#i was drowning in a sad angsty mood

[the-winter-spider]

Spin You Around | B.Barnes

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Angsty, happy ending

A/N: Someone requested this forever ago, im revamping and editing all my fics so i decided to just repost this!

Revised Version

Masterlist

———-

1943

You were across the bar from Bucky and Steve. You came with them—they were your best friends—but an old acquaintance spotted you and waved you over. You excused yourself and made your way to where you were now. Even as you tried to focus on your conversation, your eyes kept drifting back to Bucky. Every time you caught his gaze, he was staring at you. When your eyes met, he gave you a soft smile before taking a sip from his drink. He said something to Steve before making his way toward you.

Your friend squeezed your arm, noticing Bucky’s approach. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she said before slipping away.

“Hi, doll.”

“You miss me that much?” You gave his shoulder a light shove, trying to mask the nervous flutter in your chest.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip—a habit of his that always drove you crazy. Before he could respond, you quickly added, “Why aren’t you out dancing, Buck? There are plenty of pretty girls here tonight. I was just on my way back to keep Stevie company.”

You were deeply, madly in love with Bucky, though you didn’t realize it until Steve pointed it out one night after you saw Bucky locking lips with another girl. He was a ladies’ man, and you’d known that for a long time. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to watch. You told yourself nothing would ever happen between you two, so you settled for your place as his best friend.

Bucky reached out and took your hand, pulling you closer. The thudding in your ears grew louder—your heartbeat, you realized. “Yeah, but why would I want to dance with them when I’ve got the most beautiful girl in the world standing right in front of me?”

Your mouth fell open, and heat flooded your cheeks. You looked down, avoiding his eyes, trying to process what he just said. Bucky flirted with you all the time, but this… this felt different.

“Buck…” you trailed off, still searching for the words.

“Dance with me, Y/N.”

Your eyes met his again, and there was something in them you hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t the usual playful glint; it was something deeper, something that made your stomach twist. “Is everything okay, James?”

“I just want to dance with you, doll. So, will ya?”

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “How could I ever say no to you?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He led you to the dance floor, and you couldn’t help but glance back at Steve, who was watching from the bar. He gave you a thumbs up, but his smile was tight, almost forced.

Bucky placed a hand on your waist, pulling you close as you began to sway to the music. His other hand held yours against his chest. You felt his heart beating beneath your palm, steady and strong. But something was off. The longer you danced, the more you could sense it—something was wrong.

When the music shifted to a faster tempo, Bucky surprised you by picking you up and spinning you around. You laughed despite yourself. “Bucky!”

“Did you say faster?” He laughed along with you, but when he set you down, the mood shifted. His hands lingered on your hips, his laughter fading as his gaze met yours. His eyes were searching, almost desperate.

“James, are you sure everything’s okay?” you asked again, more insistently this time.

He gave you a small, almost sad smile. “Of course, doll. I’m here with you.”

The song ended, and Bucky suggested getting a drink. You agreed, though unease settled in your stomach. Back at the bar, Steve gave you a teasing grin. “That was interesting to watch.”

You forced a laugh. “I thought I was going to show everyone what I had for dinner.”

“She’s being dramatic,” Bucky said, but there was a tension in his voice. He handed you your drink, and you took a large gulp, trying to drown the growing anxiety. “I’m gonna head to the ladies’ room. Don’t miss me too much, okay?” you said, trying to sound lighthearted as you turned away.

“I already miss you, doll!” Bucky called after you, but his voice cracked just slightly.

In the restroom, you were reapplying your lipstick when two girls walked in, their conversation catching your attention.

“I can’t believe he’s going off to war,” one of them said.

“I know. He’s such a looker. A shame he probably won’t be coming back.”

Your stomach twisted at their words, but you kept quiet until they noticed you. The redhead gave you a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to hear about Bucky,” she said. “I know you two are close.”

You froze, your lipstick forgotten. “What are you talking about?”

The redhead’s eyes widened. “You don’t know?”

Her friend snickered. “Guess they’re not as close as we thought.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “Know what?”

The redhead hesitated, then offered, “Maybe you should talk to James.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “He told Beth he enlisted. He leaves in a couple of days. Didn’t think you’d be the last to know.” With a final smirk, they left you standing there, your world spinning.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, trying to process what you’d just heard. Bucky was leaving. He hadn’t told you. He’d told Beth—a girl he probably didn’t even care about—but not you. How many others knew before you did? Did Steve know? Were they planning to keep it from you until it was too late to say goodbye?

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, refusing to let yourself break. You forced yourself to breathe, to pull it together. But when you stepped out of the washroom and saw Bucky and Steve sitting there, laughing like nothing was wrong, the hurt crashed over you like a wave.

You made your way back to them, your hands shaking. Bucky’s eyes found yours immediately, his smile faltering when he saw your expression. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, reaching out for you.

You pulled your hand back, the hurt evident on your face. “When were you going to tell me?”

His brow furrowed. “Tell you what?”

“Buck,” Steve whispered, his voice full of guilt.

Your gaze snapped to him. “You knew?”

Steve looked down at the table, unable to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shame coloring his tone.

You scoffed, the betrayal cutting deep. Grabbing your coat, you turned to leave, but Bucky shot to his feet, panic in his eyes. “Doll, I was going to tell you after tonight. I just didn’t want to ruin—”

“Ruin what?” you snapped, your voice trembling. “Ruin the perfect night you planned before you just disappear? Or maybe you were waiting for your next girl to spill the beans.”

“Y/N, please, I—”

But you didn’t let him finish. You pushed past him, not caring about the tears blurring your vision. “Goodbye, James,” you choked out, leaving him standing there, with his heart in his throat and yours shattered on the floor.

A couple of days had passed since you overheard the news from that redhead and her friend. The anger, the hurt, the heartbreak—they all clawed at you relentlessly. You cried, you raged, but deep down, you knew you had to face him. The thought of letting Bucky leave for war with things unresolved gnawed at your conscience. Regret was a burden you couldn’t bear to carry if he didn’t come back.

When you finally mustered the courage to open the door, Bucky was standing there, hand raised mid-knock. The relief in his eyes was palpable. “Y/N,” he breathed out, as if he’d been holding it in all day. You forced a tired smile and gestured for him to come in. As you turned away, you noticed he was already in uniform. It hit you then—he was leaving soon. A fresh wave of tears welled up, and before you could stop them, you broke down, burying your face in your hands.

“Darling, please don’t cry,” Bucky murmured, pulling you into a tight embrace. He pressed soft kisses to your hair as you clung to him, your sobs muffled against his chest. “W-why didn’t you tell me, Buck?” you choked out, your voice trembling with the weight of all the things you’d kept bottled up.

He held you tighter, as if afraid you’d slip away. “I was going to. After that night, I wanted one last dance with you, without you knowing. I wanted one more moment of happiness, just you and me, before… before everything changes.”

You sniffled and pulled away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to hold in the pieces that were breaking. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, though it hurt to do so. “But why tell Beth before me?” The words came out sharper than you intended, but the pain behind them was real.

Bucky shook his head, desperation in his eyes. “I didn’t. She must’ve seen me when I was signing up. I promise, doll, I only told Steve before we came to get you. You have to believe me.”

You searched his eyes, looking for any hint of a lie, but all you found was sincerity—and fear. You nodded slowly. “Okay, Buck. I believe you.” Relief washed over his face, and he took a step closer, his hands gently cupping your face. His thumbs brushed away the lingering tears as he tilted your head up to look at him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered, his breath warm against your lips. His voice was thick with emotion, raw and unguarded. Your heart pounded in your ears as his lips hovered over yours, barely touching. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. When you didn’t, he closed the gap, kissing you with a longing that made your knees weak. You pulled him closer, desperate to keep him with you for as long as you could. But the kiss ended too soon, both of you breathless, clinging to the moment.

“It was always you, Y/N,” Bucky murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “It will always be you.”

You wanted to hold onto those words forever, to freeze time and stay in this moment where everything felt perfect, where it was just you and Bucky, no war, no goodbyes. But reality crept in, and with it, a deep, aching sorrow. You felt your heart crack, a piece breaking off with the realization that this might be the last time you ever had him like this.

“Why now, Buck?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice laced with regret.

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping away the tears that were starting to fall again. “James Buchanan Barnes, self-appointed ladies’ man, scared of little ol’ me?”

A small smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re different.”

“Isn’t that a little too cliché, even for you, James?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, but your heart wasn’t in it.

“Different because this,” he said, taking your hand and placing it over his heart, “belongs to you. It always has. I was scared you wouldn’t want it.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Bucky, I—” The words failed you. How could you put into words the depth of what you felt?

“I was terrified that if I told you how I felt, you wouldn’t feel the same,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had. I would’ve rather had a part of you than lose you completely.”

“How did you know?” you asked, your voice cracking.

“Steve,” he replied, a small, rueful smile on his lips as realization dawned on you.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you muttered, shaking your head, but there was no real malice in your voice.

Bucky laughed, a sound that was both joyous and sad. “I wish I’d known sooner.”

“Me too,” you whispered, your heart heavy with the weight of lost time.

He let go of your hands and walked over to your living room, where he began sorting through your records. You leaned against the doorway, watching as he carefully selected one and placed it on the turntable. A slow, melancholy tune filled the room, and Bucky turned to face you, his eyes soft but filled with a sadness that mirrored your own.

“Y/N, would you like to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand.

You smiled faintly, taking his hand. “I’d be delighted.” You let out a small giggle as he pulled you close, and for a moment, it almost felt like everything was okay. But as you swayed to the music, reality crept back in, and the question you’d been dreading slipped from your lips. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll?”

“When do you leave?”

He hesitated, his grip tightening around you. “In the morning.”

Your heart dropped, and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips. You tried to pull away, but he held you tighter, as if he could keep you from slipping away like the night itself.

“Please, doll, this is all I want. Just this.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you fought to keep them at bay. “I can’t do this without you, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“Do what? Dance” He smiles softly trying to make light of the situation, the heaviness.

“Live,” You murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Doll…” He breathed out, his own tears threatening to spill.

“No, Bucky, you don’t get it,” you choked out, finally meeting his gaze. “You’re everything to me. My heart belongs to you, and no one else. Soldiers don’t always come home. What if you don’t come back? What am I supposed to do then? I have Steve, but he’s not you. Bucky, I—”

He silenced you with a kiss, soft and lingering, a promise he couldn’t guarantee but desperately wanted to keep. “I promise I’ll come back to you, doll,” he whispered against your lips, his voice filled with a conviction that was as fragile as it was earnest. “Whatever it takes. I love you, Y/N.”

His eyes searched yours, pleading with you to believe him, to hold on to hope.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. “I love you too, Buck,” you whispered, but the fear in your heart made the words feel hollow, as if saying them out loud might jinx everything.

And as you held each other, swaying to the fading melody, the night stretched on, bittersweet and fleeting. The dawn would come too soon, and with it, the cruel reality that nothing—no amount of love or hope—could keep the inevitable at bay.

-----

2023

Bucky leaned against the railing of the compound’s balcony, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the warm chatter inside. An investor party, Steve had called it—something about needing to keep the Avengers funded now that Stark was gone. Sam had quipped that money didn’t grow on trees, to which Steve dryly replied, “It’s made of paper, so technically…” That had earned a chuckle from the room, but Bucky hadn’t joined in. His thoughts were elsewhere, rooted more in the year itself than in the meaningless gathering behind him.

He gazed up at the night sky, swirling the whiskey in his glass—a drink that once would have had him grinning ear to ear, arm in arm with Steve and you, with the same stars twinkling overhead. The memory brought a faint smile to his lips, but it was quickly followed by an ache that settled deep in his chest. He hadn’t had much time to indulge in his self-pity, not with everything that had happened. Steve had always been there to drag him out of the darkness, but tonight it seemed even Steve couldn't hold back the tide.

As if on cue, Steve appeared beside him, his hand landing on Bucky’s shoulder with a familiar, grounding presence. “You okay, Buck? I know you don’t like crowds.”

Bucky sighed, a sound heavy with years of regret. For a long moment, he just stared at the sky, the words building up in his throat, too thick to swallow. “I was thinking about Y/N.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Steve’s expression shift, surprise mingled with something else—understanding, perhaps. “What about Y/N?”

“Everything,” Bucky replied, his voice low, almost lost to the wind. He paused, taking a sip of his drink, the burn a distant memory. “I just… I wasted so much time not being with her.”

“You didn’t know, Buck,” Steve said softly, trying to offer some semblance of comfort.

A bitter laugh escaped Bucky’s lips, sharp and jagged. “Y’know, I promised her I’d come home. I broke that promise.”

Steve’s face tightened with empathy. “You can’t beat yourself up about that, Buck. There was nothing—”

Bucky’s grip tightened on his glass until it shattered, the shards falling to the ground like the remnants of his broken promises. “That’s not the point, Steve!” he snapped, his voice cracking with the weight of all the years he had kept these feelings bottled up.

“Buck, calm down—”

“No, you don’t get to do that,” Bucky cut him off, pushing himself away from the railing. His voice was trembling, raw with emotion. “You wanted me to express my feelings, well, this is it! It’s not fair, Steve. She was supposed to be it. I had a ring.”

Steve’s lips curled into a small, sad smile. “I know.”

Bucky blinked, confusion knitting his brow. “Know what?”

“About the ring,” Steve said, his voice thick with old memories. “After you went down, they gave me your duffle. I found it.”

Bucky’s legs felt weak, and he lowered himself onto one of the patio chairs, his mind reeling. “I was going to propose when I got back,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “I was so sure I was coming back.”

Steve moved to sit beside him, letting out a long sigh. “Y’know, I was going to go back.”

“Go back where?” Bucky asked, though part of him already knew.

“To see Peggy,” Steve continued, his tone reflective, as if he were speaking more to himself than to Bucky. “Live the life I was meant to have. When we went back to get the stones, I kept a Pym Particle. Once everything here was settled, I was going to go back. I was gonna tell you, but… things changed. Peggy got married, and I met Sharon. I found happiness again, in a way I didn’t expect. It wasn’t the love I thought I was destined for, but it’s the one I want now. I’m not who I was then.”

Bucky stared at Steve, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. “Why are you telling me this, Steve?”

Steve stood up, a determined look in his eyes. “Come with me.”

Reluctantly, Bucky followed, the two of them weaving through the dwindling party, silent as shadows. Bucky didn’t ask any questions, just trailed behind Steve until they reached his room.

Steve knelt down, pulling out a box from beneath his bed. He handed it to Bucky, who took it with a puzzled frown. “Open it,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky lifted the lid, and his breath caught in his throat. Inside, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, was the ring he had planned to give you all those years ago. His hands trembled as he picked it up, the metal cold against his skin.

“How?” Bucky’s voice was hoarse, his eyes never leaving the ring.

“I kept it with me,” Steve explained, his voice soft. “I was planning on giving it to Y/N after we found the Tesseract, but I never made it back. It came down with me.”

Bucky twirled the ring between his fingers, lost in thought. “Do you think she would have said yes?”

Steve smiled, a gentle, knowing smile. “Why don’t you find out?” He reached into the box again, pulling out something small, something Bucky never expected to see again—the last Pym Particle.

Bucky stared at it, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “Steve, I—”

“Whatever you decide, Buck,” Steve interrupted, his voice firm but kind, “just know that it’s your choice. The past doesn’t have to be a chain around your neck. It can be a second chance.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked between the ring and the Pym Particle, the future and the past colliding in a way he hadn’t thought possible. For the first time in decades, he felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years—hope.

2023

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yes, Buck, for the thousandth time, yes.”

Bucky fiddled with the ring in his hand, standing on the small platform as his heart raced. The mix of anxiety, excitement, and fear churned inside him, making his hands shake ever so slightly. Steve could see the turmoil in his old friend’s eyes as they waited for Scott to finish setting up the machine.

The secrecy of it all was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. Steve couldn’t stop thinking about how much trouble he would have been in if Tony was here, if he ever found out, Steve would have never heard the end of it.

Convincing Scott had been easy enough, but Bruce would’ve insisted on studying the last Pym Particle instead of using it for something like this. But Steve knew Bucky deserved this chance—this chance to reclaim a piece of himself.

“What if she doesn’t want me? What if she married?”

Steve sighed, trying to keep his patience. “Buck, she didn’t.”

“How do you know that?” Bucky’s voice was tight with worry.

“Peggy told me. She never married. She tried to set her up a few times, but Y/N just never did.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Steve. What if she only wants that Bucky? The one she remembers. What if she doesn’t want who I am now?”

“Buck, stop.” Steve’s tone was gentle but firm. “Trust me, I know she’ll love you no matter what.” He gave Bucky a reassuring smile and a wink, coaxing a small laugh from him.

Bucky looked down at the ring in his palm, its simple design gleaming in the dim light. “I’m gonna miss you, y’know?”

“I’m gonna miss you too, Buck.”

“Okay, Captain, Sergeant, it’s ready whenever you are,” Scott called out, his voice laced with excitement. “Time’s set to 1950, so your ages should roughly line up. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“That’s perfect, Scott,” Steve replied, then turned to Bucky. “Say hi to Y/N for me, will ya?”

Bucky nodded, his throat tight with emotion. “Of course.” He pulled Steve into a hug, holding on longer than he normally would. “Thanks for everything, Steve.”

As they pulled away Bucky gave Steve his famous smile, a smile Steve hadn’t seen in a lifetime “Don’t do anything stupid till i get back”

Steve clapped him on the back “How can i? You’re taking all the stupid with you” then stepped off the platform to stand beside Scott. He gave Bucky a thumbs-up, his eyes filled with both pride and a touch of sadness.

Bucky took one last deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “Do it,” he said, his voice steady now, filled with a resolve that had taken decades to build.

Scott flipped the switch, and the world around Bucky blurred into a vortex of light and sound. The sensation was disorienting, a rush of memories and emotions flooding his mind—his first meeting with you, your laughter, the way you had looked at him like he was the only person in the world who mattered. The war, the promise he had broken, and the endless years of loss that followed. But now, as the machine hummed and the years rewound, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—hope.

1950

The light faded, and the world came back into focus. Bucky found himself standing in a quiet street, the air thick with the scents of a time long gone. He looked down at himself, noticing the familiar clothes, the old boots, the weight of the past stripped away. His heart raced as he took in his surroundings, recognizing the neighbourhood instantly.

Bucky smashed the device as Steve had instructed, then straightened his clothes, fixing the glove over his metal hand. He slipped the ring into his pocket and took a moment to steady himself before making his way to your house. Steve had mentioned that Peggy said you stayed in the same place, believing he would come home because Bucky never broke his promises—especially not to you.

This was it. This was his chance.

Clutching the ring tightly in his hand, Bucky made his way to your door, every step both terrifying and exhilarating. When he finally stood before it, his breath caught in his throat. The last time he’d been here, he had been a different man—a man who believed he could conquer anything. Now, he was here not as the Winter Soldier or the haunted man the world saw him as, but simply as Bucky—your Bucky.

The walk was short, but each step felt heavy with anticipation. His nerves buzzed as he approached the familiar doorstep, his hands in his pockets, his heart pounding. The house hadn’t changed; it was just as he remembered. He paused at the door, taking a deep breath before raising his hand to knock.

He paused at the door, taking a deep breath. What if you didn’t remember him the way he remembered you? What if time had changed more than just the years? From inside, he heard shuffling, followed by your familiar muttering under your breath. A smile tugged at his lips despite the tension. When the door opened, and he saw you, it was like time had stopped.

You were as breathtaking as the day he left—maybe even more so. Your eyes widened, filling with tears as you took in the sight of him. “Bucky?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Hey, doll,” he managed, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s been a long time.”

You gripped the doorknob so tightly that your knuckles turned white, trying to steady yourself. “Is it really you?”

“It’s really me, doll.” Bucky didn’t realise he was crying until you reached out to wipe away his tears. He hesitated for a moment before pulling you into his arms, holding you as close as he could. Your hands found their way around his neck, and you buried your face in his shoulder.

“Oh, Buck, I knew you’d come back to me. I knew it,” you murmured, pulling back slightly to look at him. “No one believed me. They said it was grief, but I knew.”

Bucky chuckled softly, resting his forehead against yours. “No one knew me better than you did.”

You didn’t reply right away; instead, you placed your ear against his chest, listening for the heartbeat you had longed to hear. When it thumped steadily beneath your ear, tears flowed freely. You didn’t know how or why he was here, but none of that mattered. Your Bucky was home. “I would have waited a lifetime for you, James,” you whispered.

His heart swelled, knowing how true your words were. “I promised I’d come back, doll. It was always you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a tear. “There’s something I’ve been waiting a long time to tell you—longer than you know.” He laughed softly, nervous but determined. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you, and I should’ve told you that day. There were so many things I should’ve done differently, but the one thing that’s never changed is how much I love you.”

A radiant smile broke across your face, one that had haunted his dreams for years. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

“I’ve been waiting a lifetime to do that.”

You started to respond, but Bucky didn’t wait. His lips captured yours in a kiss that was everything you both had imagined and more. It was a kiss that erased years of regret, one that made the world fall away until there was nothing but the two of you. When he pulled back, it was only for a moment, just long enough to catch his breath.

There was a question burning in his mind, a question that might seem too soon to anyone else, but for the two of you—who had waited through lifetimes—it was perfectly timed. Bucky reached into his pocket, his fingers finding the ring. He placed a soft kiss on your lips, then knelt down on one knee. The realisation dawned on your face, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Y/N, I—”

“Yes,” you breathed out before he could even finish.

His smile was wide and unrestrained as he took your hand. “Y/N, I’ve been wanting to ask you this for what feels like forever. You were always the only one for me, and you always will be. I would have found you in any lifetime. There’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of this life with.” He paused briefly, steadying his breath as he tried to calm his nerves. “I know it’s been years—lifetimes, even—but one thing has never changed. It was always you, and it always will be. Will you marry me?”

Your eyes welled up, but a smile broke through, bright and warm—the smile he’d dreamed of for so long. “What took you so long?” You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you held out your hand. He slid the ring onto your finger, where it had always belonged. Bucky was finally home—right where he was meant to be.

In that moment, as he slid the ring onto your finger, Bucky knew that everything he had endured, all the pain and loss, had led him to this. To you.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with all the emotions he had carried for so long.

“I love you too, Bucky,” you replied, your voice trembling with joy.

As the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside your door faded away. The future was uncertain, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was that Bucky had finally kept his promise, and in doing so, had found the happiness he had long believed was lost forever.

2023

“Y/N, you would have loved Sam,” Steve chuckled as he finished his weekly updates. “I’m sure Bucky told you all about him. He always pretended to be a hard ass around him, but he loved him—I know he did.” Steve paused, as if waiting for a response that would never come. “I think ill allow him to meet you next week”

He sighed, standing up slowly and brushing off his knees. “I’ll see you two later. Don’t do anything stupid till I get back,” he said with a bittersweet laugh, his heart aching at the silence that followed. He lingered for a moment longer, unwilling to leave just yet.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Steve turned to see Sam standing beside him. “Time to go, Cap. The team’s waiting.”

“I’m coming,” he replied softly. He turned back for one last glance over his shoulder, his eyes tracing the engraved names on the headstone, side by side.

Here Lies,

Mr. and Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes & Y/F/N Y/M/N Barnes

A Once in a Lifetime Love.

“Goodbye, pal,” Steve whispered, his voice filled with the weight of years gone by.

As he walked away with Sam, he felt the familiar ache of loss, but also a sense of peace. Bucky had found the happiness he deserved, and now, at last, they were together—forever.

[stargirlrchive]

TOLERATE IT

older!ghost x reader — i realized after i finished, i did not mention simon’s name once, but this was written w him in mind lmaooo

cw: angst, no comfort, break up? ish, friends w benefits and complicated feelings, simon self-sabotaging, im in such an angsty mood! edit: this has been sitting in my drafts for over a month and i don’t know if i like it

your nails dug into your palms as your eyes filled with tears. you were drowning, he was drowning you. you had known it for a long time now. this, whatever it was, wasn’t working. not anymore.

not when you had bled yourself dry, spread yourself too thin for him, just to receive nothing in return. worst of all is he had told you so from the very beginning. but some naive, stupid, part of you thought that would change. that he’d change for you.

stupid, stupid, stupid.

“what did you except?”

his voice was ice cold, indifferent and… bored. as if you pouring your heart out to him mere seconds ago meant nothing.

you realized then that you had been terribly wrong. mistaken the way he held you, and kissed you, as something more. “i just figured-”

his eyes blazed with frustration, “figured what, hm? that i’d eventually soften up? grow to love you?”

yes.

“i don’t know. would that be so difficult?”

“yes.”

your face twitched, unable to mask how deeply that hurt. your throat tightened with regret. regret of ever tangling yourself with him, regret with voicing your feelings.

“you knew what i wanted from this arrangement. you had agreed. we were on the same page.”

the regret and melancholy that had ebbed and festered in your heart turned to anger. blinding, burning rage.

“i had told you, made it so very clear that nothing long term would come from this. i can’t give you that.”

that rage was threatening to consume you.

your voice shook with anger, but the look on his face took the crack in your voice as one of sadness, weakness, “you won’t give me that. it’s not that you can’t.”

he said nothing, because you both knew it was true. “look, kid-”

“don’t-” your voice rasped, “don’t call me that.”

his fingers clenched in frustration, breathing through his nose as he tried to collect himself. he had never heard your voice grow that cold. not towards him and it made his bones ache.

“it’s nothing personal. i’m just not want you’re lookin’ for. not for something constant, and if things were different, if i was a different person then maybe. but im not.”

your eyes burned, a few stray tears falling but you were quick to wipe them away. yes, you had come to an agreement prior to this. but things had changed, the way he looked at you, and held you.

the whispered words in between your tangled limbs had proven that. he lingering touches and soft eyes.

he must’ve been one hell of a liar if he didn’t mean any of that.

stupid, stupid, stupid.

“i don’t believe you.”

you sniffed softly, looking at him and you were sure the devastation was clear in your eyes. “because if everything that passed between us, if you were able to fake that. you’re a monster.”

“you knew what this was when we started.”

you missed the way his fingers dug into the armrest of the couch. shaking your head as you stood up. “get out.”

he felt the chill of your words wash over him, and the part inside him that yearned for you, desperately begged him to speak up. to tell you that this was all some big misunderstanding.

stupid, stupid, stupid.

what he was doing was stupid. but it was for the best.

you deserved better, and he’d never be able to give that to you.

yes you would.

he forced the voice back, swallowing roughly before standing up. grabbing his things as he watched you try not to fall apart before him.

the words of ‘i’m sorry,’ heavy on his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

his footsteps heavy as he left your apartment. his heart aching the further he walked away and it comforted him a bit to know you’d never forgive him again.

there would be no hope, no one to hurt or disappoint and he could live with that. knowing that he let you go before you could begin to hate him.

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 7.8k words]

Letting himself embrace this horrid part of his heritage terrified him. It was like being back in the cellar again, that Muggle writhing beneath him in pain, his parents and brother lauding his name. Gaunt. No matter what he did to unbind himself from the bloodline, always it came back to shackle him. Always, it answered when he didn't call.

In which, even after he broke your friendship, Ominis can't get you out of his head.

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, Scriptorium quest, Muggle culture, Your Scent in the Amortentia, Going Feral when You're Hurt, Comforting You When You're Sad.

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad] [PREV][NEXT]

2: When Everything Changed

You didn't speak to him for a long time.

Justifiably, Ominis knows. It's one thing to insult, degrade, demean someone, but something else entirely to diminish their very existence, to reduce them to flesh and bones and happenstance. You were Muggle-born, he was pure-blood. Your friendship together was as tenuous as life itself.

You didn't deserve risk, so he steeled his heart, his mind. He moved through the struggles of fourth year silently, like a wraith, participating only when needed. A clock was ticking for summer – he couldn't spend the entire holiday at Feldcroft, though he longed for it, though Sebastian offered. When the dread of it came, thick and drowning, it was the thought of you, what he was doing ultimately to protect you, that eased the pain. He didn't realise how deeply you had planted your vines inside him, so that everything he did now, anything he felt, or touched, or tasted, reminded him of you. You were ingrained, and no matter how hard he tried to uproot you, you would not wither.

Perhaps this was his reality now. Perhaps he would never speak to you again.

Naturally, fifth year changed everything.

The new school year rang with tension. A goblin tyrant, Ranrok, sought vengeance against wizardkind, with his influence strongest around the Scottish Highlands, scattered around the hamlets around Hogwarts. His plans were unclear, just another thing Ominis worried about, massaging his temple on the walk up to school for the first evening.

Sebastian wasn't in a talkative mood. He'd come to verbal blows with his uncle that afternoon, when Ominis was packing and keeping Anne company. Their voices were so raised they could be heard in the entire village.

"Stop getting her hopes up! For goodness sake, she's cursed. At least let her enjoy however long she has left in peace, without your meddling!"

"Meddling?" Sebastian scoffed. "She's my sister! I'll find a cure for her—"

"If St Mungo's Healers can't do it, no fifteen year-old boy will either."

"You might've given up, but I haven't."

"I've stopped trying to fill her head with false hope and nonsense!"

Anne's lethargic sigh had pulled Ominis away. "I'm so tired."

"You should rest."

"No." She fell back against the pillow. "I mean, of their arguing."

Truthfully, Ominis was tired of it too. He heard enough hatred at home, the few lonely weeks he had to spend there before absconding to Feldcroft. For the most part, his parents ignored him, though there were days they dragged him to dinners or parties with the other pure-blood families. He made sure to give the Malfoys as wide a berth as possible, even though Peregrine didn't bother him again.

"Can you promise me something, Ominis?" Anne had asked.

He'd pursed his lips. "That depends on what it is."

"You'll keep an eye on Sebastian this year." A wry laugh. "A metaphorical eye, that is."

He always intended to. The darkness was offering Sebastian solace, and he feared his best friend was diving down a path from which there was no return. How far would he be willing to go for Anne?

"I'll do my best."

"And... and talk to Gibby."

He hadn't heard your name all summer. It sent a frisson through him, equally terrifying and pleasant, and made to leave before an inevitable interrogation—

"Please," she said, stopping him. "Sometimes family isn't blood. Sometimes family is heart. And she is as much a part of yours as the rest of us are."

Yet, when he left with Sebastian an hour later, he adamantly reminded himself why he made that pact in the first place. He could not— would not talk to you, and rub raw a healing wound. Things were simply too dangerous to risk it, if not from Peregrine Malfoy, then from one of the other pure-blood families, the Lestranges, the Blacks, or the Fawleys.

When he and Sebastian arrived at the school, sun hushing the horizon, Ominis paid no mind to the knowledge that you were there, somewhere at the Hufflepuff table, enjoying the start of term without him. He took his seat next to his best friend and expected the same opening speech, Sorting Ceremony and feast.

Only there was one thing different.

Missy was what everyone called her. The nickname was sparked by rumour, as thick as honey – unlike yours, spurred by your actions, your quirks, Missy's had come before her, on the train up to Hogwarts, where all the fifth years spoke of a new student starting this year under the mentorship of Professor Fig.

Staring school so late, with the support of a prominent Hogwarts professor? That was unusual, she was unusual. A mystery.

Only when she appeared at the Sorting Ceremony, late, it was apparent she was anything but.

"There she is," Nerida crowed in the hum of chatter. "The new girl!"

"Her hair is amazing," said Violet, awed.

Ominis heard the new girl – like you, she had a distinctive set of sounds he could use to distinguish her from others. But unlike you, however, there was no naivety, no jolliness or upbeat wonder. There was only purpose, strong with each stride and levelled breath. Even as the interloper, and a late one at that, she acted like she already belonged.

His heart ached suddenly – the memory of the Undercroft tore at him, and he fought to keep it down, push away the strange sensation that came with thinking of you.

When the new girl was sorted into Slytherin, she sat next to Sebastian. "Hello." Her voice was distinctive too, well-spoken, eloquent, from wealth.

"The mystery student," Imelda said, clearly more impressed than she let on. "The whole year's been talking about you."

"Have they?" She didn't seem bothered by this at all. "Is that what I am? A mystery?"

"A real lady of mystery," said Sebastian, equally intrigued.

"Oh," said the mystery student, chuckling – Ominis caught threads of a sinister undertone. "I'm no lady. Miss is just fine."

"Well, then, Miss Mystery," Sebastian teased, "welcome to Hogwarts."

Ominis was too polite to ask what her real name was. It was too late now, anyway. The nickname stuck like mud, too fitting for a girl with an air of something otherworldly and powerful to be displaced. Your laughter bubbled in his head – maybe she would come to love the nickname as you did.

But there was no point thinking about you anymore. No point imagining what the future beheld for you.

Later that month, Ominis asked after what Missy looked like, if only to build a better picture of how different you were to one another, but Sebastian had only laughed.

"I'd tell you, but she changes her hair and eyes every day. Always in Snelling's Emporium. And her robes – she's never wearing them! Every class we go to she just puts on capes and hats and all sorts. It's a mismatch."

A very strange girl indeed, but not in the same way you were, in the same way you still are.

As the air began to chill, Ominis felt the change in his friend like frigid air on bare skin. He was warming to the new girl, more rapidly than Ominis expected – she invited him to Hogsmeade, joined his secret duelling club, stole him for night-time escapades and thirsted for knowledge only he could give. It seemed harmless enough at first, but the new girl had a particular sway, popular but not needy with the attention, mysterious but still generous with her time, and genial with her friends. Especially with Sebastian.

Worst of all, you were becoming her friend too. She was like the replacement for what you'd lost.

"Amortentia." Professor Sharp's voice carried through the Potions classroom one day, as October crept up the front lawns. "I'm sure you're all familiar with this, but for our new student's sake, could someone please refresh us on its properties?"

Unsurprisingly, Garreth spoke up. "It's the most powerful love potion in the world. It smells different to everyone according to what most attracts them."

"Very good. This is a potion we will be learning to brew in seventh year. As Mr Weasley has said, this is the most powerful love potion in the world." The last part he emphasised seriously. "It is not to be trifled with. Today, we will be brewing weaker love potions, but I am allowing you all to see for yourself the properties of Amortentia, so that you may recognise it outside the classroom. Dare I say, so you can protect yourself should anyone try to use it on you."

Sharp allowed them to gander at the potion as they brewed their own. The fifth-year girls were most excited, and as Ominis prepared his ingredients, the Hufflepuffs plus Missy headed up to the main station to have their turn.

Of course, you were amongst that group.

"Well, Missy?" you asked, as eager and animated as he remembered you to be. "What does it smell like?"

Missy took a whiff, then laughed.

"Secrets."

"Secrets don't have a scent," said Lenora haughtily.

"They do to me." She stood back, let you go ahead. "Go on then, Gibby, your turn. What does it smell like to you?"

Ominis struggled not to listen.

"Sweets." Of course it did. "Magic. You know, just the general scent of it. And..." Your voice turned tart. "Oil."

The giggling ceased. "Oil?" asked Adelaide.

"Oil," you confirmed, in a way that brooked no space for discussion.

What an absurd thing to find attractive. Did oil even have a scent? He pondered on this for a while, trying to untangle its meaning until their potions were neatly bubbling and Sebastian nudged him out of his thoughts.

"Want to go up next?"

They went after Everett declared his favourite scent to be broom handles ("Probably because that's the closest thing he'll ever get to a girl's touch," Sebastian muttered). Already the aroma was drawing him closer, a pleasant tickling like a silk robe on freshly bathed skin.

Sebastian inhaled deeply.

"Hmm."

"Well?"

"Old parchment," he said, "and hair dye."

Hair dye? "I've been told you were starting to grey."

"Funny. No idea why it smells like that."

But Ominis did. Just an inkling, anyway.

"Your turn." His friend stepped back. "You more than most anyone to know what it smells like."

Perhaps nothing, he thought in vain. It was a folly to think himself above such emotions. In fact, though his family may have tried to beat it out of him, it took strength to admit he had such a weakness at all. Since his sense of smell was more acute than most, it would've been strange, perhaps concerning, if there was no scent to the Amortentia at all.

So Ominis leant forwards and inhaled. The aroma was so heady he could get drunk on the smell alone.

"Honeysuckle," he murmured, probably because they grew around Feldcroft, and the memories were something he cherished. "Polished wood, like in a wandshop. And something... sweet." It was a sudden overwhelming note, and his voice grew hoarse. "It's very sweet. Something like—"

He iced over.

Strawberry laces.

"Something like...?" Sebastian said. "Your face has gone red."

"What?" Ominis drew back, willed the scent to disappear. "I— I don't recognise it."

Sebastian didn't say a word at first. Then came the insufferable chuckling beneath his breath.

"Ah, wait. Sweet, was it?"

"I said I don't recognise it." And when Sebastian went to speak again, Ominis quickly snapped, "Not another word."

But he knew, when his friend lapsed into contented, smug silence, this was by far the last time they'd have this conversation.

Without meaning to be, without even being there, you were a cruelty, vivid and sweet, and no matter what he did, he was powerless beneath your spell.

But with tensions rising in the world, he could not afford to think about you. He couldn't afford to think about what your scent in the Amortentia meant for his confused, muddled feelings.

By chance, he got the opportunity to think elsewhere the next day, when a letter arrived – from Gringotts, of all places. The braille glided beneath his fingertips, and he realised it was a will, his Aunt Noctua's will. It was getting to the point where she'd been missing longer than she had not, and his parents had finally bowled through solicitors and admin to snatch the last of the pittance from her vault. With no next of kin, she had given most of it to Ominis, though the money wasn't actually his until he turned seventeen.

Truthfully, the worst part was he could barely remember Noctua's voice anymore. He wondered constantly where she had gone, why she'd left him with her horrible brother and family. Once when he was eight, when a hopeful innocence still sang through him, Noctua had come to watch over him as his parents and siblings attended a society event in London. A pure-blood ball, he was told. Adults talking about adult things, how dull. As the youngest, Ominis hadn't been permitted to go, but he didn't mind so much when he got to spend time with his whacky aunt.

He was practicing his braille as Noctua tidied about the room.

"They'll be back after sundown," she was saying, "so make sure you're finished before then."

"Isn't it midday?"

"It's one."

"So I have lots of time."

"Yes," she said mirthfully, "but I want to take you to the village later today."

The village? "That's the Muggle place, and Father says I shouldn't go near them. They're all stupid anyway. Like pigs."

"Is that what he said?"

"Yes."

A creak as she sat on the bench next to him. Her hand ran down his back.

"You should know, Ominis, that not everything your father says is true. Muggles aren't anymore stupid than wizards are. They're hardly different from us at all."

The comment, harmless in retrospect, felt like an affront to everything Ominis knew. "But they don't have magic. That makes them stupid."

"It doesn't make them stupid. You don't have your sight. Does that make you stupid?"

"No," he said at once, indignant.

"So you understand. What we have and do not have doesn't matter. It is how we choose to live that does. In the end, we all return to the earth in the same way, flesh and skeleton."

That didn't make sense to him. "But how do they do anything if they don't have magic?"

"Well, you're learning your braille now, aren't you? They find ways to do things that work for them." She stood. "Tell you what, why don't we go to the village now? You can finish your work later."

Ominis agreed. He wanted to know, after all, if what Noctua said was true. She dressed him down for it, cotton and breeches and a woollen coat that drowned his arms, and they headed out before the clock struck two, Ominis clutching her hand as the wind bandied playfully with his hair. It didn't take them long to walk, though he detected so many new scents, new sounds. Wheat fields susurrating within musky spruce fences, crackling bonfires and burnings that pumped smoke into the sky. They reached a low stone wall that bordered the village river, cold against Ominis' hands, before Noctua hushed him.

"Do you remember the rules around Muggles?"

"No talking about the M-word," he said diligently, "or that we are the W-word."

So Noctua took him on a stroll through the market. He was surprised at the atmosphere, busy but not bustling. Horses clattered against cobblestone, ivy rustled against houses with rooves made of thatch. Knives slammed down on meat and fish, and there was bartering, so much bartering, for the best cuts and lowest prices.

"Come off it, Dave. Two shillings for that? You must be joking."

"Ain't no joke. Gotta' keep the lights on somehow, don't I?"

They chuckled, even though Ominis didn't understand why, until he remembered Muggles simply couldn't call upon light whenever they wanted. They had to rely on candles and hearths and gas lanterns. They had to rely on their own labour to make ends meet and provide for their children.

A thread of something fresh caught Ominis' nose then, and he turned towards the scent. Warm bread, just baked.

"Want some?" asked Noctua.

His family teachings came to him. Make no disturbance of your betters. "No thank you."

"Are you sure?"

It did smell nice, but he worried about whether Muggle bread was poison for wizards. Still, Noctua took him into the bakery, and thought terror laced through his fascination, he took the bread Noctua paid in their strange Muggle money and eagerly bit into the crust. It was warm and buttery and filled his belly to full – and best of all, it tasted like regular bread. No poison.

"Ah, born like that, was he?" said the baker.

Noctua seemed so at ease with them. "Yes, he's practicing braille at the moment."

"Oh, now, that's wonderful. Keep at it, lad. You'll do great."

"Thanks," Ominis managed. He'd never spoken to a Muggle before. He didn't know Muggles learnt braille too.

Noctua took him back outside as he finished the last of his bread. "Well? What do you think?"

The general mood was buoyant and hopeful. Not everyone was affluent, yes, but there was something wonderful in the way they worked tirelessly to get what they wanted. If the air smelt the same, the food tasted the same, the people merry and sad and angry the same...

"It's a bit like Hogsmeade," he admitted at last, because that was all he had to compare it to.

"So you see, then," said Noctua, a twinkle in her voice. "Not so different after all."

Only when they got back to the house, Ominis not entirely convinced but probing for more, he felt a shift in the air like claws on his shoulders. His parents had arrived home early, as had Marvolo and his noisy sneer.

"At the village, I see," his father barked. Then, "Ominis, to your room. Now."

Ominis knelt to the ground and pressed an ear to the crack under his door so he could hear the argument in the foyer below.

"You will do well to remember that he is my son, and I will not have you traipsing him around in Muggle slums!"

"Do you want him to be so completely unaware of the surrounding world? He'll have to live outside these walls one day."

Marvolo scoffed. "The boy is blind, Noctua."

"In sight, not in head," she retorted. "Though he will be if you all keep treating him this way."

It was nice to hear her support him, and from then on he enjoyed her company a lot more. She had so much wisdom to share, about the Muggle world, about his family, about the dark secrets that followed the Gaunts like shadow. When she went missing, he despaired in his bedroom alone, knowing all too well no one but him would care. It was only until that will arrived, balling up any last hope that she was alive, that he decided to shut the door on her disappearance once and for all – by chasing the information she'd last shared with him.

Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium.

It hadn't been an immediate decision. Once he told Sebastian of the Scriptorium, and his aunt's futile quest to find it, Sebastian hounded him for weeks, desperate to seek it himself. Ominis shut down his questions, even though, secretly, he wanted answers himself.

Missy managed to convince him – if only because she reinforced how important it was for Sebastian to find a cure for Anne, something that was possible with the secrets of the Scriptorium. And, well, to sate his own curiosity Ominis wouldn't be moved, but for Anne, whom he loved as much as Sebastian did, he agreed to make an effort. He would put aside his distaste for the Dark Arts for closure.

"Don't mistake my agreeing to go as thinking this is a good idea. I'm only going to ensure you don't get into some sort of trouble."

Missy's voice turned upwards with agreement. "You've made the right decision."

On the other hand, his was rueful. "I hope we don't regret this."

They waited until nightfall. It should've been no trouble to get there for the three of them, since the Scriptorium's entrance was next to their common room – but come the clock chimes at midnight Missy was nowhere to be found. Sebastian paced in wait as Ominis pressed a heel to the wall where the secret door lay, trying to sense any vibrations beneath. Boot steps heading towards them snagged his attention.

But there were two pairs. The first, Missy's forceful strides. The second—

You.

Instantly he recognised it. The bounce of your curls. The clatter of your glasses. The shoes, merrily clacking against stone. The scent of you, so sweet and innocuous, and yet like pure ecstasy.

You startled at the same time he did, standing upright.

"Gibby—"

"Ominis—" Hearing you speak his name after so long, in a tone that wasn't revulsion, was like music. But the shock was gone when you turned to Missy, aggravated. "I-I didn't know he was coming."

"Yes," said Missy coolly, "this information comes from his family."

"And therefore it is my quest," he reiterated. "You cannot invite whomever you want."

"I thought the more people, the better." So composed and unperturbed. "Why? Will this be a problem?"

"Yes. She cannot go."

"And why not?" you challenged indignantly.

So damn naïve. "It's dangerous."

"When has that ever stopped me?"

"There's a first time for everything."

"You can put your wounded ego away, Ominis. There's no way I'm not going exploring with you all."

He swore steam erupted from his nose, but it took Sebastian, of all people, to step in and play middle man. "We'll all go— and no, Ominis, unless you're planning to hex her, I don't think you can stop her."

"Don't tempt me." He grinded his teeth. "If you get hurt—"

"You wouldn't care," you said coldly.

And you were right. He shouldn't have cared. He'd severed your bond almost a year ago now. But there was something in him helplessly clutched in your grasp. Something that wouldn't let him let you go.

"If we're ready," said Missy, elongating her words in a poor attempt to smooth the tension, "then you can tell us the first step into the Scriptorium, Ominis."

Lighting the braziers was the easy part. Other students had done it, lit the things to light their way through the dungeons and accidentally unveiled the door. But no one had got further. A dead end, it was declared.

Instantly, he knew why.

Whispers seeped through the chamber walls. As the others explored, and Missy repaired a broken relief, Ominis wished he could clap his hands over his ears. There was something terribly wrong with this place. Something dark.

"Wait— a journal entry! Under the broken pieces!" Sebastian snatched a crusty parchment from the ground. "Ominis— it's signed from your aunt."

"What?" He couldn't believe it. Then had she... succeeded? "What does it say?"

Sebastian read. "Wow... she tried to convince your father she'd found the Scriptorium. She came down to get proof."

Noctua was here. And, perhaps worse, his father knew. His father knew and never said a word.

Tears came unwilling to his eyes, and he fought to bat them back, but it was like the susurrations heard his pain, strengthening their efforts to unsettle him.

"What's wrong, Ominis?"

Your voice was a balm, even though Ominis hated himself for it. His throat ran dry.

"I— I can hear hissing."

"Hissing?" asked Missy.

"I'm a Parselmouth," he explained, and for some reason, admitting it in front of you filled him with more shame. "I can hear and speak to snakes."

"Wow, that's incredible."

The awe in Missy's voice disconcerted him. "All descendants of Salazar Slytherin have the ability."

"So what's it saying?"

Ominis swallowed and focused on the sound. It pulled such a deep fear from him, to use this ability he hadn't in so long. The worst of it was, it was like he'd last spoken it yesterday. Like he'd never stopped at all. He'd sworn a year ago to lock away all the darkness of his family bloodline and throw away the key, and yet here he was, standing in his predecessor's lair, the translation effortless.

For Aunt Noctua, he tried to convince himself. But it was much harder to pretend the ends justified the means.

"Speak to me," he murmured.

"The relief depicts a person facing a snake," said Sebastian. "And this door... well, it's covered in snake motifs."

Ominis felt it, if only to fuel the hope that his friend was wrong. Of course he wasn't.

His heartbeat was a wild stag in his chest. "But I— I can't. I haven't spoken it in years."

"I think you know it's not the sort of language you forget."

No. It wasn't.

Letting himself embrace this horrid part of his heritage terrified him. It was like being back in the cellar again, that Muggle writhing beneath him in pain, his parents and brother lauding his name. Gaunt. No matter what he did to unbind himself from the bloodline, always it came back to shackle him. Always, it answered when he didn't call.

Everything in this place was overwhelming. His father's deliberate silence, the darkness that fettered him when he thought he was free... He didn't realise he was shaking until a hand came to steady him. You. Because of course you knew about his aunt, and how fond of her he was. You knew how much this meant to him, even if you didn't know the horrible things he'd done to get here.

He hesitated pulling his arm away – a foolish mistake. Your touch lingered like your soap.

"Take your time," you said softly.

He tried to gather some lost mettle. For my aunt, he told himself, again and again, until the whispers didn't seem so scary. It was difficult to centre himself when three people were waiting on him, but knowing that behind this door were the answers for his aunt's disappearance, and potentially the answers for Anne's illness, lit the spark of courage he needed. All that was left was to speak.

So he took a deep breath. Forced it out again.

And he spoke.

The tongue was guttering and unnatural. Rusty. Yet the door recognised its own flesh, and as the snakes undulated along the door's surface, and it opened with a cold draught of wind, Ominis knew he'd never escape his family legacy. No matter how much he wished it.

The others cast Lumos and set about exploring the space. Even so many years here and there was still some wonder in discovering the new, the unwritten. Salazar Slytherin did not make it easy to enter his Scriptorium, as the enclosed stone hallways, suffused with the cold, were riddled with puzzles, most of them involving the use of sight. Missy managed to solve the first, a memory test that required her to twist dials to match symbols on the gates.

She clicked the first one. Something sharped sliced the air besides him, and Ominis flinched.

"What the—"

"The gate came down," Sebastian said, terrified but also in awe – a worrying amount. "Between the archway."

"So there's no way back."

You huffed a breath. "So there's only forwards."

Regardless of your optimism, that was not a comforting thought, and the group stayed closer together, firing Lighting charms into the darkness. Dust swirled beneath Ominis' nose, and yet the place had a damp, mildewed feel, unpleasant and uncomfortable, but as the others continued to solve Slytherin's riddles, a rising worry eschewed his fear. This was too easy. His ancestor, he hated to admit, was one of the greatest wizards of all time, and too clever to find entertainment in shallow puzzles. There had to be something worse.

"I don't like this," he murmured into the humming din at one point, as Sebastian and Missy searched for the next symbols.

He didn't mean to talk to you, but he had.

"We'll be okay," you said, even though you moved a little closer to him, closer than he'd expected. "Salazar Slytherin is your direct ancestor?"

He swallowed. "Yes."

A pause.

"He hated Muggle-borns, too."

On anyone else's tongue, the words were a jab. On you, they were only full of pity.

I don't hate Muggle-borns. I don't hate you.

But he couldn't bring himself to say it, and the silence that followed devoured him.

"I think this is the last one," said Missy, when they entered yet another identical stone corridor, the echo of her voice a small comfort in the confined space.

Sebastian had already turned this into a game. "Race you?"

She let out a single chuckle. "You couldn't keep up."

"Try me."

You laughed along to their competitive scrabbling. When the air rippled, and stone quaked, revealing a corridor that seemed to lead nowhere, you patted your cheeks twice and marched forwards on Sebastian's heels.

But Slytherin enjoyed games too.

The gate almost sliced Ominis' nose when it descended in front of him, cutting him off from you and Sebastian. A mere breath separated you, and yet the gap felt infinite.

Behind him, Missy spluttered. "Damn it!"

That meant— he was trapped.

Powerless.

He grabbed the gate, unyielding beneath his fingers. "Sebastian, what's going on?"

"I—" Sebastian startled. "Oh no."

He heard your intake of breath then.

"What's going on?" Ominis demanded.

"Bones," you said quietly. "And a note. I-It's from your aunt..."

She died here. You read it aloud, confirming Ominis' worst fears. Grief tore through him, swelling behind his eyes.

"This is the last puzzle," Sebastian said, voice firm. "There's a door, but it's sealed. It says Crucio on the floor..."

"No!" Ominis rattled the gate. "No, you can't. This is madness, Sebastian! Please—"

"Please what?" Sebastian said, frustrated. "The Scriptorium wants a price for entry. This is what we must pay."

But you didn't know any Dark Magic.

Sebastian did.

The realisation chilled Ominis down to his heart.

"Don't you dare!" he screeched. "Don't you dare use that curse on her!"

You stammered. "Ominis—"

"We're stuck!" Sebastian barked. "Your aunt died because she came alone. She didn't have anyone to use Dark Magic on. So unless you want to die like her, we don't have a choice."

"We always have a choice!"

Even though he didn't know what that was, even though it was Slytherin's nature to demand obedience or death. None of that mattered. What did was that you were the last person who deserved such pain, when you'd already been through so much. When he'd already caused it.

He tried with all his might to break the gate, bend it, cast the Exploding charm, whatever it would take to get him in the chamber.

"It won't work," Missy said, softer than he thought capable.

"I have to try—"

"It's okay," you mumbled, cutting him off. "I-I can take it."

The tremble betrayed your fear. Sebastian offered a compromise, that he could teach you and you'd use it on him, but even if you wanted to learn the curse yourself, which you didn't, there was no way you'd ever find the intention to use it willingly, and to use it willingly on Sebastian, no less, who'd done you no wrong since you'd known him.

Ominis banged his hands against the gate. "Damn it, Gibby—"

"I said I can do it," you snapped. "I'll be fine."

"I told you it was dangerous!"

"I knew the risks."

"Did you?" he challenged. "You came down to explore!"

"I'm not naïve, Ominis!" You came closer. "Of course the Scriptorium of Salazar Slytherin wouldn't be easy to get into. Of course I knew there was a price!"

But for you, and only you, to pay it? Was it by fate, that you walked in second, or was this what Slytherin wanted all along? For Muggle-born blood to pave the way for the rest of wizardkind?

His hands shook as he clutched the gate, so tightly his veins bulged. Once, you were the most naïve person he knew, but that day in the Undercroft had changed you as much as it had changed him.

You spun away, back to Sebastian. A deep breath.

"Okay. I'm ready."

"Are you sure?"

Presumably you nodded, because you didn't say the words.

And Ominis was helpless to listen as Sebastian raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

Your pain seemed to last for hours. For a second, a wink in time, you were silent, only that fizzing noise, that horrid, burning stench of the curse any indication anything was happening at all. But then you cried out, you wept,  you mewled, howled – then it was pure agony, screams that arced through Ominis in ways he would never forget.

Something shifted. It was a softer noise than your screams, like mud, or honey almost, sinking into the ground. As the blockage melted, Sebastian ceased the spell, but your pain did not end, and when the gate shot back up, Ominis stumbled over himself to get to you.

"Gibby," he fell to your side, cradled you, ran hands over your shoulders and face, breathless. "You— I— are you—"

Your ragged breaths calmed. Your quivering eased. Tears ran down his own, probably splattering onto you, but you said nothing, only remained still in his grasp as he held you, comforted you.

Something warm drew up his temple then, and it took a second to recognise it. Your hand. Your thumb, combing back an errant lock of hair, skimming the mole on his temple.

"So you do care," you croaked.

He didn't know how to respond.

"I-I'm sorry," he said instead, failure washing through him. "I... I should've—"

"Don't," you whispered. "Not here. Not yet."

So he didn't. Instead, he wordlessly helped you to stand. Sebastian and Missy asked after you, and their awkwardness brought a new flush to Ominis' cheeks, but when you gave a shaky thumbs-up and an audible smile that warmed even this terrible place, the four of you headed into Slytherin's Scriptorium impeded no longer.

Sebastian and Missy got to work searching each nook and cranny of the cavernous chamber of stone walls, busy with the scattered remnants of Slytherin's work: parchment, scrolls, ancient tomes on shelves that seemed to hum with magic too ancient to describe. Ominis held onto you for the entire time, emotionally spent. You clutched his arm in return, and he felt the tremble of your grip, the vestiges of the curse. He should've helped to search the place, really, but he didn't trust that Slytherin, the most famous pure-blood supremacist in the history of Hogwarts, wouldn't have any last surprises for you.

Missy eventually found Slytherin's spellbook, and the exit, which chucked the four of you back out into the dungeons. You huddled behind the columns until you were sure there were no teachers or prefects, and only then did Ominis allow himself a moment to press his head to the stone, process everything he'd heard, felt.

His aunt was dead, bones lying cold in that corridor.

Sebastian had used Dark Magic like it was second nature.

You had been hurt. And you were owed an explanation.

But so close to the common room entrance was risking too much. If not Peregrine Malfoy, then another pure-blood, a painting, a ghost, a teacher bribed. Someone else, trading with secrets that could ultimately slither its way back to his family.

"Ominis," Sebastian sounded genuinely contrite, "about your aunt—"

"Oh please, Sebastian," he snapped, the anger sudden but healthy. He swung on his friend, teeth bared. "We were lucky we escaped at all."

"But I'm grateful that we did, because maybe now Anne—"

"And if you'd have died in there? How could you have saved Anne then?"

You startled. "Wait, let's—"

"Swear to me." He didn't bend under the weight of your gaze. "Swear to me, right now, that we will never engage with Dark Magic ever again. That— that we will never cause that pain again."

Sebastian was speechless. "But—"

"Swear it, Sebastian!"

"All right, all right." He took a breath. "Understood. And I... I really am sorry about your aunt."

Admittedly that closure was nice, to know Noctua was gone. He didn't voice anything, his feelings too raw and churning, and Sebastian headed towards the common room, Missy in tow.

"We'll go. You two... have a lot to talk about."

When the common room door slid shut, and it was only the two of you, alone, a new sort of worry seeded in his stomach. You said nothing for a while, the last moments that had passed between you as palpable as stone.

"I— I'm sorry," he forced out, this apology much harder than the last. "The Cruciatus Curse—"

"I'm okay," you repeated. A shuffle of your boot. "Are... are you going to talk to me again now? Are you going to tell me why you turned on me?"

But he found the words impossible and unmoving. He needed time, space, to heal from today, before he was ready to open another old wound.

"I-I can't. Not yet."

You paused. It was long and hard to bear, like a rake drawing down his chest.

"All right," you said quietly. "When you're ready, find me. You know where."

He did know where. Back in the early months of first year, when you were green and hungry, there were times when you weren't tagging in Ominis and Sebastian's shadows, times when they didn't know where you were at all. Once he decided, on whim, to search. The castle was huge and he wasn't optimistic, but he checked your favourite places: the Hufflepuff common room, the library, the front lawns and the sitting area outside Charms. When you weren't there and no one had seen you, he concluded he was just missing you, and hurried towards the Great Hall before his absence at dinner was noticed.

That's when he heard you, far above.

The hallways of the Viaduct Entrance were quiet – everyone was at the feast – and even still, your voice was barely a whisper. He halted, pausing to make sure, and there again was your sound, high-pitched and squealy and very you. Brow furrowing, he followed the noise up the stairs until he found himself squirrelled between the wooden joists holding the ceiling.

Whilst Ominis and Sebastian had claimed the Undercroft as their own, this was your space. He didn't know when you'd discovered it, or how, but here you were, curled beneath the beams.

Crying.

It surprised him. You, crying? When you were always so upbeat? When everything seemed to make you laugh? He approached you like you were a unicorn, easily spooked by noise. Still, you noticed him anyway.

"Oh! Ominis! I— I didn't see you there."

"That makes two of us."

But you didn't laugh, which meant something was very wrong.

He swallowed his pride. He'd never dealt with someone crying before, least of all a crying girl. "What's the matter?"

"You're going to think I'm silly."

"I already think that."

Another heaving breath. Another jab that didn't land. "Then— I don't know. You might laugh."

"Why would I—?" He stopped himself. That wasn't what you needed to hear. Instead, he sat next to you. "I won't laugh. Promise."

"Okay." You shuffled a little closer. "I-I miss home."

Ah. You were homesick. Frankly the concept was foreign to him – he'd never once missed his family. Even then he rejoiced every second he got to spend away from home. Still, it seemed to be eating you up.

"I-I'm not ungrateful," you said quickly. "I'm really happy to be here. And I really like magic. It totally makes sense – one time I exploded my brother's washing basket and we never knew how—"

"Exploded—?" He sighed. Just you things. "Never mind."

"But I miss them. My mama and papa run the confectionary. My brothers are supposed to take over when they're older, but Connor met Matilda Asher at church and everyone reckons they'll marry soon and he'll go into lumbering, and Ellian doesn't like sweets a lot, and he's much better at business and numbers anyway, and who knows how little Tam will grow up— oh no, I'm going to miss him growing up!"

Now you were weeping and hiccoughing. "Slow down. You're getting tears on my robes."

"Sorry. Is that... am I a wally?"

He didn't have the heart to ask what a wally was.

"Everyone gets homesick sometimes."

"You don't."

So you noticed. "I grew up in the magical world. You didn't. If I was suddenly dropped into the Muggle world, I'd be sad too. It's overwhelming to suddenly be in a different place with different people, let alone find out you're actually a witch, but you'll get used to it."

"What if I don't?"

"You will." It wasn't a guess. It was fact. "And your friends will help. Sebastian and Anne, and Adelaide and Evangeline and Arthur too."

"And you?"

"Yes," he said, managing a smile for your sake, "and me."

You took a deep breath, a sign that meant you would be okay.

"Do... do you have a tissue?"

"No."

"A... face-cleaning spell? Dryus Tearus?"

"You can't put -us at the end of words and expect it to be a spell. Just stop crying." It came out as a demand, even though Ominis didn't mean it to. He lifted the hem of his robes and wiped away the tears. "You'll get to go home at Christmas, which is only two months away."

By which point, he knew, you wouldn't feel so homesick anyway.

You squirmed when he drew the robe across your nose again. It was snotty, which made him grunt in disgust, which then made you giggle, and then use the sleeve of your own shirt to wipe the rest away.

"Thank you." You sniffled again. "I must look terrible."

"Awful."

A sharp pause – then another laugh, this one more like your usual self. "You are funny, Ominis Gaunt."

Funny was, perhaps, the last word he would ever ascribe to himself. It was, however, the perfect word to assign to his feelings a few days after the Scriptorium debacle, when he was finally ready to share the truth.

He didn't find you under the joists in the Viaduct Entrance's ceiling. Instead, where you were sitting that first time he caught you in first year, and where you sat in the subsequent times since, he found a note. Cleverly it was in braille, and he suspected there was no written words. He drew his thumb across the print.

Below astronomy deck, 8pm.

You had been waiting there, every day like clockwork. Waiting for him.

Ominis climbed the winding stairs. He didn't come up here often – without his sight, he couldn't read the stars, though he did still partake in stargazing theory and discussion. The floorboards croaked. So high up, the wind teased the tips of his ears, and he fussed with warming them until the deck was before him.

He thought he was alone, that he'd missed the chance today.

But you were here, coming up to him steadily. "Are you ready to talk?"

He nodded, voice scarpering deep into his throat. You waited. You weren't going to prompt him or give him any tools to help. You were as hungry for answers as you were before, but you would not make it easy. He would have to work for your trust.

He didn't know how to start.

"I— my family—" How did he tell you about the pain he went through, without diminishing yours? How could he articulate the horrors he'd experienced home, that he'd subsequently thrown back at you? "Some... things happened, when I was at home that summer after third year."

You waited still, not saying a word.

The beginning, then.

"You know my family hates Muggles. Hates Muggle-borns. It's an old pure-blood notion that Muggle-born magic is weaker, that it's stolen. I realised it was wrong when I met you, and regardless of my family's opinions I thought it was okay to be your friend."

"Opinions," you retorted. "You mean prejudice?"

"Yes," he agreed hoarsely, realising his error too late. "Yes, prejudice."

Silence again, as you waited for him to continue. He didn't know you could be so blunt.

"Peregrine Malfoy found out in third year we were friends. He— he told his father. Who told mine." Now his heart raced, his pulse thrashed, a cold clamminess prickled up and down his skin in disgust, shame, fear. "M-My parents, my brother Marvolo, they... they were displeased—"

Your hand found his arm then to steady him then.

"You don't have to continue."

"You deserve to know—"

"It's okay. I... I already know."

"You— what?"

"I've known since the Scriptorium."

"How?" he demanded, then seethed. "Damn Sebastian—"

"Not Sebastian," you mumbled.

Anne.

"It wasn't her place to tell either."

"No," you agreed, "but I wrote her a letter and she told me anyway, since you were being a dummy."

"But you know why, then," he reiterated, clutching your shoulders, hoping, begging to make you see. "You know why—"

"I know I lost my best friend," you said, angry tears snuffing your voice. "I know you suffered. I know your family are the vilest, most evil people on earth. I know that nosy Malfoy should mind his own business. Sebastian said he talked to him. He won't say a word about you now."

What the hell did Sebastian do? "It's too risky."

"I'd rather live in risk with you then not have you at all."

"You don't understand. My family will stop at nothing to protect the sanctity of the bloodline. If they are capable of hurting me, they will hurt you. Maybe— maybe worse. They might've tried something already if you weren't protected here, at Hogwarts."

"I'm not afraid of them."

"You should be. They can do so much worse than... than the slur I called you, Gibby."

"Mudblood. I know."

"Don't say—"

"Why? That word means nothing to me – it only meant something when it was coming from you."

He didn't know how to respond, speechless.

"Your family can continue to live their lives in hatred, but I won't ruin mine for their sake. If I have to keep my friendship with you a secret to keep you safe, fine." Your voice was fierce, incredible, beautiful. "But I am not losing you, Ominis Gaunt. Not again."

You knocked the breath from him then. Those were words he would never forget; you planted yourself deeper into his heart, where your flowers bloomed even in the shadows of his past.

You were his family, too.

It had taken him a long time to realise you always had been.

[PREV][NEXT] [Divider credits]

[papercorgiworld]

Hey, I just wanted to know if you are taking requests right now and if yes then would you be comfortable writing angst or sad stuff. If not it's totally understandable.

Sending you lots of love and purrs

Hello not so anon anon, thank you for dropping by in my inbox darling! AND OMG YOU KNOW I LOVE PURRSS! So obviously lost of love and purrs back! I hope you like this! Happy readings, though Tom's version is pretty sad so not so happy readings...

What we could’ve been

A very angsty Mattheo and (any) Tom imagine 😭

When you're dying feelings are confessed. Both endings are more or less open, but still sad.

I find writing angst very difficult so definitely feedback me.

You had been forced to switch schools after a series of mysterious events had followed you around at your previous school. Your parents had chosen Hogwarts as the safest school for you and Dumbledore welcomed you regardless of your rather dubious academic history. 

You had been looking for answers. You had been desperate to find out the truth, too desperate. Of the very few friends you had made at Hogwarts none of them had time to follow you on this quest. You should have waited, but you didn’t. A small light shone from your wand as you walked through the forbidden forest in search of an enchanted pond. Your heart sped up with each sinister noise you heard, making you turn around to stare at the darkness of the forest.

“Drown in truth.” You read the words carved into a nearby rock. “This should be the spot.” You mutter to yourself, your heart going even faster now that you have found the pond. The water was exceptionally clear and you kneel to dip your fingers into the chill water, disturbing the suspiciously still and peaceful water. 

Mattheo

Quietly Mattheo entered the castle grounds, he admired the beautiful sky and found himself ridiculous for lying to his friends, but he wasn’t ready to admit to them that you were becoming more than a friend to him. He had left the quidditch celebration party early even though slytherin had won, he wasn’t in a party mood since all he could think about was you. With a lame excuse he had left his friends in search of you, expecting you to be at the castle.

Before the quidditch game you had asked him to meet you after the game for another quest. He had turned you down, feeling pressured to keep up an act since his friends were watching. In the past few months the two of you had become something of an unusual team. There was just something so intriguing about you. At first Mattheo told himself that he just wanted to know who you were and why you switched schools, then you became this team obsessed with finding out what sort of magic hung around you. But even though you were a team and it was obvious to most that you two were slowly falling in love, Mattheo was terrified of anyone finding out that he was in love with the weird and mysterious new girl.

There’s nothing wrong with choosing my friends over her, she has to understand. She’s not an unreasonable person; she'll be happy that I returned early. Maybe we still have enough time to check out this new clue she had found and- Mattheo is torn from his thoughts when your patronus appears in front of him in an unusual colour, he looks for you but doesn’t spot you in the empty courtyard. When he returns his eyes to your animagus it’s quickly moving away. Mattheo follows it but soon realises it’s in a hurry and summons his broom so he can fly after it. His heart starts pounding at a terrifying rate as he enters the forest and realises that his worst fear is becoming reality: you were in danger. 

***

The only thing Mattheo remembered was that he had carried your unconscious body into the infirmary, where Madam Pomfrey shrieked in panic at the sight. Sitting on the floor against the wall next to the door of the infirmary with his head hanging low Mattheo ignores the approaching footsteps. “We heard.” Enzo says standing together with Draco. “Blaise and Theo have teamed up with Granger to see if they can find a cure.” Enzo continues, but Mattheo doesn’t want to hear these preaches of false hope. “There’s no cure for dying.” Mattheo’s voice sounds defeated and tired. After a moment of silence Mattheo lifts his head to let it rest against the wall behind him, like he can’t hold it up without support. His drained eyes move to Draco and Enzo. “I heard Dumbledore and Pomfrey. She’s cursed, she’s slowly dying and there’s nothing they can do except let the life in her slip away.” There’s a crack as he says those last words and the air among them gets heavier. 

Draco bends to level Mattheo sitting on the ground. “Have you talked to her?” Draco almost whispers and Mattheo looks at him with dead eyes. “She’s…” Mattheo falls silent and Draco fills in. “..dying, not dead. You can still talk to hear, she might hear.” Mattheo huffs. “And say what? Good luck on the other side.” The cynical tone in Mattheo’s voice makes Draco look up at Enzo for support. “Tell her what everyone wants to hear… that they are loved.” Mattheo, who had expected Enzo to speak up, looks surprised when he sees his brother approach. “Quit self pitying and go be with her.” Tom says calmly but there’s a sternness in his voice. 

Mattheo holds your hand in his as he places a soft kiss on your hand. He notices he’s holding his breath and takes a deep breath before looking at your peaceful face. With one hand still holding yours his other hand brushes through your hair, before his thumb gently strokes your cheek. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” Mattheo whispers and his voice cracks while his eyes get glassy. “I should’ve been there. I knew it was important to you.” A silent tear rolls over Mattheo’s cheek and he moves a little closer to you, taking in your perfect face. “You are important. You mean so much to me. I’ll never forgive myself for- Godss, I should’ve been with you. We, you and I, we could’ve figured this out… and whatever or whoever was after you, we could’ve defeated them.” 

Mattheo lets his head fall as it pains him to watch you stay silent, knowing that every second a little more of your light slips away. There’s tears rolling down his cheeks, but he bites back and looks back at you forcing himself to man up. With a brave voice and intense eyes he confesses: “I need you to hear me, because I need you to know that-that I love you.” Imagines of you smiling flash through his mind. He can hear you say his name and he remembers what it felt like when you were pressed against him that one time you had to hide in a broom closet together. You are such a beautiful person. The world will lose its light as you lose yours.

Mattheo runs a hand over his face drying his tears, telling himself he has no right to feel this way over someone he failed. He clenches his jaw and squeezes your hand, knowing that he needs to say his goodbye. 

“Matt!” Blaise yells, making Mattheo turn to see Hermione, Theo and Blaise approach. Theodore and Hermoine stop in front of Madam Pomfrey to show her something in a clearly very old and dusty book, but Blaise walks towards Mattheo. “We believe she’s stuck in a dream- more like a nightmare, but if we get her out, if we help her get out of the nightmare than, maybe,... she’ll live.” Mattheo just stares in silence at Blaise as he tries to process what Blaise had just told him. Maybe I get to have a second chance and have a life with you after all. Suddenly one specific memory takes over Mattheo’s mind, your voice rings in his head.

“Matt! Stop smoking, it's not healthy.” Mattheo rolls his eyes but immediately puts his pack of smokes back into his pocket rather than taking one. “Look, I saw this today.” You turn to him with a poster of the yule ball. “What’s up with this? I didn’t know Hogwarts had a dance.” Mattheo holds the poster but instantly gives it back. “Just some stupid dance that gets everyone excited over lame music and itchy outfits.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets as you still scan over the poster. “Did you find anything in that book that we took from that dungeon yesterday?” Mattheo asks changing the subject back to the things you always talked about. “Yes!” You say excited, before you explain everything to him while making him fall in love with your perfection.

“Matt, there’s hope.” Blaise says pulling Mattheo away from the memory. I really need to ask this silly girl to go to the dance with me. If I get the chance… Mattheo balls his fists as he tries to stay strong and not fall apart. 

Tom

Tom had shot your plan to search for the pond down the minute you had suggested it and on top of that he had called you an imbecile for even considering it. Obviously you took it very well and stormed off without even saying a word. 

The image of your pain filled eyes as his words had hit you burned stronger in Tom’s mind with each step he took in the direction of the infirmary. You hadn’t even argued with him, you were so hurt that you had just turned around and left him, standing alone in the hallway with his foul tongue. Tom halts at the door seeing you lying on a hospital bed, still and peaceful. His mind plays the image of you walking away again, a painful reminder that he shouldn’t have let you go.

I should have watched over you as I’ve been doing for the past few months. Walk with you, watch you study, help you research the most bizarre places in search of answers. Tom pushes himself away from the door back into the hallway, feeling suffocated at the view of your still body on the hospital bed. He couldn’t face you. It was too late to show up now. He should’ve stuck with you and helped you instead of… Tom grips at his hair and lets himself fall against the wall behind him, cursing himself under his breath. 

His attempt to push you away, keep you at a distance and avoid catching feelings had obviously failed. His heart ached. He cursed himself under his breath, how dare he be so weak to fall in love instead of pursuing greater goals. 

“You should comfort her.” Dumbledore spoke, seemingly coming out of nowhere, startling Tom. Within a second Tom bites back all his emotions, afraid of looking weak, especially to Dumbledore. “She’s dying. Dead people don’t need comfort. The ones around them need it. They live with it after all.” There’s a hint of pity in the headmaster’s eyes at Tom’s cold tone. “I find that comforting others can be comforting as well.” Dumbledore speaks calmly and Tom wants to reject whatever the old fool has to say, but nevertheless ends up considering it. Tom’s eyes wander to the open door of the hospital wing. 

You weren’t dead yet, you were dying and Tom really didn’t want his last words to you to be an insult. With each step he took towards you his cold hands got more shaky until a trembling hand reached to stroke your cheek. “How do you still manage to be the most beautiful girl in such a dire situation? You truly are a wonder to this world.” Your body felt colder than he was used to and it made his heart sink. “What I said earlier… you didn’t deserve it… but then again it was your own fault, making a monster like me fall in love… I break all things precious, I can’t help it, it scares me, you have scared me from day one. You’ve held my heart from the moment we met and wherever you’re going now, you’ll take it with you and I don’t mind. For as little time that I’ve had with you it was all I ever needed, to know that true love exists.” 

A single lonely tear rolls down Tom’s cheek, reaching his lips as he bows to place a kiss on your forehead. With dead eyes Tom focusses on your gentle features as a way to calm himself, while bringing his wand to his temple to strip himself of every memory he had of you and every dream he planned with you.

The memory: “Will you take me?” Tom can’t hide his smile as he looks over to the new girl he’s been studying with for the past few weeks. “To my favourite bookshop?” He questions and you nod with a happy smile. “It sounds so picturesque.” A joyful half smile tugs on Tom’s lips. “Maybe I will.”

The dream: “Tom! The new delivery of books has come, you want to help me sort them?” Tom appears leaning against the doorframe leading to your house attached to your very own bookshop. “When I brought you this place I didn’t expect you to put me to work in it as well…” You huff holding two books, one in each hand. “It’s books! How dare you call it work!” You jokily argue and your boyfriend laughs, but his laugh fades in your ears as you notice something in the box. “What’s this?” You place the books you were holding on a nearby table and reach for a small box. “Only one way to find out.” Tom says slowly walking towards you as you open the box to reveal an elegant and shiny ring. “Will you marry me?” Tom whispers in your ear as he now stands behind you and you quickly turn around smiling. 

The last image of you is a smiling one, but fades non the less as Tom strips himself of everything about you. A shocked Dumbledore arrives to find that Tom has locked all that he holds so dear in a small vile. “Why take the easy way out?” The headmaster asks with a pained voice. Tom looks at Dumbledore questioningly before looking at the vile and lifting his shoulders. “Can’t remember.”

[muiitoloko]

Heyy!! I loved your last Eli fic so muchhh 😭 I swearr I love your fics sm 😭

Honestlyy, I'm in the mood for some angst that ends well/cuddles with Eli 😔

Sooo I mean, you can change anything really, buut something where like he had an incident in the lab or some kinda thing where he's at the hospital? idk he's kinda sad because literally no one came to visit him inventing excuses (poor baby ily) but reader (who's just a student) is actually really worried etc because she's been in love with him for a long time? soo idk I just picture her crying and everything and he's like ???why are you crying??? and idk something really fluffy and a bit angsty?🥹💗

Title: (Not) Alone

Summary: He feels alone, until he's not alone anymore.

Pairing: Eli Michaelson × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluffy.

Author's Notes: Big thanks for tossing this request my way! Now, I'll admit, I might take a few liberties with the Eli's vibe, so apologies in advance if it's a bit off the beaten path. But hey, I'm all ears for any feedback you've got! Let's make this journey together! 🚀📝

Also read on Ao3

The soft glow of the hospital room cast a muted light over the sterile surroundings, the beeping of machines filling the air with a steady rhythm. Eli lay in the hospital bed, his expression a mask of stoicism as he stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

The events of the accident replayed in his mind like a broken record, the memory of the explosion haunting him like a specter in the night. He had been careless, too caught up in his work to notice the warning signs until it was too late. And now, here he was, laid up in a hospital bed with nothing but his regrets for company.

But that wasn't the worst thing—not because the physical wounds could heal, but because the emotional ones couldn't. It had been a week, a week since the accident that left Eli lying in that hospital bed, his body battered and broken. But it seemed that the real damage was to his soul.

As he lay there, staring up at the sterile ceiling, a wave of anguish washed over him. Where were they? Where were the people who were supposed to care about him, even if just a little? Deep down, he knew he didn't deserve their concern. He had been an arrogant bastard, selfish and self-absorbed, caring only about his own pursuits and pleasures. But still, the absence of anyone by his side cut deeper than any physical wound.

He didn't expect Sarah, his ex-wife, or Barkley, his son, to come visit him. They had taken the money and run, leaving him alone in more ways than one. But he had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that someone would show up. A friend, a colleague, even one of the women he had entertained himself with. Yet, it felt like no one cared about him. And the realization stung.

Eli couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. It was like being a child again, alone and isolated, ridiculed by his classmates. He remembered the sting of rejection, the ache of loneliness that gnawed at him day after day. And now, lying in that hospital bed, it felt like history was repeating itself.

He glanced around the sterile room, his gaze landing on the empty chair beside his bed. It had been vacant since the day he was admitted, a stark reminder of his solitude. He longed for someone to sit there, to hold his hand and offer words of comfort. But the chair remained empty, a silent testament to his isolation.

With a heavy sigh, Eli closed his eyes, willing the memories and the pain to fade away. But deep down, he knew that the wounds left by loneliness and abandonment would not heal easily. And as the beeping of the machines filled the air once more, Eli couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over him, drowning him in a sea of anguish and regret. The ache in his body paled in comparison to the hollow emptiness that gnawed at his soul, a relentless reminder of his own failings and shortcomings.

The memories of his past sins haunted him like ghosts in the night, each one a painful reminder of the wreckage he had left in his wake. He had been a man consumed by his own ambition, blinded by his relentless pursuit of success and recognition. And in his single-minded quest for greatness, he had trampled over anyone who dared to stand in his way, leaving a trail of broken hearts and shattered dreams in his wake.

But now, as he lay there, broken and alone, Eli couldn't help but wonder if it had all been worth it. The accolades and achievements that had once seemed so important now felt hollow and meaningless, nothing more than empty symbols of his own vanity and arrogance.

And as he gazed up at the sterile ceiling above him, a sense of profound despair washed over him, threatening to consume him whole. He longed for the warmth of human connection, for someone to reach out and offer him solace in his darkest hour. But the empty chair beside his bed served as a stark reminder of his solitude, a silent testament to the depths of his loneliness.

Eli's thoughts turned to Sarah and Barkley. They had been the closest thing he had ever known to love, and yet he had driven them away with his selfishness and neglect. He had taken their presence for granted, assuming that they would always be there to pick up the pieces of his shattered life. But now, as he lay there abandoned and alone, he realized the extent of his folly.

With a sense of desperation clawing at his chest, he ripped the machines attached to him, the beeping growing louder as he tore the devices from his body. Each movement sent jolts of pain shooting through his battered form, but he paid no heed to the agony, consumed by his need to escape the suffocating grip of solitude.

Weak and injured, Eli struggled to get up from the bed, his muscles protesting with every movement. The laboratory explosion had left him with burns and cuts, the wounds decorating his body like battle scars of his own making. He leaned heavily on an IV pole for support, the metal digging into his palm as he tried to steady himself.

Lines of anguish etched deep into his features, Eli's baritone voice echoed through the sterile room, a haunting melody of despair and regret. "Damn it all," he muttered through gritted teeth, his words laced with bitterness and self-loathing. "I can't stay here. I won't."

With a shaky breath, Eli pushed himself forward, each step a testament to his stubborn determination to break free from the shackles of his own making. But his body rebelled against his efforts, weakened by the trauma it had endured. Every movement was a battle, every breath a struggle as he fought to overcome the physical and emotional pain that threatened to consume him whole.

And yet, despite the odds stacked against him, Eli pressed on, driven by a fierce resolve to reclaim his freedom, no matter the cost. With each agonizing step, he felt the weight of his loneliness bearing down on him like a heavy burden, threatening to crush him beneath its suffocating embrace.

Memories of his childhood flashed before his eyes, a bittersweet reminder of a time when he had known the warmth of his mother's embrace, the comforting touch of her hand as she tended to his wounds and chased away his fears. But now, she was gone, a distant memory lost to the passage of time, leaving Eli adrift in a sea of emptiness.

With a bitter twist of irony, Eli realized that he had become the very thing he despised most—a lonely, pathetic figure yearning for the companionship he had once taken for granted. He had closed himself off to the world, erecting walls of arrogance and self-importance to shield himself from the pain of rejection and abandonment. But now, as he lay broken and alone, those walls crumbled around him, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to the harsh realities of his existence.

As he stumbled down the hallway, ignoring the nurse's futile attempts to stop him, Eli felt the weight of his own inadequacy bearing down on him like a crushing weight. His body was weak, his spirit shattered, and with each passing moment, he sank deeper into the abyss of his own despair.

And then, just when he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, Eli's legs gave out beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground in a pathetic heap of limbs and shattered pride. He lay there, sprawled out on the cold tile floor, a broken shell of the man he had once been, his baritone voice choked with anguish as he whispered words of self-condemnation into the empty void.

"I'm pathetic," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper as he gazed up at the sterile ceiling above him. "A Nobel Prize winner, revered by the world, and yet... I'm nothing but a lonely, pathetic bastard."

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision as he struggled to come to terms with the harsh reality of his existence. He had spent a lifetime chasing after success and recognition, believing that they held the key to happiness and fulfillment. But now, as he lay broken and alone, he realized that he had been chasing after shadows, grasping at empty promises that had crumbled to dust in his hands.

And as the nurse knelt beside him, her voice a soothing murmur in the darkness, Eli closed his eyes and surrendered to the overwhelming tide of despair that threatened to consume him whole. He knew that he was a broken man, irreparably damaged by the choices he had made and the paths he had chosen. But deep down, beneath the layers of arrogance and self-delusion, all he wanted was to be whole again, to feel the warmth of human connection and the healing touch of love.

But for Eli Michaelson, the road to redemption would be long and arduous, fraught with pitfalls and obstacles at every turn. And as he lay there, battered and broken, he knew that the journey had only just begun.

The next morning, Eli sat in silence, the dull glow of the TV flickering in the dimly lit hospital room. He picked at the unappetizing hospital food on his tray, his appetite dulled by the weight of loneliness that hung heavy in the air. He tried to convince himself that solitude was preferable, that he didn't need anyone else. But deep down, he couldn't ignore the ache in his chest, the longing for human connection that gnawed at his soul.

As he stared blankly at the screen, lost in his thoughts, the sudden forceful opening of the door startled him out of his reverie. The door slammed against the wall with a loud thud, causing Eli to turn his head towards the entrance, his curiosity piqued.

There, standing in the doorway, was a young woman, her cheeks stained with tears as she cried. Before Eli could comprehend what was happening, she ran towards him and enveloped him in a tight hug, burying her face against his chest as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Confusion washed over Eli as he awkwardly patted the young woman's back, unsure of what to do. "Uh, what's going on?" he muttered, his voice gruff with disorientation.

Pulling away from the embrace, the young woman looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, her voice trembling with emotion. "Professor Michaelson, I was so worried about you," she exclaimed, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I thought you had gone on vacation, that's why you were away from campus. But I didn't realize you were in the hospital. If I had known, I would have come sooner."

Eli's brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to place the young woman's face. Who was she, and why was she so upset about him? Pushing her hands away gently, he questioned, "Who the hell are you?"

The young woman's tears halted abruptly, replaced by a look of embarrassment as she wiped at her cheeks. "Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered, her voice small. "I'm one of your students at the university. I always sit in the front row. It's me, [Your Name]."

Eli racked his brain, trying to recall any memory of a student named [Your Name]. But the truth was, he didn't bother to remember the names of his students, unless they were the most beautiful women in his classes. And while [Your Name] was certainly adorable in her own right, she didn't fit the bill of his usual conquests.

Nevertheless, Eli put on a facade of recognition, offering a faint smile as he nodded. "Ah, yes, [Your Name]," he said, his tone somewhat forced. "Of course, I remember you now. It's good to see you."

As Eli's gaze met yours, you couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness at the recognition, however brief it may be. The sound of your name rolling off his tongue in that deep, baritone voice sent a shiver down your spine, making you blush slightly at the attention.

But before you could bask in the moment, Eli's question brought you back to reality with a jolt. "Did everyone come to see me?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he glanced towards the door, as if expecting a flood of visitors at any moment.

You shook your head gently, your heart sinking at the disappointment in his eyes. "No, Professor Michaelson," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I was the only one who came."

Eli visibly deflated at your words, a sense of desolation washing over him as he processed the information. "Oh," he murmured, his voice heavy with disappointment. "No one else came."

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, feeling a pang of sympathy for the man lying before you, so vulnerable and alone. And as you stood next to Eli's hospital bed, awkwardly rubbing your arm, you felt a pang of sympathy for him. He seemed so vulnerable in that moment, his usual air of confidence replaced by a palpable sense of loneliness. You glanced down at your feet, unsure of what to say or do to comfort him.

Suddenly, Eli's voice broke the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Where are the flowers?" he asked, his tone tinged with confusion.

You looked up at him, puzzled. "Huh?" you replied, furrowing your brow in confusion.

Eli insisted, his tone growing more urgent. "The flowers, the balloons, you know, all those things people bring when they visit someone in the hospital."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you stuttered apologetically, "Oh, I... I was so worried, I didn't even think about it."

Eli's arrogant smile softened at your words, his expression betraying a hint of curiosity. "You were worried? About me?" he asked, genuine surprise coloring his tone.

You shifted nervously on your feet, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze. "Um, yeah," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, I know we don't really know each other that well, but... I guess I just didn't want you to feel alone."

You felt a rush of embarrassment wash over you. You couldn't help but feel pathetic standing there in front of your crush, blushing furiously as you struggled to find the right words to say. Deciding to make a hasty retreat, you turned around, mumbling something about leaving. But before you could take a step, Eli practically shouted, "Wait!"

Startled, you turned back to face him, surprise written across your features. "I mean... wait," Eli amended, his tone softer this time. "I... I don't actually mind having company. I've been getting bored of watching TV all day."

Relief flooded through you as you realized that Eli didn't want you to leave. With a shy smile, you nodded and took a seat in the empty chair beside his bed, grateful for the opportunity to keep him company during his time of need.

And as you settled into the chair beside Eli's hospital bed, you couldn't shake the feeling of awkwardness that hung in the air between the two of you. The conversation was stilted at first, filled with hesitant pauses and forced smiles as you struggled to find common ground. But as the minutes passed, you found yourselves falling into an easy rhythm, chatting about anything and everything under the sun.

"So, I heard Professor Hart is filling in for you," you began, trying to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable topic of Eli's hospitalization. "He seems... interesting."

Eli chuckled softly at your remark, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Interesting is one way to describe him," he replied, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "But I suppose he'll do in a pinch."

You nodded in agreement, relieved that Eli seemed willing to engage in conversation despite the circumstances. "Yeah, I heard he's a bit eccentric," you remarked, trying to keep the conversation light. "But hey, at least he keeps things entertaining."

Eli's lips twitched into a wry smile at your comment, his gaze drifting towards the TV screen as if seeking refuge from the awkwardness of the moment. "Entertaining is one way to put it," he mused, his tone tinged with amusement. "But I suppose we'll survive until I'm back on my feet."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Eli's dry sense of humor, grateful for the brief moment of levity amidst the somber atmosphere of the hospital room. "Oh, I'm sure we'll manage," you quipped, a playful glint in your eye. "But I have to admit, I do miss your classes. Chemistry just isn't the same without you."

Eli's expression softened at your words, a hint of genuine warmth shining through his usually stoic demeanor. "Well, I'm flattered to hear that," he replied, his voice tinged with sincerity. "Chemistry is my passion, after all. It's nice to know that someone appreciates my efforts."

You blushed at the unexpected praise, feeling a rush of warmth spread through your cheeks. "Well, I've always enjoyed your classes," you admitted, unable to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. "Chemistry has always been my favorite subject."

Eli's eyes sparkled with amusement at your confession, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Is that so?" he teased, his tone laced with playful curiosity. "Well, I suppose I'll have to make sure to put on a good show when I return, then."

You laughed at Eli's playful banter, grateful for the distraction it provided from the seriousness of the situation. But as the conversation turned back to Eli's accident, you couldn't help but feel a pang of concern for him.

"So, how exactly did the accident happen?" you asked, your voice laced with genuine curiosity. "Was it some sort of experiment gone wrong?"

Eli waved off your question dismissively, as if it were of little consequence. "Oh, nothing too dramatic," he replied nonchalantly. "Just a minor mishap in the lab. These things happen from time to time."

You raised an eyebrow skeptically at Eli's casual response, unable to shake the feeling that he was downplaying the severity of the situation. "Just a minor mishap, huh?" you remarked, unable to hide the hint of skepticism in your voice. "Are you sure you're not secretly plotting to take over the world with your evil experiments?"

Eli's expression darkened at your joke, a shadow passing over his features as he regarded you with a serious look. "I assure you, [Your Name], there's nothing nefarious about my work," he replied, his tone grave. "I may have made some mistakes along the way, but I've always strived to use my knowledge for the greater good."

You winced at the sudden shift in tone, realizing that you had touched a nerve with your flippant remark. "I'm sorry, Professor," you apologized quickly, feeling a pang of guilt for making light of the situation. "I didn't mean to imply anything... I was just trying to lighten the mood."

Eli's expression softened at your apology, realizing that you were just trying to lighten the mood. With a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, he decided to play along with your joke, his humor dry as he quipped, "Well, I suppose if I'm going to be a mad scientist, I'll have to start practicing my evil laugh, won't I?"

Your smile widened at Eli's response, grateful that he wasn't holding your jest against you. The tension in the room dissipated as the two of you shared a moment of lighthearted banter, the heaviness of the situation momentarily forgotten.

But before the conversation could continue, the door to the hospital room swung open, revealing a nurse standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but visiting hours are over," she announced, her voice gentle but firm. "I'll have to ask you to leave, [Your Name]."

You felt a pang of disappointment at the nurse's words, reluctant to leave Eli's side so soon. But you knew that you had to respect the rules of the hospital, no matter how much you wished to stay.

With a heavy sigh, you stood up from the chair beside Eli's bed, turning to face him with a small smile. "I guess I'll have to save my evil scientist jokes for next time," you remarked, trying to lighten the mood once more.

Eli's hand shot out, grabbing yours before you could take another step towards the door. Startled, you turned to look at him, surprised by the sudden gesture.

"Will you... will you visit me again tomorrow?" Eli asked, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I know it's a lot to ask, but... I'd really appreciate the company."

You felt your heart skip a beat at Eli's request, a rush of warmth spreading through you at the thought of seeing him again. Despite his arrogant facade, there was something undeniably endearing about the vulnerability in his eyes, something that made you want to reach out and offer him the comfort he so desperately craved.

With a soft smile, you nodded in response to Eli's question. "Of course, Professor Michaelson," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "I'll come visit you again tomorrow."

Eli's grip on your hand loosened, his expression softening at your words. "Thank you," he murmured, a hint of gratitude shining in his eyes. "I'll be looking forward to it."

As you turned to leave the room, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within you. Despite the chaos and uncertainty of the situation, you found yourself eagerly counting down the minutes until you could see Eli again, eager to offer him the companionship and support he so desperately needed.

And as you walked out of the hospital room, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps, in the midst of all the chaos, you had found something unexpected—a connection that had the potential to grow into something truly meaningful.

The next day, Eli waited anxiously in his hospital room, his eyes fixed on the clock ticking away on the wall. With every passing hour, his hope dwindled, replaced by a growing sense of anger and despair. Why would you come? You barely knew him, and he barely knew you. He should have been grateful for your visit yesterday, shouldn't he?

As the day wore on, Eli's frustration mounted, each minute stretching out like an eternity as he waited in vain for your arrival. With each passing hour, he felt the weight of his loneliness pressing down on him, suffocating him with its relentless grip. He cursed himself for his foolishness, for allowing himself to hope for something that was clearly never going to happen.

Finally, unable to bear the silence and solitude any longer, Eli turned away from the door and lay on his side, his back to the room. He felt pathetic, longing for a visit from someone he barely knew. This was pathetic, he scolded himself silently, his thoughts filled with self-loathing and bitterness.

But just as Eli was on the verge of giving up hope entirely, he heard a soft voice calling his name from the doorway. Startled, he turned to see you standing there, a hesitant smile on your lips as you held out a bouquet of flowers and three brightly colored balloons.

For a moment, Eli was speechless, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to process the sight before him. You had come, despite everything. A surge of gratitude washed over him, mingled with a sense of disbelief. Why would you go out of your way to visit him again?

As you stepped into the room, Eli found himself nodding dumbly, unable to find the words to express his gratitude. You smiled at him warmly, your eyes filled with kindness and compassion as you made your way to his bedside. "Mind if I come in?" you asked softly, your voice breaking through the haze of Eli's thoughts.

Eli shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he gestured for you to take a seat. "Please, come in," he replied, his baritone voice tinged with emotion.

As you settled into the chair beside his bed, Eli couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth spreading through him at your presence. Despite his initial doubts and insecurities, you had come back to visit him, offering him a glimmer of light in the darkness of his solitude.

"Thank you for coming," Eli murmured, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "I... I didn't expect to see you again."

You smiled at him, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand in reassurance. "I promised I would, didn't I?" you replied, your voice soft but sincere. "And I always keep my promises."

Eli's heart swelled at your words, a rush of warmth spreading through him at the sincerity in your voice. For the first time in days, he felt a flicker of hope stirring within him, a glimmer of light breaking through the darkness of his despair.

As the two of you settled into conversation, the awkwardness of the situation melted away, replaced by an easy camaraderie and mutual understanding. Despite the brevity of your acquaintance, there was a connection between you that transcended the confines of the hospital room, a shared bond forged in the crucible of adversity.

As the days turned into weeks, Eli found himself growing accustomed to your presence in his hospital room. Despite his initial reservations, he couldn't deny the comfort and companionship you provided, even if it was accompanied by your playful teasing and irreverent humor.

Eli maintained his usual arrogance, his sharp wit and biting sarcasm ever-present, but somehow, it didn't seem to matter as much when you were around. You saw beyond his facade, recognizing the vulnerability and loneliness that lurked beneath his confident exterior. And in return, you became a facade for Eli, a shield against the harsh realities of his situation, a source of laughter and light in the darkness of his solitude.

Day after day, for two weeks, you came faithfully at the usual time, visiting Eli and spending quality time with him. You brought him books to read, engaging him in lively debates about science and literature. You even brought in a chess set, challenging him to matches that often ended in laughter and playful banter.

As the days passed, you grew closer to Eli, sharing stories and secrets, hopes and dreams. You learned about his childhood, his struggles and triumphs, his deepest fears and regrets. And in turn, Eli learned about you, your ambitions and aspirations, your quirks and idiosyncrasies.

But amidst the laughter and camaraderie, there was an unspoken tension lingering between you—a secret crush that neither of you dared to acknowledge aloud. You admired Eli for his intellect and charisma, his sharp wit and unwavering determination. And Eli, in turn, found himself drawn to you, captivated by your kindness and compassion, your irreverent humor and genuine warmth.

One day, as you sat beside Eli's hospital bed, engaged in a spirited debate about the merits of chess, you found yourself slipping up and calling him "mad scientist" in jest. Eli's hooked nose wrinkled in mock annoyance, his lips twitching with amusement as he grumbled, "I'll have you know, Miss [Your Name], that I am not a mad scientist. I am a highly respected Nobel laureate in the field of chemistry."

You couldn't help but laugh at Eli's mock indignation, knowing full well that he secretly relished the nickname you had given him. "Of course, Professor Snape," you replied, a mischievous glint in your eye. "I'll make sure to deduct points from Gryffindor as soon as you return to the university."

Eli spat dismissively, a playful twinkle in his eye as he retorted, "Ah, so you admit it. You're a Gryffindor through and through with that insolence."

You laughed out loud at Eli's response, the sound echoing through the hospital room as you shook your head in amusement. "Guilty as charged," you admitted, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But you have to admit, Professor Snape, it suits you."

Eli rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but there was a hint of affection in his expression as he gazed at you. "Well, if I must suffer the indignity of being compared to a fictional character, I suppose I could do worse than Severus Snape," he conceded, his baritone voice tinged with amusement.

And as the two of you settled back into your usual routine, the playful banter and easy camaraderie filling the room with warmth and laughter, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected bond that had formed between you and Eli. Despite his flaws and imperfections, there was something undeniably endearing about him—a complexity and depth that drew you in, leaving you eager to spend every moment you could by his side.

Days later, Eli was finally discharged from the hospital, his body still weak but his spirit buoyed by the knowledge that he was finally free from the confines of the sterile hospital room. With a newfound sense of purpose, he made his way back to the university, determined to reclaim his rightful place as the esteemed professor and Nobel laureate he knew himself to be.

As he stepped into the familiar confines of the classroom, Eli couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation coursing through his veins. He straightened his shoulders, his hooked nose held high as he prepared to make his grand entrance, ready to bask in the adulation of his students and colleagues.

With a flourish, Eli stormed into the classroom, his baritone voice echoing off the walls as he demanded a round of applause for himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have returned!" he announced, his voice filled with arrogant confidence. "I expect nothing less than a standing ovation for my triumphant return."

The room erupted into applause, the sound filling the air with a cacophony of cheers and whistles as Eli reveled in the attention. He opened his arms wide, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips as he basked in the adoration of his audience, soaking in the applause like a man starved for validation.

But amidst the sea of faces applauding his return, Eli's eyes landed on a familiar figure seated in the front row—the same figure who had visited him faithfully in the hospital, offering him companionship and support during his darkest hours.

With a discreet wink, Eli acknowledged you, a silent gesture of gratitude and appreciation for the unwavering support you had shown him. And as he watched the smile spread across your face, a warmth blossomed in his chest, filling him with a sense of belonging and acceptance he had never known before.

As the applause finally died down and the class settled into their seats, Eli launched into his lecture with renewed fervor, his voice commanding the attention of every student in the room. But amidst the complex equations and scientific theories, his thoughts kept drifting back to you, the one person who had stood by him when he needed it most.

And as he caught your eye once more, Eli couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over him, knowing that he wasn't alone anymore. With you by his side, he felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead with unwavering confidence and determination.

As the class drew to a close and the students filed out of the room, Eli lingered behind, waiting for you to approach him. And when you finally did, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, he couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness welling up inside him.

"Thank you," Eli murmured, his voice tinged with sincerity. "For everything."

You smiled back at him, a warmth shining in your eyes as you replied, "Anytime, Professor Michaelson. Anytime."

And as the two of you stood there, sharing a moment of quiet understanding, Eli knew that no matter what the future held, he would always have you by his side, a beacon of light in the darkness, guiding him towards a brighter tomorrow.

[looneyleyle]

the movie of us ~ t. owens

synopsis: as any good tragedy goes, the highs are high, and the lows are low. at least as a hopeless romantic, georgia can romanticize the gut-wrenching tragedy that is her rocky relationship with tornado wrangler tyler owens.

warnings: angsty, can you tell i've been hurt by a boy recently?, potentially toxic tyler depending on how you read it, me not being from the south so prolly not very accurate lingo and such, written in a two hour long spiral of sadness and romanticism (aka unedited)

word count: 1424 words

third person pov

hey darlin, looks like i'm not gonna be able to make it tonight :( big cell forming north of el reno

georgia stared down at her phone for a few minutes, disappointed but not surprised. the restaurant around her buzzed with life and excitement, but she was anything but that. the waitress had been checking in on her every fifteen or so minutes, her expression grimmer with each passing round.

on the waitress's fifth round of checking in on her tables, georgia waved her over, asking for the bill with a hollow smile. the waitress nodded, a sickly sympathetic look on her face. georgia all but rolled her eyes, not needing a stranger's pity. she paid the bill and left immediately, wanting to get away from all of the people and the waitress's prying eyes.

and funnily enough, georgia almost couldn't bring herself to feel sad. it was hard to even muster up a few tears, although not impossible. the only thing that could describe her feelings, plain and simply, was numbness. numb to the countless times she had been blown off by him, numb to the ever growing list of dates she had been stood up, numb to everything that had to do with that goddamn tornado chaser.

when she got home, she made her way towards the bay window in the living room, not wanting to go to bed just yet, unable to feel tired as her feelings sat heavy on her chest. her knees instinctively curled to her chest, imitating the pose she found herself in all too often since crossing paths with the handsome self-proclaimed tornado wrangler tyler no-good owens a year and a half ago. she turned on the stereo and set it to a low volume, not wanting to wake up her parents. rain pelted against the window in sporadic thunks, but the sounds were drowned out by a familiar song on the radio. her chest squeezed as she listened, humming along while watching the storm brew outside, a reflection of the anguish brewing inside of her.

the moment played out in her head like a movie, a bluish tint over the film to aid in setting the dreary mood, the camera of her mind focusing in on the few tears that managed to escape her eyes, her longing look out the window panning out and off into the world, transitioning into whatever tyler was doing. was he asleep? was he out and about with his crew? was he at some bar, not a thought of her in his head? the scene continued to change in her mind, each as unsettling as the previous thought, until she drifted into a restless sleep.

after a couple of days, georgia ignored tyler's texts, deciding that he had run out of second chances. she was done with him for good.

as she came home from grocery shopping one clear, sunny day, tyler was there, looking out at the garden her mother tended to, a few flowers of his own in his hands.

georgia tried to resist him, she really did. she wanted nothing more than to deliver a swift punch to his annoyingly perfect face.

"hey darlin, i missed you." he said, opening his arms wide. she fought every nerve, muscle, and whim in her body from running up and jumping into his strong arms. she had a point to prove to him.

but his eyes didn't hold even a hint of malice or manipulation in them. tyler was a simple guy, georgia could easily chalk up his flakiness and absence to his passion for his job. it was as if he didn't even realize that he had done something wrong, and how could she be mad at him for something he didn't even mean to do? it was as if they haven't been apart for the past two months, date upon date cancelled, with georgia spending her nights in bed, soundless sobs escaping her as she wondered what she could do to make it work, to make them work.

no, in that moment, it was as if it were only yesterday that he was there, in her house, having dinner with her parents, before sneaking out to go dance with her at the town bar into the late late hours of the night.

and so, that night, long after the plates have been washed, her parents already tucked away in bed, tyler whisked her away in his truck, heading towards an open field away from town, the sky clear as ever.

and in that moment, the wind whipping throughout his big red truck on that warm oklahoma night, georgia felt like she was floating through the air. because she was here, with tyler, the same gleeful look gracing both of their faces.

the movie pieced itself back together in her mind, an upbeat love song playing in the back as their laughs surpassed the roar of his truck. all previous transgressions against her on his behalf were forgotten in this moment of pure, unfiltered glee. a moment in which the actors went off script, genuinely happy and feeding on each others' energy.

he stopped the truck, jogging out of it and opening her door for her, leading her into his truck bed. he grabbed a few blankets from the backseat, putting them down to make it a bit more comfortable for them. he then hopped up next to her, wrapping the blanket and himself around her as they looked up at the clear night sky, talking about whatever popped up into their hyperactive minds. it was as if they were each other's own personal drug, dopey smiles never leaving their faces, hearts thumping rapidly together as one.

and the next day, she woke up at some ungodly hour to tyler hopping out of bed, putting on his clothes and gathering up his belongings.

"you're not leaving again, are you?" she asked, not able to mask the pain in her tone. he looked over at her and gave her what she assumed he thought was a sympathetic smile, reassuring her that he would be back by sundown, that boone had found the makings of a perfect storm about an hour west of them.

georgia pulled the covers closer to her bare body, chilled not by the air, but by the emptiness surrounding her as tyler pressed a chaste kiss to her head, already one foot out of the door.

as it approached dinner time, she made one of tyler's favorites, pouring out a glass of iced tea for everyone and setting the table.

the six o'clock hour passed, and she told her parents to go ahead and eat, not wanting them to get hungry.

the seven o'clock hour passed, and she covered up her and tyler's food, not wanting it to get cold.

the eight o'clock hour passed, and with it, the sun fell below the horizon. the ice in her iced tea was long melted, and tyler was, as always, nowhere to be seen.

the nine o'clock hour passed, and georgia found that she was no longer hungry. it was almost as if she could see the hours pass by in a movie montage, everything moving around her, but her staying perfectly still in her chair, waiting in sorrowful desperation for her absent love interest.

the ten o'clock hour passed, and she put everything away in the fridge and did the dishes, getting ready for bed.

only when the clock on her bedside reached 11:18 did tyler text her.

got caught up in the storm, it was perfect! twin ef3's, can you believe it?? the crew had to stop at a motel in weatherford, i'll head back tomorrow morning, sleep well darlin

and just like a fool, she believed him, falling asleep while making plans for what her and tyler would do the coming day.

and she waited and waited and waited, realization seeping in around mid afternoon that tyler wasn't coming. he never was.

and for once, she took a page out of tyler's book. she packed up her bags and followed the wind wherever it took her, not looking back once.

so after a week or so of no responses from georgia, tyler returned to georgia's house, only to find her truck gone and her mother in the doorway, a disapproving shake of her head as she headed back inside.

and with that, the movie of tyler and georgia ended, the final frame focused on tyler's fallen face, finally realizing, after all this time, that he fucked up irreparably.

[wangxianficrecs]

The slosh of lotus root rib soup in summertime by orphan_account

The slosh of lotus root rib soup in summertime

by orphan_account

M, WIP, 9k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Ying passes away on a cold, withering winter morning Lan Zhan picks apart the shattered pieces, and carefully glues them back together Kay's comments: This counts as a WIP, but it's an orphaned story, so be warned that it'll never be completed. It's also incredibly painful and angsty, but I'm currently in a mood, so it's perfect. Second warning: this story deals with the aftermath of a suicide. There will be no magical solution to it, there is only grief and mourning and since the story is orphaned, there isn't any closure either, but I still recommend reading it, because it's really well-written and Lan Zhan's grief is so tangiable in this story and I really loved the idea of Wei Ying leaving behind a journal of letters addressed to Lan Zhan. Excerpt: The new year did not wash any of the grief that Lan Zhan had drowned himself in. He found himself lying in bed in the dead of night, staring at the ceiling above his head, the lack of light creating dark splotches in his vision that he kept blinking away. He had forgotten how to cry years ago, the memory stolen by a woman who made the best tangyuan with peanut filling, who knitted him hats and gloves every winter. She'd taken it, along with his will to smile. And yet, looking over the page for the first time, reading every word under the ambience of his low lamp light, the tears wouldn't stop. The amount of times he'd lifted the corners of his lips in an attempt to give Wei Ying a reaction took up more than all his fingers. He’d wanted to laugh with that boy someday. He'd wanted to sit on a porch, in a house they shared, watching the bunnies they would own nibbling on lettuce and wiggling around in their laps, and laugh. A future as bright as their smiles. The feeling of someone scrunching up his chest like a piece of paper never subsided, resulting in a couple wet droplets on the page. Lan Zhan had to put the journal away, ashamed of damaging it, even just slightly, in a moment of weakness.

pov lan wangji, modern setting, modern no powers, suicide, dead wei wuxian, grief/mourning, mental health issues, references to depression, implied/referenced suicide, regret, sad, student lan wangji

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[nats-revival]

𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚 | 𝙚. 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙭 𝙖. 𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣

pairing: ellie williams x abby anderson

w/c: 1.2k

tags: kinda angsty, takes place during santa barbara era, not proofread, some descriptions of violence and injuries, ellie and abby need therapy real bad, uh description of trauma (?), i probably missed smth, but we know that i suck at tagging, what’s new

Before you continue, please read this! - I absolutely do not condone the purchasing of any other the last of us games. The Last of Us is heavily influenced by Isreali politics. Also, here are some ways to inform yourself about Palestine. Link 1 | Link 2 | Link 3. You can even help simply by clicking here.

A/N: tried to be in my descriptive era!!! also ignore that my user isn’t the same thing that’s on the lil banner thing, this has been sitting in my drafts since 1948. 😭 anyway yall i hope i ate down. also also, song title from the other side of the game by erykah badu (w song btw u should listen to it ONG!!)

Blows were exchanged in both directions. Ellie brought a knife to a fist fight, but that meant practically nothing to Abby. Water sloshed underneath their feet, swirling with the crimson of their blood. Each punch, hit, and stab was given with emotion. They grunt with effort as they try to take eachother down, yet to no prevail. Just when Abby thought it was over, she’s overpowered by Ellie. The girl had somehow managed to hold her down in the water, drowning her. Abby clawed at Ellie’s arms, attempting to wiggle from underneath her.

A multitude of emotions wash over Ellie. Hatred, sadness and anger. But the one that was the largest in this moment was regret. Regretting not making amends with Joel. Leaving Dina alone with JJ. Everything. Her face twists and she cries as all the emotions she had bottled up finally came out. Her grip loosens on Abby and she lets her free. Abby sits up as she catches her breath, coughing a little between gasps of air. After catching her breath, Abby looks at Ellie with disbelief. She was certain that this would be her last day on earth, dying amidst an apocalypse by the hands of the girl she loathed. 

“Go.” Ellie murmurs through her tears. Her legs are crossed as she sits, the bottom half of her body completely submerged in the water. The stiletto switchblade was gripped tightly in one hand as the other dropped blood where two of her fingers had been missing. Ellie thought initially that killing Abby would’ve stopped all her pain. Relieved of that false sense of justice Tommy convinced her she would feel if she had just gone after her and finished her off. But it only made her wallow more in her own self hatred. She’d turn back time if she could.

She’d make things up with Joel, become on good terms with Dina, and kick Tommy out of their quaint farmhouse before she could even hear what he had to say. But she couldn’t. After seeing Abby for what she thought was the last time at the theater, her brain chemistry had altered. She was craving to kill her. She had wrote many entries in her worn journal about it. Her nimble fingers gripped her pen as she wrote. She wrote fast and feverishly, her handwriting becoming damn near illegible. She hid these things from Dina and tried to drown herself in the task of raising another human. But she couldn’t. It was on her mind like the plague. She hated it. It made her wanna smash her head against a wall one hundred times.

Of course she understood the consequences of killing Abby. She thought it would mean nothing. She was killing another person wouldn’t matter. But she knew that killing her specifically would matter. It cost her relationship with Dina. She knows she should’ve just stayed home but she couldn’t. She needed to be in control of her mind. She hated the self destructive thoughts and how her moods were so irrational. She wanted that burden to be lifted off her shoulders. 

There was a sting of silence after Ellie’s words. Abby didn’t say anything, the waves sloshed and Levs breathing could barely be heard. Ellie slouchs. She didn’t hear Abby moving. She was confused. She’s just slinky escaped death, why didn’t she leave? Why didn’t she just go take care of Lev? What the fuck was wrong with her? Ellie couldn’t understand and it made her mad. “Why won’t you leave?” Ellie doesn’t actually look at Abby. She never looks her in the eyes. She can’t. 

“I’m not going to leave you here with no way home.” Abby said as she looked down at her. “I’ll get home. Just take the boy and go.” Ellie instructed insistently, raising her voice slightly. Abby hated how stubborn she was being. Ellie had a hard time accepting help and accepting it from someone she’d just nearly killed seemed well, outlandish. Abby walks infront of Ellie, crouching down to her level. “Ellie. Look at me.” Abby starts gently. Ellie turns her head in the opposite direction. “Ellie. Please look at me.” Abby asks again. Ellie won’t turn. A gentle, calloused and large hand comes up to Ellie’s face. Naturally, Ellie flinches a little. She hadn’t let anyone do this since like, forever. She had forgotten what a gentle touch was. “Listen to me. I want you to come with me and Lev. I’ll pick you up and bring you over there if I have to. I’m not leaving you here by yourself.” Ellie doesn’t say anything. She looks into Abby’s green eyes.

Despite the fact that her eyes were full of pain, they were still pretty, Ellie thought. She didn’t know why she’d been thinking about something at a time like this. A hazy fog settled around the girls, making it seem like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Ellie keeps her eyes on Abby as if something would happen if she looked away. Ellie was horrible with eye contact but right now? She was a pro. It almost seemed like Ellie was searching for something in the girls eyes. “But why do you want me to come with you? I just tried to kill you.” Ellie asks with a slightly raised eyebrow. “I just tried to kill you too. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. But you’re not, are you?” Abby asks, mimicking her raised eyebrow. 

“Huh. Well, I guess I’m not.” Ellie mumbles. Even though she was telling her that she wouldn’t kill her, she still wasn’t 100% sure. Ellie was already in enough pain as is. Abby had lost enough in life. They were two girls who were suffering in different ways. Abby seemed to also be searching for something in Ellie’s eyes. Solace. She would’ve been ridiculous to think the girl she’d just fought a handful of minutes ago would come with her. She didn’t even know why she proposed that. I mean, Ellie hated her, didn’t she? No way she’d— “Fine.” Ellie spoke again. Abby was a little shocked. “You’ll.. come with me?” “Yes. Now hurry before I change my mind.”

Neither of them smiled at their agreement. They moreover were relieved. This is what Abby was hoping for; a fresh start in their.. ‘relationship’ or whatever you’d call this. Abby goes to try and start up the boat, the sound of a sputtering engine could be heard. Ellie goes for her backpack. It drips with sea water as did her clothes. By now, it was almost entirely dark, a small lantern illuminated the boat. The fire inside flickered. The boat finally starts up. Wordlessly, Ellie treads across the water over to the boat. She sits next to Abby awkwardly because of the girls large frame. In one of her hands, she still held the switchblade as if her life had depended upon it. She hadn’t looked in Abby’s direction as the boat drove across the water, but Abby looked at her once and redirected her attention to what lay ahead. They were both painfully silent, not knowing what to say to eachother. The silence was awkward yet comfortable. Ellie wasn’t really ready to talk, nor was Abby. In their own way, they both understood that.

[fanaticsnail]

Hi, I love Spasorrow fic, I'm really sick right now so I spend the day reading all the things you wrote.

English Is not my first lenguage, and I barely understand how Tumblr works.

I got this idea but I can't figure out how to write the story.

This Is a Buggy x Reader idea, they were friends with Shanks and navigate with Roger, but one day there's a storm and reader falls overboard.

Shanks and Buggy thought reader died, but for some reason they can't drown, years later they sneaks to Buggy's tripulation to kill a man since they are now a mercenary. Buggy starts falling for them since they treat him like a human being without being intimidated by him. Later Buggy recognice readear and...? I don't know

Hello, love! I'm glad you've enjoyed my writing. I adore writing for the sapsorrow fic, it's always on my mind of late.

I've done a similar fic like this before for Shanks! It's an amnesia-trope fic where "reader" loses memories after falling overboard. It's called "Remember Me" and it's on my Masterlist if you'd like to take a look! 🖤

For Buggy, I absolutely adore the concept. You could go a similar route with it: amnesia after serving aboard Gol D Roger's ship with the two young apprentices, Shanks and Buggy.

For plot purposes:

Shanks reads as a perpetual flirt who has never had to work hard to gain the attention of friends and lovers.

Buggy has always seen himself as unlovable due to his disfigurement (nose).

How your concept reads as a bulleted point:

OC/Reader has been working hard to build up Buggy's confidence; Shanks is always a reassuring king. Buggy thinks the two of them are simply making fun of him.

Amongst a storm: Buggy, reader/OC and Shanks were tasked with tying the rigging for the ship. They work hard, reader/oc always reaching out for Buggy to protect him, knowing if he falls overboard he'll be rendered defenceless and likely die.

As one final wave swells, the three of them all look amongst each other. Buggy slips, reaches for reader/OC but finds Shank's arm in their absence. Reader/oc smiles in relief, all is well - but the ship's bottom hits a large coral bank and they're tossed to the side of the boat. Seaspray renders Shanks' vision blurry, Buggy tries to reach for reader/OC but they scream at him not to because he'll die.

Buggy doesn't want to lose them, screams over his shoulders for Shanks to help him but as he turns back around - he's met with nothing. His soul screams out for them, Shanks manages to clear his eyes from the sea spray but it's to no avail. Reader/OC is lost to them.

Notes:

That is really where I would start it as a chaptered fic. It has so much potential to take it anywhere you want.

Reader/OC could be found by a ship of conflicting pirates who take pity on them in the storm

Reader/OC could wash to shore and be taken under the wing and train as a marine under Garp and Bogard

This one could be exceptionally sad/angsty if they were the one tasked with bringing Gol D Roger into custody and execute him. Having amnesia and be made to kill your childhood captain would just have me crying so much.

They could not be found at all and be made to fend for themselves. Accidentally stumbling into a thief's guild, they could learn to train with them to complete tutorship as an assassin.

To set the mood for you to write to, I have some song recommendations for you!

My Heart With You - The Rescues

Play With Fire - Sam Tinnesz, Yacht Money

Siren Song - Bat For Lashes

If you need any help, I am absolutely happy to beta-read / proof read for you over google docs! Send me a private message and I'd love to help you in any way I can 🖤

Themes: lost lovers, angst, amnesia-trope, blissful reunification, apprehension, teasing, violence, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers.

@writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @empressofmankind @nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos @tiredemomama @sordidmusings also have some beautiful Buggy pieces and amazing thoughts on their Masterlists, if you'd like to check them out.

@since-im-already-here also has a lot of music recs and advice.

Happy writing!! 🖤🖤

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for a Fic...

~*~

1. Can anyone recommend alpha/alpha wangxian stories where they are both alphas for the entire story? (any rating or setting) thanks so much! 💚💙💕🩵 @the-marathon-continues-nip​

Yours Shamelessly by kmichee (E, 35k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha/Alpha pairing, Alpha WWX, Alpha LWJ, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Knotting, Scenting, Discrimination, letter writing, Courtship, Swordfighting, smut then fluff then smut then fluff, Epistolary)

~*~

2.  For the next in the mood fic recs; how about something where the other jiang siblings follow wei ying into demonic cultivation? Or something where other members of the sects are practicing demonic cultivation? Don't mind at all if it gets dark. All the best! 💜💜 @crying--crow

The Fourth Path by handwritten (onefromanotherworld) (M, 6k, JC & WWX & JYL, canon divergence, yunmeng sibling bonding, demonic cultivation, demonic cultivators WWX & JC & JYL, necromancy, lingchi, revenge, blood & gore, broken bones, torture, murder, trauma, self-esteem issues, self-harm, canon-typical violence, hopeful ending)

~*~

3. For your next in the mood for, does anyone know any good jc centric podfics? I've listened to the ones read by gwogobo, sisi_rambles, and god of laundry baskets. Thank you!

[PODFIC] "Then why did you do it?'' ''BECAUSE I LOVE YOU” by AmyNChan (T, 10-20min, JC & WWX, podfic, post-canon, no JC & WWX reconciliation, hurt/comfort)

[Podfic] Drowning in the Sun by flamingwell (T, 1-1.5 Hrs, JC & WWX, WangXian, Canon Divergence,Golden Core Transfer, Canon-Typical Violence, Brotherly Love, Sunshot Campaign, Family Dynamics, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Surgery, Audio Format: Streaming, Audio Format: MP3)

[Podfic] ius in bello by flamingwell (T, 30-45 Mins, Canon Divergence, Tearjerker, Sad Ending, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning, Not A Fix-It, POV JC, Audio Format: Streaming, Audio Format: MP3) self-recs (both angsty though)

[Podfic] Cold read of For Both Of Us (And Time Is But A Paper Moon) by kisahawklin (E, 7-10 Hrs, WangXian, JC & WWX, JC & LWJ, Background Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Mentions of Rape, not explicit but definitely referenced, Time Travel, Some People Live/Not Everyone Dies, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Canon Divergence, Asexual JC, First Time, Getting Together, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, Audio Format: MP3)

[Podfic] With Absolute Splendor by kisahawklin (T, 4-4.5 Hrs, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, The Untamed (TV) Compliant, Post-The Untamed (TV), JC is Bad at Feelings, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Weddings, Wedding Planning, Some politics, Complicated Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming)

[Podfic] some good mistakes by kisahawklin (T, 1.5-2 Hrs, WangXian, JC & WWX, JC & LWJ, Road Trips, (terrible road trips), Post-Canon, POV JC, JC & WWX Reconciliation, (ish they're working on it), Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming)

[Podfic] Cold read of Hand in Hand Together (All Your Life) by kisahawklin (T, 5-6 Hrs, ZhulCheng, WangXian, Asexual JC, Queerplatonic Relationships, Implied future MingLi, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming) and a number of other works by Kisahawklin (who mainly focuses on Wangxian but also does a good bit of Jiang Cheng centric stuff)

[podfic] From Yunmeng, Unsent by jellyfishfire (T, 30-45 Mins, JC & WWX, Epistolary, Angst, Canon Compliant, moderate descriptions of gore, Sound Effects)

~*~

4. ITMF some Wei Wuxian missing his precious baby. Can be anything, like for Wei Ying, his top most priority is his baby. For example: time travel, wwx was back in time but the thing he miss the most is his baby. Again, can be anything. @whateverweilanlovechild

~*~

5. Hi!!! Itmf a fanfic where Wwx's parents aren't really dead, but abandoned him in Yilling instead.

💖 Magical Marriage Ribbons Series by starandrea (Varies, 1m, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Accidental Marriage, Fluff, Happy Ending, Telepathic bond, Kink Negotiation, Family Drama, Magical Pregnancy, Dual Cultivation, Shapeshifters, Modern with Magic, Immortality, Yilling Wei Sect) if unintentional abandonment due to entrapment counts? Then the later part of Magical Marriage Ribbons might fit

~*~

6. Hey!! I am not trying to find any specific au but like can you recommend me some au where lan wangji is like very petty and very protective of wei ying. Post canon. Thank you :) @sineofu

Revenge is a Side Dish Best Served With Tea by merakily (G, 7k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Protective LWJ, Petty LWJ, Fluff and Humor)

some good mistakes by Lise (T, 18k, WangXian, JC & WWX, JC & LWJ, Road Trips, (terrible road trips), Post-Canon, Rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort, ish, Awkward Conversations, POV JC, JC & WWX Reconciliation, (ish they're working on it) podfic available and recommended for 3

~*~

7. itmf mid to long bottom/omega lwj fics! preferably not explicit :)

~*~

8. this is super specific but i kinda want to read a fic where one/some/all of these things are present:

a. playing with the other's hand

b. headpats

c. squeezing partner's hand when facing hard times as a means of encouragement or support

preferably wangxian but i welcome all ships, including dead dove ones. go ham!

~*~

9. I remember reading this one fic where Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji are both like celebs/cultivators in modern day. In fact, I remember snickering very hard when someone recorded Lan Xichen mentioning "fuckboy." So are there any other fics where the Twin Jades are celebs and cultivators in modern day?

I'll also accept social media aus, too.

Thank you and I love you.

WeHateDogs by trippednfell (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, Inspired by Twitter, Social Media AU, WWX is a professional dog hater, Fluff and Crack)

and so my heart beats wildly by lily_winterwood (E, 106k, WangXian, Modern Era, Athletes, Miscommunication, frenemies to lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Oblivious WWX, Competitive Cultivation, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Olympics, Inappropriate use of an Olympic gold medal, Switching, Bottom LWJ, night-hunting as international Olympic sport, complete with in-story fandom drama; Sect territories as nations; and so my heart beats wildly [PODFIC] by Opalsong) basically all the cast are famous cultivators

All Old Things are New Again series by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 59k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Modern AU, canon still happened, extreme post canon, Sugar Daddy, Kink Negotiation, gentle dom!LWJ, canonical levels of consent play, Modern Cultivators, cultivators can   recognize important people from previous lives, vaguely, this started out as a cute sugar fantasy and got just incredibly horny very fast, blame LWJ) I believe the specific fic the requester is referring to (LXC saying ‘fuckboy’) is “All Old Things Are New Again” by TheFeelsWhale on AO3. If not already mentioned, it does for the requirements.

~*~

10. Thank you for all you do, I've found so many great fics through you guys! For the next I'm in the mood for post, can you recommend something similar to 'Delight in Misery' by nirejseki? Specifically with jiang cheng and lan zhan becoming friends/coparenting? With wangxian endgame tho. Thank you so much! @forgottenwhispersinthedark

~*~

11. ITMF Any fics where Wei Wuxian's hair gets cut, with all the connotations that would have had in the time period, such as marking him as a criminal and other humiliation.

~*~

12. Hey there, for itmf where su she is obsessed with wwx or Lwj. I mostly prefer su she being a antagonist but any works, thanks <3

🧡 Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 48k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions)

💙 Su She Eats his Heart Out by KizuKatana (T, 16k, WangXian, 3rd person pov, implied offscreen wangxian sex)

A Soft Storm by AvoOwO (Not rated, 47k, wangxian, modern, hurt WWX, LWJ pov, protective LWJ, not SS friendly, car accidents, hurt/comfort, heavy angst w happy ending, sexual harrasment, stalking, crying, blood & injury & gore, major character injury, college, slut shaming, insults)

seeds by antebunny (G, 3k, WangXian, SS & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Identity Porn, Dramatic Irony, identity theft, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, the Inherent Romance of Being Known, BAMF WWX, protective boyfriend!wwx, simp!lwj)

~*~

13. Hey hi!❤️ For itmf r there any fics where Lwj is forced to spend time with someone else (no marriage or engagement) other than wwx and wwx gets jealous about it? Thanks!

What Comes After Love by Rainbow_Horizon (T, 17k, WangXian, POV LWJ, Protective LWJ, POV WWX, Sad WWX, Jealous WWX, Canon - Módào Zǔshī & The Untamed Combination, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Break Up, Separations, Healing, Husbands, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, marriage issues, Marriage Proposal) here lwj is forced to spent time with someone who tries to marry him despite him and wwx already being married, so i'm not sure if that's what you're looking for?

The Proposal by LFMH021 (T, 93k, WangXian, One-sided LWJ/OMC, Post-Canon, Mutual Pining, Marriage Proposal, Marriage, Courtship, WWX denying his feelings until he can't, LWJ and WWX are dumb idiots in love, Love Triangles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort)

~*~

14. Can you please offer me any fic recs that are similar to 'Here Again (Spirits Rise, Unbroken) by TheDefenestrator @akweenbitch​

~*~

15. you guys are wonderful! thank you so much for all your help finding fics!!! i have a half itmf/half fic finder question --- any angsty dark lan clan fics that focus on wei ying, but especially one where they break his soul bond(?) with Lan Zhan --- i think i remember one where later on they need WY's help - any suggestions greatly appreciated! (also in a fic finder)

Say my name and his in the same breath by ataratah (M, 38k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Rejection, Mutual Pining, Found Family Feels, Temporary Character Death, magical baby aquisition, Angst with a Happy Ending, No Golden Core Transfer, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies)

~*~

16. Hello! Fantastic blog, tysm to the mods for running it <3 for the next ITMF, does anyone have good fics centered around non-sexual intimacy?

a place for a step forward by thelastdboy (G, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, No Powers, Established Relationship, References to Depression, Non-Sexual Intimacy, ADHD, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Neurodiversity, Self-Esteem Issues) a self-rec <:

~*~

17. Hi mods! For the next itmf can I request some fics where WWX, WQ or the Wen Remnants can't rest in peace because no one mourned them correctly? Like, they didn't give any of them an appropriate burial or make them memorial tablets, burn joss paper, things like that. They just left their bodies there (or lack of it in WWX's case). And people finding out someway, idk meeting their ghosts, them haunting a place or something maybe. Thank you! @jiangclaritybell

hole in our souls by sssrha (T, 5k, LWJ & WN, Angst, au where A-Yuan died because I like making my readers sad, Canon Divergence, Sad, Bittersweet Ending, also maybe tw for gore but it’s not really graphic so like, Ghosts)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what  you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack,  whatever - it’s all good!***

[xxladyballadxx]

Worthless

Barnabas Tharmr x reader

ANGST (Heavy drinking and a bit of violence is involved)

He tossed you out of his kingdom because you failed to complete your mission.You’ve angered him by doing this way too many times. Normally he would give you one last chance but ended up giving you a ton. 

Lord Barnabas no longer needed you anymore. He threw you straight out of his life. You were ordered to kill Clive Rosfield and his fellow comrades, things didn’t go well as planned. 

‘But, Master Barnabas, I-’

‘You, (Y/n) (L/n), already disappointed me. Here I thought you were worthy. Seems like I was wrong. Pathetic, weak, worthless little sheep…that’s what you are…’

His harmful words became a poison to you, you kept the hurt inside when he slipped those words out of his toxic mouth while he pointed the tip of his blade underneath your chin towards your neck. Those things Lord Barnabas said, you will never ever forget them for they will haunt you forever.

No longer a loyal follower of Master Barnabas’s, you became a stray and a loner. Just a lost little girl who had nowhere else to go. Your life began to fall apart miserably when Barnabas kicked her out of Waloed. 

 You drowned herself in ale, thinking it would make her forget about Lord Barnabas and even his sad, gloomy kingdom. Often get into fights with drunken men whenever you go to a tavern. 

‘What is the pointing of living when you always feel fucking miserable everyday?’ you wonder, drinking more ale and wine as you laugh in such a depressing way. 

They say drinking makes you forget about everything in the world. Or to help you from a harsh reality. Something like that. Would you be able to forget about Barnabas Tharmr?

Not an easy thing to answer…

By causing a mess and breaking a man’s nose, you got kicked out of the tavern due to your violent, brutal nature. You grabbed an empty bottle and smashed it against the door before you stormed off. 

It began to pour as you slipped into the desolate cave, the weather set you off more into a gloomy mood. A sigh escaped your lips, you felt drained by the rain and were starting to feel cold. You set off to pick up some wood to make a campfire.

You used your little magic to set fire on the woods you grabbed from the forest. As the flames lit up gently, you motioned yourself close to it to get warm, being extra careful not to get burnt.  

As you just sat there depressingly by the fire, you started to recall the things you did with Lord Barnabas. Couldn’t help the fact that he was still in your mind. You tsk yourself in annoyance. 

Somehow…you missed Lord Barnabas praising you for doing well in your tasks. You missed him for embracing you in his arms with him saying sweet nothings to your ears. Lord Barnabas making love to you in bed. The way he touches you and kisses those soft, salted bruised lips of yours. Sadly, those momentous days are over…

You left the cave and headed to a market that sells a bottle of wine and ale. You brought yourself three and returned to the cave. Luckily no one has stolen your spot for tonight. Again, drowning yourself into a pool of alcohol, drinking with no regrets as if there were no tomorrow for you.

You dropped your whole body to the ground and carried on drinking all your faults and sorrows away. Licking the taste of wine across your lips, you began to think if…you were probably better without King Barnabas…

In some way, you feel…free. You never gained this much freedom before.  

Strange…

Perhaps you are better off alone without Lord Barnabas.. 

(A/n) - I have fallen WAY TOO DEEP into that angsty hole but that's okay! who on here doesn't LOVE being emotionally damaged when it comes to angsty fanfics? (இ﹏இ`｡)

[princesslachimolala]

The 8th Member of Bangtan 💜

•••

Chapter 2 - The Swimming Pool 🏊🏼💧

Synopsis: you (y/n 🦊) are the 8th member of bts and are involved in all the fun and banter with the boys as you work on your music and side projects for army

Pairings: platonic! ot7 x gn! reader

Warnings: kind of angsty, discussions of anxiety and negative self-talk, fear of water (?), Jungkook being protective, y/n is in a bit of a down mood but bangtan manage to cheer them up

Authors note: inspired by the run BTS episode, reader is gender neutral so read the honorifics as they apply to you

Enjoy!✨

•••

“I’m sad” you said aloud in the minibus to no one in particular.

“Ah why are you sad, y/n-ie?” Namjoon was the first to ask in his low, tired voice.

“Because I’m tired and hungry” you replied with a pout.

“You and Jungkook were the last ones to get out of bed and eat the breakfast that I made with my very hands, y/n-ie” Jin looked back towards you with accusing eyes.

“Sorry oppa/hyung” was all you could yawn in reply.

“I love your rice hyung” Jungkook yawned too, also half asleep seated next to you in the van.

“It was just boiled rice JK” Hobi giggled.

“Yeah but when Jin-hyung makes it, it tastes different” Jungkook replied, to which everyone nodded in agreement.

“Do you want to compliment my egg frying abilities too, Kook-ah?” Jin asked.

“Maybe next time you make them hyung…”

“If there will be a next time” Jin rolled his eyes chortling.

“Wha?? No more Jinnie breakfasts??” you implored.

“Aish of course I’ll always cook you breakfast dongsaengies… but you have to eat enough to fill you up or it’s very disrespectful”

There was a round of “sorry Jin hyung/oppa” and then the car fell into comfortable silence as you listened to music. And although you had the body heat of Hobi on one side and Jungkook on the other, something was bothering you and making your nerves feel frazzled.

•••

When you arrived at the pool and changed into your swimming attire, you had thought you might feel more recharged. But all you felt was anxiety swirling in your stomach and it didn’t help that all the boys were pumped up for todays variety show activity and didn’t seem to notice.

The producer announced the first game and you all got into position. You plastered a big smile on for army once the cameras began rolling - you didn’t want them to think there was anything wrong.

The first hurdle? Jumping into the water. You could never do it when you were younger - you always had to find the ladders or slip in while you lowered yourself. So when Jimin pushed Namjoon into the water you felt yourself having cold sweats. Of course, Namjoon was fine, just playing along with the bit of being annoyed.

You cheered up a bit when Yoongi was acting cute in the water after his success but soon it was your turn.

“No one push me please,” you half mumbled as you approached the edge of the pool.

That’s when Jungkook noticed you weren’t your usual self.

“Y/n-ie, are you feeling okay?”

All you could do was nod as you stepped up to the edge of the pool and tried to slip in as gracefully as possible, slightly panicking before your toes found the bottom.

The boys were cheering and talking loudly in the background but the ringing in your ears almost drowned them out. Now you were in the water it wasn’t so bad but you were acutely aware of the entire camera crew on your right hand side filming your every move and facial expression.

“Ah this is too hard!” You tried to joke with a smile but the jenga tower fell under your shaky touch.

This pleased the boys very much - now you were getting the garlic juice punishment much to your dismay.

After everyone took their turn there were 4 losers. You could feel a sting in your eyes from the pool water (or you would blame it on the pool water because you knew it was actually your eyes verging on spilling your overwhelmed tears).

Thankfully, and although you felt sorry for him, tae was the only one that drank the garlic juice as the producer announced to skip to the next game.

However you knew you weren’t going to fare much better in the next challenges - your legs and hands were still shaky and the challenge of standing on the floating mat and unfolding the paper required good balance and deft fingers.

You laughed off your nerves but you really didn’t want to let go of Hobi’s hand as you stood on the mat.

“Yah, y/n-ah that’s cheating you can’t have a helper to balance you!”

“That’s disqualification!”

“Get them garlic juice!”

Despite the rabble and the feeling bubbling up in your chest, you let go of Hobi and tried to do the task but of course you ripped the paper.

You felt very useless having not succeeded in a single game. You knew it was supposed to be fun - just look at the boys and copy them, you told yourself. They were smiling, laughing, clapping for each other and celebrating each other’s losses and were taking it all in good fun. Maybe, you thought, I’m too sensitive for all this. Either that or you just hated games and competitions, especially if it had anything to do with sports.

The camera zoomed up into your face and you prepared to take the garlic.

“Do I have to do it?” You appealed to the group to which they all went with an enthusiastic yes.

“What if I’m allergic to garlic?”

“Yah, y/n-ah you ate Jiminie’s appa’s pickled garlic last week and loved it!”

You were caught out, everyone laughed at your misfortune, though kook looked a little more concerned that the rest. You downed the garlic to get it over with, though it burned on the way down.

The last game was made more difficult by the boys splashing water onto your feet as you tried to balance on the floating mat and perform the task at the same time. You were finding the end of the day a bit more fun though, as you watched tae and Namjoon mischievously shake the cola bottles to make them more fizzy and impossible to pour.

To your surprise the producer went back and forth deciding whether the coke bottle was full enough to pass the challenge. Eventually though you still failed.

Jimin was named the episodes MVP and Jin was named the ultimate loser even though you lost just as many games as him. But upon seeing your nervous expression, Jungkook stood in front of you as if physically shielding you from the producers would make them forget you were there. You gave his hand a little squeeze as a thanks and he squeezed yours back. Jin took a final garlic shot and the filming was over.

•••

Back in the dorms, you were now showered and dry, bundled in your cosy pyjamas and ready to lie down and be alone in the quiet of your room.

You just began to scroll through your phone when a knock came to your door.

“It’s open” you called quietly.

It was Jungkook.

“Are you okay now, noona/hyung?”

“Yes kookie thanks” you gave him a small smile.

“Why were you off today? Was it the water? Are you scared of it or something?” he asked, his big boba eyes imploring you to be truthful.

“I don’t know kook, I’m not usually scared of water but that pool just freaked me out. I know we have to be energetic and play games, and I like seeing you guys messing about, it’s funny but I was just anxious around the water and to perform for the camera today, that’s all”

“I get nervous too, noona/hyung, but I just think about army watching and I get the courage to do my best”

“I did think about army kook, I don’t want them to think I can’t do anything or for them to be disappointed in me” you hung your head as you could feel the tears start to slide.

“Dinner is on its way you two…” Jin stuck his head in the crack of your open door but upon seeing both your expressions he walked fully in.

“What’s going on now? tell hyung/oppa” he asked looking at you with a soft voice.

“I just didn’t feel well today, oppa/hyung” you admitted.

“Aish…” he scolded softly sitting down on another edge of your bed, “you should tell us y/n, then we could’ve rescheduled the filming today”

“But I just wanted to get it over with, the whole thing made me nervous”

“Ah you silly goose, you can go on rollercoasters with us and stand on a stage to sing and dance but a swimming pool is your downfall?”

He didn’t mean it to sound demeaning but you realised how silly it was.

“Sometimes anxiety doesn’t have to have a reason, y/n-ie” Yoongi walked in, apparently having been eaves dropping on the exchange.

“Ah baby petal, it’s okay” Jin patted your head as you still had a glum look on your face.

“what’s wrong with y/n-ie?!” Jimin, Hobi and Tae cooed from the door.

Jungkook recounted the tale and soon everyone (including Namjoon who noted the absence of noise from the livingroom and located the rabble in your room) was piled on your bed.

The door went, alerting everyone to the presence of food and Jimin and Tae volunteered to get up and bring it back.

“We can’t eat in bed everyone has to get up, otherwise y/n will have crumbs and stains with the way we eat”

“Let’s just sit on the floor Jinnie” you suggested and you used the long stool at the end of your bed as a makeshift table and the mountains of pillows on your bed to cushion yourselves against the hard floor.

“Can we watch the avengers pleaseee” Jungkook asked flipping the remote in his hand (somehow he always ended up with the remote even though it was your tv in your room).

“Let y/n choose kook, they’ve had a hard day” Tae suggested.

The maknae gave you the remote while staring at you with his big eyes. You took it without a word and thoughtfully selected through the options while everyone watched what you were going to pick. After less than half a minute of scrolling you picked the Avengers anyway, much to Jungkooks delight.

“Thanks, noona/hyung!”

“Yah, y/n-ie, you’re too soft on him when he calls you with the honorific” Hobi said.

“You’re the same with us, Hobi hyung” jimin chided making Hobi laugh and blush.

“Don’t forget Jin hyung and his baby petal” Namjoon rolled his eyes taking a bite out of meal.

“Armies are catching onto that now you know hyung” Yoongi said before putting his spoon to his lips.

“Don’t forget lil meow meow” Tae laughed.

“Yah that’s what army’s decided to call me, it’s not my fault I have cat-like features” Yoongi said with furrowed brows.

You ate the meal till you were full, under Jins insistence, and fell asleep before the Avengers was even finished. You were thankful to have the boys by your side and the life that you did even if you’re schedule made you nervous sometimes. At the end of the day you were all in it together and you knew they would hold you up while you faced any challenges, the same as you would do for them.

•••

A/n: that was a sappier one and kind of short, but I hope you still enjoyed. Future fics will be on a happier note but it’s nice to explore the softer, more caring side of bangtan’s dynamics too once and a while

[claiestve]

𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 ꨄ 𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘹

˜”* ❝𝙇𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮. 𝙇𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙯𝙮.❞

⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏʙᴇʀ ᴜᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʜɪᴛꜱ.

(also there isn't any direct interaction with alex in this)

⎯୨⎯ " " ⎯୧⎯

You were recovering from a hangover, which definitely did a number on you. It had been a few days since the breakup and you still couldn’t really register it. You’d have to remind yourself that oh – he broke up with you.

Thinking about it was too difficult. Sometimes you wanted to pull a stunt, making him regret it. However, sometimes, you’d get really sad about it. Until you found a solution. Was it a good solution? Um… Well, no. But it got your mind off of Alex, that’s for damn sure. 

You were drinking water to help with the hangover but you couldn’t help but think about your breakup. Maybe you should’ve buried those thoughts along with other dark ones you keep because it drove you to break your own heart even more. You pulled out your phone and went to your old voicemails. So many from Alex…

“Hey, babe! When you get this, let me know what ice cream flavor you’re in the mood for right now. I wanna try this place and It would be wrong to not get you something. Anyway, let me know. I love you, bye.”

That was a more recent one, before the argument. Hearing the excitement in his voice… It was so different from when you last spoke to him. 

“Babe, there’s a spider outside and I’m too scared to kill it. I mean, maybe if you answered the phone, I’d have moral support but noooo.”

He was always like that. Joking and teasing all the time. So different from now.

“Okay I know I’m not home right now but that’s because I have to bring something very big for you. But! Don’t think I forgot! Happy Birthday, Y/N! I’ll try calling later since you don’t respond when I call you… Although, it is really early right now.”

Ah, you remember that. Your birthday when he brought you a huge cake and the prettiest promise ring ever. Sad, that ring stays in it’s box now. A promise ring. You always thought the day you’d take it off would be the day you switched it for an engagement ring. How stupid. 

“Y/N, answer my calls. You better be okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Oh. That was the day your friend called Alex because you injured yourself pretty badly. You’ll always remember how concerned he was that day.

You were now tearing up. To be fair, you weren’t the type to be an angry ex but more of like a sad ex. You curled up into a ball and finally drowned in it. Alex broke up with you. 4 years down the drain. It’s never going to go back to the way it was and you knew that. But it finally hit you. You would never be able to be with him ever again. 

He would never be there with you again. 

The love of your life and someone who called you the same was gone. 

And it was all by choice. 

He chose to leave you. 

All because of your own insecurities. Because of an argument you started. You were the problem. And if there was one thing about you it was, that you got rid of problems.

As soon as possible.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

yall thought u were safe? AHAHAHHAA BITCH no but uhh i wanted to do angst because.... well, yes. also what happened at the end... its real angsty and if u get it u get it. also did u notice i hinted to this title when i replied to someone's comment 😈 AHAH anyways send me more requests cuz i love yall

[brick-a-doodle-do]

here take th- *passes out*

ok i speedwrote this, i had a line in mind and decided to write it cause i was sad :] tbh the first bit seems kinda angsty but tommy's just in a silly goofy mood and is being dramatic as always.

also ig it's for @corysmiles's little streamer au? maybe? let's roll with it

goodnight now 😴

off switch

wc: 1356

cw: swearing, mention of drowning, brief panic

—–—

Tommy screams as he slips over the edge of the sink and plummets in, soapy water splashing around him as he sinks to the bottom. He flails in the pool of water, releasing a scream that came out as warped noises and a flood of bubbles from his mouth. Water clouds his eyes, but he still finds his way back to the surface. He gasps dramatically when his head resurfaces and the cold air of the bathroom rushes around his face and flushing his cheeks the faintest shade of pink. “Wilbur!” Tommy calls out, slipping below the water again. In a panic, he inhales, water flooding his pipes. He lifts his face up against the foamy water and coughs out, the detergenty taste of soap and shaving cream spilling out of his throat. Tommy shudders. “Wilbur, you fucking bitch! I am not fucking swimming around in your soapy-ass water, get me the fuck out of this!” He yells, gaping at Wilbur’s terrible attempt at hiding his smile as he continues on, acting as if he doesn’t hear the tiny. “Wilbur!” he yells, flailing with dramatised movements. Wilbur’s lips quiver in amusement. Water splashes around him, and he’s made too big of a scene to stop his struggle. Besides, the walls of the sink, no matter how close he gets to them, tower above him and will never guarantee a safe way out. Wilbur, the bitch, is the only way out. 

He groans loudly (Wilbur can hear his utter distress) and ceases his movements to make a terribly embarrassing attempt of splashing water up at the human. He flips backwards the second his arms break the surface and he slips back under the water, limbs twisting in a terrible cluster, like a puzzle that takes eons to put together. He yells out Wilbur’s name under the water, and upon inhaling, again, water swarms his gullet and before he knows it he’s coughing underwater, bubbles disperse around him until he can resurface. And when he does, his cheeks are flushed with a deeper shade of pink-purple. He chokes, holding his hands to his chest to support his burning lungs, while his legs continue to flail under the water to keep him upright. 

“Wilbur! Bitch—dick—asshole! You are the worst person I have ever met, help me!”

“Why should I?” Wilbur asks with a hum, patting his freshly-shaved face with a blue towel. In the mirror Wilbur is gazing into, Tommy watches as a faint smile threatens to crack further. That bitch,

“Wh’dya mean why should I? Just help me! That’s not a fucking thing to question, I’m literally drowning and your stupid ass is out here like ‘why should I?’” Tommy yells, scoffing. 

“You look fine to me,” Wilbur says. Now that he points it out, Tommy realises that his legs are rhythmically flowing in the slow water to keep him afloat, and for once in his life he’s calm.

“Oh fuck off with that, I may look fine but I’m dying right now. Drowning, startlingly quickly. Got that, Wil-bitch?” 

“I see,” Wilbur says, distracted. The towel is set down dangerously close to the sink, and Tommy finds this to be a taunt. An extremely irritating one.

“Help me,” Tommy whines, trying his hardest to sound even the smallest bit demanding for a man whose personality is structured on drama. 

Wilbur shuffles, one last time drawing his hands down the faint stubble he’d left be before he pried his attention away from the mirror, and relievingly down to Tommy. He fully anticipates being brought out of this hellhole of a sink and onto the counter, but instead, Wilbur just leans over the counter and watches him. And the fucking worst part of it is: Wilbur doesn’t try to conceal his smile any longer. It’s keeping laughter locked in, he knows from the way his dimples are pulled back and his lips dip down at the ends.

“You are a bitch. I fucking hate you, die in a hole you absolute shithead— I will bite you,” Tommy snips, arms folding against his chest.

“You are a very demanding child,” Wilbur replies. He sounds too content, he hates it. And, oh—

“I am not a fucking child, ey, I’m eighteen now! And I can be as demanding as I want when I am dying in a sink,” Tommy argues, putting his complaint into lilting syllables. 

Wilbur sighs, leaning further over the sink. His eyes come dangerously close to him, and Tommy can feel his warm breath wash over him when the man’s smile widens. He bares his teeth and Tommy very well considers punching them. But instead, he promptly splashes water up at the human. Wilbur yells and retaliates, standing upright and rubbing at his eye. “Oh fuck,” he murmurs softly, the smugness wiped right away. “You realise that doesn’t make me want to get you out of the water any more, yeah? You’re unpleasant to be around.”

“Wha—nononono—Wilbur, it won’t happen again! I promise, please let me out of this shithole and I’ll leave you alone, it is fucking freezing in here,” he says. It was a complete lie, and if anything, the water was strangely relaxing. But it helped his case.

“Think about it, waterinnit. We could make you li’l floaties, floatinnit. Wha’dya think?” 

“I think get me the fuck out of here.” 

Wilbur rolls his eyes and murmurs under his breath sadly, and with the hand that isn’t constantly making sure his eye is in-tact, swipes his hand under the water and takes Tommy along with it. Water falls over the edge of Wilbur’s palm and Tommy relaxes his shoulders and bathes in the feeling of the sores in his legs declining. 

“Happy, child?” Wilbur asks, lowering his hands with practised ease flat onto the counter. Tommy, also having done this a million times over, clambers off. His clothes are heavy with water and his hair sticks uncomfortably against his forehead, playing with the tip of his vision. 

“Congrats on doing the bare-fucking-minimum,” he quips. 

Wilbur laughs, reaching for something over the counter that Tommy doesn’t get a chance to see before his vision is cut off with a deep blue something. His head is abruptly caught between Wilbur’s forefinger and thumb as the human messes with the top of his head. His vision spins and his cheeks flush a deep pink when he realises Wilbur is trying to dry him off. He can feel the indent of Wilbur’s fingers against the towel gently dig into his hair. Part of him wants to struggle, but the other part melts at the feeling. It’s mesmerising, two fingers double the height of him rubbing against his hair in a paternal fashion. His heart twists weird, and before he can get ahold of his nice it felt, soft fluorescent lighting from the bulbs that lined the bathroom mirror flooded his vision. He squints at the sudden change, then stares up at Wilbur, who stares down at him with a fond smile—something knowing in it. Tommy can’t quite place it.

The phantom feeling of his fingers against his head still massages in his imagination. But, he still has a facade to hold up. “Wh- What the fuck was that? I don’t want fucking spa treatment from a bitch like you,” he complains. 

“Awwwh, Tommeee, did you like that?” Wilbur coos, drawing out his name and crouching down to be eye-level with him. That something knowing in his eyes became almost obvious now. The same two fingers return to his head and something warm spreads in him. Wilbur massages his head, and he melts into it, eyes closed contently despite his urge to protest. Wilbur’s forefinger ruffles at his hair, smiling a smile wider than Tommy has ever seen. 

“Piss off, you’re so annoying,” Tommy murmurs, tire lulling at him.

“Do you have a fucking off switch?” Wilbur asks abruptly, sounding startlingly curious.

“No, I don’t have an off switch!” he says, straightening up. 

Testing his theory, WIlbur takes his head between his forefinger and thumb and rubs them in circles above his ears. Before Tommy can protest, he slumps against Wilbur’s hand.

—–—

[imagintheworldaway]

Loathing

A/N back to my angsty ways! i love this one a lot so i hope you guys do to!!

Requests: Open

Warning: Swearing, a bit of shoving, mention of drugs

I swayed to the beat, downing the rest of my drink as the mix of alcohol and different chemicals made my brain buzz and the serotonin in my body filled every little crevasse. I felt amazing, I had no idea where the rest of the group had gone but I didn't really care either. A light tug on my arm brought me out of my trance and I looked up to see the bouncer from earlier. “That your boyfriend?” he shouted over the music, i looked over to see the unmistakable black mop of his hair off to the side. “Yh why?” I smiled up at him, batting my eyelashes, praying Nikki hadn't done anything stupid. “Hes fucked you need to get him out of here” the guard said, not falling for my act. “Ugh leave him, he won't hurt anyone” i shrugged trying to turn away from the situation. “I wouldn't take that chance” he said more forcefully. I just rolled my eyes and walked over to where Nikki was chatting up some girl. “Knock it off” I growled into his ear before he could even register my presence. I was just met with a slight shove as he carried on his cheesy lines. I looked over my shoulder and was met instantly with the bouncer's large chest. “Babe, im serious” i said a little louder, motioning with my eyes to the burly man watching us. He finally looked at me, and followed my eyes to the man, and in true Nikki form flipped him off. I felt the rage start to bubble inside of me as he just had to ruin our good time. “That's it” the man bellowed, grabbing each of our arms and dragging us to the entrance. “I wanted you” I spat at my boyfriend as he started fighting against the man. “Get the fuck off of me” was all Nikki said, ignoring my telling off completely. “You're both banned” the man said, throwing us onto the street, meaning just about all eyes were watching us in shock. 

“Lets go” I huffed, grabbing my boyfriend's arm and dragging him behind me down the street. He always did this, whenever I was feeling good, or having a good time he had to find a way to ruin it. I started stomping down the street the best I could, Nikki following me lazily two steps behind. “What's got your panties in a twist” he called, lighting a cigarette as i could already feel the cool breeze sobering me up, forming a grudge to fester in my stomach. “Just drop it Nik” I huffed, turning down the next street towards our house. “God you’re no fun these days” I heard him complain from behind me. I could feel the anger coarse through my veins as the only noise of the night were our lazy footsteps. “Always in a bitchy mood aren't you” Nikkis comments kept coming at me like hand grenades. Each one fueling my inner hatred more and more. “Such a mardy fucking bitch” i heard him sigh, and that was it, that was the comment that threw me over the edge. 

“I want you to know that I loathe you” I seethed in between my shaky breaths. I felt a fire in my stomach ignite as I felt my jaw tense and my eyes bore into his own. “Every breath you take you make me more mad at you” I spat taking a step forward. The dim street light illuminated his face as he took a cautionary step backwards. “You have well and truely fucked it. There will never be a universe where I will ever forgive you.” I spat now holding out an accusatory finger, feeling my body shake with anger. “If I had two choices, either be with you, or rip out and eat my own, bloody, pulsating, barely alive heart. I wouldn't hesitate to choose myself.” I spat these words as I watched his face tense and cringe, the severity of the situation finally hitting his thick skull. “Because you know what, at least my heart doesn't trick, lie and manipulate people that I am a good person, just to leave them to drown in a pit of sadness and self loathing that I dug for them” I could finally feel the tears start to spill down my cheeks. But I wasn't sad, no this felt like a cleanse, a long awaited absolute dumpster fire of emotion. “You are so incredibly melodramatic” Nikki spat back in my face, our bodies only inches apart as I had backed him up all the way to the street lamp. “Me? Melodramatic?” I scoffed, letting out an almost sinister laugh. “You are always the victim of any situation. Awe poor Nikki he had a bad home life, awe Nikki who didnt know his dad, poor fucking Nikki Sixx who is a international rockstar and gets what he wants on a silver platter. I am sick of it, I'm sick of bending to your every need, sick of finding reason and understanding in your actions, sick of putting up with everything you have ever put me through.” my voice raised even more as the emotion shook through me. “Just take a look at me, look at what you did to me, i used to be happy, bubbly, but you, you have been falling since the day you were born and i was stupid enough to let you drag me down with you.” I shook my head as I watched his eyes gloss over, the first sign of emotion he has shown during this entire argument. “I. Hate. You "I spat, emphasising every little syllable. “You don't mean that baby” he said, finally breaking the silence. “Trust me i do” i said taking a step back, finally averting my gaze from his own. 

I furiously rubbed my cheeks, wanting no sign of the tears that had now stopped. “Don't be a bitch Y/N” Nikki sighed, raising his own hand to his forehead, signalling he was done with this conversation. Realistically he was probably finished with this conversation before it had even begun. “And where will you go? Who will pay for your lifestyle? Cause guess what baby, i do all of that” he said grinning at me mockingly as he took a step forward. I was still feeling so big that I just smiled sweetly at him. “Who supported who first? I paid the rent on the first apartment, I worked my ass off for you to get here, you would be nowhere without me” I said softly, my tone matching his own. “You know that you can't live without me” Nikki snapped, marching up to me so we were once again only inches apart, his tall form towering over my own. “Watch me” I said through gritted teeth. 

[ikeromantic]

Ieyasu Lie 😩

for @ikemenlover! This is an angsty one. Approx. 900 words.

Ieyasu was numb. He knew he should feel something right now. Sadness. Anger. Betrayal. Anything. But all he felt was an exhaustion, as if any reaction would cost him more than he could bear. There was a knot in his gut, and this he assumed was the weight of all those feelings. They lay tied up with one another, too heavy to lift and too tangled to tease apart.

“If you want me to stay,” the chatelaine said, “tell me. Because I would stay for you.” Her eyes were damp with unshed tears and her lower lip trembled. She bit it, holding in her own emotions as best she could.

“Why would I care if you go? Home to another village or 500 years in the future, it doesn’t matter to me.” The lie sounded more certain said aloud. 

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Ieyasu . . .”

He clenched his fists against the sound of his name from her lips. She was so precious to him, this fragile, naive creature. Given to his care. He’d known he could never keep her. Staying here, with him, would break her. She would lose that sweetness and innocence. And he could never bear that. “I said go! Only a fool would cry over returning home.”

“I - I don’t care if I am a fool.” She tried to reach for his hand, but he stepped back. “I love you.”

Ieyasu could not help the breathless gasp, the sound of a man drowning, a man in pain. The words were a knife to his heart. Savage in their tenderness. His throat closed against the denial that sprang to his tongue. 

“Tell me you care. Even just a little bit?” A tear escaped the corner of her eye, clinging to her lashes before rolling slowly down the curve of her cheek. 

Everything in him wanted to pull her to his arms, hold her there and tell her a thousand times how much he loved her. To shower her with kisses and tease a smile from her lips. It tore his heart to pieces to hold silent now. But he would rather die than see her suffer. She had to go home. It was the only way to keep her safe, to make her happy.

 “I don’t care about you,” he lied. “Go home and forget me. Forget all of this.”

Whatever she felt now, she would forget. He told himself this as he walked away. Made it a mantra against the sound of her crying. He repeated it even when he knew the scars in his own heart would never heal.

When he was alone, sequestered in his office and far from her and those desperate entreaties, he could still hear her voice. I love you. I love you. Every word, a thorn in his heart. 

“Sir, the chatelaine’s possessions are packed,” a servant came by to let him know it was almost time.

“Why are you bothering me with that? I’m busy,” he snapped.

The servant bowed. “Yes sir. I understand.” He turned to leave but Ieyasu stopped him.

“Did she remember the earrings I gave her? I have no use for them. And the haori? That pink color suits her.” 

“Yes sir. And her parasol as well. Everything you gave her.” The servant waited to see if Ieyasu wanted anything else. 

He broodily stared down at the correspondence on his desk. None of it was urgent. Busywork. An feeble attempt at distraction. “When does she leave?”

The servant shrugged. “She did not say.”

Ieyasu knew though. When the storm came. The one that would take her back through time. He dismissed the servant with a gesture and then sat in moody silence. This was for the best. She should go while she could. 

His mind cruelly replayed the day he gave her those pearl earrings. The surprise on her face even as he gruffly told her it was a reward for archery practice. Another lie. Their time together was riddled with his lies. Eaten up by them. He was not made for such a gentle creature, nor for the affection she showed. 

As his mood turned to melancholy and guilt, the sky overhead turned dark with storm clouds. The golden afternoon light turned grey and fat drops of rain began to drum across the roof and the windows. Ieyasu stood and began to pace. It would happen soon, he thought. 

Outside, the world grew darker still, and a terrible wind shook the eaves and tore the leaves from branches. 

How much longer, Ieyasu wondered, before she was safe from his reach forever. Gone to a place he couldn’t follow. The thought of never seeing her smile again made his eyes ache. Before he could consider it, he was already moving. Out the door and into the wildness of the storm.

He would let her go, he promised himself. But he wanted to watch. For her safety. He plunged into the tearing rain, his hair plastered to his head despite the buffeting winds. 

The chatelaine stood beside a tall shrine in the center of town. The only figure out in this weather. Her pale kimono was stark against the darkness, giving her an ethereal look. A spirit haunting the tempest. 

Ieyasu watched as the darkness thickened around her. This was it. She had not lied. He could see her form waver, as if she wasn’t really there. As if he’d only imagined her. With a shout, he lunged toward her, unable at the last to sit by and let her go. 

“I love you,” he cried, and the words were torn away by the wind. Lost. He reached for her, but his hand passed into nothing and he was alone. Alone with his lies. Alone with his broken heart as all the tangled emotions in him came undone. He wasn’t numb anymore, but it was too late. Far too late.