new contract and he has been impossible to work with. You just wanted to go home and sleep for the whole week.

“It’s okay. They’re sleepin’ upstairs. Listen, we need to talk.” He was too consumed by anger and hurt to notice that you were too exhausted for everything.

“Go on.” You urged him, figuring that he might say that he won’t be able to make it to your son’s match. This was what most of your conversations were based on; him saying that he is too busy to be present at occasions related to your children.

“Why are my children referring to your boyfriend as dad?” He nothing but spat that sentence.

“I- I didn’t know about any of this. I’ll talk to them.” Stuttering, you tried to mediate the situation but nothing seemed to get through to him at the moment.

“No need. I already did that but for next time, keep your boyfriends away from my children.”

“Our children and I don’t let anyone near my children. We are serious.” You were offended by his crude tone and you weren’t just going to let him walk all over you.

“You can’t be serious with him. As a matter of fact, you can’t be serious with anyone.” Your ex husband declared it like it was a law. He didn’t know how to react to what you said. All the pain was converted into anger because that was his current form of expression.

“Are you serious?” This was all too much for you to handle. How could he say that?

“Yes. You only belong with me. I regret it so much (Y/N).” Chris’s expressions told you where he was going.

“Oh, stop. You can’t just do that. Can’t come bargin’ in my life and mess it all up again. I am happy.”

Chris reached out his hand but you took a step back. He was not allowed to touch you anymore. “I was mistaken. My career is not above you, darlin’. Never was.”

“You made me feel worthless. You made me feel as if I was the reason our marriage ended. Won’t allow myself to get sucked back into this relationship.”

“I know I broke our family. I tore us apart and didn’t even apologize for it properly. I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” There was a stream of tears running down his face and you wanted to wipe them away but you resisted.

There were still times when you wished that you were still happily married to Chris. That you still had your perfect, little family. The divorce made you feel worthless and lonely. There were times when you couldn’t even look at your children because they were the exact replica of your ex husband. You once adored the fact that they were his carbon copy. However, now you couldn’t help but get angry. How could he leave little pieces of himself behind and think that you could move on with your life.

It was all because you were with another man. He never said all these things when you were alone and you suffered from depression. There were days when you couldn’t get out of bed to get your kids ready for school. You knew that Jace had informed him because he was really worried about you and he always shared his troubling thoughts with Chris. But he didn’t do anything about it. He stayed quiet and you had to pull all the pieces back together yourself. It was all tape and glue. Your ex husband didn’t get to come back and dismantle your progress. You wouldn’t let him.

“You can’t do this. Can’t come back. I am with Tom now so stop trying to fix things that you already broke.” Your face was red with anger and all the energy was drained out of your body.

“Please, just give me a chance.”

“No!” You couldn’t choose Chris again. You had to choose yourself. You chose to think about your needs and your feelings for the first time in seven years. That’s why you agreed to go on a date with Tom. He surpassed your expectations the first time and you knew that he could be your partner. No one could compare to Chris but Tom made his own place in your heart and you were glad about it. You continued on, “Tom is good for me so please don’t ruin my happiness again.”

Tom was great. He was good with the kids and he was slowly becoming an integral part of your life. You still missed Chris because that man was the love of your life for seven years and those feelings can’t just disappear with a single piece of paper. You were glad to have Tom in your life and you knew that as time would pass, you will love him with your whole heart. However, a small part of you would never forget Chris and would always wonder about the what ifs. What if you were still together? What if you had more children? What it you got to grow old together? Broken dreams are what hurts the most.

“I don’t want to be a cause of that. Not again. But I want to make things right.” He unintentionally came closer to you, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. Sorry I wasn’t there for our kids. Sorry that I broke you, baby.”

“A sorry doesn’t fix anything.” His chest was hallowing from inside out but he didn’t want to back down. Not now. Not ever.

“Just answer one question for me. Are you truly happy?” A tremble was prominent in his voice but you tried to ignore it.

“I-I am. For a long time, I wasn’t but I am now.” You spoke with such conviction that he knew you were over him.

You would always love Chris but now it was time for you to move on with your life. It was time to leave the past and delve into the future. Chris would always own a piece of your heart but you are going to allow Tom to have an opportunity as well. You will open your heart again to love. You were sure now.

“Okay. I will get the kids for you.” He backed off like he promised he would. You knew at that moment that it was all over.

Watching you drive away with his kids was heart breaking for him and he just watched helplessly. Chris still wanted to cry, beg and apologize. He wanted you to take him back but it was all his fault. He ruined you once, he couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t interrupt your new life. It doesn’t all revolve around him but he was okay to remain on the sidelines while you enjoy your life. He will be there for you if you needed him.

You are happy and that should be enough for him but he wants to be selfish again. He wants to fight for you but it’s all too late. You were with someone else. He lost his chance.

Wednesday rolled in pretty quickly and Chris dreaded going to the match. You were going to be there with your new boyfriend but he didn’t want to miss his son’s game. He could only be there till half time already so it wouldn’t be that awkward.

“I just wanted to be here for Jace. Won’t cause any problems.” Chris took a seat beside Mia when he saw you shifting uncomfortably. The seat that should have belonged to him was currently being occupied by your boyfriend but Chris just bottled up all his feelings. It was not right to still think of you as his wife.

“It’s okay. Let’s just forget about everything.” You wanted to move on and did not want anything to hold you back.

“Okay. Mia, you want Kit Kat?” Offering her a large chocolate bar, he started talking with his daughter so that he could distract himself from you and Tom.

“What is happening, love?” Tom questioned when he saw that his former co-star did not even glance at him properly.

Chris and Tom were not the best of buds but they were still good acquaintances. He thought that dating you wouldn’t be a problem because Scarlett had informed him that Chris was the one who asked for divorce. However, this situation made him realize that Chris was jealous. He still had feelings for you and Tom didn’t know how to react to that.

“Nothing of importance. Let’s just focus on my baby boy.” Saying that, you cheered for Jace as he made his first goal. He was an exceptional player like his father and you knew that he would pursue football as his career. Jace was really passionate about football. If Chris didn’t become an actor then he would have definitely tried out for football.

There were times when he used to take you to the park so you would play with him. It was your thing. Maybe he had replaced you with someone by now as well but what you didn’t know was that Chris had stopped playing football altogether. Like many things in his life, it reminded him of you and it was just too much to bear.

“You are doing great, buddy.”Jace immediately asked Chris to pick him up as you gave him his Captain America water bottle. It was half time and Chris had to leave for shooting. He was getting late but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“Thank you, mommy. Ollie doesn’t listen to me that much so coach is angry at him.” Babbling on, he rested his head on his father’s shoulder.

“Okay, buddy. I have to leave now but I will call you when your game is finished.”

“Won’t be going with us to Chick-fil-A?”

“Uhh-” He cluelessly glanced at you because he didn’t know what his son was talking about.

“I wanted to give him a treat after the match.” Tom butted into the conversation to prove that he was a part of the kid’s lives as well.

Chris could have actually made it to the restaurant because he would be free in an hour tops. However, he decided against it. He had to take a step back for you. Of course, he would be there for his children but Tom should be given a fair chance as well.

“I won’t be able to make it buddy. You enjoy with Mommy and Tom. I’ll take you and Mia to Disneyland this weekend as I promised.”

“Okay, daddy. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.” Giving him to you, he turned to leave. It was hard for him to do this but it had to be done. Chris wiped his eyes discreetly as he saw you all laughing together. This was his fault and he would have to bear the consequences.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!!

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A/N: This story had me in tears from the very start. I cried when I was writing it. Again, I am open to blurbs for this series and other requests. Tell me if you want to be added to my tag list.

Tag list: @peculiarpenman, @kalopsia-flaneur, @justile, @iguessweallcrazyithinktho, @jessyballet, @caanyoonmoon, @coldmuffinpartycloud, @marvelfansworld, @agnesk, @lauracontisstuff, @deepintothenature, @xcaptain-winterx, @nostxlgia18, @sophiaedits , @luckyladycreator2, @mrspeacem1nusone

Like, comment and reblog.

P.S. If you want blurbs and epilogue related to this series, please send in requests. I will need some ideas.

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[earlgreydream]

lover of mine.

| winter soldier!bucky barnes x reader | angst | fluff |

lover of mine.

/When I take a look at my life/And all of my crimes/You're the only thing that I think I got right//I watched the world fall from your eyes/All my regrets/And things you can't forget/Light them all up/Kiss them goodbye/

“You loved him once. You can love him again.”

“I never stopped loving him. That’s what you don’t understand.” 

The fellow Avengers had watched the world fall from your eyes, the joy draining from you with every headline that involved Bucky. Not only had he changed, but you had too. You became completely enthralled with your missions, pouring every waking second into the Avengers. Because if you thought about anything else, you would break. 

Steve begged you to take breaks, begged you to take time off. You insisted you were fine, never wanting to be left alone with your thoughts. You didn’t want to think about the newsreels of Bucky-- the winter soldier-- wielding machine guns. 

You couldn’t bear to see the love of your life slaughtering people.

“I’m not picking up Parker from school... He’s in high school, he doesn’t need me to pick him up! He can take the subway! Or use his webs!” You snapped at Stark, who stared at you impatiently.

“You need to rest. This is how you’re filling your afternoon.” Stark was insistent, and you shook your head, grabbing the keys to a Tesla. 

“Steve?”

“Go, Y/N.”

You sighed and went down to the garage, driving uptown to get the teenager from school. You parked outside of the high school, leaning against the hood of your car while you waited. 

You never got used to the modernity. You were like Steve and Bucky. You’d been alive in the 40s, and frozen like they were. Luckily, you’d fallen to S.H.I.E.L.D. instead of Hydra. You’d managed to stay safe with Steve, and become an Avenger, not suffering Bucky’s fate. 

Before the war, you and Bucky had been married. The memories in your mind of dancing in the kitchen, jazz bars, drive-ins, and reading the Hobbit when it came out, were all raw. Before he was deployed, there was a wedding.

You’d been surrounded by flowers and your friends, celebrating the love of your life. Steve was the best man. You’d left the ceremony with Bucky in his yellow vintage car, going to the coast for your honeymoon. 

You remembered the beach house, and running in the sand with your young husband. It was perfect back then, before Hydra got their hands on him. He was loving and gentle, the kind of man who danced with you in the kitchen and brought you flowers. 

You remembered when he’d gone off to war. You wore his dog tags, and hung a flag in your window. You’d kissed him goodbye, tears blinding you as you tried to focus on the silver eyes that were full of adoration and love. You remembered when Steve came back, and Bucky didn’t. 

There were so many memories of crying in Steve’s arms, and falling asleep with him beside you. Even when you’d moved to Stark Tower with him, even after becoming an avenger decades later, you still slept beside him. He’d listened to you sob for Bucky a million times; Steve had witnessed a lifetime of your heartbreak. 

You remembered waking up from being frozen, and finding out who James Buchanan Barnes had become. 

“Y/N?!” Parker’s cheerful voice snapped you out of your thoughts as he came bounding down the stairs of the high school. 

“Hey kiddo. Stark sent me to get you.” You stood up off the car and hugged him. He waved goodbye to his friends and got in the passenger seat. He immediately started chattering, and you welcomed it, appreciating the distraction from the deafening silence. That was why you were fond of Parker, he was easy to be around, and he was always happy to fill the silence.

“Let’s go to Starbucks!” He announced as the two of you drove back to the tower.

“Are you joking?”

“No! It’s on me.”

“It’s on Stark,” you smirked, and Parker broke out into a wide grin.

You and Peter walked into Stark Tower a half hour later, chattering and laughing. Parker was the only one of the Avengers who cheered you up, and he never made you feel bad for not wanting to talk about Bucky. He was bubbly and warm, and always made you laugh. You were giggling at a story from his school as you went upstairs to the penthouse, unaware of what you were walking1 into.

You nearly crashed into him, stopping dead in your tracks.

“Y/N!” The voice was so familiar, and yet, you thought you’d never hear it again.

You were suffocating. The air was ripped from your lungs, and you couldn’t breathe. It felt like the earth was swaying underneath you, everything shattered. 

Steve ran to you as you passed out, and Parker caught you with a shout before you hit the floor. He knelt on the marble, your head in his lap, and Steve shouted for Banner, who came running to follow you to his medical lab.

“Stevie, what’s wrong with her?!” Bucky demanded, and everyone looked at him. 

“It’s the shock of seeing you.” Steve admitted, and Bucky looked like he was going to break. 

“I’m better now, I’m no longer the...” he couldn’t even say it, his eyes anxious and frightened.

Bucky had spent months trying to free himself of Hydra’s psychological bonds. He was free now, motivated by the thought of coming home to you. Bucky had waited years. Now, he was home, and the second he said your name and laid eyes on him, you’d panicked and blacked out.

Steve attempted to comfort him, and even Parker, the boy he didn’t know. They tried to explain to Bucky that you were just in shock, but his heart broke. 

“I took care of her, Buck. She still loves you, she always has. Just give her some time. Seeing you like that...”

“I know,” Bucky breathed. 

Everyone left Bucky alone with you, giving you privacy. He sat beside the bed where you were asleep, Banner assuring everyone that you were fine, you had only fainted.

He watched you. Bucky hadn’t watched you sleep like this since the 1940s.

He was suddenly back, leaning in the doorway, the soft light pouring behind him as he drank a cup of coffee, taking in the sight of his sweet wife sleeping before he went to work. You’d glow in the golden light of the morning, your face peaceful and serene. It was so intimate back then.

Bucky sat up as you stirred, familiar eyes slowly opening. You didn’t know where you were at first, your mind running through events. You’d picked Parker up from school, stopped for a snack, and came back to the tower. And seen your husband.

You sat up suddenly, and he put his arms out, one made of vibranium. His eyes were soft, full of love, not the empty steel you’d seen on the news. Your name fell from his lips, desperate and anxious.

You jerked away at first, startled by the reality of what was happening. You were frightened, alone in the room with your husband. You scrambled back against the headboard, trying to put distance between you and his outstretched hands.

You were about to scream when you realized he looked just as frightened as you. You slowly sank back against the headboard, slowing your breathing as you stared at him.

“James?”

“It’s me, doll. I’m home.”

You didn’t know how long the silence lasted, but it felt like hours. The two of you stared at each other, and when you finally decided he wasn’t going to hurt you, you gingerly moved toward him.

“I’m free from them. It’s just me, it’s not the winter soldier anymore,” Bucky’s voice was soft, and you blinked back tears.

“It can’t be you. You were gone.” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

“I’m back now. I came back for you. I’m never going to hurt you, or anyone else again.”

“James-”

“I’m not a killer anymore.”

The plea broke your heart, the shattered boy begging you to believe him, begging you to take him back. Tears slid down his cheeks, terrified of your reaction.

“James, I love you.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

Bucky felt like he’d waited a million years to say it, and the words spread through you, filling your empty soul.

You wanted to fall into his arms, to hold him close and feel him again. You wanted all of it to happen instantly, but that’s not how it was. You needed time, time to adjust, and time to trust him again before you returned to your husband fully.

You reached out to touch his arm, and he noticed the wedding ring wasn’t around your finger. His eyes flitted up to yours, and you pulled the chain from around your neck that hid beneath your shirt. It held his dog tags, and your wedding ring. Relief flooded Bucky, and you offered a the slightest hint of a smile.

“What happened?” You asked, cautiously running your fingers along the vibranium.

“I lost my arm when I fell from the train. Steve told you?”

“A bit... you fell, he didn’t know what happened after.”

“Can I touch you?” Bucky spoke gently, understanding your hesitation and being patient.

You nodded, and his hand slowly lifted to your face, fingers brushing over the curves of your skin. You laid your hand over his, kissing the inside of his wrist. He cried softly, a smile crossing his face as he felt you, promising it wasn’t a dream.

“Bucky, we need you for a meeting.” Stark leaned into the bedroom, hours later.

“Stark, now?”

“I’m sorry. Y/N will be here when you get back.”

“I’ll wait for you.” You promised, and he nodded, the words falling heavy between you.

Bucky followed Stark out, and you sat on the bed, processing the day. Bucky had quietly explained the Hydra brainwashing, about how he was held captive in his own mind. You believed him, but it would always be hard to shake those memories of him on the news.

“Hey, we didn’t mean to just drop this on you.” Steve came inside, sitting down on the mattress.

“You couldn’t have kept from me that my husband was suddenly free and home. Is he really, though? It is him? He won’t kill me in my sleep?” You asked, and Steve gave you a sad smile.

“It is. He’s traumatized, he won’t be the same as before the war. But it’s not the winter soldier, it’s Bucky.” 

You knew it was true. You knew the man before you, his heart and his soul, and you were going to grow to know his mind again.

You were curled up in bed, Steve beside you on the other side of the large mattress. 

“Stevie? Y/N?” you heard a soft voice from the doorway, and you sat up in the dark. You had trouble sleeping, and you were awake when he came in during the middle of the night.

“Bucky?” 

“I can’t sleep.”

“Come here,” you whispered, moving over in bed, closer to Steve, who was waking from the disturbance. You didn’t fear Bucky, especially not when he looked so frightened and upset.

You lifted the blanket, and Bucky got in on the other side of the bed. You pulled him to you, silently wrapping your arms around him. You felt Steve against your back, leaning over to place his hand on Bucky’s arm, smoothing over the skin slowly to comfort him. 

“You’re okay now, it’s over, my love,” you whispered, settling between the warm bodies.

Your head rested on Bucky’s chest, and you realized how long you’d spent waiting for it. You felt his lips press a kiss to the top of your head, and Steve bury his face into the back of your neck, needing to be close.

[harcove]

hiiiii! <33 i dont know if you are taking any requests but can you write a leon x reader in which the reader gets bitten? (i love drama lmaoo)

love uuuuuu<3333

Okay so I do have like a bunch of other stuff to finish in my inbox, but I tend to not do things in order of when I get them, I do them in the order of whatever I get done first (since I start them all whenever I get them and work on them over time) and whatever I'm getting the most inspiration for at the moment, and this baby right here: chefs kiss right now. I LOVE angst so much, it is my favourite thing to write.

Also I'm always open for requests! It's just a matter of when they get done, since like I said above, and also my final year of uni just started so oof. ALSO: Decided to do RE2 Leon oop... I hope that's okay!

I LOVE YOU TOO! Here you go bb,

Warnings: angst, blood/gore, injury, character death

Length: 2.8k (I- oop.)

Request: in the ask!

RE2 Leon Kennedy x Reader - Not you.

Your hand squeezed your thigh with as much strength as you could muster. It wasn't that it was hurting too much yet, you were still running off the shock and adrenaline from the events moments before that the pain hadn't yet settled. Dark blood oozed between your shaking fingers and coated your hand like you had just decided to dip your hand into a bucket of red paint. It was hardly sanitary considering the situation you were in, dirty and sweaty, having been going through the sewers earlier.

The undead man who had done the deed lay a few feet away with your survival knife Leon had given you stuck in his temple. You could see your own blood and flesh on his face, in his mouth. It was unnerving, and you usually wouldn't have noticed such a detail, except that it was your skin. Your blood. Your body.

You inched yourself towards the corpse and used the tip of your foot to make sure it wasn't still going to get back up. When it did nothing after a few pushes, you deemed it safe enough to take your knife back. With a few hard tugs, it dislodged itself with a squelch and you fell back against the wall behind you, exhausted.

The sudden sharp pain that run up your leg into your spine and made you arch your back for a moment as you stopped breathing forced you to pay attention to the wound on your leg. Hesitantly, you moved your shaking fingers away from the bite on your leg to take a peak.

There wasn't really a point to looking at it, you realized moments after you laid eyes on it. It wasn't going to fix anything, and there was nothing for you to assess. A bite was a bite, and you knew what it meant. Leon and you had seen what happened to Marvin. You yourself had seen a friend turn after being bit before you had gone to the RPD. So you knew.

The skin near the bite was incredibly hot to the touch, and even without touching it, you could feel the heat coming off your skin. Your jeans sported a hole where the bite was and you wondered if there was anything in your bag to cover it with. It was ugly to look at, and scary.

You let out of deep sigh as you closed your eyes. There wasn't much you could do but sit there. Leon was somewhere inside the NEST, and you were at the entrance. You weren't sure if you wanted Leon to find you dead or alive, but all you knew was that this was not something you nor him could fix.

It felt like hours had passed when Leon had shown up. But in reality, it had only been about half of an hour. Whatever was in the bite, whatever the virus really was, had done a number on you as you felt sweat bead at your forehead and slowly trickle down the side of your face. The furrow in your brow from the pain almost felt like it was permanent.

"Y/N!" He called out when he spotted you. He looked worse for wear, that was for sure. The way his shirt had been ripped on the sleeves, and the bandage you could see just beneath his shirt and RPD vest. He was caked in blood, sweat, and dirt too.

And yet he was a welcome sight for your tired eyes.

He quickly slid onto his knees and if you weren't in so much pain yourself, you would've winced at how harshly he landed on the hard floor, but it didn't seem like he was affected by it.

"I'm so glad I found you," he said breathily; he reminded you of a little puppy, and it made you want to squeeze him close to you, "what happened, what-"

Your hand squeezed your leg unconsciously and he looked down when you did so, his beautiful blue eyes resting on your bloodied hand and whatever you were covering up. His eyes looked back up to you almost hesitantly, asking to look. When a half-smile was your only response, he looked back down and focused on your leg.

His hands gently pried your fingers off your leg and he carefully let your hand go on your lap, giving them a squeeze.

"I'm..." he seemed at a loss for words, you would've been too, "I have to... Cut this away to see it better, okay? It's..."

Carefully he used his own survival knife to cut away at the pieces of your jeans, which were dyed deep red around the wound, so he could see it better. Your hand came up to his shoulder as he did so, peeling the bloody fabric away from it as much as he could without hurting you, and you squeezed his shoulder so tightly, fighting the urge to scream in pain. But he didn't seem to notice, or care, about the harsh grip you had on his shoulder.

"Oh. God..." it was said softly, almost as if he had no air left inside him to breathe, let alone speak.

"It's really ugly, I know," you tried to make the situation less dire, but it didn't seem to work, because Leon just looked at you with his big eyes, full of so many negative emotions.

"It's not..." even Leon didn't know what he was doing to say as he trailed off. He began searching through his pockets till he came up with a bottle of antiseptic that looked half empty.

"It's gonna be okay," he finally spoke again as he started to open the bottle, but your hand reached up and seized his own holding the open bottle above your leg.

"Don't use that," you pushed it closer to him and further from your leg, "you can't afford to waste that."

"I'm not wasting it."

You hadn't heard him sound so sure of his words, so... Angry. You hadn't known the boy long, but that was the first time you'd seen him react that way to anything. It made your push your lips together in a thin line, but you kept your hand on him, stopping him from using the antiseptic.

"I'm pretty sure we both know how this ends," you prompted slowly, "I don't think an antiseptic is going to fix it."

"The vaccine is here somewhere, it has to be," he stated firmly, "we just need to find it. It's going to be okay."

It wasn't that you didn't trust him, or that you didn't believe him. But how long was it going to take to find a vaccine? And how did you truly know you were going to find one? You didn't even know if it would work.

You didn't have much say when Leon moved to put your arm over his shoulder, and looked at you, counting to three before he helped you off the ground.

It worked initially: you had managed to stand up with the help of the rookie cop beside you, who kicked the zombie that had done the deed further from you two when you had gotten up. But it didn't last long, as pain shot through your leg and seemed to spread through your entire body. You could barely keep yourself upright even with his help, your body felt too weak to even function.

"Leon, I can't," you cried, falling back against the wall, "I can't."

"Damnit," Leon cursed under his breath, looking around him urgently before he left you against the wall to open a door across from the two of you.

He was missing for less than a minute when he came back out from the room and quickly came back to you. One of his arms reached under your legs while the other went to your back.

"I'm going to pick you up, okay?"

Ever the gentleman, even when you were definitely dying.

"My hero," you smiled softly but it came out as more of a grimace as he lifted you up like you weighed nothing.

You supposed training to be a police officer meant he wouldn't have trouble carrying fully grown human beings.

The room was dimly lit by a single lamp. There was a bed right across from the door, and a desk close to the door. Someone must've used this room as not just a study but a place to sleep. Like a bedroom.

Leon gently placed you on the bed in the room, being careful on how he placed you, and never taking his focus away from your leg.

"Okay," he breathed out pulling back, "I'm going to go find the vaccine. And then we're going to get out of here. Together."

It was a wonderful thought. It was the dream, right? For everything to be okay, for you to be fine, and for the two of you to get out of Raccoon city and away from this mess. Together.

And yet you knew it wasn't going to happen, you knew you weren't getting out of there. You knew you were dead. And it was a scary thought to have to face alone because you wanted so badly to live. To live with him.

He would've been out that door had you not reached your hand out and grabbed his hand as best you could, squeezing it as hard as you could.

"Don't," your voice cracked as you swallowed hard, the ache in your chest only growing when his pained expression met yours, "don't leave me. Leon..."

"But I need to..."

It was blatantly obvious to not only yourself but also to him that there wasn't anything he could do. Not anything he could do in time for you. He didn't even know what he'd be looking for exactly, but he'd go find it if he could. He'd do anything to help you. To save you, and keep you near, but there wasn't anything he could do. It was a cold hard truth, and one he so desperately wanted to avoid.

But he couldn't.

Not when he looked at you, and really looked. Not just second glances over your form and your leg that lasted seconds as his blue eyes frantically moved like they were trying to find something they couldn't. No, when he really stopped and stared at you, he couldn't avoid it.

Your skin was ashen and you were covered in a thin layer of sweat. Your eyes somehow looked like they had sunken in a bit, and looked dull compared to what they usually looked like. The way you breathed was alarming, it was shallow and sounded tiring, and then some moments it would speed up only to slow down moments later. You were in pain, and you were hardly there anymore.

"Y/N..." Leon's voice cracked, and you never thought you were going to see him cry. He held your hand back tightly and noted your fingertips felt cooler, "This isn't happening. Not to you."

"I should've paid more attention..." you said softly, "I don't... I don't want to die."

"I should've been here, I should've..." he exhaled through his nose, "damnit!"

"I'm not letting you blame yourself," you sternly interrupted him and squeezed his hand as best as you could, "not now. Not ever. None of this is your fault..."

Leon said nothing as he took to the ground beside the bed, kneeling right beside you. His face was close to your own as he leaned forward, his hand still holding your own tightly, which he brought up to your chest where your intertwined hands sat.

"Just..." you knew what you wanted to say but you didn't want to make the hurt worse, "just... promise you won't forget about me? And promise... Promise you're going to get out of here. Alive."

"I could never forget you," he said hurriedly as if he was offended you would have even thought he could forget you, "even if I wanted to, I could never..."

There was something there, between the two of you, that was trying to lay itself bare, but something was stopping it. There was something unsaid, simple words that were hard to say and had so much meaning, so much weight. But neither of you could say it.

If you did, not only would it be the first time, but also, the last time.

With your remaining strength you slipped a ring off your finger; it was an old thing, something that you had for a while and you didn't even remember why you got it or where you got it, but you always wore it just because. It had no sentimental meaning, but now it did as you pushed it into his hands. The look of confusion on his pained face made you smile slightly.

"So you always have a piece of me," you said, "and if you ever try to pawn that off I will come back and find you, Kennedy..."

His eyes trained themselves of the silver ring in his hands, it was so plain, just a band. But it was yours. It was you. It was all he could keep of you, he realized because this wasn't going to end with your life. Pocketing the ring, he took your hand again.

"I might just sell it then if you show up," he tried to make you smile, which it worked, but he also felt the need to reassure you, "I won't get rid of it. Ever."

"Good to know," you let go of his hand again and pulled out the gun in the holster that he had found for you in the station, inside was a round of ammo that you wouldn't need. Pulling out the ammo, save for one of the bullets, you gave him the rounds.

"What? What are you-"

"I'm not... Going to need this," you said, slightly out of breath from the pain you were in, "and I know they fit Matilda. But I'm keeping the gun, and one of the bullets."

It seemed to dawn on him what you meant by your final sentence and he frantically began to protest.

"Hey, wait, no," he shook his head, "no. I can... You don't have to... Let me."

It was the idea that you would have to shoot yourself that made him uncomfortable. The idea that you would need to take your own life upset him. But if you didn't want to turn into one of them, he would do it for you. He would... He...

"We both know you can't," you justified, "and I don't want you to. I could never ask you to. So, you go. You leave Leon, and you find that virus. You get out of here, and you live. You don't do anything stupid or reckless, and you make these bastards pay."

You were adamant, and you left absolutely no room for argument. Even if he wanted to argue, he couldn't. And he wanted to argue. But denial would get him killed, and you wanted him to live. And some part of him wanted to live for you.

"Alright," his voice didn't waver this time as he spoke, "Alright."

He placed his head against yours for a moment when he stood up and squeezed your hand a little tighter in his own when he grabbed it again. Softly, you placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth and ushered him to leave. It felt like he was walking on hot coals the whole time as he walked out the door, he regretted it when he looked back at you at the door, like he was waiting for you to get up and go with him. It just made closing the door behind him a lot harder.

He hadn't really been keeping watch of the time since he arrived in the RPD. He didn't really realize how fast or how slow time was going. But at that moment, outside that door, he really felt the way time flowed. It was impossibly slow, agonizingly so, and it was deadly quiet. Something that happened in only moments felt like it had taken an eternity.

He was used to the sound of a gun by now. It didn't make him flinch anymore. But this time it did. It made his stomach clench and his jaw tighten, his body stiffens. He hated how it sounded more than he ever had before.

The piece of metal in his pocket weighed heavy as he ghosted his hand over it.

Leon was going to find who did this. He was going to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. But most of all, he was going to make them pay.

[finelinevogue]

Can you do something where Y/N is sick and Harry has to take care of her please?

i actually had written something similar to this before so i present you a lengthy blurb;

You were pretty sure if you got invited in to hell it would feel something like this.

Hot. Sticky. But chilled.

You had come down with a concerningly high temperature. Along with the added luxuries of a deafening headache, cold sweats and an upset tummy. Your body was burning all over, as if it had just been freshly cooked in the oven but you felt colder than ice. It was a confusing juxtaposition, but there it was.

You'd called Harry, since he was in the studio recording his new music and asked him to come home early. You didn't even get to the reasoning of why he should come home before he hung up, telling you he was already vacating the premises. You hated to be that needy girlfriend who had to call about nearly everything, but Harry loved it more than anything. He loved the fact that you needed him. It gave him purpose, apparently .

You couldn't work out whether you regretted asking him to come home, or whether it was a blessing. It was a very fine line.

It was a blessing because, he looked after you like a mother would her child and made sure he stood by your side any time you found yourself lurched over a toilet. He made you chicken soup from scratch and even tested it to make sure it wasn't too hot, or salty - despite being a vegetarian himself. He even made you honey and lemon tea, which he had to run to the store for the honey. When you say run, you mean run. He didn't want to leave you alone at all, so he put on his running shoes and sprinted to the shop and back. However, it was a slight regret because of how fussy he was over you. He loved it to bits - nursing to your every need.

You truly believed you didn't deserve Harry. He was just too kind and pure for his own good. You were unarguably lucky. Laying on what felt like your death bed, didn't feel so lucky though.

It was now 10 pm and you could hear Harry turning on the alarm for downstairs, the loud beeping noise preventing you from sleep. That's all you'd done all day. Sleep. You thought it'd be more magical than it was. It was just uncomfortable though, because of how cold and hot you were.

Your much better looking other half trudged through the bedroom door within a minute of the alarm going off. He was only wearing checkered pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt and yet he made it look like Gucci Runway 2021.

The jingling of keys signalled Charlie was also present. Charlie was your 2 year old Golden Retriever. He was beautiful. When you and Harry has moved in together 2 years ago you'd managed to persuade him to get a dog. Within a few weeks of moving in you had a 5 month old puppy running around your house. He was your best friend, no doubt about it. He was also ridiculously photogenic.

"Hey Chaz!" You cooed as Charlie walked over to your side of the bed, where you were snuggling down under the sheets. You reached out your hand to give him some loving and attention. You could tell by the small smile and sparkling eyes that he was one happy boy.

"Alright, buddy. Let's leave mum alone." Harry came behind Charlie to manoeuvre him into his bed, which was in the corner of the room. It was more like a big cushion. He started to whine after being forced to leave you - having not seeing you all day. Harry was strict in keeping him downstairs so not to disturb you whilst you were sleeping.

"H it's alright, let him on the bed. He can curl up on my feet." You sympathised with Charlie, as you always did, hating to hear or see him upset. Harry was like the 'bad-cop' when it came to parenting Charlie, because you were too sweet to say no to him.

"You're one spoilt boy, aren’t you?" Harry messed around with Charlie, before telling him he could get up on the bed to see you. Charlie leapt on the bed and wandered over to give you all the kisses he could, before Harry came to calm him down - as you really didn't have the strength.

"I missed you too, Chaz." You quietly laughed, not wanting to set your headache off even more.

"You gonna let me kiss mum now?" Harry rhetorically asked, but as he came over to you Charlie laid down on you so your face was buried underneath his body. You could feel him panting with his adorable tongue out above you, as he hid you from Harry.

"Someone's jealous."

"Feeling like a bloody third wheel over here." Harry tutted and you laughed until you got hot with the movement.

"Harry? Can you move him please?" You whined as you tried to shuffle around.

"Okay Chaz. Let's let mum get some sleep, alright?" Charlie is slowly removed from you and ends up curled on top of your feet, keeping them warm for you.

Harry slipped into the covers and shuffled his way over to you, putting the back of his hand over your forehead and hissing quietly at the simple touch.

"Baby you're so hot." Harry complained.

"I know." You teased with a wink at him, taking his worry out of context and turning it into a flirting compliment.

"Oh piss off!" He chuckled and wrapped an arm around your waist to bring you closer. "What am I going to do with you, baby?" Harry then planted only a few delicate kisses to your lips - not wanting to overwork you and your tired body.

••••

You woke up with drowsy eyes to find you're in bed alone.

Your throat was incredibly dry and your whole body was sticky from sweat. Your pyjamas were damp and your face looked like it'd just been drowned in a rainstorm. It was disgusting. Still, you brought the duvet up to cover yourself more, as you let out a dramatic shiver. Why was it so cold?

Mixed into the background noise you could hear the cheering of crowds and it really confused you, until you looked at the wall and noticed the football was playing on re-run on the TV. Manchester United Vs Manchester City. You hated that you knew that just from their football uniforms, but that's what you get for living with a football-crazed boyfriend.

You noticed Harry emerge from the bathroom, a washing up bowl in his arms. He came and sat down in bed, the bucket of water to his side. "What are you doing?" You quietly asked, peering up at him through tired eyes.

"Oi, you're meant to be sleep y’minx." Harry told you off.

"I can't. I'm too uncomfortable. I'm hot, but i'm cold. I also find it hard to sleep without you next to me." You huffed out in annoyance.

"My poorly baby." He leant down to kiss your forehead, "c’mere, baby." He urged.

He helped you move, seeing as your body was really weak, so you could lay down against Harry’s body. He was sat up against the headboard as you nestled down between his legs, your back to his front. It was a lot more comfortable than before - probably because Harry was closer to you. Charlie noticed the disturbance and waited for you to stop moving around, before maintaining the job of guarding your feet.

Once he was happy in his position he fell asleep again, making you jealous of his ability to do that. Especially now.

"Why's the football on?" You asked, motioning towards the TV.

"Had to keep myself awake somehow." He explained, but it only made you more confused.

"Why?"

"So I can take care of you, y’muppet." His words actually melted your heart - more than chocolate could melt on your forehead right now.

After you'd settled, Harry reached into the bucket and drained out a cloth. He made sure all the excess water was cleared before moving it away from the bucket. You hummed in appreciation when he placed it against your forehead, rotating it to the back of your neck also in order to relax and cool you. It made you realise just how hot you were.

"I think i'm dying, Harry." You groaned as the nausea came over you again. Harry kept a firm hold of the cloth on your forehead, dabbing gently and careful to not let any water drip down into your eyes.

"No you're not, baby." Harry gave you a light-hearted laugh.

"Well, living shouldn't feel as shitty as this H." You grumbled, not appreciating his lack of understanding.

“Then just let me take you to the chuffing hospital!" He exclaimed, making Charlie stir slightly.

Harry had been demanding you go to the hospital all day and all evening, but you were too stubborn to go. That, and you were terrified of hospitals - more terrified of needles and blood than anything else. However, you were starting to reach the point where you were giving in to his request, though. It was becoming unbearable to sleep and harder to breathe. You were worried for yourself.

"I don't like it." You pouted like a child, as Harry wrung the cloth through the fresh water again.

"I don't care whether you like it or not, Y/N, I really think we should go. More like need." Harry insisted and you could tell he wasn’t giving up without a fight. You didn’t want that either.

You hated how he was right.

It was only going to get worse from here, and you didn't really want to be alive when that was going you happen, so going to the hospital to get checked over and drugged up seemed like the best option to go for. The more sensible option.

"Fine." You finally accepted, Harry slinking his arms tight around your waist after discarding the cloth in to the bucket. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and planted an abundance of kisses there, your skin burning just to the touch.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." He repeated in-between kisses.

•••••

It took 20 minutes to get in to the car. 20 minutes.

All because Charlie was reluctant to letting you get up and go. So Harry had to dress you into a more appropriate attire, with a dog sat on your lower body. It was then half an hour later that you were in the hospital.

The hospital was quiet at this time of night and for that you were grateful. It was obviously a night where little numbers of people were doing silly things to get themselves hurt. There was the odd patient for a minor cut injury and there were a couple of people in for burns. There was even a woman in because she accidentally superglued her hand to a bottle of superglue - ironic, but painful.

You sat patiently on Harrys lap, waiting for someone to escort you to a cubicle. You were freezing cold, to the point where your teeth were chattering - your outside body was giving off the opposite temperature. You tried to get as close to Harry's warmth as possible, pushing your body against his.

"You're alright baby." Harry shushed you, as you let out a small tremble.

"If I do die—"

"Which you won't." Harry chuckled.

"I know, but if I did I want you to know that I love you." You told him. Even though he's heard you say it a million times before, it still made his heart flutter as you spoke each word.

"I love you, baby." He kissed the side of your head. "But you're going to be just fine, so no more talking about you dying okay?"

"Why? It's only a natural thing." You pointed out.

"Sure, but I don't want to think of a world without my girl living in it. So zip it before I make you."

You never thought of dying as a world without Harry before now and it wasn't the time to start thinking about it either. It was a horrible thought and you understood why Harry didn't want you speak about it. That world would be so dark and empty and you hated thinking about it.

Harry was called to the front desk to fill in some forms for you, since your hands were too cold and shaky to do it for yourself. He accidentally wrote 'Styles' as your second name, before realising his mistake and scribbling it out.

“Shit.” Harry went red in the face and chuckled over his silly mistake. His hand was shaky and you smiled at how he got so flustered over something so simple. You rested your hand on top of his, bringing his attention to you.

“One day.” You told him and he leaned to give you a kiss on the lips. You couldn’t help but feel like his lips were a future promise to make sure he wouldn’t have to scribble out his second name the next time it was written next to yours.

The doctor saw you shortly afterwards and you thanked your lucky stars that there was no injections or removal of any blood involved, Harry sticking with you the whole time. Turns out you were suffering from a moderate fever, but the doctor said with good rest it should pass. The doctor had given Harry permission to make a big fuss over you - explaining how he was going to love it and you were going to hate it - and to make sure to come back with even the slightest worsen of the fever. You got given a prescription list of various medications that you'd need to take over the next week or so. After collecting the drugs, you were back in the car on the way home.

"Told you you weren't going to die." Harry smiled, happy to have you still by his side, whilst holding your hand over the gear console.

"Unfortunate for you, I guess."

"Will you shut you, y’bloody nuisance. You know I can't do life without you, Y/N." He spoke softly, squeezing your hand tighter to assure you that he's going nowhere.

"Same here." You smile at him and he smirks back at you with his dimple-loving smile.

"You’ll always be it for me, baby." Harry speaks, before you drift back off to sleep.

Happily.

[sukirichi]

— falling out of love with gojo satoru

warnings: angst, mentions of sexual content, cursing

masterlist !

when you fell in love with gojo satoru, your heart exploded like a firework.

you still remember that moment very vividly at the back of your head. it was new year’s, and you two were drunk on both liquor and the feeling of having the other by your side. it was a tough year – as the norm was for jujutsu sorcerers – but you both made it out alive.

alive couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt that day.

satoru has always been the person who stuck by your side through thick and thin like how you were the one who always went against the higher-ups when they tried to limit his capabilities. you should’ve known then, that the higher ups were just the beginning. that when once you thought their oppression for satoru’s plans were nothing but microscopical compared to the barrier his family had placed between the both of you.

they didn’t like you.

he was a gojo, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, while you were...well, you.

you weren’t really anyone special or better than anyone. your technique was decent and had a lot more drawbacks than advantages that you had to improve your physical abilities instead to not be deemed a total useless tool.

satoru never saw you that way. to him, he admired you almost as equally as he cherished his best friend, suguru, so much so that the three of you become the best of friends in the blink of an eye. the more time you spent together, whether alone or with others, it felt like your world just hyper focused or snapped into tunnel vision, zeroing on no one else but the white-haired man whose smile was brighter than any other in the sky.

when he told you he loved you, you couldn’t distinguish which ones were the exploding new year fireworks or the drumming of your heart. you stared up at him then, lips falling open as you released a tiny breath of air, and satoru laughed. he actually laughed.

you wanted to tease him, to punch him even though you couldn’t really ever touch him just to get over the fact he had you losing your composure with eyes glossing over. “well,” he taunted then, one shoulder lifting up lazily. “aren’t you gonna say anything? if you feel the same way, now’s the best time to tell me. we can end the year as friends and start another one as-”

satoru never got to finish his sentence. you had jumped into his arms faster than the speed of light, hands yanking down his yukata to pull him towards you, your lips slamming on his almost greedily.

he didn’t mind. he never did.

for once, it felt as if his infinity never existed. you had both spent the night tangled under the sheets, your name rasped from his lips like a prayer. the way you kneeled for him just moments later with your eyes fervently closed made him feel like he’s the one being worshipped instead, and in a way, it was. you loved him – way too much that you no longer cared how much it would hurt the day after when he never gave you a break and kept you pulled closer to him.

you loved him – way too much that you no longer cared how much it would hurt if ever the time came that you no longer felt the same.

contrary to how you fell for him, you fell out of love with your best friend quietly. your shared apartment would still be filled with his annoying mannerism of dragging his feet over the floor as he walked, always groaning and complaining that he was hungry but never really bothered to cook anything for himself.

it felt a lot like living with a child where you were his mother, but in that sense, satoru hated it whenever you worried for him.

“you’re not my mother, stop telling me what to do!”

“stop being so arrogant, satoru!” you pointed to the barely conscious child in his arms, the first year student still barely breathing because satoru had gone out of his way again and brought yuuji while he fought a special grade curse. “you may be strong, but not everyone around you is capable of handling what you can! stop dragging people into your mess and start using your goddamn brain for once!”

“you don’t know anything, so shut the hell up.”

you scoffed, hands placed on your hip while you blinked back the angry tears that threatened to fell. you worried for yuuji, you really did, but in reality, you just couldn’t handle seeing gojo pushing himself to his limits and coming back home more wounded than the night before.

“i’m just worried for you, satoru. i don’t want you getting hurt.”

“i’m the strongest,” was all he said – was what he always kept saying. “i’m not going to get hurt.”

“you may not,” you reply stiffly, “but what about me? don’t you think about me? don’t you think about how much it hurts me to see you this way?”

you told yourself you hated him. you hated how arrogant he got. it was good he was confident of his abilities and prided himself of such an honourable title, but satoru was human. he was bound to fall at some point.

eventually, you got too tired.

it was too tiring to keep waiting for him to come home unscathed. you were assigned different missions all the time. satoru would always be working overseas while you mostly helped train the kids and exorcised curses from time to time; no missions that were as dangerous as his.

in the dead of the night, when you were turned away from him in your bed that had already gotten so cold from his usual absence, satoru would slip beside you as silently as he could. the morning afterwards would always be the same: good morning, did you sleep well? he knew the answer. he knew you never slept well without him, but he’d ask just to be nice, and it wouldn’t take too long before you’re both late to work because he missed you too much from being away all the time that he wanted to feel you clamp around him one more time.

it was tiring. too tiring.

that heavy weight never left your shoulders. you cried yourself to sleep far too much that you’d lost count – until you reached a point you just felt nothing. the bed no longer felt cold – just empty. his side always remained untouched, his chair in the dining table barely used, and you’ve gotten so used of washing only your plate and utensils that you wondered if satoru had ever been there.

you wondered if it was a coping mechanism; that maybe you could just no longer handle the pain of having to worry about him every damn night and he’d never care enough to at least be a little more careful, and this was why you just stopped missing him, which was why you just started enjoying the silence in your apartment a little bit more than you should.

but if it was a coping mechanism...why did you feel a lot freer and happier in his absence? instead of it feeling like you were supposed to be distracted, you felt awakened. alive.

alive in the same way he told you he loved you while the skies painted different hues of red, blue, green, and yellow in the darkness that bore witness to your souls connecting that night – the same sky that was now patiently watching as your souls split in half and formed itself whole all over again.

contrary to how you fell for him, you fell out of love with your best friend quietly.

there was no longer someone singing made up songs in the shower. there would no longer be that sound of an annoying loud kiss down the bride of your neck or the smacking of his palm on your ass when he wanted to piss you off.

you fell out of love him so silently that when he crawled next to you that night, you didn’t even hear him. and for the first time in a long time, you slept well the moment he left before the sun stretched its wings across the horizon. when you were greeted by nothing but your own pair of slippers outside your bedroom and not even a post it note to tell you he’d already left for work, a smile tugged on your face.

you made your breakfast in peace. satoru no longer dared to come back home if he was injured because he knew you wouldn’t care enough to fix him up.

although of course you would, but nothing ever beats in your heart for him anymore when you dab the disinfectant across his cut lips. satoru would catch your wrist then to tug you to him slowly, empty eyes staring back at his sky blue ones.

“thank you. for patching me up.”

“you’re welcome,” you’d smile, climbing off his lap while closing the first aid-kit. “go get changed. i’ll cook something up for you.”

it was a silent, empty routine. satoru would thank you for fixing him up because he was never every sorry for worrying you. he’d keep being reckless again and again until he reached a point you no longer cared for him enough to say goodbye to him with a kiss and the slow, tender promise of be safe – i’ll wait for you to come home.

you still kiss him – more out of habit than anything – but you’ve changed.

i’ll see you tonight.

it was empty, silent, completely different from the fireworks he’d ignited within you when he told you he loved you. satoru wasn’t dumb, and he didn’t need his six eyes to see that you’ve grown too comfortable over the large space between you and him between the sofa, almost as if him being away was what felt home for you.

he was never a confrontational man; he hated each waking moment that lead to this, but he had to do it. he needed to do it – to set you both free.

when the commercials started playing, satoru lowered the volume down, voice low and serious as he turned to you. you easily picked up on the sudden tension in the room – the first thing you’ve felt ever since you’ve fallen out of love with him – yet nothing changed. when satoru sighed, your heart didn’t ache.

“well,” he chuckled nervously as he leant back to his side, “things have changed, don’t you think?”

“yes.” there was no point denying it. you knew it – he felt it.

“what do we do now?”

you had no answer to his question. despite the fact you no longer looked at him the same way, not once had it crossed your mind to leave your apartment. not because you wanted to hold on as much as possible to whatever memories you shared under this roof, but simply because you didn’t know where else to go.

it wasn’t like it made a difference anyway. satoru barely came home, and when he did, he made his presence as scarce as possible that you could no longer tell what difference it would make if he was here or not.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, knees hugged to your chest. “what do you want to do?”

his answer came in the form of opened doors. you leant against the doorframe, watching as nanami and even yuuji came to help satoru move his stuff out of the apartment. he found a better place somewhere in the upstate, somewhere much closer to bars and clubs – which you know he thoroughly enjoyed it prior to meeting you – and your mind immediately went back to the time you and satoru first moved in.

it proved to be a difficult task. you both wanted to move in and finish unpacking as soon as possible, but satoru was too eager to christen each part and corner of the house that you both ended up making more mess.

nights spent tucked into each other because the heater was broken and you were both too tired to sleep anywhere except the uncomfortable mattress played like a broken record in your mind. satoru’s laughter echoed when nanami complained that he should stop spending money on souvenirs so he could’ve hired professionals to help him move out instead, your head snapping up at the source of that carefree, sweet laugher that always had butterflies erupting in your stomach.

as if feeling your gaze on him, satoru’s eyes flitted to where you stood. when he smiled, you could tell each genuine apology rang behind it – all the words he never got to say staying like a broken glass that kept cutting him over and over again.

he loved you. he still loves you.

and maybe, tucked away in the deepest parts of your heart that no longer felt fond of him the same way it did before, still held a little compassion enough for this man you once wanted to spend your life with.

you weren’t unkind. you didn’t need to love someone to know when to forgive them, but just for this moment, just for him, you could pretend to for one last time.

smiling up at him with your eyes crinkled and the last bits of adoration for everything about him gleamed through your lashes just before it slipped away into nothingness. it was enough. it was enough for satoru to know he’d been forgiven, and it was enough for him to finally set you free.

the next time you saw him at school, there were no longer fireworks.

your heart was at peace.

[phoenixyfriend]

Jangobi 5 for the soulmate thing? Because that would make the fight on kamino just *chef's kiss*

soulmate au prompts

5. the one where you don’t know your soulmate until you touch them.

Apparently there’s never any skin to skin contact in the movie? Because armor? So......... we’re gonna just. Quick little thing.

Also I’ve been doing a lot of “marginally less shitty” Jango, but this is just-as-shitty-as-canon Jango. It’s, uh, not much of a romance, because Kamino. Actually it’s mostly just a lot of angry yelling about human rights violations.

...I’m sure they’ll get together eventually. It’s just, you know... it’s going to take a while.

------

Jango’s heard about this Jedi.

The man isn’t famous, or particularly acclaimed. It’s just that Mandalorians gossip, and Death Watch isn’t exempt, and Dred Priest still has friends in the terrorist group. So do a few others.

(Jango sometimes wonders if he’d have invited Priest, had he knows the monster was only a step away from being Death Watch himself.)

(Probably not.)

(He’d at least have been able to see the battle circles coming.)

Death Watch hates one specific Jedi above all others: Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It’s almost enough to make a man like the pretty bastard, except the reason Death Watch hates this specific Jedi is because he kept Duchess Kryze alive, and Jango isn’t much of a fan of hers, either.

In the moment, though, the main thing this all means is that Obi-Wan Kenobi knows Mandalorian customs.

First meetings, out of armor, mean ensuring the arm clasp has skin contact.

His eyes flick down to where Jango is reflexively pulling up his sleeves, and the man just... does the same, sodden as the beige-on-brown-on-dark-brown robes are.

Jango can’t just play it off. He has to, ugh, arm clasp with a Jedi.

Kenobi probably guesses how unpleasant this is for him, going by the grim little smile that he wears, the one Taun We can’t read and Jango can, but they touch forearms and le--

They do not let go.

“Oh kriff,” Kenobi swears, and then it’s just... it’s too late. It’s too late to stop anything.

“Jetii,” Jango spits as if it’s a swear.

He doesn’t want to be soulmates with a Jedi. No sane person ever wants to be soulmates with a Jedi, but as a Mandalorian, and as specifically Jango Fett, who signed onto this project for revenge against Jedi, the idea is just... excruciating.

“For revenge? Not entirely unexpected, but I’m still somehow disappointed.”

“Stay out of my head.”

Kenobi smiles at him, completely devoid of anything but the blackest of humor. “Are you staying out of mine?”

And, well, no. They’re soulmates. Kenobi has more of an idea on how to control how far his mind wanders into Jango’s, but in this moment, just seconds after being bound together by the universe... Jango’s slamming into Kenobi’s shields with an embarrassing lack of control.

“Is something the matter?” Taun We asks.

“I do believe we need to speak alone,” Kenobi says. “Unfortunate timing, but this is our first meeting, and it appears we are soulmates.”

“Ah. We were informed of the human tendency towards such.” She blinks, too large eyes impossible to read for Kenobi, but entirely readable for Jango after all these years. She’s irritated. “I apologize, but it appears we were unable to remove such unpredictability from the product.”

A wave of revulsion leaks out of Kenobi’s mind and into Jango’s. The man just nods. “I understand. As it is, I imagine that the near instantaneous communication on the battlefield will be a boon, if any are bonded to each other or to active soldiers.”

“I defer to your judgement as client, Master Kenobi,” Taun We hums, still irritable. It’s less visible in her face, but... Kenobi can feel it. “I shall leave you to get... acquainted.”

Aaaaaaaand she’s expecting them to sleep together the second she turns her back. The disgust she feels at the thought of such carnal activities is thirdhand to Jango, but he can still feel it, because Kenobi can feel it, because they’re soulmates.

“Oh, do tell me how you really feel,” Kenobi mutters, sweeping past him into the apartment.

Jango wishes he could slam the door as he storms after the Jedi.

“Listen here--”

“Absolutely not,” Kenobi says, with the kind of bland, impersonal smile that Jango’s heard Dred Priest bitch about at least a dozen times. “I need you to answer me this: why are you selling your children into what is clearly slavery?”

“They’re not my children.”

“You choose to be dar’buir, then?” Kenobi clucks a tongue, acting like he can’t even feel Jango’s waves of hate that are just growing by the second. “Shame on you, Mand’alor.”

“I am not the Mand’alor.”

“No. You are demagolka,” Kenobi says, the sweet words of Jango’s first language falling from his lips like poisoned honey. “They are your children, Fett. Your clones, just as human as you.”

“They are little more than droids, Jedi. The Kaminoans--”

Kenobi laughs, sharp and bitter, and it’s enough of a surprise that Jango stops talking. The Jedi strides closer, and it takes everything in him to not step back at what little emotion the Jedi allows through.

“Let me show you,” Kenobi hisses, putting a hand on either side of Jango’s head and it’s too much this is not a sense he is meant to have.

Kenobi cannot lie to Jango, not in this mental space. Not in this existence. He can cherry-pick what he shows, he can exaggerate, he can hide, but he cannot present a falsehood.

What Kenobi shows him, as he pulls Jango into his mind and drowns him in the sensation of the Force, is how each and every clone shines, bright and unique and so very human, so very sentient, so very alive.

These are your children, Kenobi says, directly into his mind and with no room to pull away. If they choose to disown you for your crimes against them, then that is their right, but until they do, they are your responsibility. You’re playing in denial and cognitive dissonance, soulmate mine. If I have to drag you into caring for your children the way any Mandalorian would, then so be it.

“Kriff off,” Jango manages to grit out in the real world. Kenobi looks unimpressed, when he lets go. The sensations in Jango’s mind, the jangled distaste and horror and anger, those are worse.

“Are you going to be dar’manda?” Kenobi demands. “You, who were once king of your people, have you really sunk so low to be the worst of your kind? To be so horrible that even Kyr’tsad would be shamed? Or worse, approve?”

“You have no place--”

“You are violating one of the core tenets of your culture!” Kenobi shouts. “You are being the worst of what you could be, Jango Fett! The most important, the absolute most important element of your culture, the care and nurture of children, and look at what you’ve done--”

“The clones--”

“Your sons!” Kenobi growls at him. “Your children, Fett. I’ve a student that is, by every Mandalorian standard, my son. I know what it is to take in a child that is not yours by blood, to raise a foundling, and you are cutting off millions that are your blood. You aren’t turning away an orphan to another family because you cannot care for them as they deserve, you are breeding your children for war like bantha to slaughter.”

Jango throws the first punch.

Kenobi throws the second.

By the time the fight ends, the room is in ruins, for all that they do not draw blasters or sabers. Kenobi has Jango on his back, straddling his chest with knees on his wrists, a vibroblade to his neck. Kenobi’s lip is bleeding, and Jango thinks he might have caused a hairline fracture in the cheekbone. Both of them have at least one broken rib, and Jango’s currently blind in one eye from the blood pouring out of a cut on his forehead.

Kenobi’s a good fighter. If it weren’t for everything else, Jango might have even been able to appreciate that.

“You,” Kenobi growls, fisting one hand into Jango’s curls and yanking for emphasis, earning himself a snarl in return. “Are going to fix this mess you’ve helped create. If I have to drag the entire Jedi council, the entire senate, if I have to drag in all of Mandalore to make you fix this, I will.”

There’s determination in those words, angry and a little spiteful, but mostly just... disappointed.

“Of course I’m disappointed,” Kenobi spits out, like the words are hot coals. He’s expressive. Jango wants to like it, but mostly he just resents the trait. “I hoped to never find a soulmate; it just complicates things. Opsec becomes a nightmare and holding to the code is difficult. And now I have a soulmate, and he’s an absolute monster that views his own children as little more than droids.”

“War is going to come for them no matter what,” Jango manages to say, and Kenobi’s look is back to unimpressed. “Don’t pretend you haven’t heard of the separatists. There’s an army of actual droids, metal and code, just waiting for the right moment to pick a fight. It’s too late to stop it.”

“...you’re not only raising an army of your own children, but engineering the war that’s going to kill them?” Kenobi almost screeches, and the wave of nauseous loathing that slams into Jango is almost enough to make him actually vomit. Kenobi didn’t pull punches, not in the actual fight and not in whatever mental battle they’re apparently having via emotions and words.

“I’m not engineering it,” Jango says. “I’m just one part in a bigger machine. I got my payment. The rest is on Tyranus.”

He doesn’t even stop the images from flickering through his mind, throwing the man who hired him under the speeder.

“Master Dooku?” Kenobi whispers, horror growing. “No, no, I killed the--the Sith can’t--I killed the one on Naboo, and the Council mentioned the Rule of Two, but... oh hells.”

“You know him?” Jango taunts.

“He’s my grandmaster,” Kenobi says, and Jango can’t imagine the rest is meant to reach him, but the undercurrent is there.

Count Dooku is, by Mandalorian law, Kenobi’s grandfather.

Jango... suddenly feels a little regret about the taunting.

“I’d rather you feel regret about your children,” Kenobi snaps at him. “Every single one of them is a person, one that you chose to bring into this world, and they are your children.”

The argument is going in circles, but there are still places to take this.

“Your army is all adults, Kenobi,” Jango decides.

“They are ten years old,” Kenobi retorts. “Accelerated aging, sure, but they are children.”

“They’re soldiers.”

Disgust again, the same thing Kenobi has felt every time Jango has reasserted the purpose these children were born to, the same thing Jango has told his son, his sergeants, himself, for over a decade.

“A son?” Kenobi whispers. “Is your denial that strong, Fett? That you would claim one and not the rest?”

“Payment,” Jango says, and lets Kenobi feel the rest, since he seems so karking keen on it.

“Keeping one child in exchange for letting yourself be the creator of a slave army,” Kenobi says, and he doesn’t seem impressed. “Weren’t you a slave? Two years on a spice ship, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t you dare--”

“And you would put your sons in chains,” Kenobi hisses, hands going for Jango’s head again. It’s a sense memory, this time, of dark tunnels and exploding collars and a dar’jetii that... was his older brother. According to the Jedi way of thinking.

It’s a twisting fear and pain and I will die so that others may live while looking at an older man, a Master, who can maybe save the other slaves at the expense of one too-angry Initiate’s li--

“Get out of my head!” Jango roars, and he still can’t move his arms, and his legs are held down by the Force, but he twists his head to bite and Kenobi snatches his hands away.

Kenobi glares down at him, almost sneering with the amount of disdain he has for Jango’s general existence. “I’m your soulmate, and had we met fifteen years ago, I might have even thought that an alright thing... but whatever you are now isn’t something I can abide by. You won’t listen to morality, so let me say this instead: a Jedi does not kill an unarmed opponent, but I have full authority to arrest you, even here. I will take you back to the Republic, to be tried for your collusion with a Sith, and you will go to prison. You can try to run, but I am in your head, and you’re in mine. Once you’re in prison, what happens to your son?”

The implication is there, but even if it wasn’t, Jango hears the thought:

They’re soulmates. The Republic would place Boba with Kenobi.

He refuses to have his child raised by a holier-than-thou Jedi.

“Holiness doesn’t have any meaning in Jedi philosophy,” Kenobi says, relaxing just the slightest bit. “Other religions, yes, but no place in ours.”

“You’re a self-righteous bastard,” Jango says flatly. “Despite threatening a child.”

“You mean threatening to take custody of a child being raised in an unhealthy environment, one where he’s being taught to devalue his brothers, engendering a mental dissonance where he has to convince himself he’s special for a reason and that you won’t just drop him if he fails to be perfect?” Kenobi asks. “I prefer to keep children with guardians who love them, but the argument that he’s better off away from you isn’t a difficult one.”

“Oh, like a child-stealer--”

“My mother tried to drown me when I was a toddler,” Kenobi says, even flatter than Jango had been a minute earlier. “Because I was Force-Sensitive, and it was considered curse on my home planet. A Jedi saved me. Tell me that was a kidnapping and not being saved.”

Jango grinds his teeth. “You’re damned smug whenever you have some sob story that outranks mine.”

“This isn’t about who has the bigger sob story,” Kenobi says, and Jango can feel how he’s just as ready to start clenching his jaw to deal with Jango’s bullshit. “It’s about you doing your damned job as a Mandalorian and a father, and taking responsibility for your children. All three million of them.”

It really, really is a pity they didn’t meet before Jango took this job. They could have been great together.

As it is, Jango goes for the groin shot the second Kenobi lets him back on his feet.

[babyboibucky]

Obvious

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are more than friends but less than lovers.

Word Count: 1,700

Warnings: slight angst??? mention of injury???

A/N: Inspired by Ariana Grande’s “obvious” because I fucking love that song lmfao. Let me know if anyone wants to be included in my Bucky Barnes tag list! Will do separate tag lists for everything Bucky and Babysitting Bucky. Feedback is highly appreciated!

MAIN MASTERLIST

---

You and Bucky weren’t lovers, no. But you were definitely not just friends either.

There were kisses early in the morning, while both of you were cuddled in bed basking in the warmth of the sunlight spilling through the thin curtains; soft and subtle touches in the afternoon as the two of you navigated through the kitchen in an attempt to bake together. Slow touches late at night, cold metal fingers grazing you in just the right places that made you feel like on fire. And the exchange of whispers in the wee hours of night after coming down from the high of exploring each other’s bodies, uttered so softly, words meant only for each other to hear.

More than friends indeed, less than lovers? Maybe. Maybe not. Does it matter though? Because even without the words of affirmation, you loved Bucky and was sure that he loved you just as much.

Besides, you were obviously head over heels for the soldier. Not that you were denying or hiding it, in fact, you felt like you showed it a tad bit too much.

“Leaving so soon, soldier?” You’d asked with a pout as you watched Bucky leave your side on the bed.

“Duty calls.” He told you as he began to dress up.

Noticing your frown, he chuckled and approached you on the bed, bending down to press a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He reassured you, smoothening out the crease on your forehead with his thumb.

“But I wanna cook you dinner.” You told him.

The thought of you and Bucky spending a domesticated evening together always elated you. You loved daydreaming about it, about sharing a life with your super soldier. Him coming home after a mission and you making sure to take good care of him. Maybe run him a bath while you prepared dinner. Silly, it seemed but you couldn’t help imagining all the possibilities with Bucky. Letting him sleep in on Sundays while you go on a jog, only to come back home with pancakes and bacons waiting for you in the kitchen. And Bucky of course, fresh out of bed with his hair sticking up in different directions.

Being with an Avenger of course, made it difficult to experience all these things. Sometimes you’d wake up alone but Bucky always made sure to leave you a little note.

I’ll be back soon, beautiful.

His notes found a home in one of your drawers. There were plenty and although these notes symbolized his absence on most days, they also meant promises. Promises to make it up for the lost time, promises that were never broken nor forgotten.

Dinner dates were often postponed, sleepovers a rare occurrence— spending time together in general, wasn’t as easy as it was for other couples out there.

But that’s okay. Because you’d always wait for Bucky. You’d wait for him to come home and even if it’d take him three days, one week, two months or even a year, you’d still wait and welcome him with hugs and kisses and affectionate whispers.

Sometimes you wondered whether Bucky knew how much you loved him.

Disagreements were of course, unavoidable even between you and Bucky. Oftentimes, the arguments would stem from his carelessness and selfless decisions during missions. Your super soldier, always so giving and generous and kind. You couldn’t care less about what others thought of him and his days under the influence of monsters. The moment you knew you loved Bucky, you had already accepted him. And that included his demons and dark days too.

To you, Bucky had always been kind and put others first before himself. Sometimes a little too much that you couldn’t help but feel hurt that he didn’t seem to care how you’d feel if ever he wouldn’t make it home.

If Sam hadn’t called you that night, you wouldn’t have known about the serious injury inflicted on Bucky while on a mission.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked as soon as you barged into the medical bay, ignoring the nurse who immediately scrambled out of the room.

Bucky laid in bed, bruised and wrecked and unable to respond upon seeing you seething with anger for the first time ever.

“Were you even planning to tell me in the first place?” You scoffed.

They needed to infiltrate another Hydra base. Raid the base, get all possible information and blow it up to ashes. But then Bucky found a secret basement at the very last minute, young women and men were kept— future Winter Soldiers. The serum hadn’t been injected into their systems yet, they were merely poor teenagers in captivity. Bucky knew he couldn’t let these young people suffer the same fate as him. With barely a minute left before the bomb was set to explode, Bucky did his best to save everyone in that basement.

Never mind the Falcon’s orders to abort his mission, never mind the back-up they had called for to help them out. Bucky knew the choices he had: walk away unscathed knowing that the back-up wouldn’t arrive in time to save the children, or stay behind and do his best to make sure that no one will become another toy for Hydra to play with.

Even if it meant risking his life, even if it meant leaving you back home unaware of his fate.

“They needed me. I couldn’t just leave them behind.” Bucky explained.

“And you didn’t think I needed you too?” You asked, eyes rimmed with tears.

God, you knew you were selfish for feeling hurt but you couldn’t help it. Did it not cross Bucky’s mind that if he had died, you’d be left behind too? Did you not cross his mind during that time?

“Look, I understand what the superhero life is all about. And I know that it’s fucking selfish of me to say this but...Bucky, I need you too. As much as the world does.”

It was a conversation that you and Bucky had many times now. But with how your love grew for him with each passing second, the thought of losing him, it had become too much for you to suppress.

Waking up without his little notes of reassurance that he’d be back soon, no more cold fingers tracing against the smooth expanse of your skin and having to sleep knowing that the next day, Bucky wouldn’t be there anymore— just the mere thought of losing him broke your heart.

“I can’t...” you breathed out, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Buck.” You admitted with a shaky sigh as your tears continued to fall.

Bucky wanted to get up and pull you to an embrace, but he was too injured to do so. How we wanted to kiss your tears away, all he could do was extend a hand towards you, inviting you to come closer and touch him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I should have told you, I’m sorry. C’mere.”

Despite your anger, you didn’t think twice and immediately went to hold Bucky’s hand, squeezing it tightly as if you were trying to make sure that he was fine and real and that you didn’t lose him.

“Please stop being so reckless. With how much I love you, it drives me crazy whenever you come home all wounded and bloody and now—“

“You love me?”

Bucky had asked the question as if he couldn’t believe that yes, you do love him. Sam really wasn’t kidding when he said how dense Bucky was.

“Is it not obvious?” You asked, wiping away your tears.

“I mean yeah but...I just didn’t want to assume that you do because we never really talked about it.” He explained, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

His metal fingers, although cold and hard against your skin, had always been your favorite. They were gentle when they needed to be, or at least whenever Bucky touched you. They were cold and made you shiver but always in a good way.

“Bucky, I’ve talked about wanting a future with you. You still didn’t think that that was love?” There was a hint of playfulness in your tone despite your deadpan expression.

Oh no, what if you interpreted everything the wrong way?

“Do you not...oh my god, Bucky am I the only one in love?” You asked, panicked.

“Oh god, no.” Bucky immediately clarified as he pulled you to sit down on the bed beside him.

“I love you. So much. Please don’t think otherwise.” He said, cupping your face and wiping away the remnants of your tears.

A smile followed by a quick peck on the lips. Bucky moved and gave you enough space to lay down beside him on the hospital bed. Suddenly, everything felt right. Not that it wasn’t before but with the both of you finally uttering those words, it felt different.

The perfect kind of different.

You laid your head against Bucky’s chest and listened to his heartbeat as his hand rubbed comforting circles on your back. You can’t imagine a life without being this close to him, your super soldier.

“I thought of you, you know.” His chest rumbled as he spoke.

You lifted your head up to look at him in confusion. He smiled at you lovingly, “During the mission. Every mission I go to actually, I thought of you.”

Bucky thought about how you always waited for his return no matter how long he took. He imagined what you’d be doing when he’d come back, would you still be asleep? Perhaps you’d be in the shower, singing. Bucky thought about how he’d kiss you as soon as he comes home, how he’d make you feel how much he missed you and your scent, how your smooth skin felt against his.

Every single time, Bucky thought about coming home to you. It was his motivation to stay alive no matter what. He knew you needed him as much as the world does.

Because he needed you just the same.

More than friends, indeed. Less than lovers? No, you and Bucky were more than that.

You were each other’s worlds.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 7

Summary: In order to win, she might have to lose.

Warnings: angst, swearing, bit of fluff, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six  

=================================

Waking up to skies lit by the wintry sun is what Y/N expected. In the back of her mind, she remembers opening her eyes. Perhaps it’s her mind playing tricks on her, but she could swear she heard Aleksander’s voice softly speaking to her. 

Telling dreams from reality felt like an impossible task, but if it were a dream, would she really dream of him?

Death never crossed her mind. She was a soldier in an expendable army for most of her life, yet she never feared death. There was never a lingering sense of what if when they asked her if she believed in life after death, but she wondered now. Looking death in the eye had forced a realization upon her – she would die and achieve nothing. She married arguably the most powerful man in all of Ravka and she failed to utilize it. In the end, her name would be forgotten in history for her plans would all die with her.

Inhaling sharply, she wanted to open her eyes. A heaviness settles on her eyelids, making her groan. Her entire body felt dismantled, every nerve bare, inflicting pain.

“It’s alright”, a hand pressed to her forehead and Y/N frowns. Breathing heavily, she felt vulnerable, exposed.

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flutter open. With blurry vision, she looked up at the dark presence looming above her. Blinking fast, her lips part and before she can ask, cool liquid runs down her parched throat.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes closed again. She needed a moment to collect herself, to stop the world from spinning.

“It hurts”, she mumbles meekly.

“Shhh”, his voice reaches her. “I’m here”, she feels a gentle squeeze of his hand, “You’re safe.”

Resisting sleep, she opened her eyes once more. The sight of his tormented gaze leaves her nearly breathless. He’s still handsome, but it looks as if he’s aged ten years in just a few days.

“What happened?” Her voice is hoarse, still raspy from thirst and sleep.

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a week”, his forehead wrinkles, “We’ve just made it back.”

Despite the little voice in his head, the Darkling held onto his wife throughout the night. He kept her close to his chest, running his fingers through her hair. She was exhausted, injured so badly he could hear the strain her body was under with every breath she took.

Her eyes remained closed, her lips slightly parted and his pressed in a thin line. Absurd. It was absurd to think that someone like that – so delicate, so fragile, could have any power over him. It baffles him just how quickly he found himself attached to this woman who was unremarkable in every possible way – or so he told himself.

Truth be told, he couldn’t take his eyes off her since he first saw her. She radiates genuine beauty few possess, a confidence he’s never found in anyone in hundreds of years, and an air of mystery he couldn’t quite understand.

By the time morning light reached their tent, the Darkling just stared at her with care, studying every inch of her face as if it could be the last time he’ll ever be given a chance. He memorized the way she fit in his embrace, the rhythm of her beating heart in the dead of night and every labored breath as it threatened his sanity.

Anger was his best friend for so long, his shield against humanity, but his anger wasn’t all-consuming as it once was – it was directed to those who caused the swelling around her eyes and cuts across her cheekbones.

“General”, Ivan’s head peaked inside the tent only to swiftly disappear once he caught sight of a moment he was sure wasn’t meant for his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, the Darkling gently laid her head down. Caressing her cheek, he let a heavy sigh pass his lips. It’s been too long since he last felt so defenseless and helpless as he did now. He promised himself he’d never feel that way again and yet he found himself in the same cursed whirlwind of emotions as he was in when the fold came to be.

Biting his lower lip, he pushed it all down. If he’s distraught, his people would know. He cannot be emotional and still lead an army. He has to be strong – for Grisha and for Y/N.

“Ivan, we’ll have to find a healer soon”, Kirigan spoke in a hushed tone. Glancing at the tent, he felt a lump growing at the back of his throat. “I believe she’s developed a fever too.”

“Fedyor can try to cool her temperature”, Ivan offers, “He’ll slow her heart and keep her breathing. I’ll trade with him if necessary.”

Nodding, the general was satisfied with Ivan’s solution. For once, Ivan didn’t question why he wanted to protect her. This time, he was offered aid rather than words of discouragement.

“I’ll have to leave some of our own here”, Kirigan looks at the direction they came from. “The Fjerdans came too close and I need to know why. Why would they take my wife?”

Ivan lowers his voice, making sure he doesn’t wake up Y/N, “Perhaps it was a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Not when her safety is at stake.”

Nodding, Ivan glances at Fedyor. He’d be the same if anyone touched his beloved. Suppressing a smile, Ivan finally realized it – no matter how vehemently the general denies it, his heart is no longer his.

“What are the orders? I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“Take back what they took, place their heads on a stake and wait. More should come soon and when they do, I want to know why they came so close to Little Palace and who ordered them to take my wife.”

Squinting, not in anger but to see him better, Y/N frowns, “A week?”

“Winter made it hard for us to move faster and you were in no shape to ride back.”

Letting out a shaky breath of air, she raised an eyebrow, “So you carried me?”

“Ivan and Fedyor kept you alive too.”

Wetting her chapped lips, she hesitated. Her fingers burned, itching to touch him, to intertwine with his.

“A healer should be here any minute now”, Aleksander informed, pulling his hand out of hers as if he could sense her inner battles and decided to help her by removing himself from it entirely.

“No”, she decided.

Standing abruptly, his jaw clenched. Despite his stern expression, his eyes hold all the sadness in the world, pleading eyes that both threaten and adore.

“No?” He repeats with disdain, “What do you mean by no?”

Holding her breath, she endures a sharp pain in her ribcage as she propped herself up on her elbows. Breathing heavily, she directed her determined gaze on him. “I’m human, am I not?”

Squinting at her, his lips part, “And?”

Struggling to prevent herself from laughing at the way he looked at her now, Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Humans aren’t allowed aid of a healer. We go to the medics.”

“You’re my wife”, he remarks almost instantaneously, slightly wishing she remained unconscious for a while longer. If she slept, the healer would have done their job and there would be no argument. There was no doubt about it, their truce was over.

“But I’m still a human. The rest of my kind don’t have the privilege of being married to you.” Her voice is stern, low and frustratingly righteous.

“You need a healer or you might not survive”, Aleksander insisted.

“Then let me die.” She stared at him, no signs of crumbling and it made him feel like he’s drowning.

Rubbing his forehead, the Darkling shut his eyes in frustration. After all the sleepless nights, his head felt like it would implode. All he had on his mind was her safety and now when he brought her home, she refused help.

“What do you want?”

Knitting her eyebrows, she glanced at his jaw as it clenched. “What?”

Her voice is higher, almost confused but he knew better than that. “I’ve known you for almost two months.” Two months too long, he thought. “I know when you’re trying to extort me.”

Covering her mouth, Y/N suppressed a laugh. Truth be told, it’s exactly what she’s doing, she just didn’t expect him to cave so quickly.

“Healers for the First army”, her lips twitch. Pursing her lips, she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her mouth to stop herself from smiling at all costs.

“No”, he spoke through gritted teeth.

Shrugging, she laid back down. “Alright then. I only regret I won’t be here to hear you explain my death to the Tsar and my father.”

Growling under his breath, he swipes his hand down his face. “One healer.”

“Two”, she argued, sitting up with a pained expression on her face.

“We can’t spare two”, the Darkling crosses his arms, his eyes darker than ever before.

Lifting her chin in defiance, she narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Two healers or no deal.”

Releasing a long, heavy breath in frustration, the Darkling felt his insides turn. “Two healers but only for those who can’t get better with a week long rest on their own.”

“Two healers for those who can’t get better in a few days of rest AND the same amount of food and water for the First army.”

Running a hand through his hair, the general’s nostrils flare. Cracking his neck to the left, to the right, he turned his death glare back on his wife. “Food and water are limited for Grisha as well.”

“I saw them eat grapes”, Y/N deadpans. “You have enough, so share. If the First army dies out, who will protect your precious Grisha?”

Folding her hands in her lap, she maintained eye contact with the general who refused to blink. He stared back at her, aghast. The woman was impossible! She made every word that passed her lips a contest of wills.

His jaw set, he moved closer to stand before her. He looked formidable with the relentless, firm pools of black ink for eyes devouring her with intensity, too hard in comparison to what she had seen in the tent. He looked like he could kill her without even putting a hand on her…something she still expected him to do.

What was stopping him? She was far behind enemy lines, no reinforcements and she saw what he can do – he could kill everyone who stood in his way.

“Fine”, he huffs. “Under one condition.”

Rolling her eyes, she nods, “What is it?”

“I want a kiss.”

Her eyes flashed to his. Ringed with golden bruises, she was still alluring – like a wildfire or a storm. No…she is wildfire, a storm. She is deadly and uncontrollable and slightly out of her wits and he’s asking her to be his ruination. It isn’t love, he tells himself, it’s obsession.

Raising her eyebrows, Y/N didn’t bother hiding her surprise. A kiss? Of all the things he could have asked, the big bad general who can summon shadows is asking for a kiss?

A part of her trusted Aleksander and that trust demanded intimacy. She wanted his hands on her – in her hair, his lips on her neck. She longed to be vulnerable and that’s what worried her. Trusting him, needing him, it’s bound to breed love and self-inflicted madness. If it were anything else, she would outright refuse him, but she has so many lives dependent on her answer.

“Tonight”, she decided. If her own sanity is the price to pay, she will do what she has to do.

Nodding, the Darkling retreated. Leaving the room, he opened the door for the healer to enter. Sparing her a quick look, he swallowed thickly as the thought of her willingly kissing him made his heart slam into the rib cage. Even his heart wanted to escape him as it too longed for her hands’ touch.

He didn’t make more than two steps outside the room when a Grisha joined him - one of his many spies.

“What do you have for me?”

The spy beckons him to the side, looking around wildly. “This could change everything.”

“What is it?” The Darkling speaks through gritted teeth, demanding an answer.

“There is talk”, the spy pauses, “Of a Sun Summoner.”

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

Healed, bathed and properly fed, Y/N had paced their room in anticipation of his arrival. She had seen the look in his eyes earlier that day – something between them has changed.

As the door opens, her breath halts inside her throat.

“I thought you were lost”, Genya admitted. “When they found your mare, I lost hope.”

Smiling, Y/N cupped her cheek. “I did too”, she sniffled.

The Darkling felt, more than saw, her presence as he entered the room. He turned slowly, his breath held. Her hair looked darker in the candlelight, its rich color gleaming against the green velvet of fresh sheets on the bed she leaned against. He could hardly speak. The nearness of her, the quiet room, the candlelight made him question the reality of what he was looking at.

“You look better”, Aleksander managed a curt smile, looking at Y/N and her attire. The sheer nightdress she wore was back, perfectly outlining her figure.

“Why did they take you?” Genya asked, unshead tears weighing heavily on her eyes. “Did they know?”

“No”, Y/N shakes her head, “But they found out.”

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter. Kirigan killed them all.” Y/N glanced at the door where she expected her husband to appear later on.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Y/N felt her heart flip. “It helped me realize something.”

Frowning, Genya waited for Y/N to explain.

“Your General does have a heart”, she states. His request for a kiss lingered in every thought her mind could concoct.

She stared at him then slowly untied the belt of her robe and it glided languidly over her smooth skin, falling to her feet.

His gaze roamed over her as if he is unable to fully comprehend her beauty. Only when he looked back at her eyes did he see she was troubled. 

“Of course he does”, Genya chuckles, “He was most worried when you were taken. He promised he’d kill them all and bathe in their blood.”

“I think I can use that.”

Knitting her eyebrows, Genya’s frown deepened. “How?”

Pressing her lips, Y/N sighed. “In order for me to win”, she paused, “He needs to believe he did.”

“Husband”, she spoke clearly. She feigned confidence, but inside she quivered.

She had barely finished the syllable when she was in his arms, being carried to their bed, his lips already fastened to hers. She felt his lips hit hers like a tornado, his admission of burning the world in her name spinning in her head. It could have been a fever dream, but she would bet her life it wasn’t.

Holding her chin in place, he rested his forehead on hers, heaving from the kiss. She couldn’t open her eyes, clinging to him for dear life, but even with eyes closed, Y/N could hear the emotions thick in his voice.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not willing.” He whispered against his lips, all too prepared for his hands to roam her body now.

Y/N was afraid of herself as well as of him. He could sense it as he kissed her. He’d waited a long time for her to come to him and now it seems she was more than ready to give herself to him without his talk of her marital duty.

He expected anything but to find her with her arms wide open.  But even now, as he held her, he felt no great sense of triumph.

Pulling the sheet over her, he stood. “I can wait.”

The sheet accented her shoulders and the full swelling of her breasts. The candlelight deepened the shadow above the sheet. Her bare throat pulsed with life. Her face was set in a firm, serious expression that caused her eyes to darken. Her lips were hard, as if carved of marble and he ached to part them into a smile.

Turning away, he began undressing himself for bed, wondering how he could survive a night beside her if she remains as she is now.

She averts her gaze, whispering under her breath in confusion, “Wait?”

He laid beside her, barely dressed at all. She found herself achingly aware of his presence. The only light in the room was from the flames of candles she placed across the room. The light danced on her hair, played with the shadows of her delicate collarbones. At this moment, he remembered nothing of the arrangement their marriage was meant to be. He knew only that he was in bed with a desirable woman, one he never expected to claim. She seemed too headstrong to ever give into his charm, yet she bared herself before him and he couldn’t take advantage of her.

“Why don’t you want me?” She sat up, glaring at him. She let the sheet fall as his eyes met hers, bravely fixing him with her fiery gaze.

Rolling his eyes, he looks away. How can she torment him like this with no shame?

If anything, he felt like she’s attacking him. “I don’t want to hear about how a demon took you by force for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not force if I’m giving myself willingly, is it?” She raised an eyebrow, deciding on a tactic finally. Aleksander is a general, a conqueror at heart and she saw the desire in his eyes. If there was any hope of her plan to work, she had to harness his desire to convince him he won.

Licking his lips as he cracked a smile, Aleksander nodded in surprise, unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her breasts. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He wanted to possess her, to claim this difficult, headstrong woman for himself. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them.

Y/N fumbled with the sheet that wrapped around her, making Aleksander chuckle into the kiss.

“Let me help you,” Aleksander purred and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress.

Wrapping his hand around Y/N’s neck, his grip was oddly weak, gentle even. She laid nude before him, his gaze fixed on her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, curvy waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could stop him from taking her.

“You make me feel”, he pauses in anguish, “You make me feel”, he said quietly, fiercely, “And I don’t like it. I want it to stop. Now.”

He pushed her into the mattress and Y/N saw the ruthless general in his eyes and for a moment she feared it. A general isn’t gentle at all, not like Aleksander could be. She feared the pain he’d cause and the tears that would follow. She feared what he’d do to her, but then the fear she felt dissipated as he spoke against her lips.

“I’ll go slowly.” Aleksander stopped himself, remembering she’s never had a man in her bed before and once he saw the fear in her eyes extinguish the flame he already adored, he reeled himself in.

“Your hands are bloody from murder”, she paused, “But I trust them completely.” Her voice had never been smaller, her hands never as desperate as she clung to him. She wanted to trust the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his unrelentingly tender gaze, but she still awaited the pain that was yet to come. He moved on top of her, his lips attaching to her neck gently as he pressed a kiss above her pulsating carotid, knowing she’s nervous as he felt the pace of her pulse.

With one thigh, Aleksander parted hers. He kissed her again, passionate and slow, distracting her as his hand moves lower, down to the intimate parts she never allowed another only man to see, to feel. Slipping his finger between her folds, he found if applied enough pressure a desperate moan escapes her without a fail. He feels her breathing change as he begins to rub circles, her thighs trying to push against his in a need of more friction. And that’s when control escapes her and she closes her eyes completely, letting the pleasure take over.

Unable to wait any longer, Aleksander pushed the head of his hardened length between the folds, feeling her wetness pooling over as nature’s lubricant. Feeling the membrane, he stops for a moment. Looking at her carefully for any signs of distress, he wonders if she even realizes what is about to happen.

“Do you want this?” He asks again, fearing she may change her mind.

Gripping his arm, she nods. “Yes”, she replies, breathless.

Pressing himself inside, he bows his head in the crook of her neck, growling lowly in pleasure. It’s not the first virgin he had, but it’s the first one that made him want to come on the first thrust.

“Go on.” She encourages him, surprising them both. Swallowing thickly, she sinks her nails into his back, anticipating the next thrust. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t in pain, but she knew it would get easier as he moves again and she would feel the pleasure again – and she wanted the pleasure more than the pain.

Nodding, Aleksander starts moving in and out slowly, refusing to risk her pain for a little more pleasure he’d find in speed and his untimely release. Instead, he’s using deep, slow strokes with a relentless care for the nerve bundle between her folds. Every passing second draws louder moans from her until he feels her clench around him, his own mind blackening as he feels himself nearing the edge. She’s holding him so tightly to her body, so desperately as she unravels beneath him. Picking up pace, he finally loses control, jerking his hips to meet hers in a deep thrust only to finish deep inside her, allowing them both to breathe.

Rolling off her, Aleksander decided to stay quiet, allowing her to have control of the moment. If she wants his embrace, he’d do it for her and if she wants to talk, he’d talk to her, otherwise, he’d just sleep. It’s been so long since he truly slept – since the day they went for that ride.

He placed an arm around her for comfort alone, not pressing himself closer than necessary, closing his eyes once he realizes she’s not interested in him at all after she came down from her high.

Waiting for a few minutes, Y/N pretended to sleep. After the hurricane of emotions he’d given her, Y/N didn’t know how to feel. She wanted to relax, to sleep in bliss, but a part of her ached. She ached for who she used to be. Would her father hate her for what she just did? Would her people denounce her for sleeping with the enemy?

Her eyes opened wide, finding his are still closed. Lips quivering, she felt herself crumble as tears fled her eyes. She watched his sleeping figure and sighed deeply, telling herself to stop crying. She was supposed to be in control of him, to make him want her and crave her, yet she found it was the opposite. She didn’t love him, but she did feel a connection…perhaps it’s the kindness he showed her when he rescued her or the pleasure he had given her, but something inside her changed and the heart she hardened on purpose found a soft spot for the general.

=============================

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Part 8

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

Graveyard Siblings (4)

I am sorry for not posting in a while. School is a total bitch. Here is part 4 of a fic that is not a fic.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)

-------

Tall Marinette.(I admit I might be projecting a little here.)

One day, she took out something from someplace high and the whole family realized that ‘holy shit when did you get so tall?’

Bonus if Jason comes back from a long mission and had a wtf moment because she was wearing 6-inch-heels and met his eyes with them on.

“Pixie?!”

------

You know how Bruce has the identity of Matches Malone to infiltrate the Gotham Underground.

While Jason does the drug deals more street crime stuff, Maria uses an excuse of being the representative for Red Hood excuse to mingle with the rich people who does crime on the side (Penguin), she uses it to go to black market auctions and buy some of the lost miraculouses which got into the hands of black market dealers.

Jason knows about it and acts as her ‘bodyguard’ anytime he can or sends one of his henchmen to be one with a death threat if she gets a single scratch on her.

Bruce is unaware of this. Or is he?

------

Mari helps with running WE since she is a little less busy with the vigilante side of things.

It started with Tim panicking about deadlines and Mari offering to help, to Bruce and Tim bullying the board to have her as co-CEO.

She has to be that and head of Afterlife. So she is very busy. Doesn’t know about what comes next….

------

Somehow the class comes to Gotham for a trip. It has been 3 years since her death.

Mari has changed her appearance since the day she left Paris. She has highlights in her hair after a ‘sibling bonding day’ with Jason. Her hair is kept short for convenience and not in pigtails. Along with her tall height and more confident aura, she is almost unrecognizable.

She rides a motorcycle too.

The class waits in the lobby for the tour and in walks this badass woman with aviator sunglasses, leather jacket and designer clothes which was all MT brand, making a lot of people swoon.

She takes off her glasses and walks past the class. Checking stuff on her phone and sipping coffee in her other hand.

She seems familiar but they couldn’t figure out why. (All except Chloe, Alix and Felix who are snickering in the background.)

Lila sees her and comments on how she must be a criminal with the way she dresses. (Lila internally freaks out because were her eyes messing with her? Because she looked a little like Marinette. Also jealous of the new arrival for stealing all the attention.) Alya takes the bait and calls security to ‘arrest’ her.

They just laugh. The class doesn’t understand, speaking in confused French.

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

“I am Maria Todd-Wayne, also known as designer MT. CEO of Afterlife and co-CEO of the very company you are in. I am allowed in here. Don’t judge a book by its cover.” she said in perfect French.

“But Lila told us you can’t speak French.”

“Who?”

“Lila Rossi, your friend. She told us that you and MT were dating.”

“Me dating myself. Okay I love myself because self-love is a thing but that is a whole other level. MT are my initials. Anyone who has a brain could have figured that out or at the very least do a Google search. I am not sure where your friend got that notion.”

“Hey, Bean, come on. We have a long day ahead of us.” Tim reminded her.

“Goodbye but cease the rumours or you would be escorted off the premises.”

As they rode up the elevator, “Tim, why are they here?”

“They are the lucky winners of the Wayne Enterprise Young Prodigies Contest. Why, Maria?”

“Lucky, huh.” She muttered under her breath. She might as well tell him. They are the Bats and they will find out anyway. “They are from my old class, the one you know…”

“Oh. Want me to send them back? I can do that if they are making you uncomfortable.”

“Nah. Too much to deal with. And it is unfair to send them back over a petty grudge. Besides, I could have some fun.”

“Anything that Bruce and I should be worried about?”

“I swear no killing. Just because Jason came back from the dead, hell-bent on killing. Doesn’t mean I am too.”

“Cool, just don’t do any property damage or traumatize our employees.”

“I might need you to erase some footage later and tell Bruce about this.”

“Some brownies, my favourite coffee cake, the ‘special’ brew and you have yourself a deal.”

-----

So basically she just showed up around where the class was ‘by coincidence’.

Talk to a few people and take them out of earshot of the rest of the class.

End the conversation by saying a few things only they and her would know. Insides jokes and secrets. (I pick her old childhood friends like, Nino, Kim and maybe Sabrina)

Uses Trixx to turn into a walking dead version of her 15-year old self and disappears as they freak out about how she knew that secret/story.

Freaks them out further by appearing again in front of the whole class and pretending not to know their previous conversation.

Mari manages to get Lila alone.

I should also say that Lila thought that her curse was making her see MT as Marinette.

It terrifies Lila when she finds out that MT is actually Marinette, not dead but alive after all this time and apparently living the high life she wanted. This fact made the Italian swell up with jealousy.

“I hope you are not lying about me again, Lila Rossi. Like you always do.”

“What do you want with me? I swear I didn’t say anything else about you.”

“Aw, Lila. Don’t recognize me?”

Maria flickers and Ladybug is in her place and later, the Marinette that appeared in her bedroom and back to normal.

“You! How? Why are you here? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Why not? I mean you did take away nearly all my friends, my parents and made my life a living hell. If you think about it, I am just repaying you the same favor. How are the others? Treating you well?”

“What did you do to me, you bitch?”

“I just put a curse on you. The ghosts of your past will haunt you until you stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop Lying, Liar. They all feed and grow in power from your lies. I wonder what would happen in a few years if you kept this up.”

“You think you can get away with this. This is war and I have already beaten you once.”

“Oh Rossi. This isn’t a war. It’s a death sentence.” With that she disappears.

Lila tries to tell her class that MT is actually Marinette. She is met with crazy looks. Some of them look like they want to believe her but don't because they don’t want to look crazy too.

Oh. Adrien wasn’t on the trip because his mother didn’t want him to go to the crime capital of America although the crime rate has gone down a little due to Hellbat curing some of the city’s bad energy..

Right after Lila told the class about MT, Scarecrow came to steal some Wayne tech and the class got caught in the crossfire. So later, it was brushed off as Lila seeing things due to the fear toxins.

-----

Joker made the mistake of kidnapping her. Once was enough to never try that again.

(It involved the use of nearly all of the Miraculouses, old and new. He was thoroughly humiliated at the end of it and his picture by the time Hellbat was done with him was on the Batfam’s Christmas Card. Like I said she doesn’t kill but making them beg for death was okay.)

It coincided with Jason’s Birthday and the video of the incident was ‘the best birthday present ever.’ The uncensored version was watched at the next undead siblings bonding day. Damian included.

After hearing a few rumours about what happened, most criminals were glad for Hellbat’s rare appearances. (which happens once a month and during really busy time of the year)

There was a time where Penguin was carrying out one of their plans and when Hellbat showed up, all of their thugs surrendered instantly. (No Batman did not pout at the fact that this French girl was more imitating than him.)

Scarecrow used his newest batch of fear toxin on her during the first year after she died.

He was astounded to see her still standing and she later proceeded to beat the crap out of him while being under the toxin’s influences.

He has tried to stay out of her way since then.

She saw Scarecrow as Hawkmoth and said a lot of things in French which scared everyone because she said it with so much hate, anger and in a very menacing tone that everyone is like ‘I am not touching this.’

It took Red Hood and Nightwing to restrain her from further beating Scarecrow up.

He was one of the people who sympathised with the Joker after the Incident.

The next was Riddler being so arrogant in his plans and managed to get Hellbat and Spoiler into a death trap.

“You know I have a few regrets in life. And my final one is that I got captured and am now going to get killed by a walking fashion disaster.”

“Hey! I made this myself. I will have, you know.”

“You have a brilliant mind but no sense of fashion at all. When I get out of here, I am going to burn that thing with you in it, for your crimes against fashion.”

“What is wrong with it?”

Cue a lot of roasting of Riddler’s costume and Spoiler adding more fuel to the fire.

They manage to escape while Riddler is crying on the floor, having an existential crisis.

The thing was no one knows why Riddler was silent the entire week after encountering Hellbat and crying when anyone mentions it.

They now think Hellbat is the scariest one in the Batfamily, second to Batman and tied with Black Bat/Orphan.

The few who find out what really happened in the warehouse that night. Blackmail material on the Riddler.

Three ( four if you count Penguin) of Gotham’s biggest villains of the Rogues Gallery scared of Bats’ newest addition. Hellbat was not someone they wanted to mess with.

---------

Magic crisis stuff. Like a world ending event thing. Dr. Fate says they need the Miraculous jewels but the last mention of them had been in Paris a few years ago and had vanished since then.

Costantine looked at Batman. “You know who you have to call.”

Batman calls Hellbat. Who hasn’t been introduced yet to the JL.

“Ah. Bats. Not that I question your authority or anything but how can your newest ‘ward’ help us?”

She takes off her helmet and reveals her face and more importantly, her earrings.

Tikki comes out of her hiding place.

“I am the current Guardian of the Miracle Box and wielder of the Ladybug miraculous during Hawkmoth’s reign in Paris a few years ago. Any other Questions?”

“Oh great Guardian. Tikki. It is an honour to meet you.”-Wonder Woman, who else.

“You too, Princess Diana. Pass on my regards to your mother.”-Tikki

A huge face-off and the big evil is defeated.

WW asks abt HM and gives a horrified face at the end of her story. Nearly everyone who eavesdropped on the conversation was.

"Forgive me, Guardian for not aiding you in your hour of need.”

“It’s okay. I understand that there are other crises, world-ending ones that JL have to take care of. I am better now. Mostly.”

“I doubt it with those revenge schemes I found lying around. But she is getting there with her therapist.”-Batman

“I hate you, Dad.”

“Did you just call him Dad?”

“No….”

“Do you see me as a father figure?”

“I see you as a nuisance with how nosy you are with my personal business. So you are more of a bother figure.”

“I see you as part of the family too, Daughter.” (Got that reference anyone?)

“Jason was the one who adopted me.”

“Legally you are adopted by me.”

Maria with Pikachu surprised face because nobody told her that. “My life is a lie.”

-------

(Part 5)