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megalony · 11 months

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They're Joined

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, requested by Anon, thank you for this I love writing dramatic, angst pieces. I hope you like it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@butlegendsneverdie@langdonzvoid@jennyggggrrr@rogmeddows@radiob-l-a-hblah@rogertaylorsbitontheside@chlobo6@rogertaylors-lipgloss@sj-thefanthefan@omgitsearly@luckytrashgooprebel@scarsout@deaky-with-a-c@killer-queen-ofrhye@bluutac@vousmemanqueez-blog@jonesyaddiction@milanosaurus@httpfandxms@saint-hardy@7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls@mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe

911 Masterlist

Summary: After a day trip, the Diaz family are on their way home when they get caught up in a crash. The 118 work to get them out when their lives are in danger.

Enjoy.

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A soft smile lit up (Y/n)'s face as she slowly turned in her seat to look behind her in the back of the car. Her gaze fell on her son and she smiled brighter as she watched him for a few moments.

He was in his carseat, biting down on his thumb and rocking his head and chest back and forth, lightly bashing into the seat. He had a big smile morphed around his thumb and his legs were swinging back and forth, catching his shoes on her seat but she didn't mind. He was ecstatic.

It had been a long time since Chris had visited a zoo and the hour and a half drive had been more than worth it to see his face light up. He had zoomed around on his crutches, never tiring even though he had been walking about for hours. Every so often Eddie had picked him up and sat him on his shoulders to give him a break or let him get a better view of the animals.

His favourite had been the penguins, which was why he had a stuffed penguin toy tucked under his arm, pinned against his chest. (Y/n) had worried they wouldn't be able to get him to leave the zoo but he had been hungry and the promise of a takeaway for tea was enough to get him back in the car.

He had been stimming for the last hour.

Every now and then a squeal would break through over the noise of the radio or Chris would push back in his seat and rock so much the carseat started to creak and bash. But his parents were used to it and his happy stimming like this always made them smile.

(Y/n) slowly turned back round and shuffled down in her seat, relieved they were only twenty minutes away from home now. It had been a long day and she wanted to get out of the car and get something to eat.

Just when she reached her hand over to hold Eddie's thigh, her eyes widened and her lips parted silently. She caught Eddie's eye, noticing his raised brows and he tilted his head to look in the rear view mirror. Chris was doing echolalia.

"Then we were running and I ran-"

(Y/n) couldn't make out the rest of what Chris was saying, each word was said faster and faster until he was messing up his pronouncing and mashing the words together. His voice got higher as he continued to repeat a few random, unrelated phrases he had heard until he stopped himself and screamed excitedly.

It wasn't very often that Chris would do his echolalia during the day, it mostly happened at night when he was trying to fall asleep. It was a condition where Chris would repeat words and phrases he had heard, some of them recent and some of them could have been from months ago. He didn't understand what he was saying, it was just his brain processing and repeating and it usually happened at night when he was excited and winding down to sleep.

They had heard him say a lot of random things over the years and it was surprising how Chris could talk in full sentences when he was doing his echolalia. But then when he was talking properly to them or at school, he didn't always use enough words or use adjectives or connecting words. He was a lot slower at talking when he was engaged in conversation whereas like this, he talked so fast even he couldn't work out what he was saying.

Eddie had started to watch what he said around his son after hearing him one night repeat 'he ran into the fucking fire' followed by a loud giggle. It was surprising what Chris could hear and remember.

"Someone's happy,"

"He won't be sleeping tonight," Eddie reached down for (Y/n)'s hand that was on his thigh and raised the back of her hand to his lips. They knew this would be a possibility when they decided on a day trip out but it was worth it to have Chris so happy and elated like this.

"Yeah but we already knew that."

The next scream that Chris let out, (Y/n) and Eddie joined in too; but for a completely different reason.

***

Something burned in Chimney's stomach and ignited deep in his chest, causing his steps to falter when he got closer to the crash site. He could feel his breaths getting clogged up in his throat and the med bag on his shoulder started to slip when his shoulders sagged down and his feet went from running to a floppy shuffle.

He knew that truck, he had seen it hundreds of times in the car park behind the station.

He moved his hand to grab the med bag that was almost falling to the floor and he picked his feet up. Shuffling awkwardly through the mess of cars that had slammed on their brakes and spun to a stop to avoid the pile up in front of them.

"Oh fuck," Tears were already welling up in his eyes without seeing the damage or commotion that was happening inside the truck.

That was Eddie's truck.

There wasn't a lot of space around the truck, it was banged up pretty good. The passenger side was slammed up into the concrete barrier separating both sides of the motorway and there was another car wedged up at the back of the driver's side. There was only a small angle of room where Chimney would be able to open the driver's door and try to get in and help. They couldn't even pull the truck forward because another car was rammed into the engine that was smoking and making a clicking, whirling noise that didn't sound good.

He dropped the bag to the floor and yanked on the door handle until it swung open and slammed into the empty car next to it. There was just enough space for Chimney to climb up onto the small step and lean inside the truck to see what was going on.

He didn't like what he saw.

Eddie was in the driver's seat, slumped forward onto the steering wheel with his left arm bent around the wheel and his right arm stretched out towards the passenger seat.

Reaching down, Chimney pressed a finger to his neck, relieved to feel a strong pulse and hear his deep breaths.

"Alright Eddie, help's here." He pushed himself higher on the step to try and see over Eddie's back towards the passenger seat. "(Y/n), can you hear me?" A groan from Eddie was the only response he got.

He could barely see (Y/n), she was slumped against the door, her hair fanned across her face hiding her from sight but Chimney could see glass littering her body. The window had broken as had the windscreen. She was slightly hunched over and if the seatbelt wasn't bound around her, Chimney could see she would have fallen down into the footwell.

"Christopher? Hey, you with me?"

Chris wasn't responsive either. He had his glasses slung around his neck, his chin pressed down into his chest with his head slumped forward and his arms crossed loosely over his chest and a teddy slumped between his legs.

Oh dear.

"Attention, I need a lot of backup over the East side of the pile up to the black Ford truck. Guys, it's Eddie. Repeat, Eddie and family are trapped unresponsive in the truck. Bring the saw."

He would need a lot of help getting all three of them out of here and he needed the metal saw or cutters or something like the winch to get enough room to get them all out. If they had spinal injuries, they might have to hoist them through the windscreen.

When another groan left Eddie's lips, Chimney could have cried in happiness, it would be more helpful to have Eddie awake and able to tell them what hurt and see if he had internal damage. But if he was awake and his family wasn't, it was also going to make the situation a lot harder for everyone.

"Eddie, it's Chim. Take it easy, I'm gonna ease you back and check you over, the team's all here to get you out."

He braced his hand on Eddie's chest and held the back of his neck before he slowly helped him sit back up in his seat. It would be easier to assess and talk to him if he was upright instead of slumped over like that.

Eddie started to blink and he twitched his head away when he felt unfamiliar hands on his neck trying to assess whether he had any spinal damage or nerve damage. He didn't. He could feel his legs, he could wiggle his toes in his shoes if he wanted to and every part of his body was on fire but he was waking up and that was good. His vision blurred for a while and he jerked his arm when he felt Chimney pressing on his chest that felt like it was tight and aching.

"Can you move your toes for me Eddie?"

"Yeah," It hurt like Hell, but he tapped his feet up and down against the pedals as he felt Chimney turn the engine off for safety.

"Eddie!"

"W-where the fuck am I?" He shook his head but it only made the unbalanced feeling get worse and turned the world on its axis. He could hear Buck calling out for him over the dull ringing in his ears.

"You're in the car, you've had a collision but we're gonna get you out, just hang tight." Chimney patted his shoulder before he jumped down and leaned over to talk to Bobby. "I can't get to (Y/n), she's unresponsive and Chris doesn't look too bad but he's unconscious in the back. Eddie's waking up,"

"Alright, Hen break the back window and get Chris checked out. Buck switch with Chim to get Eddie out and Chim, you and me will get on the engine and check (Y/n) through the windscreen. Go."

The truck was rammed in at all angles, the only way to get in the back would be to break the boot window and climb over to get Chris checked over. If he had no spinal or nerve injuries it would be a lot easier to get him out they could break the back window and ease him through that way. Eddie could get through the small opening in his door and wait near an ambulance if they could get him that far.

And for (Y/n), they were going to have to climb onto the truck and go through the already broken windscreen.

As soon as Eddie's horrendous roar emmited through their ears, Chimney moved and Buck hopped between the cars to get to the door and see what was going on.

"Eddie, hey it's Buck it's me! Let's get you out of here and I can help (Y/n), come on-"

"No!"

"Eddie I have to-"

"I can't- I c- Fuck!" Tears spilled down Eddie's face and he slammed his head back into the headrest and pummeled his left fist into the dashboard beside the steering wheel. He let his aching head flop to the right to look at his wife but when he heard the engine groaning from the team climbing up, his eyes shot up to look at Bobby. "Don't touch her!" His elbow flew into Buck to get him off before he reached up and held his arm out towards them.

"We need to check her over-"

"We're stuck!"

"Cap, they um… they're joined." Chimney crouched on his hands and knees as he leaned his head through the windscreen, being careful of the broken glass but he could see why Eddie was suddenly panicking.

In the struggle, Eddie had reached his arm out to try and help pin (Y/n) back in her seat so she didn't get whiplash or fly onto the dashboard. When metal chunks went flying through the windscreen, a long, thin shard of metal punctured through the middle of Eddie's hand and went into (Y/n)'s lower chest. They were pierced together, the team couldn't move Eddie without moving (Y/n) at the same time.

They were pinned.

"I'm gonna take a look I won't move either of you, okay?"

Chimney leaned his chest onto the dashboard and laid down so he could reach them easier.

The first thing he had to do was check (Y/n)'s pulse and her breathing. She had a pulse, her heartbeat was fluctuating and uneven but it was there and that was all he needed right now. He could see her chest rising and falling beneath Eddie's hand that was splayed out on her chest. Chimney kept his hands steady and firm and stretched his arms out towards them.

His hands patted over (Y/n)'s neck, shoulders and then down towards her legs before he moved back up to her chest.

"She's got a few broken ribs," He couldn't hide the grimace from his face when he pressed around (Y/n)'s hips and her torso. "I think her pelvis is broken. The metal is below her heart which is good, it might have pierced her stomach though. We have to move quick."

He couldn't add pressure to the wound and he couldn't cut off her blood supply because of where the wound was. (Y/n) needed circulation to the rest of her body, there was no way to cut off her blood supply to stem the bleeding like there would be if the metal was in her arm or her leg.

"W-what about Chris?"

"Hen how's Chris doing?" Bobby rested his hands on his knees and peered through to try and see Hen who was now sat in the back of the car next to Chris.

"Fractured arm, possible concussion but some glass had cut open an artery in his leg. I'm gonna have to do a stent and tie off his leg before we get him out."

"Oh God," Eddie tipped his head back and smothered his mouth with his hand to stop himself from screaming. He kept his palm pressed tightly to his mouth, morphing the Spanish prayer his mother used to use in times of crisis because if there were such things as miracles, Eddie sure as Hell needed one right now.

He darted his eyes back over to (Y/n) the moment he felt Chimney touching his impaled hand which flinched and twitched in response.

"It's a clean cut, looks like it's missed the main bones. Eddie, I'm gonna have to pull your hand off of the metal and (Y/n). The metal has to stay in her to stem the bleeding but we can pack and bandage your hand for the ambulance journey."

"Do it."

"I'll get you a shot of-"

"Just rip it off, we don't have time to fuck about. Get my wife out of here,"

He wasn't bothered about a shot of morphine which Eddie knew from experience would do very little to take the edge off. The most it would do was make him feel limp and lethargic and he couldn't afford to be anything other than awake and alert. He had to be with his family and keep watch over them. (Y/n) was the one who would need a shot of pain relief if she started to wake up from this.

Eddie wanted her in the ambulance as quick as they could manage.

"Alright, here we go." Chimney carefully strapped a neck brace around (Y/n) and tilted her head back before he rummaged around in his med bag Bobby handed over to him.

Eddie watched with pained eyes as Chimney cut a strip up the middle of (Y/n)'s top and ripped it away from the metal punctured through them both. A clean view was needed to pull Eddie's hand away and try to keep the metal as still within (Y/n) as possible so she didn't get any internal damage. His left hand curled around the steering wheel and he hissed through his teeth when he felt saline and a solution being squirted all around his hand and over (Y/n)'s chest and stomach.

"Keep your arm still and let me move your hand,"

He didn't need telling twice but he wished he had something to bite down on just in case either (Y/n) or Chris could still hear what was going on. He hated to scream in front of them but the pain was burning and it dragged out because Chimney had to move slow. At least when Eddie had been shot at, it had been quick and countered out by adrenaline.

Carefully and slowly, Chimney pulled Eddie's hand up until it squelched off the metal and was finally free. He handed Eddie's hand over to Bobby who washed it down in more solution before packing gauze to either side and wrapping a bandage tightly round to keep the pressure.

"Eddie we need you out so we can get a back board in there and move her."

"No, no I'll get her out with you," He flung his belt off to the side and shifted round in his seat, muffling a groan when he felt his knee twist and spasm. It was either dislocated or broken and Eddie hoped for the first.

He could do this. He was awake, alert and no longer punctured into his wife, he could get her out of here and he could help Hen get Christopher out if she needed assistance with that. He wasn't standing by like some idiot who didn't know what he was doing. He was part of this team and this was his job, they did this every day, it wasn't that much different. Eddie was just sitting on the other side of the line this time.

A silent look passed between Bobby and Buck and with a nod of his head, Bobby gave the order.

Eddie couldn't help with this. He was hurt, in pain and he was concussed, not to mention this was his family and he wasn't on shift. They wouldn't be liable if (Y/n) got injured during the process of getting her out and it was found out that Eddie helped get her out.

He was too close.

"Wh- no! Get off me! Let me GO!"

Scream after scream flew past Eddie's lips and he flung his arms out to grab the door frame when Buck held him under his arms and started to tug him out of the truck. He had to get out, they had to be quick and get (Y/n) and Chris out of there and Eddie couldn't help.

Buck held his breath, tensed his arms and pulled until his closest friend was out of the truck and his legs flopped beneath him to the floor like a rag doll. He didn't give Eddie the chance to try and scramble back into the car, he shuffled backwards and hoisted him along, kicking, screaming and elbowing him to get back in the truck.

Reaching behind him, Eddie dug his nails sharply into the back of Buck's neck and roared, pulling his head down with a jerk to try and get him to let go but it didn't work. Buck let him go and flopped him down onto unsteady feet before he moved round and stood in front of him like a boulder.

"Traitor!" Eddie slammed his fist down on Buck's shoulder but it didn't make that much of an impact and all Buck did was frown and look like he was about to cry. He was put in an awkward position and all he wanted to do was help but he couldn't let Eddie get involved in this. "T-they're my family, if they… I need to be with them,"

When Eddie slumped forward and pressed his forehead into Buck's chest, Buck wrapped his arms around him and held him up.

"I know, I know."

With Eddie out the truck it was easier to get in and get ready to move (Y/n). Bobby got the backboard while Chimney undid her belt and they both eased her up onto the board as slowly as they could so they didn't move the metal too much and rupture something. Once she was strapped on, Chimney pushed the board up through the windshield and climbed out with her.

"Go follow (Y/n) to the ambulance and I'll help get Chris out," Buck gave Eddie a nudge towards his wife before he headed over to the back door that was jammed up against another car. He noticed Hen had managed to roll the window down after she got Chris stabalised. "Pass him through and I'll carry him."

"Easy, do not move or jostle his leg or the stint won't hold,"

Chris was slowly passed between them and Hen held tight hold of his legs and helped shift him round until he was laid over Buck's arms. And just before he turned to run towards the ambulance, Hen leaned over and placed his penguin teddy on his chest.

"He'll be needing this."

***

"How are we doin' in here?" Bobby peered his head around the door and took a tentative step inside but what he saw melted his heart.

He noticed Buck first. He was sat in the plastic chair on the left side of the bed, his legs propped up and crossed on the bed and his body slouched back in the seat. His chin was resting on his hand and he was fast asleep, still in his uniform with his blazer slugged over the back of the chair.

On the floor by Buck's feet, was Chimney, sprawled out asleep with his arms folded over his chest and his head leaning on Buck's leg.

On the other side of the bed, sat Eddie. He was in a dark blue reclining armchair that had the bottom propped up so Eddie could stretch his legs out. His jeans were cut around the middle of his thigh on his left leg and his knee which was dark purple and swollen, was fitted in a brace. It had dislocated during the crash and putting it back in place had almost felt as bad as the cut in his hand.

His right hand had been stitched up and wrapped in a thick clean bandage that went down over his wrist for safety.

He had taken his shirt off in the emergency room so they could check him over and send him for an X-ray which they had also done on his hand and found only one little break in his hand. And now he was sat in just his jeans with a tight bandage wrapped around his lower chest since he had broken two ribs and fractured a third.

Despite the ache that was pulsing through every part of his body, Eddie was still sat in the chair with his son curled up in his arms.

They had put Chris under a mild sedation to fix his leg and bandage it up so he couldn't scratch or pull at his stitches and they had set his arm back in place and put it in a cast from his wrist to his elbow. But when he woke up, no one had been able to stop Eddie from picking him up and walking up and down the room with him like he was a newborn again. He swayed him in his arms, whispered and sang to him to calm him down and as soon as (Y/n) was out of surgery, they went to her room and refused to move.

The metal had successfully been removed and her stomach had been stitched up. Her pelvis was slotted back in place and bound tight just like her chest for her broken ribs and stitches.

She wasn't awake yet, but they weren't expecting her to be after the sedation she had been put under.

When Buck and Chimney found out that she had been moved into a room, they used their uniforms to get past the nurses and hid in her room with Eddie and Chris. And subsequently fell asleep.

"I think we're okay," Eddie waved Bobby inside before he rubbed at his tired eyes and tightened his arms around Chris who was sound asleep on his chest, cuddled up with his penguin. The weight was more comforting than aching and uncomfortable, Eddie would take any amount of pain if it meant his son was comforted and close to his chest.

He couldn't come close to losing either of them again.

"I'm glad to hear it, Hen's on her way down to pop by and see you."

"Cap?"

"Yeah?"

Eddie didn't know what he would have done if the team hadn't reached them so quickly or if they hadn't all have thought on their feet and got him and his family out of there. They didn't let their closeness cloud their judgements, they got everyone safe and got them out and did what was best.

"Thank you,"

#eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz x reader #eddie x reader #imagines #911 imagine #911 fox #bobby nash #evan buckley

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pedroscurls · 6 months

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second chances | pt. 4

Character(s): Marcus Pike x fem!Reader Summary: You and Marcus go to IKEA and confessions are made. Word count: 3.1k A/N: Shout out to the anon who gave me the idea about those plushies! I hope you all enjoyed this part. I know it's a slow burn, but the wait will be worth it! I promise🫶 Warning: None. SERIES MASTERLIST - ultimate masterlist

“Good night, angel.”

You couldn’t get it out of your head. Couldn’t get Marcus out of your head. Couldn’t get the feeling of having his arms around you out of your head. You try to sleep, try to get some rest, but you’re lying in your bed, staring up at your ceiling with thoughts of him. Finding someone you were interested in wasn’t ever part of your plan once you moved to DC. You had put all your focus into your new job that you didn’t anticipate him, didn’t expect someone to occupy your thoughts most of the time.

You hear your phone vibrate, pulling you out of your thoughts but when you see his name on the screen, your heart flutters. It’s surprising to you at how much of an effect Marcus has on you. You and Marcus exchanged numbers about a week after meeting each other and when you were both away at work, you’d send each other scattered texts throughout the day.

But rarely did you ever receive a text from him once you were both home.

It was well after one in the morning and when you open the text, you immediately grin.

Marcus: Figured after IKEA, we can grab a bite to eat? If you’d like.

You wonder if he knows you’re awake. You wonder if he’s having trouble sleeping too. You wonder if he’s excited to spend the day with you tomorrow.

So, without hesitating, you type a reply.

You know, we both said we should call it a night… Looks like neither of us can sleep. But I’d love to grab something to eat after IKEA, Marcus.

You’re about to put your phone down but Marcus replies just as quickly.

Marcus: What can I say? I’m pretty excited to spend the day with you.

You blush and smile so big that it reaches your eyes. He’s just right next door and you want so badly to just leave your apartment and go to his, to be in the comfort of his arms. Being so close to him earlier that night made your stomach do flips. His arms are so strong, yet so gentle when he wrapped them around you.

I’m excited too, Marcus.

Marcus: Okay, we should really get some rest. I’ll see you later.

Night, Marcus.

Marcus: Sweet dreams, angel.

You want to scream, want to kick your feet in the air with such excitement because your heart is so full of joy right now. The pet name hadn’t just slipped out of his mouth earlier. He meant to say it.

You set your phone aside and shut your eyes, forcing yourself to at least get some sleep before later today.

—

Marcus couldn’t sleep. All he could think about was having you in his apartment and how well you just fit right in with him. He can still hear your laugh, see your smile, feel your arms wrap around him and he wants more of it. Wants more of you. He still tries to tell himself that nothing can happen, that he doesn’t want to get hurt again, but he feels a pull whenever he thinks about you, whenever he sees you. It’s something he hasn’t ever felt before, not with his ex-wife and certainly not with Lisbon.

He tries to tell himself to ignore his feelings, to just be your friend, but it becomes increasingly difficult whenever you look at him with such hopeful and excited eyes. He knows that you’re interested in him, knows that there’s an obvious mutual attraction, and he certainly appreciates that you’re not pushing anything further. Instead, you’re going at his pace, allowing him to set the boundaries.

But Marcus does really like you.

And when he called you angel, Marcus had noticed the way your eyes lit up, the blush slowly appearing on your cheeks and while it had come out on accident, he found himself realizing that he wanted to say it every chance he could get.

Truthfully, he couldn’t wait to spend the day with you. His mind continues to go back and forth between the possibility of creating something more with you and the possibility of getting hurt all over again. He feels something whenever he’s around you, a slight tug on his heart, a certain type of pull towards you, and more often than not, you occupy most of his thoughts when you’re not around.

There’s something about you that makes Marcus realize that this could be something real. Realer than it was with his ex-wife and certainly more real than what he had with Lisbon.

—

It takes you multiple outfit changes for you to finally settle on something more casual, more relaxed and your bedroom is a complete mess due to the scattered clothes on your bed and floor. You’re scrambling to get the door when you hear a couple of knocks, knowing that it’s Marcus.

You take a quick look at yourself and let out a nervous sigh. You’re dressed in light denim jeans, a cropped white, high neck tank top, and a navy blue oversized cardigan. You didn’t have enough time to fix your hair, so you grab a hair clip and put your hair up into it, a few strands falling in front of your face.

Finally opening the front door, Marcus is standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s dressed just as casually too – dark jeans and a dark gray shirt. You look up at him, taking note of the fabric of his shirt stretching over his thick arms and he’s smiling at you, big enough that the dimple on his right cheek makes an appearance yet again.

“Hey,” he says. “You ready to go?”

You nod and grab your bag to sling it across your body. You step out of your apartment, locking it behind you and then flashing Marcus a thumbs up. “All set.”

“Great, you want me to drive?”

“Will that be okay?”

Marcus nods. “Of course. I’ve been meaning to show you around DC too, so maybe we can do that once we’re done with IKEA and grabbing a bite to eat.”

You lead him towards the elevator doors and you click the down button, waiting for the doors to open. You look over at him and smile. “You want to spend the whole day with me?” you say hopefully.

Marcus nods, looking deeply into your eyes. He gently pushes the fallen strands of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. He’s well aware now of the close proximity and how the color in your cheeks slowly begin to get pinker.

“Of course I want to spend the day with you. Do you want to spend the day with me?” he asks quietly.

You find that you’re stepping closer to him and you’re about to bring your hand up to rest over his, but the sound of the elevator doors open and his hand drops back to his side.

Taking a deep breath, you follow him into the elevator and press the button to the car garage. “Well, I did invite you, didn’t I?” you tease, trying to shake the lingering tension and the fact that he literally just tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Fair point,” Marcus chuckles. You both lean against the wall of the elevator and Marcus stands so close to you that your hand continues to brush against his, but he keeps his eyes focused straight ahead as the elevator begins to descend.

“So, any idea on what you might be looking for when we get there?” You ask, trying to ignore the fact that he’s so close to you.

“Nope,” he answers. “I guess you can say I’m gonna go in with an open mind. What about you?”

“I really want some art work, maybe some frames. Ooh,” you say, almost like an invisible light bulb appears above your head. “Maybe an ottoman.”

Marcus laughs quietly and looks over at you. “So, it sounds like you have no idea what you’re looking for either.”

You narrow your eyes playfully and then cross your arms over your chest, pouting. “At least I have some idea.”

“You’re cute when you pout. Now, come on.” Marcus winks. The elevator doors open and he steps out, leading you towards his car. Once there, he opens the passenger door for you and waits until you’re seated inside before he shuts the door.

“Such a gentleman,” you smile, buckling your seatbelt and looking over at him when he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Thought we already established that,” he chuckles. “You ready?”

You nod with a smile. “Let’s go.”

—

About half an hour later, you and Marcus are walking side by side into IKEA. There’s quite a lot of people already and you notice how Marcus is looking around, careful not to bump into anyone or get into anyone’s personal space. So instead, you take the initiative and reach for his hand, leading him up the stairs and towards the “beginning” of the store.

Marcus looks down at your hands and he has to resist the urge to lace his fingers with yours. This is innocent enough and he appreciates you leading the way because being in a store like this is out of Marcus’s element.

Once at the top of the stairs, he sees a variety of couches on display, but what catches his eye are the handful of living room displays specifically. It’s straight out of a catalog and he feels you pull him towards one of the displays, only letting go of his hand when you realize it’s only the two of you in the small space.

“Oh, this is nice,” you say, arms swinging at your sides as you plop down onto the dark gray couch. “Come sit.”

Marcus smiles and sits next to you, arm draped at the back of the couch as you lean against him. “It’s nice. Comfy.”

In addition to the couch, there’s a wooden coffee table sitting in front of the both of you along with a TV placed atop of a wooden TV stand with three cabinets below. It’s very modern, but while you usually would take your time imagining certain displays in your home, all you can think about is the man next to you.

“Yeah, but I’m still on the lookout for an ottoman.”

Marcus chuckles and then stands up from the couch. He reaches out a hand for you to take and looks down at you. “Well then, we’re not going to find one just by sitting here.”

“But the best part about IKEA is imagining that all of this belongs to you,” you giggle, taking his hand and standing up from the couch.

“We could be here for hours then,” he teases.

“Exactly.”

“Wait,” Marcus says, walking to catch up to you once you begin walking away. “We’re not going to be here for hours though, right?”

“Why? Got other plans?” you tease.

“Well,” Marcus chuckles. “I really want to take you to this really nice restaurant tonight, but… If you want to spend our day here, that’s fine with me.”

“No! A really nice restaurant sounds good to me.”

“I thought so,” he winks. “Now, let’s go find you an ottoman.”

This time, Marcus is the one that takes your hand and leads the way. You blush immediately and follow him eagerly. Walking around with him like this feels so normal. It just feels like a regular day you would spend with your boyfriend, looking at things to buy to decorate your home. You catch yourself staring at him more often than you should, especially since he seems to be clearly focused on helping you find an ottoman.

You pull away from him only when you see the displays for the kitchens appear. Grinning excitedly, you make your way to the display that catches your eye almost instantly. You let your fingers dance along the wooden countertop of the kitchen counter, imagining that this was your kitchen. The color of the black cabinets are black with wooden countertops. It’s a modern take of an old traditional kitchen farmhouse.

Marcus leans against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and smiles at you. “You like this one, I take it?”

“I do,” you smile. “I really like the black cabinets and the wooden countertop accents.”

“I can imagine you cooking in a kitchen like this.”

“Yeah?”

Marcus nods, coming around the kitchen island to stand next to you. “This is also the type of kitchen I’d like in my own place too.”

You bite your lower lip and look up at him. “Seems like we both have good tastes.”

“Seems like it,” Marcus rests a hand on the counter and leans in closer to you. “What would be the first thing you’d make in a kitchen like this?”

“Hmm, if you’re coming over, definitely my pesto pasta.”

Marcus grins and thinks back to the first time he had dinner with you, how you had invited him over to make sure he would have something to eat. “Oh, that is my favorite.”

You bite your lower lip and step closer to him, clearly in his personal space as you look up at him. The front of your bodies barely graze one another before the sound of a family enters the kitchen display. Suddenly, you’re very aware of how close and intimate you are with him and you both take a step back, giving each other some distance.

“Ottoman?” you ask.

“Yeah, let’s keep looking.”

—

You and Marcus had been at IKEA for almost an hour with no luck in finding an ottoman that you liked. Truthfully, Marcus doesn’t want this day to end. Stopping at almost each display that IKEA had gives him a glimpse of what life could be like with you. How sitting in that living room at the beginning makes him think of movie nights, cuddling on the couch or how seeing you stand in that kitchen display makes him imagine coming home every day to see you cooking dinner. This – It all feels so real and so normal with you.

Deciding that you might not leave with an ottoman today, you spend the rest of the hour just browsing around with Marcus. It isn’t until you get to the children’s area that you come up with an idea and make a beeline towards the variety of stuffed animals they have on display.

Marcus follows you casually, hands in his pockets, as he finds your smile and happiness so infectious. “Planning on getting stuff for your classroom?”

“No…” you say, looking through the variety of animals.

“Ah, so for your apartment?”

“Something like that…”

“It’s too bad they don’t make quokkas as stuffed animals,” Marcus points out.

“Quokkas?”

“Yeah. You know, from Australia, known to be the ‘happiest animal’ in the world because of how cute they look.”

“I know what quokkas are…” you chuckle. “But what made you think of quokkas?”

“You.”

“Me?” you ask, looking up at him. “Why?”

“Well, because you’re cute.” Marcus chuckles. “And whenever you get excited about something or talk about your job, your eyes get so big and you get this biggest grin on your face. It’s cute. Like a quokka.”

You blush and shake your head, biting your lower lip. “Yeah, yeah.” you playfully roll your eyes and go back to looking in the bin of stuffed animals and then grab two teddy bears. You lift it up in his direction and grin. “One for you and one for me?”

“Great,” Marcus grins, taking both of the stuffed animals in his hand. “On me.”

“Wait, Marcus, no–”

“Come on.” Marcus interrupts, using his free hand to take yours into his own. “I’m starving.”

“We can get meatballs here?”

Marcus shakes his head. “Nope. I’ve got a spot in mind.

“Okay, but can we get ice cream before we leave? IKEA has a small food court and it’s like tradition that I leave with an ice cream cone, but if–”

“See,” Marcus grins. “Cute.”

—

Once you and Marcus check out, you lead him towards the small food court and wait in line. He’s holding the two stuffed teddy bears in his arm while still keeping a hold on your hand. You look up at him and bite your lower lip, feeling the courage to slowly lace your fingers with his own.

Marcus’s attention moves from the menu to look down at you once he feels your fingers entwine with his. He sees your lower lip between your teeth and you’re looking up at him nervously, as if you’re trying to gauge if this was okay, if holding your hand like this was fine with him.

He doesn’t say anything. Marcus just steps closer to you and gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “So, just a vanilla ice cream cone?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Tradition.”

Marcus smiles. “A tradition you created or…”

“Something me and my family would always do after an IKEA trip.” you smile to yourself, running the pad of your thumb across the back of his hand.

“Would you all get a vanilla ice cream cone?” he chuckles.

“No, just me, but they would get their cinnamon rolls.”

Marcus smiles and gently takes your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft and gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “I want you to know that I’d like to get to know more about you,” he confesses. “If that’s okay.”

You nod almost too quickly, biting the inside of your cheek. You’re staring so deeply into his dark brown eyes that everything around the both of you seems to slowly disappear. “I’d like that, a lot.”

Marcus smiles. “Great. So, tonight… Would you like to go out on a date?”

“Oh, to that really nice restaurant you mentioned?” you smile.

Marcus chuckles and nods, letting your hands now drop back down. “Yes, to that really nice restaurant.”

“Of course, Marcus, but can we still grab lunch?”

He grins. “Well, we did say we were gonna spend the day together. That includes lunch.”

Your cheeks are hurting from smiling so big, but you can’t help it. You’re so happy and you lean against his arm, keeping a hold on his hand. “I just want to make sure that you still–”

Marcus looks down at you and gently presses a kiss on your forehead. “I like spending time with you, angel. Being around you just– I feel happier, lighter…”

You let out a contented sigh and nod, wrapping your free arm around his and holding him close to you. “I can’t believe we’re expressing our feelings while waiting in line at IKEA’s food court.”

He lets out a quiet laugh and then kisses the crown of your head. “Well, I was gonna tell you how I felt regardless.”

“And just so we’re clear,” you say softly. “I like spending time with you too, Marcus, and… I really do like you.”

—

prev.

—

—

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #marcus pike #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x reader #story: second chances

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beautifulfuckup99 · 1 year

Note

May you please write a Yoongi imagine, doesn’t matter what the premise is, I just want a fluffy husband Yoongi<3!!!🫶🏼

Sure Thing!

Title: I've Got It From Here

Rating: G

Warning(s): Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Yoongi's Accident, Talks of PTSD, Anxiety, and yes there will be FLUFF.

Author's Note: I hope you all enjoy! Keep the requests comin!

************************************

He doesn't know what triggered it, really. Maybe it was sleeping on it wrong? Maybe it was the cold weather of Seattle, where he was touring currently? Maybe it was performing so hard every night?

No matter the real cause, this morning Yoongi woke with a stiff shoulder and a tightness in his chest like he usually got when experiencing this pain. It's like with the pain came the memories, came the flashbacks of the tire...

Yoongi shuts his eyes, wanting to push the image away. Days like this convinced him that he, indeed, was not over the past. But he had to be. For the fans, for the sake of the tour, and more importantly, for you.

You had finally gotten a free schedule to come visit your husband on tour and Yoongi would be damned if this trip was ruined by his damn shoulder. Damnit.

And so, with a deep breath, and slight wince, Yoongi got out of bed and proceeded to get ready to meet you at the airport.

********************************

It's all a rush of cameras and screaming fans and the flash, God the flash. It was broad daylight, why the hell did they need the flash on?!

And then as quickly as it's all too much for him, it becomes background noise the second your arms wrap around him. And he bears the pain so he can hold you back as you laugh in pure delight at being back in your husband's arms.

"God, this feels good..." You laugh happily as you snuggle more into his chest, kissing his shoulder softly as usually, and Yoongi bites back a soft hiss.

"Tell me about it..." He sighs softly as he puts his face in your hair, breathing in your scent with a deep and full whiff. You'd never know how much he needed this. Needed you. He felt calmer already.

"Let's go! I've been looking forward to this for weeks!" You laugh as you hold his arm while bouncing towards baggage claim. Yoongi stiffens and shuts his eyes. You pause instantly. "Baby?" You ask in concern.

"I-I'm good." He says fast. "Didn't get enough sleep last night." He says. You'd been hard at work these past few months while he's been gone. This was your vacation. And he was not going to ruin that. He could take it. He could endure. The smile on your face would be worth it.

********************************

As soon as you're settled in the hotel room, you're dragging Yoongi around the hotel and find a display of activity brochures. You gush over the different restaurants, museums, and live concerts they have this week. You playfully hold up a 'Folklore Concert in the Park' pamphlet. "Maybe you'll get inspiration for the next album..." You joke and he smiles a thin lipped smile.

"Maybe. Do a whole country folklore album. Hat, boots, and horse." He teases along and you giggle as you nudge him. He holds his arm when you're not looking and when you gasp, he straightens up.

"Festival! Winter Festival! Happening tonight. We can go, right? It's ok?" You ask hopefully as you look up at your husband with the same big eyes that always get him.

He looks you in the eyes. Getting lost in them was better than any coping mechanism. You were the best distraction and anxiety reducer. How could you not know how much those eyes meant to him? He finally hums. "I think we can stop by, look around..." He gives in softly.

"This is gonna be the best vacation ever!" You giggle and hug him tightly. He squeezes his eyes to stop the tears. "I love you!" You giggle and he lets out a soft sigh. "I love you..." He whispers.

****************************

Later that evening, you're led into the Winter Festival that was taking place at some park by a river. Families, couples, and groups of friends of all ages are running around. Christmas lights adorned the trees, and the freshly laid snow on the ground looked like something out of a movie.

You're wearing a casual outfit with your sweater and one of Yoongi's leather jackets with fur inside of it on top. Layers were the most important thing in the winter, so you didn't mind the wool hat and scarf you were nuzzled in. Yoongi holds your hand to the best of his ability, but the cold weather and the heavy winter coat was not helping. And the scarf around his neck felt like a noose.

And, oh my god, was he breathing? When was his last breath? This coat was so damn heavy. He couldn't focus on what you were sayin-wait. You were speaking?

He finally blinks, trying to focus on you as you joke about the huge inflatable decorations. "They'd look good in front of our place. Of course, I think if we ever posted our house looking like this, Taehyung would be the first to mock us for it." You giggle as you enjoy the 'Winter Wonderland' aesthetic.

Yoongi hums and you eye him a bit. Something was wrong with your husband. You could feel it in your heart. He'd been quiet the whole day. Barely eating, barely laughing. He was deep in his own thoughts. Something that only happened when he was either thinking of a new song, or when his anxiety got really bad.

You grip his hand a bit firmer to try and ground him, but he barely reacts. You finally move in front of him and stop, causing him to bump into you. He curses at the suddenness, and you watch him in concern.

"Yoongi..." You try as you make him look at you. "I'm fine." He says fast. "You want... Decorations." He says to prove he's been paying attention, but his voice comes out in soft pants. His skin is pale, his lips are trembling, his eyes show the panic in his head.

"Baby. Stay here, I'm gonna get you something to drink." You say fast before you walk off, pulling out your phone to check the time and to see if you could text the driver to come around for you two.

You're busy on your phone and Yoongi watches you walk away but is thrown further into his panic when he sees a black car swerve around the corner to enter the parking lot. The same parking lot you were about to cross to get to the refreshments table.

Flashes of that day runs through his mind as he takes off after you. "Y/N!" He screams in horror. You stop in your tracks and turn fast to face him with wide eyes. He grabs your arm and yanks you out of the street as the car full of teenagers speeds past.

"What is the matter with you?! You didn't see that car?! It could have-" You cut Yoongi off as you try and get him to focus, but he continues his panicked rambles. "I won't lose you. I won't lose you." He repeats fast, over and over again as you grab his face hard.

"Baby!" You say finally and his bottom lip begins to quiver a bit as he looks at you. His walls, his prideful stubbornness, his 'don't worry about me' attitude... it all crumbles down right in front of your eyes. You stroke his cheeks gently. "What's wrong, baby?" You whisper as tears slowly slide down his puffy cheeks that are pink from the cold.

"It hurts." He finally admits and your heart breaks as the realization dawns on you.

"I've got you, baby..." You sigh and carefully pull in his 5-foot 9 frame like he's the smallest thing. "I've got you..." You sigh as you nod at security to lead you two away.

****************************

"Ah... Ah... Ow!" Yoongi groans as you focus on putting some muscle relaxer cream on his shoulder and then wrapping it, so the lidocaine cream doesn't get anywhere else.

"Why didn't you tell me? You could've really made the pain worse..." You whisper as you carefully lay him back on a pile of pillows to hopefully help him rest.

"This was supposed to be your vacation..." He whispers and you sigh deeply. "If you weren't already hurt, I'd hurt you for being so dumb. This was our vacation. And it's not a good one if you're in pain. Marriage is a give and take game, Yoongi." You say.

"Yeah, 50/50..." He mutters and you roll your eyes. "No. Not 50/50. Sometimes it's 70/30. Sometimes it's 40/60. But the whole point of this arrangement is we take turns. You're always all in. Give me a chance to show I can be the 80 in this relationship and go down to 20." You say as you stroke his hair out of his face. He shuts his eyes at that.

"I don't want you getting tired of carrying me around..." He whispers and you stroke his soft skin before leaning in. "These shoulders can carry whatever your shoulders can't. Gladly. Any day of the week..." You whisper as you gently nudge your nose with his.

He looks into your eyes, his eyes teary. "You're not there anymore..." You whisper, knowing where his mind was. He closes his eyes, saying nothing, but nodding along.

You play with his hair a bit more and watch as he slowly starts to relax. "Rest, baby. I've got it from here..." You promise gently as he drifts off to sleep.

*****************************************

Hope you liked it!

#min yoogni #yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi imagine #bts suga #suga #suga x reader #suga imagine #bts imagine

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luztoyeweek · 1 month

Text

LUZTOYE WEEK 2024 RECS - TUMBLR ONLY FICS

I'LL BE LOOKING AT THE MOON (BUT I'LL BE SEEING YOU) BY @ewipandora

"Don't you worry, Joe, it's an easy job. Just some cows, my horse and acres upon acres of golden grassfields. Easy peasy!" "You'll be alone and miles away from the nearest town. What if you find wild dogs? Mountain lions?" "That's why I have my fancy dandy gun, Joe, it's not for show. You know I can use it."

rated g // 700 words // very beautiful, evocative, and yearning. a beautiful snapshot into the essence of luztoye.

REDDISH RAINS AND WILD WEEDS BY @ewipandora

A cloud of red dust followed them while they rode through the deserted wasteland. The sun fell hard on their clothes, under which they fell sweat pooling already, and shone on whatever metallic surface of their bike that wasn't covered in rust and caked mud. George felt small pebbles hitting his goggles and he was sure it must have been worse for Joe, who was riding. They went on in silence, since the wind whistling in their ears and their clothes flapping were deafening and rendered any attempt at talking useless. Still, George loved every second of their journey. Just a few hours away and out of that hole in the ground. Just a few hours alone with Joe.

rated t // 1.6k // absolutely lovely and beautiful, with lovely running consciousness and beautiful descriptor words. the luztoye, as always, was absolutely stunning.

(S)HE JUST SMILED (AND TURNED HIS HEAD AROUND) BY @ewipandora

The strap of his bass digged into his shoulder harder than usual. He was tired, happy tired, but tired nonetheless. Next concert was in four days and he knew that he should be resting, but he couldn't. Electricity, hot and sharp, ran under his skin everytime he laid down to sleep, a deep current that numbed his fingers. Only way to stop it was playing. Again and again. Until he bled.

rated t/m // 2.4k // so very soft and lovely and painful, an absolutely beautiful fic and a very sweet, short read.

IS IT A VIDEO? BY @ewipandora

[Call Request. ID: 19517403] "Hey, sugarlips!" "Hi, George." "Miss me already?" "The moment we parted ways."

rated e // 2.7k // very very sweet and painful in all the best ways, with such lovely interactions and a beautiful twist on long distance and space aus.

BITTER AND SCALDING BY @ewipandora

Piercing light blinded him and made his brain hurt. He tried to turn away from it, seeking the cold side of his pillow, but it only made his ribs scream for mercy. He could swear they were ok last night. Although maybe the winter's cold made them hurt less after the beating he took. Worth it just to see Joe's face...

rated t // 1.1k // so beautifully domestic and warm, with such an adoring relationship for luztoye and beautiful writing and words.

SO THIS IS LOVE by @ewipandora

Joe was washing his hands to get rid of metal dust when he heard it. A loud cheer and laughing coming from the repair shop, where his coworkers were closing for the day. And he knew exactly why. He dried his hands quickly and limped back to the workshop, stopping on his way to make sure his face was clean and his hair well-combed.

rated g/t // 1.8k // very sweet with lovely writing, as always, and the same with everything from word to descriptions and detail.

#luztoyeweek2024 #fic recs #queued #band of brothers #luztoye #george luz #hbo war #joe toye #joseph toye

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beckiboos · 1 year

Text

*Right Taliesin, it's now or never*

Taliesin- Can't sleep? Or are we enjoying the view?

Calliope- Hmm..? No. Not really, too cloudy tonight. I thought I should come out here and keep watch, I've been struggling getting to sleep since... well. You know

Taliesin- Yes.. I've been meaning to talk to you about that. Can we talk? Umm.. Away from the cliff ledge? Watching you there is making me very nervous

Calliope- Ok... not like there's anything to see out here anyway

Calliope- So

Taliesin- So

...

Calliope- I'm so sorry about Rulindil. I don't know if he was a friend of yours or something more... but I am sorry I hurt you by killing him

Taliesin- Don't be. We lovers when I first came to Skyrim 3 years ago but he neither a friend nor was their great affection between us. He was quite the sadistic bastard really and the world is better off without him

Calliope- But? You've been so-

Taliesin- Rulindil... Rulindil was a high ranking Thalmor agent, my superior officer. The altmer are not incredibly romantic or affectionate people as you probably guessed. We still have needs though and most of us have some kind of arrangement with our colleagues to keep us entertained. He and I had such an arrangement for a brief time. He had picked me out nearly as soon as I left the dock to seduce. I'm not picky and spent the night with him. He bores of his bedfellows quickly however and when the boat came in with fresh recruits he moved onto his next toy and I moved onto other arrangements.

It was a while before I learned the true extent of his role with the Thalmor. He speciality was 'acquiring information' by any means necessary. He took a great deal of pride and pleasure in his work. At the time I deemed his actions an necessary evil and I certainly didn't envy him his job. But I never liked his methods. I don't have a taste for torture and luckily he preferred brute force rather than magic to get the job done so I didn't have to work with him much. I didn't take part but I knew what was going on. We all did. Just tried to ignore the screaming the best we could

Calliope- That's not your fault Tally-

Taliesin- No, but I was a part of it. Calliope you got caught. You PROMISED me. I wasn't there and you were caught. Do you know what would have happened to you if hadn't of killed Rulindil? Because I do. You've seen the scars on Kaidan's back. Trust me those soldiers had NOTHING on Rulindil. He would have tortured you until you were barely recognisable and only stop once you had told him every single thing he wanted to know 3 times over, all the while begging for death. What's more the last thing you would have seen would have been MY people. MY former colleagues, MY former lover taunting and beating you, if you were lucky, before your corpse would have been tossed into a cave for a trolls dinner

Taliesin- Calliope when you told me about Rulindil I wasn't just upset for him. I was shocked by it of course it was someone I knew someone I- regardless I was suddenly faced with the fact that I could have lost you. By the very people and ideals I used to follow and respect. These past few months... You have become quite a dear... friend to me. I guess I didn't know how much I cared until that moment. I don't get close to many people Calliope, me and you, this little gang, we have become closer than I ever was with anyone at the Thalmor... and yet I still care about what happened to Rulindil. I didn't handle the situation well. For what it's worth, I am sorry for snapping at you in Solitude. Forgive this grumpy old altmer?

Calliope- *chuckles* Forgiven but only if you forgive me too. I'm sorry for solitude too I may have gone a TEENY, tiny bit over the top there

Taliesin- A tiny bit?

Calliope- Ok a bit more than tiny. Friends?

Taliesin- ...Friends

Calliope- Good. I'm glad we're sorted this out Tally. I didn't like bickering with you. I missed this. Us

Taliesin- I missed us too

end of part 1. Look this post is already waaaaay too long. But I wanted to make some headcannons about Rulindil (sorry @dynamite124if you have anything planned for him) and why Tally was so upset and they really needed this talk. AND NO KISS. Sorry I take my slow burns very seriously

#skyrim #tes #oc calliope #taliesin #i love these two so much #im actually not very normal about this anymore #long post #too long #but there was no stopping point

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scarbound · 1 year

Text

re . year of horror

you find yourself sitting on the foot of an inn bed , feet planted on the ground , arms draped over your thighs , and your head hung low . this is supposed to be an assignment , a job . you're supposed to be encouraging the man in the bed behind you to come with you , ensnaring him in a trap under the promise of a grand party .

your maker has D E M A N D E D it and you are NOT capable of D I S O B E Y I N G him .

--- not without C O N S E Q U E N C E S .

but the man sleeping behind you doesn't deserve whatever it is your master has planned for him . he looks far too innocent with exhaustion painting his features , chest rising and falling with each slow breath . a motion that you'll never know again . but you can save him . you have a choice , don't you ? you can take him to cazador and allow the vampire to feast ... or you can run . you can steal clothes that your master has never seen on you and disappear into the shadows .

you're not sure it will work , but isn't it worth trying ? isn't it worth it to try to spare that pure boy from the darkness ? he won't be found if your master has his way with him . they're never found . they disappear into the shadows and you're sure that cazador either devours them whole or scatters their pieces across the sewers . and you're not sure you could handle finding that sweet man's hands covered in rat bites and tucked into muck .

it's not even him who finds you . he sends one of your sisters to follow your tracks . it's taken weeks ... weeks of hiding in sewers and empty houses you haven't needed an invite into . you knew that staying in inns or brothels would mean a bitter end , not even a night away . but the remnants of a burned out home with a cozy basement ... oh , it bought you three weeks of perceived freedom . but you're not sure how free you truly were .

you're not even sure it's worth it when he finds you , when he tears into your flesh with his preferred dagger and snickers that he hopes you've had a meal recently , knowing that you can't have anything more than rats . but the question seems out of place ... he's never cared about your nourishment before , so WHY NOW ?

⸻ { { I N S I G H T C H E C K ** CRITICAL SUCCESS } }

you know that look in his eyes ... that look that dances with macabre thoughts , that sparkle of destruction that lights the corners with enthusiasm . you've disobeyed him ... and he is going to make sure you remember it , that it is a punishment that will break every ounce of will you have left . he must ensure that you'll never go against his wishes again .

there's an apology begging at your lips but it isn't heard . nothing will hear you beg or scream or will know of your existence for what will feel like an eternity as YOUR M A S T E R seals you into a stone casket with no indication of when he'll let you free ... if he'll set you free .

all you know is D A R K N E S S ---

you scream until your throat burns , until no sound is left to come out , and you claw at the stone , praying to all of the gods that your fingers can drag through and provide freedom ... but your fingers grow raw , scrubbed to the bone until you can't bear the pain anymore . and you go still . you're hungry and you hurt and you would give anything for a drop of blood , a breath of air that will never fill your lungs but will give you the illusion of life .

and by the time you're prison is open , you've wasted away to a shell of a man , no will left to argue , to disobey . you're gifted a live rat , a writhing and wriggling fat thing that nearly slips through your fingers before fangs puncture flesh . a reminder that the man standing over you controls all , that he will feed you should you be obedient , that he'll make your unlife easier if you only listen .

the fight leaves your system as you drain the pathetic creature clutched in broken fingers and you promise yourself , what's left of your soul that you'll listen from now on , that you won't step a toe out of line because after a year of nothing , you don't know how you haven't gone mad . another year and you're sure there'd be nothing left of your own mind .

and you're desperate to keep what little is left of yourself .

#re. astarion ↳ meta #abuse tw #torture tw

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lucysarah-c · 2 years

Note

Hello! how are you doing?

I was thinking, do you know the song “Labour” by Paris Paloma? i hope you do, if you don’t, please read the lyrics. It reminds me SO MUCH of y/n from holy ground… it’s like the song was written for her (for all women obviously) but it’s too accurate lmao…

Also, thank you for writing such an amazing fic that I revisit some scenes every night before i go to sleep.

You’re GREAT.

Hi dear! How are you? Are you having a nice day/night? I didn't know this song and I'd to check it out, I do thank the recomendation because this artist seem right on my alley. I'm not being biased because one of the lyrics videos I found was an edit of Allicen Hightower and I ADORE house of the dragon. I'll rampage a bit, if you allow me to <3

The part where she mentions all the jobs ugh chef kiss! for my Yn had always been the queen in Erwin's chess board, she can move to all the directions, she can fill up any role he needs her to.. but sacrificing the queen is always a risky decision in chess. I've said it multiple times but the song "tolerate it" by Taylor Swift is one that inspired a lot her relationship with Erwin. I'm not saying that Erwin is the only bad guy in the story haha sometimes Levi say some stuff that if a guy say it to me nowadays, he would leave with my 5 fingers marked on his face. It's hard for me to find a middle ground, something that's enjoyable to read but not sugar coated or romantized, like "all dudes are misogynist except Levi". The last chapter? chapter 17? Levi saying that "she's not a woman yet" haha I was writting that scene thinking "man and their cocks, they think that only that is the transition to adulthood for us,"

And about the song, it's marvelouse. When I was creating the character of YN for the story (since its a story that revolves more around the society of paradise over titans) I felt that my main idea was that I didn't want to fall into the "physically strong, doesn't care about society, rebel, powerful, etc" reader. I had 3 main ideas to create her character:

Rage, female rage. I hate the idea that when women are angry with a man they just let s single tear run down their eyes and look at you with doe eyes and walk away silently because they already suffer it all and now you'll have to live with their uncomfortable silence. no. NO. I wanted her to be messy, I wanted her to be vengeable, to be full of rage, to scream, to shout, to cry messily, to do an scene, to be a "hysterical drama little bitch" in the eyes of everybody. Basically to be a woman so tired of her pasiveness that once she's done, she doens't want peace. She aims for your heart and blood.

Her sorority. Yn learned the hard way that putting women against women for a man is never worth it. She's well aware that the only person who will suffer the consequences of she speaking up is Marie and Marie's child. She doesn't care about Marie but her loyalty to what she believed is right to other women is what make her protect her. So she's like "I may be seen as a hysterical little bitch in the eyes of everybody but Erwin would have to suffer the public judgement of being unable to control me, he will never have the comfort of my silence,"

The Madonna/whore complex. Yn is in a limbo where she feels she's never winning, she's a pure little angel who can't deseire anything... her man cheats because she's not pleasing him, you know, men search outside what they don't get in home (sarcasm). OR she's a whore who opens her legs to anyone.

I'm so thankful that you think it sounds like YN from HG and also thank you for your sweet words, it's so nice from you <3 Honestly, I'm always surprised when people recomend me songs that remind them of YN from Hg. In my mind Holy Ground is a story I write for myself because me and other 4 people read, therefore it always make my day that someone like you even goes back to read some scenes. OMG, I just don't know what to say aside from Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

#Holy ground #holy ground questions

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ladym-17 · 2 years

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Whumptober ‘22 Masterlist

~Fic links round 2~

With a total of 10 fics, 10 fandoms, 22,595 words, and 31 prompts, voila:

Barbed Veins (2306 words)

Day 1: A Little Out of the Ordinary (Unconventional Restraints) Day 17: Hanging by a Threat (Reluctant Caretaker) Day 18: Let's Break the Ice ("Just get it over with.")

Fandom: The Thundermans

Summary: Max was so close to falling asleep, only for him to hear knocking and find Phoebe bleeding on his doorstep. And no one qualified is picking up their phones... shit.

Content Warnings: Swearing, gore, and blood

Birthday Storm (3434 words)

Day 4: Dead on Your Feet (waking up disorientated) Day 9: They Very Noisy Night (caught in a storm) Day 11: "9-1-1, what's your emergency?" Day 12: What Could Go Wrong? (Cave in)

Fandom: Zero Chill

Summary: Mac convinces Kayla to let them go camping for their eighteenth birthday. Surely nothing can go wrong, right? Wrong. Mother Nature has other thoughts.

Content Warnings: blood, broken bones, minimal swearing, and lightning strikes

I’ve Run Through the Night for You (1130 words)

Day 6: Proof of Life (screams from across the hall) Day 7: The Way You Shake and Shiver (shaking hands) Day 31: A Light at the End of the Tunnel (comfort)

Fandom: Ms. Marvel

Summary: After the wedding, it took Aamir a while to get used to sleeping with a woman. In that sense, yes, but also in the perfectly acceptable sense of there was someone in the bed with him now.

He’d pull the blankets towards him, only for them to get tugged back. He’d roll over, and find another person there. It was an adjustment, and it was one he was only too happy to make because this was his wife. But needless to say, he was sleeping a little lighter than he used to.

Not that it mattered because when the screaming started he figured nothing short of chloroform could have him sleep through that. He shot up in bed, waking up Tyesha from where she’d been resting her head on his chest.

Content Warnings: Nightmares, mentions of death/past death

This Building Reeks With Our History (2644 words)

Day 10: Poor Unfortunate Souls (Taser) Day 13: Can't Make an Omelette Without Breaking a Few Legs (Fracture) Day 30: Note to Self: Don't get Kidnapped (Hair grabbing)

Fandom: Z-O-M-B-I-E-S

Summary: There're still people at Mountain College who aren't happy with the integration. They take it out on Zed.

Content Warnings: one (1) swear word (it’s the b-one), violence, hate crime against a fictional group, non-graphic descriptions of forced experiments, broken bones, beating, electrification, insults.

Two Indestructible Forces (2305 words)

Day 5: Every Whumpee's Needs (Running out of air) Day 14: Die a Hero or Live Long Enough to Become a Villain (Desperate Measures) Day 27: Pushed to the Limit (Stumbling)

Fandom: Henry Danger

Summary: Ray had Schwoz build a doomsday, worst case scenario device. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

Content Warnings: Death, blood, violence, mentions of a broken bone

You’re Worth the Risk (1887 words)

Day 3: Hair’s Breadth From Death (Gun to Temple/“Say goodbye”) Day 16: No Way Out (“No One’s Coming.”) Day 26: No One Left Behind ("Why did you save me?”)

Fandom: Mission Impossible

Summary: After Ethan gets shot rescuing Benji, Benji confronts him about whether or not he's worth the risk.(Spoiler alert: he is.)

Content Warnings: torture, hospitals, kidnapping, guns, swearing, broken bones, bullet wounds, self-esteem issues

Trust Doesn’t Always Blow Up in Your Face (3213 words)

Day 19: Enough is Enough (knees buckling) Day 21: Famous Last Words ("You're Safe Now") Day 28: It's Just the Tip of the Iceberg (Anger born of worry)

Fandom: Lab Rats

Summary: Chase and Adam wake up kidnapped by androids. They need something from Chase and they're desperate to get him to cooperate.

Content Warnings: Broken bones, kidnapping, violence, mentions of death

Give It Your All (919 words)

Day 8: Everything Hurts and I'm Dying (Stomach Pain) Day 20: It's Been a Long Day (Fetal Position) Day 24: Fight, Flight, or Freeze ("I don't want to do this anymore.")

Fandom: Girl Meets World

Summary: Riley's having her first few days at college. Josh comes to visit.

Content Warnings: Homesickness, anxiety

Skipping Scars (1282 words)

Day 2: Nowhere to Run (confrontation) Day 15: Emotional Damage (Lies/new scars) Day 29: What doesn't Kill Me (defiance/"better me than you")

Fandom: Mech-X4

Summary: Mark comes home from college to find Ryan's work-life balance has gone wrong.

Content Warnings: Swearing, arguing

Long Haul (3475 words)

Day 22: Pick Your Poison (Withdrawal) Day 23: At the End of Their Rope (Tied to a table) Day 25: Silence is Golden (Duct Tape)

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Demons force Sam to drink demon blood and force Dean to watch the process.

Content Warnings: Hallucinations, weapons, canon-typical violence, kidnapping, non-consensual drugs/demon blood, swearing.

#whumptober2022 #completionist #The Thundermans #zero chill #Ms. Marvel #marvel #zombies #henry danger #mission impossible #lab rats #girl meets world #gmw #mech-x4 #supernatural #spn #masterlist

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hannahsmusings · 6 months

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Renee

*I could’ve screamed when I felt his large hand wrap around my wrist, just wanting to be left alone, not sure if I wanted to just get my bearings in the bathroom or just flat out leave and explain to Aliyah later, but Anthony was keeping me from figuring it out and that was driving me insane, I was far too independent now to let someone hold me back* *I spin around, still glaring at him as he speaks, able to see he was upset and hating that but he had no idea how upset I was for so long, how bitter and resentful I still am for how he treated me back then* You left me. That’s what you did wrong. You fucking ditched me. You found new cooler and prettier people and forgot about me. *I spit the words at him, this being four years worth of anger and sadness simmering to the surface* You wanna act all chivalrous tonight when I have a pretty dress on and my ass is on display, but where were you when I actually needed you? When I was alone every single fucking day, waiting on you? Crying to my mom because I didn’t understand what I did to make my best fucking friend abandon me like that? When I stood in a corner at prom all alone because you were supposed to be my date but Lauren Shetty asked you at the last minute so you danced with her the entire night because she was cool and popular and prettier than me? When you spent our last day before college getting drunk at some guy’s house and forgot that we had plans with my family? That’s when I needed your help, Anthony, not now! I’ve learned to navigate life without you and I’ve been doing just fine at it! *since we were alone in the hallway I felt more comfortable saying what I needed to say, regardless of how mean it was, it needed to get off my chest* You embarrassed me tonight and you embarrassed yourself! Connor was doing nothing wrong, I was basically begging him to take me home! He wasn’t the initiator, I was!

_______________________________________

*I was overwhelmed, full of panic as I try and keep a hold on you as nothing terrified me more than you slipping out of my grasp and disappearing, my primary focus just to keep you close as I’d intended to rescue you from that Connor guy so not sure why you were so angry* R-Renee! * *I flinch at the venom in your voice, so shocked as all I was trying to do was help, Connor clearly was a creep that just wanted to sleep with you* I-I was t-trying to... h-help! *i attempt to exclaim but it slurs out, feeling like my brain was moving in slow motion as I try and catch up to what you were saying, you were speaking so fast and it was hard to focus, utterly confused for a second, not knowing what you were referring to until you mentioned friends, a pit in the bottom of my stomach forming quickly as I realise this anger wasn’t just based on things that I’d done now, having thought that maybe you’d forgiven me for this, my brain feeling like it was underwater as I just blink at you dumbly, only being able to catch certain things you were saying* I-I didn’t forg-*tries to speak before you were raising your voice again, heart feeling like it had been ripped from my chest as you tell me you’d cried with your mom, all these emotions surging through me as I only manage to process that thought before you were on to the next thing to yell at me for, feeling unsteady with trying to keep up with you* I-I can’t..*hiccups as I try and communicate, shaking my head with a groan* I-I don’t understand, please s-slow down. *slurs catching bits of you telling me I’d abandoned you, that I’d left you at prom, so fucking confused as I couldn’t follow this conversation, none of this I was aware of, why hadn’t you told me any of this before?* I d-didn’t know...I don’t know what you’re...I’m s-sorry. *i was getting frustrated and the anger surged with how drunk I was, rubbing my face and mumbling* Fuck! *i was scrambling to keep up, feeling that I should defend myself and try and make this right but it was like nothing I was saying was making sense, you were furious and I wasn’t sure what triggered it, the logic in my brain all muddled from the amount of alcohol I’d consumed* I-I’m confused! I just wanted to help. *murmurs, my words sounding weak and repetitive as I was clearly in no state to explain myself properly as I was far too drunk, just standing clinging to your wrist as you yell at me, blinking as I try and process everything that was going on, closing my eyes and swaying for a moment before opening them again and I was struck by your beauty* *you being so fucking beautiful in a dress and I could smell your perfume and it made me step closer to you, distracted for a moment from your fury as I wanted to pull you in and just apologise for no idea what so you’d stop being mad at me* *my heart was pounding for so many different reasons that I just felt frozen with overwhelm* *I go to open my mouth and apologise before you mention his name again, face dropping into a scowl instinctively before my brain processes your words, you initiated it?* *i dropped your wrist in shock as I felt a sudden wave of nausea rush through me, stumbling back again and going white as a sheet* W-What? Y-You wanted it? *it was the clearest thing I’d said in this conversation, begging internally that I’d misheard, all thoughts of your previous words were gone as I was totally focused on you and him* H-How? W-Why?

#renee plot

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lychniis · 1 year

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⚘ — QINGXIN IN THE MOUNTAIN // ZHONGLI.

i. SYNOPSIS : while the divine war rages on, you find yourself entangled in the company of a wounded god. reservations or not, you don't have the heart to let someone dies on your watch. or in which, morax finds himself in the presence of a secluded human. ( zhongli x afab ! reader )

ii. WARNING(S) : beta read, long oneshot like seriously it's over 14k, mentions of war and past death, seclusion and wounds. this work contains 18+ contents so minors, you know the drill, unprotected sex, half-dragon zhongli, reader has no gendered pronouns but has female parts, 4k words worth of smut guys get ready.

this work has been marked mature. readers below the age of 18 / ageless blogs, do not interact. any individual who is not a legal adult or has an age indicator on their page will be blocked without further notice.

# masterlist

Curiosity, you learned, was a reckless maverick in every right. Your mother told you of its consequences, of the people who wandered too far from the safety of your village and the watchful eye of your deity, and she told you of their death and the disaster they reaped alongside it.

Curiosity was what cost you — and you knew, you knew better than to indulge in its traitorous little tug when you wake, the scent of petrichor in abundance and the chill of a rainstorm’s aftermath prickling your skin.

“Forget about it.” you tell yourself when you rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Forget about it.” you tell the reflection staring up at you, her brows furrowed with a familiar sternness. It scatters when you dip your hands into the basin, the icy water stinging your fingertips.

“Forget about it.” you breathe out as you lean against the doorframe of your small home, staring out at the expanse of green and the fog that had settled a few feet below.

Yet here you were, scaling down a mossy slope, your bare feet damp from the dew it trod over and your hair still messy from your sleep. You could dimly recall something the previous night between the rains, between the crash of thunder and the crackle of lightning. It was a sound too distinct and out of place in a storm, something akin to the beginnings of an earthquake before an unknown force cuts its life short.

Your head swivels to the side. You couldn’t see much past the mist save for what was in front of you and you clamber down with a little more prudence till the ground evens out a bit more and the screen before you dissipates. You could see nothing out of place, save for a few upturned trees and your shoulders slump. It was all for nothing, you realize and a tinier voice dares to whisper a spiteful little ‘dammit’.

You turn, casting one last glance over the clearing, then make your way back uphill. It was a wasted attempt and as you stew in your own self-berating and disappointment, you almost miss the faint crackle behind you. It was just the wind, you reason. There was little cause for it to be anything else. What could possibly make its way up here?

When you hear it a second time, you freeze, something cold jolting at your bones.

Well shit.

It doesn’t take too long to find the source, save for trudging through the mud and a few of the murkier parts past the tree line — but you find it by the time the sun shifts the barest fraction to the west..

“Ah — ” was the most your throat could choke out as shock swallowed you whole, like ice water.

There is a trail of gold on the earth, and it leads up to the slumped form of a man, his robes stained with the same gilted shade and his breath leaving shallow puffs of air where he lay, motionless and seemingly dead.

Well — fucking — shit. You mind shudders, your thoughts screaming and splitting up against your head like some panicked beast. It was chaos at its core, it was the frenzied scrape of control.

You were no fool. The man before you, both massive in frame and presence, was one amongst the hundreds of those touched by divinity — god or not — whose names were uttered and praised amidst this war. There was nothing distinctly human about him; not his clothes, not the horns that curled atop his skull and the brown scales smattered across, not the ichor he bled out — nothing.

For a moment, or maybe more, you stare down at him, long and hard as you try to wrangle your rationality back and think of what move to make. You could not afford the trouble that comes with aiding a foreign being and the land you settled on could house any force hostile to the man at your feet. A shaky breath escapes, then another. You were trembling now, just a little, daring to take a step back, then one more.

Kill him, another voice snaps. It was twisted and its words breathed acrid revulsion. Get it over with, he’s not worth the pain.

You consider it, for the tiniest bit of a second till he lets out a shudder and shifts with tense shoulders, his grunts labored and streaked with muted agony — those darker thoughts quickly flatline to scattered anxiety and the hand that brushes the blade at your hip falls limp. Not now, perhaps. You could just leave him here, let nature run its course.

You could do that, you decide with a semblance of confidence.

Of course you could.

Of course.

Your shuffling comes to a stop and you're backtracking immediately, your pace holding an urgent bounce with every step. There is a feverish jerk to your movements when you settle beside him, and a storm of emotions raging in your chest. It does little to ease you — little does, these days — and you press up on his shoulders in an attempt to roll him over onto his back.

It happens so swiftly, a blur of gold and black that shadowed your periphery before you were slammed down with eyes like uncut cor lapis glaring down at you. You scramble, clawing at your neck, at the digits pressed up against your windpipe and your pulse and it beats faster and faster and faster. One tiny move and you’d be left for dead.

( A part of you is stunned — for even wounded and weakened from some unknown, unspoken battle, the quavering power within him seemed to beat strong. You feel a mix of thrilled awe and terror turn in your stomach. )

His gaze hardly falters, roving at your form before his grasp on you releases and he mutters something akin to an apology, collapsing again. His eyes were still open, watching you beneath a haze of pain and deliriousness, stiffening now and then when you so much as move. The strength he showed, no matter how small it was, is gone and there is the slightest hint of vulnerability beneath the stripped layers of stone.

Your instincts scream at you to run yet you stay rooted in place, coming to sit up and hover by his side. In the end, your own concern and pity won out. “Y-you’re wounded.” you try to reason, only to be met with a grunt. You find yourself wincing as you stutter over your words, your voice hoarse from months of disuse. “Please, l-let me help. My h-home is c-close b-by.”

Feeble, you chide yourself amidst it all, old, old regrets tearing at your mind and clawing at your thoughts. You shut your eyes, letting your muscles relax and you try again.

Tugging at his arm serves to be fruitless. He was too large for you to carry over and your first attempt gives that away well enough. The gold in his veins seems to dim with the passage of time and you fear his life slipping away under your watch. “I n-need you to w-walk…” your plea is almost caught in your throat and you have to wrench it out to let it be heard. He tilts his head your way. “You’re too h-heavy…” you try to reason.

Another grunt sounds out and thankfully, his form rises. You’re quick to move to his side, supporting him against your shoulder, the thrum of elemental energy strong beneath your hold. He practically oozed it and it feels like what the storm felt like — the trembling earth itself.

You don’t say much after that, leading him back to your home, your hand and clothes staining a bright gold.

Perhaps your house would have been a little cleaner had you known you’d have a guest over. When you lead the the being inside, you scan the small space with a sense of perplexity, hoping he wouldn’t scrutinize the sight too much ( your mother always seemed to emphasize the need for a well kept living space — should she see you now, you know she’d be rolling in her grave with indignity ).

He stumbles a little, letting out a guttural snarl and you flinch, almost dropping his weight onto the floor when you feel claws close down on your arm and press against your scarred skin. You hiss softly and he gives a little jolt, his hold on you releasing, leaving little but the crumpled sleeve of your tunic behind.

“How much — ” he cannot finish the sentence, his nose wrinkling up and he almost looks a little feral underneath the light.

“Just a l-little more.” you assure, cracking the barest of smiles as you cross the room and lay him down on your bedroll. He was tall enough as is, and you think his horns would scrape up against the ceiling of this house should he stand upright.

The bedroll itself was pathetically small beneath him, but you couldn’t throw a fuss about it, working away at his clothes in relative silence, steeling yourself up in preparation for the worst.

The clasps and the belts and sashes are undone by nimble fingers and as the layers peel away, you come to a stop. It was not a pretty sight, his wounds, the clawed lacerations criss crossing across his torso like patchwork. You doubt you could salvage much and you almost give up at the spot, pulling away the rest of his clothing. The worst one splits across his chest and you look to the side, battling out the vertigo and the nausea threatening to creep up.

He’d have been dead at this point, had the blood in his veins be that of a mortal’s and not something inhuman. In some convoluted sense, he was lucky.

Stop cowering, you hiss internally. Pull yourself together.

The sound of rustling clothes is all you could hear after, followed by the clinking of metal and the sharp tang of alcohol. Your movements are almost robotic — and you had done this plenty of times before, cleaning the wounds of children and soldiers. But this wasn’t home and you doubt any soothing words would stoke at the feelings of a god.

When you return to his side, his forehead is damp with sweat.

“Shit — ”

His skin was warm. Could an immortal being fall ill? Was that even a possibility?

“I will be fine.” he rasps out and you jump, snapping his way as you hold the clothes closer to your chest in defense. He turns his head, peering at you and you think you see a stubborn glimmer beneath the usual masked strain and impassivity. “My wounds will heal in time…I…only seek shelter till they do…”

“Absolutely n-not.” you reply, splaying your palm out on his stomach to keep him still as you clean away the dirt and dried blood. The shallower wounds were slowly closing up again. “You’re in no state to argue right now.”

His mouth twitches and there is a momentary flash of teeth. You try not to let it frazzle you as much despite his initial protest, your movements slowing to a more delicate pace as you bathe the worst of his lesions till you were satisfied with the lack of dirt caking his body. “It seems choice no longer holds to be a luxury.” he utters under his breath.

“No.” you agree. “It does not.”

He falls silent, a petulant turn on his lips. “Are you a healer?” he asks. You bow down, unwinding the linen wraps you had stored away.

“My mother was.” you finally admit, your posture straightening. “I learned what I could from her to aid the people in my village. I never studied medicine formally, however…” you trail off. Talking seems to grow a little easier the more you speak. The hoarseness was slowly giving way and your stuttering grew less frequent.

“And I take it you shall try to help me as you do with any other human?” there was a sardonic sort of amusement in his tone that has you bristling. “Your medicines and methods will not work on an Adeptus. Put your tools away, you only waste your time.

“Adeptus…so you hail from the settlement south of Mt. Tianheng?”

“You’re ignoring my words,” he accuses. You bat your lashes at him innocently.

“Small talk.” you shrug. “You can tell me everything you want after I’m done tending to you.” you meet his gaze, tumultuous gold melded with an orange-red. He narrows his eyes, his unfocused vision scanning you, then the house, then at the bandages you held before he leans his head back with a defeated sigh.

By the time you conclude your task, he has fallen unconscious, his breathing deep and his heartbeat unnaturally slow for a human. You look down at your ruined clothing, at the stains at the hem of your tunic and at the sleeves and you hope you can salvage what you can from this, moving on to change out of them and fish out a cleaner pair of clothes.

The smell of petrichor still persists through the day, the sky brewing with the makings of a new storm. Perhaps you had lost track of time and the monsoons were sitting in sooner than expected and you move on to salvage whatever you’d left outside to dry and board your windows up for the incoming onslaught.

The man wakes when night falls, form set aglow against the dim lamp light.

“Let’s change your bandages.” you offer. He doesn’t protest this time, painfully sitting himself up with gritted teeth as you get back to work. His skin still radiates that uncomfortable temperature as you press up against it. You might need to get a wet rag ready lest he overheats

He speaks after the silence persists. “You shouldn’t see me like this.” it comes out as a whisper so soft, you almost miss it. His face however holds a distant look, with a hint of disappointment lurking within and you tug at the linen a little harder. You’ve heard that before, from the lips of men and women who had too much to hold and little weakness to show. You wonder what it would entail for a warrior, or a being whose years spanned farther than yours, to sink as low before a stranger.

It must be hard.

“We all get hurt sometimes.” you smile, hoping to lighten the air with a bit of humor ( it was getting too heavy, the air in the room ). “I’ve lost count of the number of times I've hit my head…and you think I'd be a little more cautious given my studies…”

A poor joke stays a poor joke no matter the delivery ( and yours was weak to begin with ). He does not say or do much, save for a slight twitch in his jaw and an unamused tilt in his head. You shrink back, skittishly throwing his used bandages aside in favor of new ones with a hasty “Nevermind.” on your tongue.

“Do you truely not know who I am?” he asks, his touch skimming the sheets absently. You shake your head, confusion and that damned curiosity slowly lurking and clawing its way to the light. You want to stamp the ugly feeling down and out of sight. You try to. It does not disappear. He continues, “What of the civilization south of Tianheng?”

A shrug was the most you could manage. You guess that was where he hails from. “I know it’s the domain of a geo god, and that beings touched by longevity, ally beside him. “My old home is far, however, and our god hid us away from the world…my knowledge on this is sparse.”

You’re almost ashamed to admit it, to acknowledge the bubble you had grown within, accepting the suffering of the men and women who ventured out and returned with broken bodies you and your mother had to fix. You weren’t sure what sort of terrible dichotomy it was, to live in ignorance amidst blatant horror and blood, and you don’t wish to return to it.

He seems to take this in, his eyes training up at the ceiling, then upon you with a lidded stare. “Who was your god?”

The icy set to your jaw was a hint he picks up on and he does not further the topic.

“...I am from there…from Liyue.” he says instead, in recollection of your previous question. The settlement was a distance from here, a few days worth of journeying by cart and hardly worth the risk of the travel with the demons that lurk and the gods that warred.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

His lips curl again, but it’s less of a grimace and more of a smile, his fangs tucked away to show a visage less feral, less dangerous. You find yourself relaxing a bit more unconsciously, seemingly charmed by this simple action ( and the thought almost scares you ). “What is your name, mortal?”

Ah, he wasn’t going to make this easy. You’re tempted to tug on his bandages a little harder if only to spite him.

You don’t reply till you are done with your chore and you lean back, massaging your stiff fingers. Your name slips out of your lips then, the action feeling natural in defiance of the years spent hardly having a friendly face within your home, save the occasional traveler. The adeptus seems satisfied. “You may call me Zhongli.” he replies, his voice softer, raspier.

“Zhongli.” you repeat. Zhongli.

There is a rustle of fabric and his fingertips brush against yours, the touch nearly having your arm lurch back in muted shock. He seems unphased but you — you watch a soft light shimmer through the dimness of your walls. When it fades, a single visage of gold stares back.

“It’s your reward. For aiding me.” there is a medley of pride and contentment and you liken it to that of a child offering a messily put together gift. Gold is coveted by most, but has little use here, and you have little use for it. But the gift is still cupped within your hands and you hold it as if it is something precious.

( Oh, your heart trembled just a bit and you feel a lump grow in your throat, bigger and bigger till you dip your head down out of his line of sight. )

His eyes bear down on you harder, set aglow and unyielding.

You smile to hide your trembling frame, thoughts revolting within your mind like the beat of war drums with a mix of unease and appreciation. Yet, who were you to question Zhongli’s secrets?

Maybe hypocrisy runs deeper in your blood than you initially assumed.

Mist dances at your fingertips.

It weaves and spreads and obscures the light and the woods around you and you run through blindly as the skin beneath your feet tears and the chill of the night clings to your skin and leaves behind dew and sweat.

You could see nothing; nothing save the pale glow of the moon above you as it tries to break through the barrier and light your way. It cannot, for Balam’s magic conjures obscurity, and obscurity was worshiped.

But you were human and you were curious and the voice that called your name was so familiar and warm and you wanted to weep and run towards it. The mist will not stop your folly and you will keep running to appease that growing thirst. In the end it will cost you.

The sound of your footsteps cease. The mist thins out and at the end of the veil, you poke your head out for the first time to witness the world outside. A set of teeth, white and sharp greet you. Then another and another, till the darkness itself glows as it does beneath the moonlight.

You hear her voice. It comes from the open maw.

The demons spot you and you run again, feeling their jaws clamp down and tear through muscle and bone and you scream and scream and scream at the white hot agony and the very feeling of your nerves set aflame before they numb.

Your curiosity cost you.

You wake to your fingers clawing at your shoulder with labored gasps and Zhongli panting, his fingers gripping at the sheets of the bedroll and his brow furrowed. You blink away the sleep in your eyes and tug the blanket off of your shoulders, shakily making your way to his side. His skin was hot again and panic lights in your chest, like the incoming winter.

“Fuck — it’s gotten worse.” you mumble a few more expletives as you stumble out to collect some more water and the few mistflower corollas you had stored away within your cabinets, hoping the elemental energy in them hadn’t dissipated completely. Setting the bucket down by his bedside with the corollas nestled within, you hiss at the cold pricking your palms and the frostbite coming to form.

Never mind that! The fucking adeptus is going to melt.

Oh my, thank you for pointing out the obvious!

The cloth bath was set to a near feverish pace as you feel him twitch and convulse through the chills wracking his body. “Hot — ” he groans.

“It’s the fever.” you mutter, tugging his pants down, your eyes unconsciously trailing down the slope of his waist and dip of pelvis, then avert your eyes before you could see any more, face flushed whilst a cloth was thrown onto his hips to spare him some decency. “You need to cool down…please, stay still.”

His hand comes to grip your arm and the dormant strength within it, one etched into his very being, was frightening. The adeptus’ sights were set upon you, the fever-addled state of his blowing his pupils out till only a thin ring of gold remains, shining through the light of the oil lamp, brighter and brighter. You pull away and rest your free hand on his with a soothing squeeze.

“You will be okay.” you assure. “It will come to pass soon enough. Let me take care of you for now.” You coax him to stay still as you continue the cloth bath, wiping away at his clammy skin while fatigue continues to weigh down on your shoulders and tug at your eyes. “I know you’re hiding something…and if you…if you’re one of the gods, then you must live. You’ll have people waiting for you…they need you, at a time like this.”

He lets out a weak exhale, shakily sitting himself up with sudden urgency. “Liyue…” he whispers, gait faltering and you steady him as he leans into you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. You struggle to push him back down atop the bedroll, his breaths growing pained with the passing seconds.

“Liyue.” you nod and repeat. “You need to go back soon, don’t you? You’ll have to heal first, and for that, you must rest.” The cloth is pressed against his temple now, wiping away sweat all while the smell of petrichor grows stronger. The searing temperature hasn’t subsided and hopelessness stirs inside, an ugly feeling, a familiar feeling ( it was worse than your curiosity — it always was ).

Zhongli leans into your touch, his fingers tangling against yours. “Stay…” he whispers. You cease your movement as his body shifts and presses against your lap. “Stay….” he repeats.

“I…I’ll stay.” you slump in defeat, resting his head on your lap. Lightning flashes outside your window and the walls seem to shake as the rain comes pelting down. You continue the bath, listening to a leaky spot in your roof and the incessant downpour rattling against the tiles. Zhongli seems to still, his breaths still weighed down by that terrible heaviness.

The rain continues. His fever grows worse.

Then the pattering slows down, and the flush on his skin comes to cool. By the time the rains stop, his fever breaks and you lean against the wall of your home, shutting your eyes as you nearly weep, your worries allayed.

Morax was the first to wake in the early hours of the morning, the scent of petrichor pervading his senses followed by the faint lull of jasmine. Then comes the warmth and the softness, one his claws unconsciously dig into with a groan shuddering out of his chest.

It was you, slumped against the wall, lost in your own dreams and too tired to notice and the sight makes him swell with a conflicting mess of emotion. Then comes the pain, the aftermath of his fever coming to tear at him, at his limbs and his tendons till he ceases his stubborn movement and lets his body fall slack.

He does not understand your intent, but the faint memory of that familiar care against a muddled haze stills his tongue and his suspicion. Your muffled words, your hand in his, everything, blurred away yet so clear.

Humans were strange, so fragile, so determined…

“Fool…” he murmurs. The last of his strength is used to draw the blanket over your shoulders. “But thank you, nonetheless.” Sleep calls him again, and Morax shuts his eyes.

The jasmine lingers, stronger than most. He lets it swallow him whole.

You come to realize how much you hated it, the loneliness.

Your home was far removed from civilization, settled between regions and away from main travel ways that weren’t blocked or destroyed. The quiet of your house was nothing like the bustle of the town you hailed from and the chaos that accompanies the stalls in the early mornings. The most noise that encloses your small plot of land were the local wildlife, the creaks and groans of wood born against strong winds and the weight of snow and the distant battles fought over the horizon.

During arbitrary moments of your routine, you question why Zhongli landed here of all places, in the midst of nowhere. You wonder if this is some grand scheme or punishment for your past mistakes and when you feel your curiosity dare to skitter forth and poke more holes into your blind acceptance, you drive it away with an angry hiss.

He is not an unwelcome guest, even if he holds a sense of urgency at times and a well kept secret whose nature you suspect . It’s almost comforting, no matter how contrived it seems, listening to him speak of an obscure plant or hearing his heavy footfalls a few days after his arrival.

How desperate are you? The bitter pride in your heart speaks up, and it’s seedy and unhappy as you straighten out the drying sheets over the heated slab. Where is your self preservation? Your brain cells? You’re smarter than this you fool —

“Is something wrong?”

Zhongli’s voice snaps you out of your reverie and you start, nearly dropping your laundry on the grass.

“Nothing!” and it is a weak save on your part as you straighten the worn down basket to move to an empty patch of stone, ducking under to check the state of the flaming flowers underneath. His hands come to rest on the surface and he lets out a soft exhale, his eyes slipping shut in a seeming moment of peace. “You should be resting.” you remind him.

“I believe I'm past the need for excessive bedrest.” he intones with an amused lilt. “Do you need help? It is partly my fault you have far more work to sort through.” He wasn’t lying. What little linen you had was used up to change the sheets on your bedroll before his fever broke. You had little clue how illness amongst higher beings were treated, but simply washing the contaminated cloth was the best option you had on your for now.

Ah, sometimes you regret not moving closer to a town.

Your reply was short, when you notice the silence being drawn out for a little too long. “That does not mean you should strain yourself. The less of a load you place on yourself, the faster you will heal. I’m sure you are needed back at your colony. The war is far from over.”

The comment seems to tug at his emotions, a stern moroseness settling on his face. “That is true…but I trust my fellow adepti to hold the lines in my absence.” you bend over to collect another sheet from the basket, the hair at the back of your neck prickling when he moves behind you. “Even so, I should hasten my return.”

“Then — ” The sheet is snatched from your hands and you watch Zhongli step beside an unused slab to lay it across the surface, a mischievous smile touching his lips. “Oi!” you snap, reaching out to grab it.

“However,” he continues, ignoring your protest with a look of innocent serenity. You want to squawk, to stamp your foot down childishly and you almost do, your movements stilled by you clenching your fist to curb it. “I’ve fought battles with wounds far worse and won. Menial chores are hardly a labor and if it means aiding you then I shall take it.”

You let out a groan in defeat and push the basket between the two of you. Zhongli was preening in his small victory, setting the clothes out to dry with relative ease. “Guests shouldn’t partake in chores like these.” you repeat the line your mother had uttered so many times, one amongst many of her favorite maxims.

He watches you from his spot behind the stone slab, a contemplative haze clouding his hues. “I simply return the favor. It is the nature of a contract, to balance out what is given with due compensation.”

He isn’t going to let up, is he?

“Fine, fine…you can help me collect a few mist flowers later.” you concede.

“What do you need them for?” he asks, collecting your laundry basket as you kneel upon the grass, blowing some air into a patch. One of the flowers is set alight and you sigh, letting them burn awhile as you feel your fingers retain a little more warmth in them.

“Preservation…I use them to make my herbs and food last a little longer…it’s not easy, coming across certain ingredients for a decent meal…” You let out a dry chuckle at that, which melts away into a mildly sheepish one. Even if you bear a slight annoyance to your choice of settlement, and even with the debilitating isolation that came with it — it was still home and it was still safer than most.

Zhongli takes this in, a hand resting against his chin. “I see…cooking is not a part of my skill set…unfortunately. But a friend of mine intends on relaying an old recipe of his should the war end soon. Perhaps I could pass it on to you, if you don’t mind it.”

It was an oddly sweet gesture coming from him and you hum, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you consider it. That also meant opening a tiny window of opportunity; a chance that you may see Zhongli again. The thought stirs a clash of emotion, of fear and of excitement and dare you say it, hope and it feels warm and cold and all sorts of things at once. “I’d like that…granted you don’t accidentally poison me.”

He feigns annoyance as his head tilts to the side, quietly regarding you. “You overestimate my inadequacy. The last time I did partake in the culinary arts, the worst outcome was an offhand crystallize reaction and a burnt stove.” he pauses. “Besides, my skill in brewing tea is decent.”

Oh Gods —

“I’m just being cautious.” you laugh a little louder at that, holding up your hands in defense. “Dear Lords though…I hope that friend of yours is prepared then. You might turn out to be a genius in cuisine or a hopeless case.”

“Then I hope for the former.”

You grin, hanging up the last of your clothes. “If you turn out decent…then I wouldn’t mind sharing some of the recipes passed down to me. I couldn’t indulge myself in them as much, but i hope you may come to like them.”

Something in Zhongli’s eyes softens and he nods. “And I would like that in turn…” he utters slowly, watching you clear away any dry branches and grass close by. His fingers absently brush over his torso, where the bandages stay wrapped around him. You catch the subtle purse of his lips and the twinge in his jaw. “Do not be concerned…” he snaps up to meet your worried face. “I am fine.”

“...Right.” you knew it wasn’t wholly a lie. Zhongli proved to be a quick healer, perhaps a trait passed down by his inhuman lineage. But these displays of vulnerability only played into the damning knowledge you knew before; of the hidden fragility the gods held. “Come on…I think it’s time we get those bandages changed.”

Zhongli smiles but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Another secret, you think sadly, taking his hand as you lead him inside, taking in the momentary warmth he held even if his skin didn’t quite feel like skin or that they glowed a bit too bright between the cracks of your fingers.

You don’t ask him to collect the mist flower corollas again, staying at home with him with some tea set at the table for him to sip on while you inspect his lacerations. There was some idle chatter over dinner and Zhongli spoke a little more about his home.

“You’re going to leave tonight, aren’t you?” you ask suddenly, your voice soft. His words die out and you try to still the sharp edged pain in your chest. It refuses to fade and you accept the growing weight with an unwilling gait.

“Yes.” he whispers, setting his cup down and he looks ashamed.

“Then go.” you mumble. He opens his mouth again but you hold up a hand. “I…I know your name is not really Zhongli…it’s not is it?” His silence was damning and you finally piece it together, the knowledge you learned from your village and from your travels, no matter how meager, painting a slow picture in broad strokes.

The stories depict Morax to be more of a beast and less of a man. You would have glossed over it as well,expecting a dragon instead of the visage of a handsome stranger.

“I take it you’ve come to a conclusion.” he muses, looking a little apologetic, a little ashamed. “I never intended on deceit but the nature of our meeting called for it.”

“You were afraid I was going to kill you?” you guess. Zhongli — Morax laughs and shakes his head.

“Even in my weakened state, you would have been incapable of it.” well damn. “I feared someone of greater power would catch wind of talk of a wounded god…but given your lifestyle, they held no merit. I apologize though…I know you may have suspected a while.”

Morax smiles and you try not to battle the disbelief that a good sat across you, eating your food and drinking your tea. “However, I have a question to ask you.”

A pause

“What became of your deity?”

Your breath seizes and you meet his gaze. His stare seems to hold so much more weight to it and you look down. Your old god was a memory you sought to bury away well out of sight. Recollecting them only brought in a bitter taste and a dull ache and Morax notices it. “That’s a story for another day.” you finally manage out after some deliberation. Your tea has gone cold by the time you take another sip out of it, the air feeling heavier again. You wrinkle your nose at the taste.

He nods. “Then I will return and pay my debt in whole as well.” he decides. “Your kindness is one I shall remember, little one.” You hate how a part of you melts into this buttery, weak mess and when he smiles, you hate how it’s so easy to feel yourself tear at the seams, to beg him to stay a little longer. “Thank you.”

He was gone the next morning, a fresh batch of mist flower corollas left behind in an earthen pot alongside a delicate flower preserved in amber.

“Good riddance.” you tell yourself, the words feeling forced.

You will miss him, you think.

He returns three months later, or maybe it was more. Time was easy to lose track of and the seasons were all you had to know of a passing year. By the time he arrived, the last remnants of winter had receded and you found yourself in the midst of spring, restocking your stores and setting soup to boil in the hearth.

Should I bow? You think when he appears at your doorstep. Extend a greeting? Address him by his title? Your great eminence…no that sounds pretentious… You reminisce about your old customs, of the times you spent watching your mother lay out scented flowers and fruits at the feet of your deity during festivals or during victory feasts. Morax however, steps inside with a smile in greeting, his hand coming to tuck some stray hair out of your face.

Then comes the deja vu.

You question why his arrivals were always timed on days when your home was a mess.

“Wait! We can talk outside.” saving the last few traces of your dignity is all you had in mind as you blockade the entrance. It would hardly do any good, you realize then; he was tall and he was far bigger and when he stops with a puzzled look and scans the room and the traces of stalks and unswept and unused parts of the herbs you were sifting through, a glint of understanding flashes in his eyes and he steps back.

You want to sink into the ground with the traces and remainders of you. Oblivion seemed a tempting option with the way your face burned and your heart hammers at a pace nearly hard to keep up with.

“My apologies.” he utters, letting you lead him outside. He does not seem as bothered or flustered, thankfully; nor does he pry as he erects a few makeshift seats sculpted from geo and sits himself down alongside you with a soft sigh on his lips. “I wish we could have met sooner,” he admits.

“Is that so? It’s hard to believe you’d bother…” you hum with a shy dip of your head. Morax considers this.

“Did you not ask for it?”

“I did…but I accepted the possibility of you not returning.” you cease for a second, recalling your promise to give him the answer he sought. It felt like a cheap trick, back then and it still does now, of you running away as you always did. “I'm glad you came back though…it was nice having someone around to speak to.”

Moax looks pleased with this. “I simply find your company enjoyable.” you feel a stirring in your stomach when he says that, and it feels like a wonderful sort of sweetness, like honey. “Even if our first few days spent together lacked any delicacy in approach.”

“You were quite stubborn.” you admit.

“I was, wasn’t I?” he agrees. You snicker.

“I wouldn’t blame you though. Even I had a hard time staying still when bedrest was forced upon me…how have you been?” your fingers slot together as you pull your knees closer to your chest, your cheek resting against your thigh as you watch the scenery in the distance. The mist had abated, just a bit and you could see the copse of trees expanding then scattering as the plains began.

Morax exhales. “As I’ve always been.”

“Stubborn?”

“Busy.” he corrects, flashing you a look of warning. You grin innocently. “The war has come to a temporary standstill. Only smaller battles seem to keep up…with the weaker gods mostly weeded out, planning our next move is of importance. I only have a few hours to spare now before I leave for Liyue.”

“Oh…” you take this in. Perhaps this was a sign of the war slowly coming to a close. Maybe during your time, if you were lucky enough, or in another hundred years or so. “Then…tell me about Liyue.”

Morax raises a brow but he smiles, humoring your question. “What would you like to know?”

“Plant life? What’s it like there?” you supply, leaning forward in quiet anticipation.

He chuckles. “Not of the people? Or its history?” he asks.

“You can tell me that too!”

He hums, his gaze softening. “It’s not uncommon to see mountains in Liyue,” he admits. “To say our weather has a stark contrast in the plains and the peaks would be an understatement. Juehyun Karst, the realm of the adepti is pleasantly cool most of the time, but the plains are hot and humid. That being said, our flora seems to take on this diversity as well…”

He tells you about the yellow sand bearer and the gold ginkgo trees that spot Liyue’s landscape, of the horsetail that covets the marshes and the reclusive glaze lilies that grow within the terraces. He tells you about the silk flowers nestled amidst the red bushes, always found in pairs and the violet grass sprouting forth off of cliffs. And he tells you of the qingxins that turned away from the warmth of the plains and grew in the distant peaks, looking down upon Liyue as a whole.

There was a sort of magic, listening to Morax speak of his nation with a layer of fondness and sadness.

“Maybe when the war ends, I’ll visit. I think I'd like to start a garden some time.” you hum, surveying the empty patches of land in front of you. It would be nice to have a few more flowers around to brighten up the monotony you have grown accustomed to. His expression shifts, a brighter shine lighting up his eyes.

“You could stay there if you wish.” Disbelief rattles through your ribs and it steals your breath and pushes against your lungs. You fall silent, ceasing the anxious play with your clothes. “I could find a place for you amidst my people…would you like that?”

There was disbelief, yes, and a stutter in your words, but there is also the pang of appreciation and the tingle at your fingertips. However cold dread settles down ( for it is an old bedmate ) and Morax seems to catch on. “Have I misspoken in any way?” he questions, his hooded gaze appraising.

You jerk your head. He had it all wrong and the last thing you need is a messy misunderstanding to fall into your pile of terrible mistakes. “No, no…I don’t think I'm ready to return to a land ruled by a god…or even around so many people…not yet…” you couldn’t bring yourself to word it out and it shames you. You are an adult. You needed to speak like one.

There is a faint brush on your cheek, the barest hint of a touch and when you look up, you see the suspicion he holds paired with concern. You want to shrink back, make yourself smaller, unknowable, something you were before he came along and made you care and vie after company and something as simple as touch.

“I assume it has something to do with your old settlement?” he asks.

You nod.

“We were hidden behind our god’s mist and illusions…our people were cut off from the rest of the world save a few soldiers and those who joined our god in battle. My mother would accompany them sometimes…she’d tell me about the world outside and we promised to visit a lake just a short walk from the barrier…” you hold out your hands, trying to grasp the words she had tattered. “She called it starlight on earth…or…something like a mirror clearer than any metal she’d seen. I wanted to go, but we were not allowed to leave.”

“You were not?” Morax asks. He leans in, listening closer.

“We were not.” you affirm softly. “Or god never spoke it…but we knew. They talked about demons lurking out and we were scared. One day…I couldn’t find her amidst the returning line of soldiers she left with…I did later…and I couldn’t even stand to look at the state she was in.” you stare ahead, the weight of his gaze resting even harder now. “I don’t know why…if it was grief or curiosity or a mix of both…but I thought I heard her voice one day…calling out to me. And I knew it was a trap, but I ran towards it, out of the forest, and the mist…”

You swallow hard. You felt cold. Cold all over, like that night, where the silence was unsettling and the sound of your name was a taunting whisper. Your mother, it was your mother, rigid at some times with her own rough edges and flaws, but loving for the most part. Your mother — and it was an old hurt you had locked in a box a long time ago, that time had weathered down till it was the embers scraped to the side of the charcoal pit.

“They were right…my deity warded off those things that attacked me…but they were bleeding everywhere. Balam was strong, but as a god…I doubt they held much in par to some of the others who warred out there…” Like you, you almost add. “They were weakened…unfit to fight in a state like that and we tried what we could. The wounds didn’t heal as we thought they should. I was banished for endangering their life and as I traveled…I heard of Balam’s passing in the hands of an invading god.”

“...and now, I'm here.” you finish, wryness coating every syllable. You wished your apathy was more than a weak front to bury away the stab in your heart; you wish you could be stronger than the coward you are. Morax shuts his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest.

He looks a little more like the god you were told about; sharp, pragmatic, with a presence that looms over most. “If there was a law that stated so, that forbade stepping out of your deity’s territory, then yes, you have committed a wrong. I have heard tell of Balam, whispers of their whereabouts and they did try to protect your people from a harsher way of life…”

Ah, so that was his response. You wilt a little, feeling a mix of fury and defeat, at Morax, at the gods, at this war and at your own childish stupidity and audacity to even dare to feel this way. “I see…” you mumble. Morax holds up a hand, cutting you off. The words die in your throat faster than embers in snow.

“But,” he behind and his expression pulls into something gentler, lacking the initial rigid sternness it held. “Demons are still a force to be reckoned with. Even my adepti struggle with stifling down their noxious presence, whether it be the weight of karma or a disparity in power itself.”

Coherency is now a lost subject.

“I doubt you could have resisted its influence and Balam knew of the battle they would throw themselves into. Your god was willing to make that sacrifice, something of a rare sight amongst a few of the divine. Remember this well.”

A lump grows in your throat. It’s not an unwelcome one, quietly easing the nerves that crackled and frazzled beyond possible repair. You look down at your hands and your eyes slip shut as you take his words in, bit by bit. Balam was a god who, while distant within the front lines of battle, still loved their people.

It’s ironic how the gods can be capable of human sentiment and human error.

“Thank you, Morax.” you mutter. “I needed that.”

“The bitter truth, or the comfort?” he jests softly. “Because while I deal well with the former, my skill with the latter falls abysmally short.”

You laugh softly.

“For both.”

( His eyes light with surprise. Then you spot it, the faint flush on his cheeks and a dangerous thought enters your mind. You shake your head. It was best you didn’t raise your paltry hopes. )

He does not visit for a few weeks, but you spot a few saplings left behind at your doorstep, of plants and flowers you had never seen before.

You pick one up and a single word echoes in your mind — qingxins.

A smile tugs at your lips.

The distant noise of battle has grown reticent.

You tell it to Morax on one of his visits and he dares to flash a knowing smile in response. “The war is coming to its close. Only a few handfuls remain.” he states, tracing your bandaged hands; a new set of souvenirs from a stray whopperflower. You shiver involuntarily, leaning into him a bit more while longing tears your insides raw. “Hopefully you will come to enjoy an era of peace soon.”

“Will it end soon? The war?” you ask, wincing a little when he presses his fingertips down on the afflicted skin, bathing it in honeyed gold. “Ah! Gently!” you hiss, pulling back on reflex. Morax holds you fast, drawing you back to him with a playful tut and a sheepish glance your way.

“Apologies. Is this alright?” The pressure on your wrist still brings forth a sting, but it’s far more bearable. You nod. “Alright. Now hold still…” The glow returns, as does the tingling warmth and the tense nervousness gives way to a content sigh as the pain ebbs to obscurity. You watch your bandages fall away to skin mostly unblemished, save the faint traces of a scar left behind. “Better?” he asks.

You nod. “Much better…I wonder why you didn’t try healing yourself earlier. You’re not too bad at it.” he wasn't. Only a few humans were ever imbibed with the grace of divine power. You always longed to be gifted with the strength to heal, and you feet the slightest hint of envy as you take in the sight.

Morax blinks. “I was in too weak a state to do so. Healing is not my greatest strength either…I simply learned it, should it come to use amidst battle.” he flexes his fingers, the last flickers of gold falling away. His gaze meets yours with its usual intensity before he reaches for your other hand.

“Hm…I suppose this means you’ve paid your part of the debt?” you tease. “You’ve healed me as I've healed you, right?”

“True…” his lips quirk up as he mends the last of the burns, then presses a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “Does this mark the end of our contract?” The gesture only serves to fluster you further, bringing forth the feeling of fluttering warmth and the near lightness in your chest. Morax chuckles, his voice dipped to a teasing whisper as he calls out your name in a low, purring timbre.

“H-hold up!” you choke out, terrified of potentially overheating as you push his face away, stifling away the shy laughter that threatens to burst out. Morax shifts closer, closer still, his close presence having grown familiar through the meetings and the shared conversations and meals ( you missed the gentleness in his touch, you missed so much of him ).

“Hm? Stop what?” he teases, a cheeky glint lighting up in his gaze. “My, your face feels warm.” he adds with a soft simper, tilting your chin his way as he scans your features.

A desperate attempt to shift his attention comes to form. “Look at the qingxins you gifted me! They’re growing nicely, right?” you try to smile, looking at the flowers growing just a small ways from your home. Morax hums.

“They are. Give them a few months and they will come to bloom.” he replies, his wandering touch tracing up your arm, grazing at fragile skin and faint scars and the sensation has you shuddering. The glow in his eyes brightens and he huffs out something unintelligible, then asks you, “Would you like me to stop?”

You fall silent. “No it’s fine…” you sigh, reaching up to grasp his hand gently, ignoring the phantom stings as your finger splays out over Morax’s palm, at the dazzling gold dipped at the edges fading away to a spider web of veins and dark scales. “I like this.” you hum. Morax blinks, his cheeks coloring pink.

The intensity burns brighter in his gaze. It scorches at his touch and in the way he looks upon you now and as acute as it was, you felt blanketed beneath a safe warmth.

Morax speaks up, “I will make sure this war ends soon.” It was a promise, holding the weight of his blood. You feel it in every syllable, every rise and drop in his cadence. He leans in and the spice in his scent pervades your senses.

His lips are softer than you expected, mildly chapped from the heat and the battlefield, and between the buzz slowly beginning to sound off in your head and the feel of his touch brush away at your hair and rest on your cheek, your heart hammers hard in your ribcage. You feel the earth shift and watch the sky sweep away as you fall back on the grass and Morax palms at your hips and kisses you some more.

It feels like a distant dream, something you’d rather not wake from and when he pulls away to look you in the eye, you watch the smirk in his face grow as he dips down and buries his face into your neck, his pace languid, his claws gentle against the softness of your skin. You bite back a stray mewl when his teeth prickle down on sensitive flesh, slowly and deliberately making his way down down down, and his hand pressing flat on your thigh.

A glow flickers within his chest. He stops and tugs away with clear frustration, heaving as he watches you try to recover from the fog clogging up your thoughts, the memory of his touch warming every inch of you. Morax chews at his bottom lip. “I am needed again.”

“...oh…” you croak out, even if you wish to scream at the unfairness, to pull him back down atop of you and finish what he started. You shut your eyes, easing at your frayed nerves at the trembling and the traitorous dampness that was gradually settling in. The god in front of you holds a shadow of amusement and he kisses you again, gentler, with less teeth and tongue and more tenderness.

“I’ll come back,” he whispers. It holds another promise masked beneath the assurance, it’s cheekiness lighting his gaze.

When Morax’s form departs, you let out a shaky sigh, one hand delving into your heat while the other clamps over your mouth. The moment your slick coats your fingers, you moan into the silence, the promise persisting.

Morax thinks about you when the rains fall once more.

He thinks about you on the battlefield, waiting with that patient smile.

He thinks about you when his adepti fall and the last god is slain — when he finds his numbers dwindle, their blood staining his victory. He holds that memory of you close, that cherished warmth. His little flower.

Morax thinks about you. And he longs.

You came to know of patience’s workings through the days and months in between Morax’s visits, and this one is his longest thus far. The war persists still, the sound of the heavens screaming slowly growing quieter as deities were felled and the lands were stitched together by victories and defeats. You wonder where your old home lies now beneath the seven seats, what it would grow into in the near future.

Then one day, you wake to complete and utter silence.

The war is over. The roads had cleared. One day, when the world stills just a little more and the last few scars left behind have healed, you could try to visit the towns and cities beyond your isolated home.

Morax stays absent. You go on with your life. The qingxins he gifted you bloom in your garden. You wait, shedding away the accusatory remarks, the words that dare you to doubt his victory, that take your mind to darker spaces with the image of his still form and cold hands. No, absolutely not, you could not doubt him.

You repeat it over and over, beating down at the cynical whispering. Do not doubt him.

A storm rises again, blustering through the lands with the threat of tearing your home down from its stubborn foundations. You stay inside, the change in weather setting forth a persistent chill that your meager hearth could hardly hold against. Finally, after a few hours of running about, your body hunches over the blocks, feeding the fire with the last of your firewood.

“How much longer…” you mutter, storing away the last of your herbs when the rain refuses to cease and it grows harder to differentiate between night and day. The lightning thunders in response, asserting it’s long stay and you curl up by the warmth you fed, numb fingers gripping at old blankets and watching the rain beat down incessantly on your roof. It would be a long wait, you realize. It’s best if you find a way to pass the time.

There was another clap of thunder, then a crash that felt all too intimate with your memories. Then came the knocking and you scuttle up to let a drenched Morax in, his pupils blown wide and his body hot to the touch as he stumbles in. You’re almost afraid he’s fallen ill once more, but the insistent tug at your wrists has you follow him.

“Are you okay?” you ask, seating him down by the fire, moving to dry his hair after draping a sheet on his shoulder. “Morax, what’s wrong.” Despite the sudden appearance, you feel relief crash down and tug out a lump in your throat. You hold back the tears for his sake. You did not want to startle him in this state.

“A visit.” he shrugs.

“In this weather?” you question every ounce of wisdom he holds. He looks unbothered, pulling you closer to him while you squeeze the water out of his tresses, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. Warm breath pools out and hits your neck and a shiver racks at your body. “Morax — ”

“I missed you…” The hoarseness of his voice steals the words in your mouth. You latch onto him tightly, fisting at his robes, uncaring of the silk wrinkling beneath your rough hands. Morax does not stay silent or stay still, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer up against him. “I missed you…” he repeats feverishly. The hunger in his stare is an answer enough.

The fire crackles and lets out a sputter.

Morax lays you on your back with a gentle thump and hooks a hand beneath your knee, pushing it up against your chest as he steals a kiss from you, heated and impatient after weeks of mulling over his affection and lust. “Stay still.” he orders as you squirm a little, wanting more, needing more, trying to bury yourself into him as much as humanly possible.

Your open mouthed breaths did not help in the slightest as he steals another kiss, then another, the wetness of his tongue delving deep down your throat as he muffles out any sounds of shock from you —

— was it forked?

You could not ponder over it for long, choking against the invading muscle while his lips caress yours with growing need and intensity. It made sense, for one like Morax — who adored talking about the origins of an obscure tea leaf to the festivities that littered the streets of his city — to fancy the act of kissing you. And he still keeps kissing you, over and over till your head spins and his body is pressed up flush against yours.

He noses at your neck with a noticeable huff, fingers dragging up the side of your hips, slowly, deliberately, till they tug at the hem of your clothes. Molten gold catches the anxious excitement bubbling within you and your eyes and you catch the smirk on Morax’s face.

“I’d like to continue.” he sounds breathless.

“Go on then.” that threadbare line that held you together had snapped now. You do not think you could wait any longer than you have for him. Morax chuckles, bending down with a narrowed gaze till his nose brushes against yours.

“I haven’t finished my statement.” he chides and you don’t know what is worse, him dragging this out to a near painful pace, or the hand that caresses the inside of your thigh teasingly, drawing out a stray moan from your lips. “If you feel overwhelmed, or you wish to stop, we must establish a safe word.”

He waits expectantly and you scour your mind for the first word that pops into your head. “Squid.” you decide, shifting your hips closer to him. Morax lets out something between a wince and an amused chuckle, his hand leaving your thigh. You wine in protest, grabbing at his wrists to pull him closer.

“So needy.” he lilts. “Are you sure you want this?”

How cruel, you think unhappily, unsure of how to take his consideration; a loosely veiled attempt to drive you further into wanting or a call of sincere concern. You think you know Morax. You think it’s both.

“Yes!” you cannot wait any more and neither could Morax, his claws curling round to clutch and tangle at the back of your head while he captures you in a devouring kiss. Your own experience hardly held a candle to his own practiced ease, but you do what you can, groaning into the clacking of teeth and the teasing little nips he leaves on your lower lip.

His thumb traces down the side of your neck and hooks at your clothes, tugging away at the fabric to stroke your now bare shoulder. Morax leaves no trace of skin untouched by his lips and he brushes down the line of your collar bone, his teeth flashing in the candle light till you feel him bite down at the spot with a muffled growl.

The rush of pain and pleasure has you pressing your face down into the mattress with reeling shock, any moan held back in the midst of the hazy shock lighting up inside you. The action was mostly unintentional, but you were glad it could have saved you any further embarrassment in Morax’s eyes.

“Not a sound?” he asks, licking his lips with a predatory tilt to his head, regarding every inch of you with voracity. You stubbornly refuse to respond, lips sealed tight with a set of eyelashes batting up at him. Morax likes a chase and you give it to him, no matter how small it may be. “No matter. We’ll see how silent you are by the end of the night.”

The words hang in the air like an impending omen. You do not doubt him.

His voice dips to a sultry whisper as he undoes your top and lets it slide past your shoulders and down your waist till it was bunched to the side and lay there forgotten. The storm rumbles outside your window, and the wind prickles at your skin. Between Morax eyeing you down, mapping out every detail with his fingertips and the chill in the air, your arms instinctively move to hug yourself.

“No.” His word was stern, absolute as he tugs at whatever covers your entirety from his gaze. “I’ve never seen you this shy before…adorable.” he purrs, stroking your cheek.

“Tease.” you test out.

Morax’s expression lapses to a playful smile in the midst of your indignation, leaning back to watch you with clear intent. He guides your legs around his waist and shifts you partly atop his lap, gently moving your hips to a slow grind against his torso. The sudden stimulation draws out a squeak, your cheeks set aflush.

“Beautiful…” his claws linger over your chest before it trails down to stroke your stomach. “You’re so soft, little love…” they stop at your shoulder, raking around the scar settled there, gnarled marks and torn flesh left behind by talons and teeth. You feel the flare of doubt and self consciousness flare back up, but it fizzles out when he bends to leave a kiss atop it.

It was hard to find a spot that he did not touch. Morax was precise, diligent, learning what spots made your squirm and whimper and shake beneath him with white hot pleasure. The rain’s roar was a distant muffle between the pleasant buzz in your head and Morax’s ragged breaths sounding in the otherwise quiet room. He hunches over you, nosing at your neck with near obsessive need, nipping, kissing — anything to cast on some semblance of his scent and essence.

Your chin nestles atop his shoulder, your sight trained upwards, oblivious to where Morax may choose to touch you next. The clinking of metal does draw in a few questions, most quickly answered when you feel his clothes give way and settle on your stomach. Then comes his teeth, sharp fangs sinking into you. You hardly register the moan you let out, or the heat that you sink into, desperate for more, for more skinship, for more of Morax.

“Beautiful.” he repeats, a growl bleeding into every syllable, down to the rumble in his chest. He still donned his pants, but most of his clothes now lay scattered across the mattress, pushed aside a moment later with an impatient huff.

You have seen Morax bare chested plenty of times before, when he first arrived wounded on the slope of your little mountain home. There was no denying he was a beautiful man, sharply lined with the faintest of silvered scars scattered beneath stark gold tattoos. “Morax.” you mutter, lacing your fingers into his, tugging at him instantly. “Keep going.”

He smiles.

“Patience.” he croons. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold back the swear resting on your tongue. “I have waited for so long…” his teeth don’t hold the old hesitance it did, now wholly marking you with delicious bruises and love bites. “...and I intend on savoring…” his lips linger on the line of your jaw, tickling your ear. “...each…” they brush down, down, down. “...bite…” and true to his words, he sinks his teeth down again.

Your hands tangle at his hair, his hair tie snapping to your insistent tugging till burnt brown strands pool around him. He looked a little wilder, with how his eyes glow beneath the shadow cast on his face. You comb through them with a soft “So pretty.” earning a flattered hum whilst he cups your breasts, chanting your name lovingly.

You gasp at the feel of a soft pinch on your nipples. Morax lights up, a dangerous splay of his fangs flashing in your field of vision before he engulfs one breast within his mouth, suckling, biting, devouring greedily and the other grows sensitive to his slow strokes. “M-Mor–AX!” Your mewls peak and your hands grab at his shoulders, his back, at the sheets —somewhere, trying to ground you to the sensation.

( He could hear your racing heart beneath his grasp and the sound of it makes Morax purr with an emotion so old and primal and possessive. )

He pulls away with a wet pop. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“H-hot.” you barely manage to blurt out. “Hot everywhere.”

That smile was back again, the one with the barest flash of primality. “Hot?” he repeats. You nod. It was hot, in your cheeks, your chest and your stomach and core — and you could hardly bring yourself to wait. With Morax’s resolve to take his slower pace. You curse his patience. You wish he was just as desperate.

“I am.” he muses nonchalantly, ducking down to take your other breast in his mouth. “I crave every inch of you. I want to hear you sing, wǒ qīn'ài de.” his hand drags down, teasing the inside of your thighs with circular strokes. You buck your hips into him with a pathetic whimper, and Morax pounces at the lapse, tugging your underwear down with a single fluid motion then pushing his fingers into your drenched heat.

“Oh how obscene.” he lilts, a delighted shine in his eyes, momentarily bringing his slickened digits for you to see. “You’re drenched.”

“Shut.” you snap, a depraved cry cutting you off as he teases at your entrance with one finger, thumbing up your core till he settles on your clit with a peased grunt. Your hips snap and shudder, tears slowly pricking at your eyes. It was an odd sensation, a buildup of pressure far greater than what you could coax out that tightens in your gut.

Morax slides a finger in, slowly, gently. “Ah — ” you bury your face into your mattress, spreading your legs further for him. He continues his slow thrusts, in and out and you revel in the sweet sensation. “Feels — f-feels good — ”

His scrutiny comes with its merits, stroking your walls with an out of place gentleness as he watches every shift, keen and whine with a deep found appreciation and yearning. “You’re quite tight, little one.” he rumbles. You warble in response, bucking your hips into him as the pressure steadily builds and builds and builds.

“I’ll be adding another.” he decides and he does, a second finger slipping in. the stretch stung and you fist at the sheets with a groan.

“N-no…t-too much — ah!” The broken whimper does elicit a sympathetic look from him and he kisses away the tears, thankfully easing his movements.

“I know, little love. I know.” you sink into his warmth, melting at the delicacy in how he holds you close. “But we’ll need to prepare you, don’t we? And you’re taking me so well too…” you think you are when the pain slowly subsides and the pleasure returns, your very being trembling when he scissors you. “Ah, witnessing the state you're in…it makes me wonder how well you’ll take something else of mine, hm?”

“M-morax!” you squeak, cheeks flushed. The embarrassing squelch from your core shuts you up immediately. You decide you’re better off muffling out your moans out of petty spite at this point and you seek your refuge in the covers, burying your face into your mattress.

Ha! You think, naively, foolishly, daring to assume that Morax would fold at the face of a challenge. A third finger slips through and the moan is smothered. You think you hear him chuckle and you think you see the excited flash in his eyes as he shifts and twists your body, laying you down on your stomach.

“So stubborn.” The delight is apparent in his cadence. His hand presses down at the small of your back, then his torso presses up against you, continuing his slow and agonizing thrusts with practiced pace. “The vitriol in your silence hardly diminishes how soaked you are. Your body is far more honest, it seems.”

“MMPH!”

You gasp, feeling his fingertips stroke your g-spot, pulling you apart at the seams and chipping away at your mind. Everything feels distant and muddled and the pleasure was almost too much to bear. “Does it feel good when I touch you here?” you shut your eyes and curl up, bucking up into him uselessly. His weight restricted your movements and you doubt you could wiggle away for a temporary respite ( even if some masochistic part of you liked the deluge of sensations pile up steadily ). “I need words.”

Another thrust. You wail into your hands, whatever dogged decision to stay silent, now shattered. “Yes. Yes — P- please!” you haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re begging for at this point, but the fullness you feel from his fingers alone is enough. “L-like that. Morax please keep going.”

He adds a fourth finger.

“You keep tightening up…” he whispers, as if trapped in a trance of his own, your head lifting to press against his bicep while his movements momentarily slow to ease you in before his pace picks up and that slow, brutal torture begins again.

You squirm, squeal, bite into his arm with vigor. Morax laughs, kissing your temple with comforting croons. “Good.” he coos, dipping his nose into your hair with a victorious purr. Your thighs squeeze around him and your hips jolt forth. The pressure steadily building up in your stomach seems to crest while you chime out his name. Your orgasm seeps closer and closer and closer —

He pulls his fingers out and you bite back a cry, a protest, tears pooling out as dismay settles fast. Was it something you said? Was it something you’ve done? Why did he stop?

“Why…” you manage out, stroking his hair. Morax raises a brow then slides down, his lips latching onto your inner thigh with a groan. You fist at the sheets again, a vague idea coming to form between the haze and the jumbled confusion and disappointment and it sets a spark of excitement.

A pause.

Morax meets your gaze.

He smirks.

You stifle back a scream when he bows his head down and laves at your heat, catching the receding traces of your buildup and letting it reel in steadily. His tongue was greedy, warm, devouring you whole as he slicks it through your drenched folds, and — oh gods —

Whatever praise that you cry out turns into a feverish mantra being babbled out over and over, the sharp mountainous air taking on a headier scent. Your validation was enough to spur him on, it seems, every bit of Morax, from the practiced gentleness to his eagerness to undo you coming to shine with the fervor of a starved animal.

“Good.” he growls out, claws digging down a little harder into the softness of your thigh, his teeth and tongue grazing and toying at your clit. You clap your hands over your mouth once more, a squeak cut short, only to have them pinned down by him. He flashes you a warning glare before gold light illuminates your wrists and you feel the weight of geo press them down to your chest.

The cuffs were heavy, and they did their job well as you could only grab at air while his licks grow more languid. Your thighs were pushed back with a single fluid movement and a flustered cry escaped with your sudden exposure.

“Ah — ”

You tug at his hair, drawing out another delicious moan from his throat. Liquid gold appraises you, taking every detail in, between your fucked out expression and your twitching body. Morax presses against your sweet spots, and you could have sworn some strange magic were at play, with every careful thrust and every slow vibration. You could hard;y word out the state you were in, your mind all cotton wool with little thought.

Overwhelming…indescribable…that was a way to put it.

Morax does not complain about your growing insistence, your moans growing louder, your thighs squeezing round his shoulders, your attempts to free yourself from the stone shackles he placed on you.he must be just as far gone with your arousal in his mouth ( and that was true ). You hope he won’t turn to cruelty like the last time and deny you of your orgasm. It was a delirious pitch in the back of your mind, a soft cry.

“I-I think i’m close — ” you gasp, feeling that knot grow tight as the tell tale spill of an incoming release shudders up your spine and fingertips. Morax looks at you, the gold of his eyes wide and his pupils blown out with suppressed mischief. A well-timed thrust from his fingers served your undoing.

“Go on then.” he relents.

You sob into the sheets gratefully, pleasure rippling through as the coil snaps and you crumple and sink into a state of unawareness. You could only just register Morax sitting up, thumb swiping at his lips, licking away at the mess you made, smeared between his thighs and on him. “S-sorry!”

He shuts his eyes, quiet bliss washing over him. “I could devour you here and now…” he mutters in indulgence. He rubs your sore wrists down, pressing kisses against the expanse of skin with an apologetic smile. “You look tired. Shall we stop here?”

Alarm lines your features. “What about you?” you blurt out, bug eyed and still fatigued from your orgasm. Morax doesn’t respond, laying down next to you. You feel a bitterness line your mouth and you find yourself pushing your body up and crawling atop him. Morax opens one eye, amusement quirking at his lips.

“Oh?” he doesnt bother feigning surprise as his clawed grip settles on your hips. You try to hide yourself, embarrassment from your bold move hardly aiding in your focus as you slide his pants down and stare, he bore two of them, standing erect against your stomach. You helplessly glance at him.

“You’re…you’re big..” you tell him dumbly. “I-I don’t…I don’t think I can take both of them…” Morax chuckles.

“We’ll take it slow then. You only need one.” he decides, helping you up. You steady yourself on his shoulders, carefully laving your entrance with him before you lower yourself onto him, feeling the first telltale sting that has you stop with a whine. “Careful.” he speaks up, rubbing at your sides and you try to be, taking him bit by bit. Morax stretched you out in a way his fingers couldn’t and his second shaft rubs at your sore clit, leaving you jolting with sparks of pleasure.

He was roving every inch of you, biting down at his bottom lip when you clench around him. Every bit of him screamed of his self control hovering a step away from a more viscous beast. You don’t think you’re ready for what Morax tucks away in the corners of his mind, but you hope, hope that you could indulge him some day.

You were soaked enough for him to slip in with ease, a collective of your and his arousal trailing down with an audible squelch every time he dared to grind up a little more against you. “Fuck….” he whispers out, a rare lapse in demeanor. “D-does it hurt?”

“No.” you shake your head, a half lie. It stings, yes, but the slow haze of euphoria was pressing up and you knew he would stop if you showed the slightest sign of discomfort — and you did not want him to stop. Not with this lovely warmth, and with him holding you like you were the most delicate of flowers.

The sound he makes is animalistic and he thrusts, just a little, into you. He could hardly help himself, seemingly just as lost as you were ( and he was, with his parted lips and fluttering lashes ). You curl into him, pressing your face into his neck. “That’s it.” he whispers mindlessly. “Wonderful, y-you’re taking me so well…don’t rush now…”

You take the rest of him, seated snugly on his lap with a shaky mewl, tears pricking at your eyes. Morax bares his teeth, groaning freely as the air itself seems to crackle against you. You open your mouth, trying to say something, anything, but he pins you down with a single look. “Little minx.” he rasps.

A laugh bubbles up. You wonder if it’s from amusement, or from the overwhelming rush of dopamine or both.

He kisses the corner of your lips, gathering his bearings. “You’ve had your moment of fun, little love. Now move.”

“Yes sir…” you sigh, and do just that, lifting your hips just a bit before you rock back down onto him. “S-shit…s-so good…”

Morax hums, pursing his lips. His face was flushed and the tattoos on his arms were cast in gold and light. He takes matters into his own hands, pounding up into him with sudden force and your teeth chatter and your eyes roll back with a pathetic whimper.

A few marks of your own were delivered, from your nibbling as Morax continues to thrust up into your drenched cunt, and from your nails scratching at his back. His approval was punctuated by a particularly hard one, that made your head spin and had you see stars. You vaguely register the scent of petrichor through everything else.

“Morax — ”

The state you were in only behind to sink in. That he was inside you, that he was taking every chance to draw out these obscene sounds from your lips. Even gods could not escape the perversion of mortal desires. Was this even considered blasphemy at this point, when he seemed to be stuck on the same boat as you were, sinking so fast into his lust?

“ — so good for me.” he guides your legs around his abdomen, whispering your name with a weak whine. He bites at your neck, at the marks he inflicted, then soothes them with kisses. He rubs your back and strokes your hair, his tender touch contrasting against his rough movements, grinding into your sweet spots and paired with his second cock rubbing at your clit, you could only lose yourself a second time.

That knot tightens and you feel the onset of your release. It was close, fast coming and you tug at his hair to warn him. Morax growls, his tail winding round your ankle. You try to keep up, try to ride him, but his pace far outmatches yours, stretching you out, pulling you flush against him. You let him use you, your monks reaching a feverish peak, grasping a taste of heaven on your tongue.

“Morax — ah!”

He curls into you, around you with an engulfing embrace with whispered words being uttered into your ear, “Do you want to cum?” You jolt your head. “Then cum…”

And the bliss washes over you as you finally find it, slumping up into Morax;s patient arms with a near boneless stance. Your eyes met his, the hunger that still rages as he watches with awed fascination at how you come apart and piece back together again with teary eyes and a debauched smile.

“Beautiful.” he mumbles, then presses you face first into the sheets, still sheathed deep inside you. You only just realize he still has reached his own peak yet when he moves, absently reaching out for a pillow for you to grasp.

“God…M-morax — ” you were tired but with overstimulation settling fast and your own desires to see his pleasures being met, you bite into the pillow with a helpless whine. There was a rush in the pain you felt, from feeling all that pleasure wrap into a tight knot while he slicks back and forth into you, hitting your g-spot again with insistent grunts. His pupils were blown wide, like he was trying to take in as much of you as he could.

“M-more!” you blurt out then wince, feeling a hint of shame prick at you for being so greedy. It was about him now; sure you could put your own needs aside.

Morax however, smiles. “More?” he coos. “You want more?”

A gasp. You feel his hand settle on your clit, his untouched cock brush against your thigh. “Now who am I to deny you?” He continues his rough thrusts, godly stamina barely denting at his reserves and his pace. Perhaps that came with being an adeptus, this unending virility and endurance. Morax kisses at the back of your neck, laying down more marks to serve as a reminder for the next few days ( that you were, undoubtedly and irrevocably his now ).

Wanton moans pour out easily. Morax delights in them, carefully stimulating spots that were sure to bring the most out of you. The initial phase of searching and mapping out and learning was long gone — he was always quick to pick up on things, and things that make you fall apart into a quivering mess so easily were no exception.

It feels so good. So good —

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks. You feel sore in the best of ways and you nod. You don’t want him to stop. You don't ever want him to stop, drunk on the overstimulation, the euphoria, his cock, him —

Morax lets out a shaky exhale and slams even harder into you. “You’ll be my undoing...” he whispers and you turn your head, catching a glimpse of him. His straight faced composure was long gone, what careful parts of him he keeps hidden from sight having fallen over. Claws prickle at your ass, his eyes are trained on you, you you and when he meets your gaze, he captures your lips in a heated kiss.

“What kind of spell have you ensnared me with, little love?”

You could say the same thing. You try to, cut off by a rough grind on your clit. A lump builds up in your throat, vaguely recalling his small gestures of affection, his admissions, through your heat hazed mind and you arch your back into him to catch another kiss. Morax never needed to say the words and you were fine with it.

“I love you.” you tell him instead, taking everything you had to get your tongue to move. Morax freezes up. He shuts his eyes and strokes your cheeks and buries his face into your neck.

“My Qingxin.” he whispers, tenderly, lovingly. The faltering in his pace, the sloppier jerks of his hips, then undertones of strained control beneath his moans signal his release. You grasp at his free shaft, and the gasp that echoes out was a rewarding one as you stroke him along into his release. “In or out?” he grits out, stuttering for a second. You feel the drag of his cock against your walls. “In.” you blubber.

You blank out after, feeling the rush, the fullness, him spilling out of you, between your legs, onto the mattress, over your stomach. Morax lets out a shudder, his marks glowing a faint gold before he pulls out. His hand does not leave your clit. Coaxing your third peak out with gentle kisses and insistent mumbles. The pain was sharp but you drink it in, pride lining every crevice of you till you jolt, that pressure finally releasing.

“Thank you.” you mumble. Intimacy was always so foreign, and a kind touch was a far away thought. Morax settles down, pulling you to him as he kisses away the drying tears and the sated touch starvation. He kisses you on the lips. Then the tip of your nose. Then at the bites he inflicted.

“Rest.” he whispers.

The cadence of his voice made it hard to disagree with and you feel unconsciousness wash over you fast. You could vaguely make out the sheets being changed and a damp cloth washing you down.

Morax’s weight next to you was the last thing you register.

“Are you well?”

Morax could count the number of times you sought refuge beneath his arm, eyes roving the stalls in the harbor with caution and nervousness. Your jumpiness was an expected clause, and a slightly endearing one as he walks you along the streets as a mortal man and his lover. There were no gods in Liyue Harbor today, at least none the people were aware of.

“Zhongli.”

He turns his head. “Yes, love?”

You fall into earnest silence. “I think I'm going to freak out.” you say. As taught as a bowstring against him. You grip at his hanfu tighter. “They’re staring. Why are they staring?”

“I suppose a new face does bring raised brows. That…” he dips his head down, nose brushing against your cheek with a loving chuckle. “...and you look exceptionally beautiful today, love.” You tug at his sleeve. “Ah, would some food ease my flower’s nerves then?” another tug. He takes that as a yes.

Even so, Morax knew you. Qingxins were flowers that know the intimate dangers of the mountain side and the bustle of the harbor below. You will grow, as you do and you will adapt as you do, maybe slowly, maybe quickly. He knows not to rush it along and he contents himself with your company and your curious question and the bliss on your face when you try a skewer.

“Liyue is beautiful.” you admit after a while. “Crowded, but beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not used to this.” you tell him for the umpteenth time, quick, apologetic and Morax has none of that ( why would he ever see it fit to fault you? ). He takes your hand, pressing a fluttering kiss on your palm.

You shoot him a flustered glare. He smiles. “We’ll take our time. This old man has much to spare.” and he does.

He’ll wait millennia if it is for you.

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

the fact that this took me five months to finish guys pls praise me. a shout out to moth and crys for beta reading this bby. i wouldn't have been able to edit a lot of my mistakes without em.

there was a lot more i wished to add in but i figure that would make the story way too long XD. but yeah, thanks for reading!!!

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AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#&&. my writing !!#n.sfw ;#zhongli x reader #genshin zhongli #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader smut

2K notes · View notes

barksbog · 2 years

Note

is that

is that a m o l e c r i c k e t

!!!

it is!!

#i love crickets and locusts so much #yall don´t understand #i got a thorny head cricket knowing he is a male #he screams every night when i sleep but it´s so worth it

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wkemeup · 2 years

Text

After

summary: The morning after confessions and years of self-imposed unrequited love, you and Bucky are finally together. Happy. Until a woman from Bucky’s past shows up and threatens everything.

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 9k

warnings: stalking, psycho ex-girlfriend, kidnapping, canon level violence, bucky is a precious little angel in this one and I still made it angsty lol

a/n: I usually end my fics with the big confessions and the ‘I love yous’, so I thought it would be interesting to start a story at the happy ending and consider the potential threats to it after it would have typically ended! (Also - the woman in the header is the ex, not y/n)

A wet, sticky substance dripped down the base of your neck. Thick and oozing, it trailed in large droplets down your spine, drawing a tense shiver from between your bones. It took a moment as you came to, blinded by the sting of florescent lighting hanging overhead. Your vision was tunneled, swaying in doubles as you looked in the cobwebs hanging the corners of the empty room, then to the dust lining the floorboards. Metal cuffs seared into your wrists, securing you to the single chair at the center of the room. Skin raw and blistered underneath.

Vague flashes – memories – of a washcloth pressed against your nose and mouth, suffocating you until you inhaled – burning in your lungs with every breath until it stole your defenses and rendered you to the darkness. You could still feel the burn of it in your chest. Hot and aching. The taste of chemicals on your tongue.

Your voice was a razor to your throat as you managed to choke out, “What have you done?”

A woman emerged from the shadows – a cold, satisfied look in her eye. “What I had to.”

***

T W O W E E K S E A R L I E R

You slid out from Bucky’s bedroom just after sunrise in search of the last two donuts in the kitchen. It had taken most of your willpower to crawl out from under his arms and leave his sleeping form behind, but you’d escape for a valiant purpose. The last chocolate glazed donut wasn’t going to eat itself. Unless Clint got to it first.

You’d never known Bucky to sleep as soundly as he did last night. You were so used to hearing his quiet footsteps pacing back forth through the early hours of the morning, his tossing and turning, his screams when he could no longer fight off the demons in his wake. But he had closed his eyes the night before without hesitation – his arms folded warm around your body, his lips over your temple, and he didn’t stir again through the night.

Perhaps it had something to do with mess of desperate confessions you’d shared that evening. His recklessness in the field had driven you to the edge and he didn’t seem to care. He had nothing, he’d said. Nothing important enough to come back to, so why did it matter if he was the one taking all the risks, who would care if he took it a step too far?

You’d argued with him until your lungs burned, until tears swelled in your eyes and still—he wouldn’t relent. It wasn’t until you finally admitted the feelings you held for him that he took pause. Once the words spilled from your lips, they tumbled – like the break at the edge of a waterfall.

You told him how helplessly you loved him, how it chipped pieces off your heart when he came home bloodied and broken and didn’t seem to care, how it would shatter you endlessly if something were to take him from you completely.

You didn’t stop until you were breathless. Until tears were wet against your cheeks and your chest rose heavy and labored. But it was the silence that follow that scared you the most – the lingering fear of losing him in the wake of your confession. But his silence was made of disbelief. It was filled with years' worth of questions and contemplation as he ran back every interaction you’d shared.

Once the shock wore off and you’d resided to his rejection, Bucky shared his own agonizing admission that he’d spent years trying to suffocate those very same feelings. He’d spent his night under warm bodies of women he could hardly look in the eye. He wasted away on booze that barely touched his system. He drowned himself in the certain truth that he would never be good enough for you – too broken, too heavy with the weight of his crimes, resembling the sort of monster that often chased you in your own dreams.

Confessions that led to stunned silence between you. But then, a smile of relief. A laugh. Tears. Jumping into his arms and his lips over your neck. His kiss on your mouth. A desperate plea as he gazed in your eyes because his hands were shaking against your hips, fingertips slipping against the band of your shorts. Needy to make up for so much lost time together – to feel you, to know you, to apologize for his blindness, to love you the way he so often imagined.

Perhaps Bucky slept soundly in the wake of shared desire. His heart racing in his chest, a gleam of sweat over his skin, a blissful smile on his lips as his eyelids fluttered shut. It was relief you shared. To finally be with one another, to no longer have to parade under the mask he hid his feelings under. To be able to call you his own and to know he was yours.

He didn’t stir once. Not even as you lifted his arm and slid out from his embrace. Not as you bent down a pressed a warm kiss to his temple. Not even as you pulled his t-shirt over your head and slipped out into the hallway. One last look as his peaceful form laid over the bed, sheets curled up at his waist and exposing his bare chest. Comfortable. Eased.

You admired him only a moment longer before you escaped to the kitchen in search of those donuts.

The box was still waiting on the kitchen counter and a skip nearly hopped in your step as you scurried around the corner to grab them.

“Morning, Y/n.”

You jumped, hand clutching at your chest as you spotted Sam Wilson standing at the edge of the kitchen, sipping a steaming mug of coffee.

“Dammit, Wilson,” you hushed, willing your heart to slow down. “You scared me.”

Slowly, you inched towards the donut box, peering inside to make sure Clint hadn’t taken the last two in one of his typical midnight snack runs. Sure enough, both remained and you couldn't help the grin that curled over your lips. Breakfast in bed was the perfect way to draw Bucky from his sleep, to remind him that everything you shared the night before was real and perfect and wonderful.

“I see Barnes finally manned up, huh?” Sam smirked. It took until he gestured to your outfit that you realized you were only dressed in Bucky’s t-shirt, your legs exposed to the tops of your thighs. In the hall behind you, Bucky’s bedroom was cracked from where you had escaped. You winced, tugging the fabric of his shirt lower on your thighs.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Sam chuckled, setting the coffee on the counter. “I’ve been after him to tell you for months.”

You bit your lip, taking a quick, cautious glance towards Bucky’s room. A smile inched on your mouth, heart stammering a little louder. “Took until I said it first, but good to know he’s been dragging his feet for so long.”

“Sounds like maybe you have been, too,” Sam reminded you.

You nodded. Almost two years of it. This terrible back and forth of loving him from a distance, watching him bring home girl after girl from the bar, listening as he promised to call them in the morning and never did. The casual flirting, the mutual jealousy, the acknowledgement that there was something more than the friendship you portrayed and still too paralyzed to do anything to change it.

Until last night.

“I’m happy for you guys,” Sam finally admitted, and you were surprised to find his words entirely genuine. He picked up his coffee again, crossing the room on his way to the balcony to watch the sunrise. He paused, leaning over your shoulder. “Just don’t become that insufferable sort of couple, you hear me? All that PDA and lovey-dovey nonsense. I’d hate to have to tease you mercilessly about it.”

You laughed; a flush of welcomed warmth in your cheeks. “Pretty sure you would do that either way, Sam.”

Sam winked, shrugging his shoulders as he backed onto the porch. “Got me there.”

When you finally returned to Bucky’s room, donut box in hand, Bucky was sitting up on the bed. With his back to you, you could see every ripple and layer of muscle carved into his spine – the fusion of flesh into the vibranium that appeared less scarred since Shuri gifted him the new arm. His hands curled into the edge of the mattress, handfuls of sheets in his palm. Tension rippled down his spine.

Slowly, you clicked the door behind you and Bucky’s head snapped to you, a brief moment of shock before the relief settled in. It hit like a bullet to your chest, his obvious surprise to see you return. You fought to keep a smile pressed to your lips.

“Didn’t see you when I woke up,” Bucky said hesitantly as he crossed the room to you. “Thought you might have wandered off on me.”

It was a deflection, a teasing joke to cover his very real fear that you’d left him after your night together, that maybe he was only worth one good lay and his heart laid bare wasn’t enough for you. It was the very reason he held himself back for so long – terrified to admit how wholly you'd taken his heart.

You set the donut box on the edge of his bed, sliding your free hands up his chest to rest on the sides of his face. Thumbs brushing sweetly over his cheekbones and drawing away his tension with the touch of your hands.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” you said and you hoped he heard the sincerity in your voice.

Bucky grinned as he leaned down to kiss you. It was a new feeling, to be kissed by him so earnestly, to be kissed good morning and ‘just because.’ You savored each one, even knowing there were more to be had. An endless supply for as long as he would give you. An eternity, maybe.

“Is that the last chocolate glaze?” Bucky inquired as his stomach let out a rumbling growl. You laughed, nodding as you handed him the box. He picked it up, sighing at the smell. “You sure you don’t want it, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, Buck. I’ve got this one,” you said, picking up the final donut in the box. It wasn’t chocolate glaze, but you remembered Bucky’s stories of the chocolate donuts in Coney Island when he was a kid. It was more than just a sweet treat to him – it was a memory. And you liked seeing him smile, even with chocolate icing on his lips.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Bucky grinned, mouth full of donut. Lost in the comfort of sweets and the ease of you beside him, he muttered “I love you,” in a heavy, exhale. Then, he froze, eyes wide. He took a cautious step back. “Sorry, I, uh... I know a lot has changed in the last twelve hours and I don’t want to scare you off but... no more secrets, right? I won’t hide anything from you and especially not this. You mean too much to me and I won’t hide how I—”

“I love you, too.” It was the easiest thing you’d ever said.

Bucky tossed the rest of the donut in the box, lunging towards you and throwing the both of you onto the bed. His sticky sweet lips trailed over your cheeks, your jaw, the edge of your neck where your collar met his shirt, and back to your lips where he tasted of sugar and chocolate. You laughed against his mouth and wondered if it were possible to ever grow tired of his kiss.

***

Days later and you were still lifted in the high of being with Bucky.

Sam – true to his word – teased you both mercilessly, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind one bit. He’d roll his eyes at Sam and tug you a little closer to his side, swing your legs over his lap, and kiss you right on the lips. If you looked close enough, you swore you saw the corner of Sam’s mouth curve at the left edge when he turned away.

Despite spending the better part of the last four days together, Bucky wined incessantly when Steve ordered him and Sam away for debrief. Sam had muttered a short, ‘see this is the insufferable nonsense I was talking about,’ as he dragged Bucky away from you by the collar of his shirt. It was all in jest. Even Bucky gave you a short wink as he finally stopped dragging his feet and gave Sam a good shove as they jogged to the conference room.

You had a few hours to spare before Bucky would come looking for you again, so you figured you might as well get your run in now. Bucky would slow his pace for you even before the change in your relationship. Half of you wondered if now he might just pick you up and carry you instead.

The elevator door dinged on the ground floor and the doors opened. You tugged a light tighter at the elastic securing your hair and gave a short wave to the security at the desk. You were just about to turn up your music when you heard a woman’s voice arguing with the receptionist.

“I’m here to see James Barnes,” the woman said firmly, as if it wasn’t the first time. She tapped her manicured nails against the counter, one after the other in a perfect cascade.

The receptionist flushed red, her gaze flickering nervously towards the security officer in the corner of the lobby. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re not on the guest list today. Perhaps if you schedule an appointment—”

“I don’t think you understand who I am,” the woman shot back impatiently.

“I could help you book a time to meet with the Avengers’ publicist if you—”

“Can I help you?” You approached the woman from the side, slowly pulling your headphones off and rested the band around your neck. You gave her a short smile as she turned to you.

Dressed in a form fitted cocktail dress and heels sharper than Natasha’s daggers, she studied you a moment longer before answering. Her silky black hair swung over her shoulders. “No, that’s quite all right. I’m looking to speak to James, so if you don’t mind—”

“I’m his girlfriend,” you offered quickly, though an awkward wince shortly followed. “Well, actually, we haven’t talked about that yet. It’s new, but—” you laughed, trying to cover your embarrassment as you ran chilled hands over the hear in your cheeks, “anyway... Maybe I could pass a message along to him for you?”

The woman narrowed her eyes. There was a rigidness to her posture that hadn’t been there before. Stone fractured into the sharp lines of her face. But then slowly, the hardened exterior melted away. She shrugged it off and the tension simply fell from her body. She smiled.

“That’s so kind of you,” she said, extending her hand. “I'm Tori.”

You returned her smile as you shook her hand. Her grip was firm, almost aching.

“Y/n.”

“Pleasure.” Her lips were pressed together as she smiled – tugging bright red lipstick higher into her cheeks. A startling, bold color that was almost unsettling. She sighed, pausing a moment before she continued. “It’s not that important anyway. Just looking for a quote for the paper. You know how it goes.” She held up a press ID badge.

You laughed with her, nodding along. “Of course. Well, I should head out before it starts to rain, but it was nice to meet you. Good luck on your story!”

Tori smiled as she waved goodbye. There was something strange about her expression, even amongst the illuminating glow in her dewy skin and the perfect sheen in her hair. You didn’t realize until you were half a mile from the tower that her smile did not touch her eyes.

Not once.

***

“I swear it on my life, sweetheart, it’s the best hot chocolate you're ever gonna have!” Bucky pitched his argument for the third time, his hand gripping yours as he tried to tug you down the street to the café he discovered on one of his midnight walks. It was such a lovely change to see him smiling so wide like this – unafraid and unbothered by the rush of pedestrians on the sidewalks or the tourists capturing not-so-subtle photos of the Winter Soldier holding hands with his girlfriend.

“Bucky, it’s just hot chocolate,” you laughed. “They all taste the same.”

“Blasphemy!” he shot back, which only made you laugh harder. You’d done it on purpose to get a rise of out him and he caught on instantly, drawing you into his arms and peppering you with kissing until you finally yielded.

“Fine! Fine!” You shoved him playfully in the chest as his hands swung up in the air defensively.

“You won’t regret this,” Bucky grinned, grabbing a tight hold of your hand and leading you down the short stretch of alley to the café. Tucked away in the heart of Brooklyn – only a single door under an even smaller awning gave way to the hole in the wall shop. It seemed Bucky wasn’t the only one who appreciated their drinks as it was packed shoulder to shoulder inside the café. His shoulders slumped in disappointment.

“Go,” you offered at his hesitation. “I’ll wait here for you.”

Bucky brightened, nodding quickly and he stole one final kiss from your cheek before he slipped inside.

You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. “He’s like a damn golden retriever.”

“I’ll say.”

The voice came from your left where a woman stood on the street corner, watching you. Bright bold lipstick and onyx black hair – the woman from the lobby who had been trying to get in to see Bucky a few days earlier. She was sipping from a Styrofoam mug – its label from the café Bucky was currently standing in line for.

“Y/n, it’s good to see you again,” Tori greeted, stepping closer to you. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but watch the two of you. You’re very... sweet together.” She seemed to bite out the last two words.

“Oh, well, thank you.” You pressed out a thin smile, shifting awkwardly in your stance. Stealing a quick glance to the shop and finding Bucky still waiting at the back of the line, you asked, “did you ever get that quote you were looking for?”

Tori shrugged, shaking her head. “No, but I’m used to that with James. He’s always played hard to get.”

You stilled; your heart suddenly so loud in your ears it drowned out the traffic on the main street behind you. Heavy thumping pounding in your chest, deafening in your ears. You swallowed, hoping you had misheard her intentions. “Sorry, what do you mean?”

Her eyes widened, embarrassed. “Oh, I assumed you knew...”

Slowly, you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“James and I – we had a fling a few months ago,” she explained, a smile curling over her red lipstick almost dreamily. “Couple nights here and there. He was... exceptional in the bedroom, as I’m sure you know. So generous. Like’s he’s seeking penance between the sheets. But anyway, he promised me a quote for a story I was working on and I was coming back to collect. Little tit-for-tat, you know?”

Sandpaper in your throat. Burning. Blistering. But still—you smiled. “Of course.”

You’d never known Bucky to go back for more from any of the women he brought home to the tower; an endless parade that served to break your heart tens ways to Sunday you now knew was his attempt to suffocate the feelings he harbored for you. Not once did he ever make good on his promise to call them again. It was a meaningless distraction, after all. Except for Tori, it seemed.

You couldn’t blame him for that. You held no claim on him at the time. And yet – you couldn’t help but feel your heart splintering at the seams. To be reminded that he had touched this woman the way he touched you, maybe whispered the same things in her ear.

It wasn’t the same. You knew that. Bucky loved you.

Still. Jealousy was a terrible monster.

“I should probably head out,” Tori groaned, shooting you a pouted look as she checked the time on her phone. “No need to ask James about that quote anymore, by the way. Story came and went. Fast paced media and all. I’ll see you around, Y/n.”

You nodded, watching quietly as she disappeared into the busy sidewalk – swallowed by the swarm of tourists and commuters.

“Hey honey!” Bucky popped up on your right, startling you as you clutched your hand to your heart. He winced. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t meant to scare you. But hey, look – I got hot cocoa.”

You forced a smile, thanking him sweetly with a kiss to his cheek as you took the hot chocolate from his hands. He was waiting patiently for you to take the first sip, to prove him right after days of buildup, that this was the best hot chocolate known to man. You’d never seen him as light and as happy as he was in the last week and you hoped part of that had to do with you, with what had changed between you, and you were desperate to hold onto it at all cost.

“It’s wonderful, Buck. Best in the city. You were right,” you told him with a much as smile as you could muster. The smile that spread on Bucky’s face was well worth it, even if the hot chocolate was average at best. Still, you went in for another sip.

On the way back to the tower, Bucky kept his hand close to you at all times. Lingering over the small of your back, sliding over your shoulders, brushing hair away from your face. The touch seemed to comfort him as you weaved in and around the busy sidewalks.

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” Bucky started, swallowing the last sip of his coco. “Who were you talking to earlier? Thought I saw you with someone while I was picking up our orders.”

You nearly choked on your drink, but you shook your head rapidly, quickly recovering. “No one. An old friend.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at your contradiction, but he didn’t press any further. Instead, he tossed his empty cup in the bin and laced his fingers with yours. There was no jealousy in his question, no caution or concern – just curiosity. Because he was interested in the things you did. Because he liked hearing you talk.

You thought about telling him the truth, that you’d been rattled by one of the women he’d slept with before things changed between you, but you knew it would only serve to feed his misplaced guilt. There was nothing that could be done now to change his past – he couldn’t take back his nights with her just as you couldn’t tell him you loved him sooner to avoid all this heartache. You could only move forward. Together.

You squeezed his hand and did just that.

***

Billy Joel was playing on the radio – the soft hum of Piano Man carrying through the near empty dive bar as you tapped your toe on the edge of the bar stool. You swirled the bottom of your drink in the cup before you stole a final look to the door and finished it in one gulp.

Carol was supposed to meet you almost an hour ago now. She’d left a message with the receptionist that she would be in town and wanted to catch up, which wasn’t entirely strange for her given she didn’t have cell service in space. But still – Bucky had teased her mercilessly for not having a cellphone when even he managed to figure it out.

You could still feel the imprint of his hands against your hips as he teased you about how bored he’d be with you gone for the evening. Leaving him to his own devices – he was sure to get into trouble with Sam or ‘accidentally’ watch the next episode on your shared favorite show without you. He liked to tease you like that – small reminders of just how enamored he was with you; how helpless he was when it came to you. Still, he was the one to push you out the door so you weren’t late for your date with Carol.

He’d kissed you sweetly in the lobby of the tower, unbothered by the stray onlookers and security officers who kindly averted their eyes. He kissed you with his hands against your cheeks, peppering his lips over your nose and forehead before he finally let you go, whispering an ‘I love you,’ as a goodbye.

He said it so casually now – as often as he could. Perhaps, because he never imagined a world where he would ever get the chance. It felt like a dream each time – the ease with which he said those words, as if nothing had ever been truer.

“Can I get you a refill?” the bartender offered, gesturing to your empty glass. You blinked a few times to pull you from your thoughts.

You sighed, checking your watch and looking to the door one last time. “I think I might just head out actually. I’ll take the—”

“She’ll have another,” a woman took a seat at the bar stool on your left, waving off the bartender when he gave you an inquisitory look. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the bright red stain of lipstick as the woman turned to face you—onyx hair brushed in long waves over her shoulders as she crossed her legs. “We have got to stop running into each other like this.”

“Tori,” you greeted tensely, stealing another hopeful glance to the door in search of Carol. “Nice to see you again.”

“Strange, don’t you think? That we keep crossing paths?” She was smiling at you, but something felt forced in her tone, something cold in her eyes. “You meeting someone?”

The way she said it – it was almost like a taunt, like she knew Carol wasn’t going to show up, or perhaps, Carol was never the one who asked to meet you there in the first place. You swallowed, your heart pounding a little louder. The bartender set the replenished drink on the countertop, shooting you a concerned look as his gaze flickered to Tori. You gave him a short nod, letting him know you could manage.

“She’s probably caught up at work,” you shrugged casually, taking a sip from the fresh drink.

“Lucky for us,” Tori smirked, raising her glass to you. You held your breath, watching her as she waited for you to do the same. Only when you tapped your drink against hers, did she finally press out another drawn out smile. Still – it did nothing to touch the impatience growing in her eyes.

“So, tell me,” she said as her eyes narrowed on you, “how is our super soldier?”

You gritted your teeth at her punctuation of ‘our.’ Bucky wasn’t hers. He wasn’t something to be shared as if he meant little more than a thing to be used and discarded. You gripped the edge of your glass until your fingers ached. If you’d had Bucky’s strength, it would have shattered in your hand – glass embedded into your palms and still it wouldn’t divert from the hallow ache churning in your stomach.

“He’s good,” you replied shortly. “Happy.”

Tori sighed a long, exaggerated breath; the red press of her lips puckered against the edge of her martini glass. “Yes, I’m sure he is.”

Your phone buzzed against the counter, drawing your reprieve. You were thankful for the distraction as you spotted Bucky’s name light up on your screen. It was a short message, just him checking in on how you’re doing, if you’re having fun, when you want him to come pick you up because – SHEILD analyst or not – he didn’t want his girl walking home alone this late. It was a romantic gesture, he explained, not him being dramatic and overprotective. He ended the message with a winky face.

You caught yourself smiling dreamily at the message and quickly clenched your jaw, realizing where you were as you felt Tori watching you – her gaze drifting over your shoulder to read the message. You cleared your throat, slipping your phone quickly into your pocket.

“Thanks for the drink,” you started, sliding out from the bar stool, “but I should probably head out.”

“So soon?” she whined, pouting playfully as if you were old friends. You inched backwards. “Please, stay. I’ll order us some appetizers and we can—”

“It’s getting pretty late, and I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you pressed, swinging on your jacket.

Tori followed you, matching you step for step. “It’s no worry at all. In fact, I insist! Let me—oops!”

You flinched as her drink spilled down the front of your shirt – staining your white blouse in cranberry juice. You exhaled a tense breath through your nose as you shook off the excess liquor from your fingertips, tugging the shirt away from your skin as it dampened the fabric.

“Oh god, I am so sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, no – it's fine. I’m just going to go wash up.”

You slipped past her and made a beeline for the bathroom. It was a relief to finally have some space without feeling like she was somehow scrutinizing every move you made under the strange guise of plastic friendship and forced smiles. You didn’t know what she wanted from you but every interaction left you feeling unsettled. Like she was peeling back your layers by the tips of her long, manicured nails – exposing you, digging deeper and deeper until you were withered away to nothing.

There was no avoiding this anymore. You needed to tell Bucky about her as soon as you got home. It would be an uncomfortable conversation and you knew he would take on unnecessary blame, but something was off with this woman and you needed his insight.

Leaning against the bathroom sink, you studied the pink stain over your shirt. It swarmed into the fibers, crawling like dye along your chest. You groaned, yanking a few paper towels from the dispenser and dowsing it in water. You scrubbed at the stain until it faded, but it somehow managed to spread – leaving your white shirt resembling more of a pale pink mess. Your eyes flickered back to the mirror. There, you caught the reflection of eyes peering back at you.

You yelped, hands dropping to the sink to steady yourself as you took another cautious glance at Tori’s image standing just over your shoulder in the corner of the room. A nervous laugh escaped to cover the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“Shit. You scared me.” You gripped the counter until your knuckles ached.

Tori didn’t respond. No cracked jokes or bright red grins. Instead, she held your stare through the mirror – unmoving. Impossibly still as wisps of her hair floated in the draft from the air conditioner.

You swallowed. “Tori? Are you—”

“What makes you so special?” Her upper lip twitched.

You narrowed your eyes on her reflection, confused. Slowly, you turned around to face her. “Sorry, what did you—”

“What... makes you... so special?” she asked again, venom pressed into every word. Her heels clicked against the tile as she approached, backing you against the sink. You felt the edge of the metal towel dispenser dig into your spine.

Her gaze trailed over you, taking her time as she studied every inch of you, unashamed. “He’s been with dozens of women, all begging him to settle down, and he chooses... you?”

You held her stare, willing your expression as unemotive as you could. You wouldn’t allow her to break you, to make you feel like you were just another notch on Bucky’s bedpost. His way of coping with the trauma Hydra inflicted upon him and the burdening weight of his feelings for you was his own business. It hurt like hell and broke your heart but you weren’t going to blame him for how he dealt with his pain. You wouldn’t shame him for that either.

He chose you. No—he always knew it was you from the beginning. He’d told you as much. He loved you. This woman couldn’t take that away from you with a few cruel remarks.

“I should go,” you gritted out, trying to push past her, but Tori blocked your path. She grinned; red lipstick stained on the front of her teeth – the smallest hint of imperfection breaking through the cracks. Her eyes were a little too wide, her pupils dilated to large, black circles. She barely blinked.

“No, I don’t think you will.”

Then, she lunged.

Your head slammed back against the wall and you heard a deafening crack. Whether it was the tile or the base of your skull, you couldn’t tell, but you struggled to even keep your balance as you swung at one of Tori’s swaying images. You fist only met the air as she easily stepped out of your path and you stumbled forward, colliding against the door of a stall.

“Pathetic,” she spat, digging something out of her bag. The smell of it burned in your nose as she yanked a tight hold of your hair, pressing you against the wall. She shoved the damp cloth over your nose and mouth. You scrambled under the pressure, panicked, but you were trapped.

“Go to sleep,” she cooed under tense breath as you swiped your arms over the counter, trying to find something to grab, but your brain was too foggy, your vision too dark. Soap bottles clanged against the tile floor. Blood slid down your neck.

Your lungs were on fire. You had to breathe. But the cloth was pressed hard over your nose, over your mouth. There was no escape. You felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket. Bucky. Tears welled in your eyes. And then – you gasped for air.

Chemicals to your lungs. Heat and fire in your chest.

Then, darkness.

***

You learned hours later that Tori managed to drag your unconscious body through the back exit of the bar, down the alley, and into the back seat of her car without anyone noticing. You could still feel the road-burn on your legs and pebbles embedded into your skin. You spat a glob of blood from where you'd bitten down on the inside of your cheek in the struggle.

“What do you want?” you groaned, avoiding her gaze as she circled around the room. Your head was pulsing so badly it hurt to so much as speak.

She laughed – dry, humorless. “To show you exactly how insignificant you really are.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s rather dramatic.”

Tori glared at you. She shook her head, rolling her shoulders back as if preparing a monologue. Then, she took in a deep breath. “No woman has ever tamed the Winter Soldier. He has never gone back for seconds before me. I was the first. I was going to fix him!” You flinched as she slammed her hand against the door. “But then you come along and suddenly, he’s... what? In love?” Her tone was mocking, disbelief and arrogance as she stared at you, agape. “It was going to be me. It should have been me! You’re not special at all! He just got tired of the games and you were convenient!”

“You don’t know a damn thing about my relationship,” you sneered, unfazed by her venomous stare.

“I’ll prove it to you,” she taunted, a wicked grin growing upon her face. She tapped the edge of the television propped on the wall and it illuminated to reveal what appeared to security footage from the tower. Twenty-second floor. Kitchen. Sam was making pancakes in the top right corner of the screen.

“What the hell is this?” you gaped, stunned.

“I’ll prove that you’re nothing more than just another fuck to him,” Tori continued as if she hadn’t even heard you. She rubbed a new layer of lipstick over her mouth before running a comb through pieces of her hair that had fallen out of place in the struggle. “You’ll see. The second I offer myself to your precious Bucky, he’ll come crawling back in an instant. He knows how good it was with me. He’ll remember and he’ll leave you in a second.”

You stared at her; eyes wide. Not because you believed a word she said, but because she did.

“You’re insane.”

She smirked and it filled your stomach with dread. “We’ll see about that.”

***

Left alone in the room, you tried to break free of your bindings, only for the wounds to dig deeper into your wrists, rendering any movement unbearable. Blood trickled down your wrists, slipping to the tips of your fingers and pooling on the floor underneath. Whatever blood remained at the base of your skull had long dried – crusted flakes caked into your hair and down your spine.

On the security footage, you watched as Bucky entered the room, holding his phone. He was staring down at the screen, tapping it every few moments. You realized with an agonizing break in your chest that he was checking for a message that would never come— a confirmation that you were alright.

How long had it been since Tori knocked you out? How long had you been held up in this room before you came to? You couldn’t tell the time of day from the black and white footage, but you could see Bucky was dressed in jeans and a faded SHIELD crewneck Steve had given him when he was first pardoned. Sam flipped a pancake on the stove but that didn’t mean it was morning, per say. The man consumed breakfast foods at all hours of the day.

You watched helplessly as Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze shooting back to his phone so often you knew his anxiety must have been through the roof. At one point, he disappeared from the footage and returned with a pair of Tony’s car keys in hand. He waved them about, arguing with Sam as he pointed towards the elevator. But after a while, he slid the keys across the counter to Sam defeatedly.

You were supposed to be out with Carol. It wouldn’t have been unusual for you to lose track of time together. It had been months since you saw her last and there was so much to catch up on – including your relationship with Bucky. You’d once stayed out until closing with her, not stumbling home until near three in the morning long after the bars closed with a slice of pizza in hand and your cheeks aching with laughter.

But Bucky was wrestling between his instincts and shoving down the urge to cling to you. You thought it was sweet how often he teased you about how he didn’t want to spend another second away from you, not after all of the wasted time he lost. The Winter Soldier himself was loving and wonderful and selfless and kind when he was with you. He was everything.

You wondered if you would ever see him again.

After a while Sam had disappeared from the kitchen, leaving Bucky alone as he sat at the counter. He swirled a spoon around a cup of tea he’d let grow cold, too busy tapping his phone screen to see if you called.

“Something’s wrong, Bucky,” you pleaded at the television, a lump burning in your throat as he clenched his hand to a fist. “You know something’s wrong. Come on.”

Then, his head snapped up, turning to something off screen. Hope rose in your chest. Maybe this was it. Steve was coming to tell him you were missing. Carol was calling to say she never saw you tonight. Something.

But instead, Tori walked into frame and you slumped against the chair, dead weight pulling on your body until you sunk into metal and wood and foundation. She glanced up at the security camera, peering directly at you with subtle wink, before suddenly, the audio turned on.

A high-pitched ringing echoed into the room and you struggled to shield your ears against your shoulders. It passed only a moment later, leaving your head aching again and a terrible buzzing in your ears. But then – you heard a voice that nearly cracked through your chest and left your heart open and exposed.

“Tori?” Bucky took a cautious step backward, tension coating his muscle. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you, of course,” she replied sweetly, following his steps. The strap of her cocktail dress slid down her shoulder casually and she made no move to fix it. She smirked as his eyeline followed the flimsy fabric, just as she’d hoped he would. She didn’t seem to notice the way his right hand curled into a fist, his nails digging into his palms – something he often did to control his anxiety.

Bucky swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t play coy with me, James. That’s not how we work.” Tori swung her hips as she crossed the room, kicking off her shoes with each step. Bucky backed himself against the wall, trying to slip out of her reach, but her hands were already on his chest, sliding down to his belt. You tried to look away but found it impossible, even as tears blurred your eyes.

“Whoa! Whoa, hold on now,” Bucky nervously brushed her hands away before she could unlatch his buckle. You knew with his full strength he could have tossed her across the room, but he restrained himself, even as his chest started to rise in rapid breaths.

“There’s no need to be shy, James.” She giggled as if he were playing a game and her mouth pressed to his neck— red lipstick brushing over his collarbone as her tongue swept his pulse point. You felt sick, tears openly sliding down your cheeks, until Bucky grabbed a firm hold of her shoulders and pulled her away from him.

“Tori, enough!”

She froze, staring wide eyed back at him. His reaction stunned her. She was expecting him to cave to her desire without hesitancy, to drop everything at the offer of her body and her lips upon his neck. He fractured her delusion that he would come to her willingly.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, a flush of red in his cheeks. “I’m-- I’m with someone now and I... I love her. I won’t betray her. Not ever.”

You waited as Tori’s posture went rigid, the sharp clench in her jawline visible even from the grainy security footage. Bucky didn’t seem to notice how still she’d become or what backlash he might face if he continued. He started pacing, a tremoring hand carding through his hair.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you,” Bucky began sincerely. “I... I used you to avoid dealing with my own feelings and for that, I am genuinely sorry. If I ever made you think that it meant more than that to me—”

“You love her?!” Tori snapped, the high-pitched crack in her voice freezing Bucky in place. She was seething, steam blowing from her ears as she stalked closer to him. “You-- the guy who slept with half of New York because you’re afraid of commitment!”

He blinked; a head of shame and guilt hot as stone against his cheeks. “I’m not... I’m not afraid of commitment. I was trying to keep my mind off her because I didn’t think I had a chance in hell. It was stupid and selfish, and a shitty way to cope but—”

“Dammit Bucky, stop talking,” you urged to the screen, tugging on your restraints. You’d seen the shift in Tori before – how quickly her angry molded into a deadly calm. She’d managed to knock you out because you underestimated her. Bucky was walking into the same trap.

“Y/n, right?” Tori scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what you could possibly see in that woman. I’m the one you want, James. I’m the only one you came back for!”

“Because it was easier and I was lazy and a fucking asshole,” Bucky admitted, his gaze falling to the floor, unable to look at her under the weight of his mistakes. You held your breath as you watched the rage fume into Tori’s eyes. She held her shock for only a moment and then, a paralyzing calm swept over her. Dread solidified like stone against your chest.

“It didn’t mean anything deeper to me,” Bucky tried to explain as gently as he could. “I shouldn’t have strung you along, Tori. I thought you knew it what it was. I have loved Y/n as long as I’ve known her and I didn’t know how else to deal with it. I am so—”

You saw the flash of silver for only a moment. Reflecting under the shine of the florescent lights, Tori swiped the blade from her purse and dove it directly into Bucky’s ribs. You screamed.

Bucky gasped, stunned eyes trailing down to the knife embedded in his stomach, then to Tori as she spat on his cheek. He winced, clutching onto her shoulders for support, until she twisted the blade further, drawing a pained whine from Bucky’s lips. Then, she yanked the blade back in one smooth motion – spewing droplets of blood onto the couch beside him.

“Bucky!” you cried, desperately yanking against the ropes, but they would not give. Tears blurred in your vision, sweeping down your cheeks. You could hardly breathe as he collapsed to his knees, hands touching the wash of blood seeping through his sweatshirt. Navy blue dampened in a deep maroon.

He watched as she stalked off without another a word- his body swaying as his eyes rolled back and – he met the floor. A pool of blood circled around him, stretching out along the tiles.

“No...” You shook your head. A scream ripped through your lungs as you tore at the ropes, cutting into your skin and soaking blood into the twine. “No! Bucky! Someone – someone help him!”

But no one came.

The footage froze – leaving you alone with the image of Bucky bleeding out. Alone.

***

You watched the security tape until your eyes burned – afraid to blink for even a second. He hadn’t moved in almost an hour. Logically, you knew it was because the feed had been cut; the picture frozen only a few seconds after he’d collapsed and still—you watched it as if he’d disappear completely if you turned away for even a second.

Someone would notice him. Sam would come back. Clint would find his way to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Someone would find him before it was too late.

Bucky wasn’t dead. You wouldn’t allow it to be true. You’d only just learned what it was like to have him in your arms, to be able to call him yours, to be his. He couldn’t be dead.

When the door to your caged room crept open with the screeching cry of rusted hinges, you could barely muster the strength to look at Tori in the eye. Her hands were stained red with blood – Bucky's blood. It was all you could focus on – how it dried into her manicured nails, slipped into the cracks of dry skin. You wondered how long it took for him to bleed out after she left him. You wondered if he died alone.

“He was a fool,” Tori spat, disgust laced into her voice. You kept your stare on her hands, your vision blurred into faded swarms of crimson. She must have finally noticed the emptiness she’d left in you because she added, “now neither of us can have him.”

Your eyes snapped to hers, rage boiling in your bloodstream. “He was never yours!”

A slap burned against your cheek as she struck you. You remained still, staring at the left wall of the room for a moment until you gathered yourself again. When you looked at her, she was just as crazed as she was when she attacked you in the bathroom of the dive bar – unhinged.

“Now what?” you taunted. “You going to kill me, too?”

She shrugged, sliding a paper bag from her purse. Inside, was a handgun. She weighed it carefully in her grip before she dropped the bag. She’d clearly never used the weapon before.

“Can’t have witnesses, can I?” she smirked, releasing the safety.

You clenched your jaw, determined to hold her gaze even if it was the last thing you saw. “No, I suppose not.”

She raised the gun, barrel aimed at your chest. “I would say it’s been a pleasure, but—”

The door to the room swung open and chaos ensued. A gun was discharged – the echo of it deafening within the small room and you squeezed your eyes shut. You held your breath; certain a bullet had pierced straight through your chest. Blood was pooling down your shirt, crimson mixing into the faded pink stain of vodka and cranberry on your blouse – you were sure of it.

But no pain followed.

Instead, you felt hands press to the sides of your face – desperate, pleading. One warm. One solid as steel.

“Y/n,” Bucky’s voice shook as he held you, “please, sweetheart, look at me. I’m right here.”

You clenched your jaw, terrified that if you opened your eyes you might be met with an empty room – that all that remained of the man you loved laid on the floor in the tower. Tears spilled down your cheeks, slipping over the tips of his fingers as he brushed them away.

“You’re safe, honey, I promise,” Bucky tried again, his lips peppering kisses over your cheekbones, kissing away your tears. “Sam and Steve have her restrained. She can’t hurt you.”

Slowly, you dared to open your eyes.

Bucky was on his knees, red stained into the skin on his neck and coating his left hand. It seeped into the cracks of his left, but he was wearing his combat suit— the blood-soaked sweatshirt left behind. He was breathing heavily, his eyes trailing over you in search of further injury, but still—relieved.

“She-- She stabbed you,” you stuttered, looking to the monitor on the wall where Bucky’s image was still displayed. He clenched his jaw as he turned to look, a cold realization settling in that you’d been made to watch Tori’s advances on him and her subsequent retaliation to his rejection.

Bucky pushed out a smile. “I’m strung together with some shitty stapples, but I’m okay. It takes more than that to take me down, especially when my girl needs me.”

He still managed to tease you, even as he worked on removing the ropes on your wrists – a playful laugh on his breath as he made every attempt to draw a smile back to your lips. As he released your hands, you winced at the cold wash of air against the open wounds.

“She’s not here,” Bucky offered when he noticed your gaze searching the room. “I had Steve and Sam get her out of here the second they wrestled the gun away. You won’t ever have to deal with her again, honey.”

Bucky sighed, his chin sinking to his chest. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I brought this on you. I never thought that she—that anyone would—”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck. He nodded as his nose pressed to your hair, breathing you in. You were almost certain you smelled of the thrown martini and chloroform, but he didn’t seem to mind. With his senses, he might still have been able to isolate the wash of your shampoo.

“I wish I could do it all over,” Bucky admitted. “I wish had the courage to tell you at the beginning."

You knew what he was trying to say – that he would have traded every one of his meaningless one night stands if it meant he had more time with you. He would have avoided ever knowing Tori or any of the nameless women you’d seen escape from his room before dawn. He would have given anything to have known you loved him as he did everything in his power to forget his feelings for you. He would have made a thousand different choices.

But he could not have known what you did not tell him.

“I wish I did, too,” you murmured against his neck. You couldn’t allow yourself to wonder how different things would have been if you’d confessed your feelings for him sooner— if you could have spared either of you months or years of heartbreak. You pulled back from his embrace, only enough to meet his eye. You brushed your thumb over his lips. “But we’re here now, Bucky. You and me. Nothing can ever get in the way of that. You have me, okay?”

Bucky nodded weakly. He kissed you chaste on the lips, gentle, as if he were afraid to push it further. Not within this room – with blood on your wrists and a half-stitched wound under his jacket. He would have plenty of time to love you properly later.

You took solace in that. Misfortune and the universe herself had spent years keeping you and Bucky at arm's length from one another. They would not dare to come between you now.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader

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