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comfortless · 8 months

Note

The way you write König makes me cry and dry heave cuz you balance his loser unhingeness and his heartbreaking tenderness is✨ ART✨

Now I feel like you would be able to EAT this prompt up but imagine König as Frankenstein’s creature that is this big ass hulking mass of body that immediately makes the town grab their pitchforks but he can DESTROY them in seconds. But inside he is just a little guy who just wants somebody to hold and love (and other activities if ya know what I mean

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. discrepancies!, reader is implied to have anxiety, angst & fluff, non-malicious stalking?, loner/loner dynamic my beloved.., brief mentions of previous murders and religious imagery, codependency, smut; masturbation, unprotected piv.

notes: receiving this ask was so funny to me because @melancholic-thing and i have been bouncing this idea around forever (i simply could not have brought this any justice without ghost’s input— if you see this please know that ily dearly). thank you, anon for your kind words and finally giving me the push that i needed to write it! 💘

wc: 10.6k

You’re good at fixing broken things; tinkering with them with a set of well-polished tools until they begin to tick, or chime, or cuckoo.

Some take longer than an afternoon sat before the wooden desk, weeks or months— a year, once. Oiled parts and small cogs, the three arms that jerk and glide over a face riddled with numbers that all lull you into feeling that your work is not just some monotonous service only the rich buzzards could afford, but as if you were a healer of sorts; a little cleric stationed to bring life into whichever jagged, broken thing has been dropped or kicked at her doorstep.

This one, however… you’re convinced it’s as good as dead.

No matter how many times you take apart the little, gray pocket watch, the arms refuse to move. Its ticking sounds less like that of the beating of the heart and more like the grinding of dry teeth, a corpse begging, pleading to let this attempted resurrection come to an end.

Your tweezers wrench the face free, and all at once it proves too much— bending and warping beneath the metal grip until it cracks, a split right through it, down to its very center.

“How…” Your voice fills the void of ticking, pseudo-silence surrounding you. A word slipped out in frustration and unknowing before you finally toss the wretched little thing onto the desk with a clatter and step aside.

The house is as dark and brooding as always, too large for a woman on her own and a workshop that hardly counts as a proper business. Shelves of broken clocks serve as decor where potted plants and well-loved photographs should sit in their stead. Books of study for modern devices such as these in place of the poetry and worn love letters other women seemed to have in abundance.

This place was starved out of light, even with the flickering glow of candles and the electric humming of the unnatural yellow one above.

The sun is no stranger, either, your curtains neatly pulled aside to allow for it to filter through like an invited guest. Only it doesn’t, not on such a melancholic gray day.

You need a walk, a distraction, or this hungry home would be certain to rip away your work from the shelves and swallow you whole instead.

Isn’t it such a tragedy that, someone who pours her creativity and all of her love into time, all she seems to do is waste it?, the gaudy wallpaper seems to taunt, all the colors of filthy maroon and darkened blue flowers seeming to make it feel more imposing and less of a comfort.

Your hand curls around the handle of your umbrella, a sturdy thing, but just as drab as the rest of the home. Then, the package you’ve been putting off delivering to the elderly woman in town. Best to get it done with now, maybe upon your return the hands that fix could do so once again.

Shame about the clock face though. You would certainly have to patch together another and pray the pocket watch’s owner wouldn’t notice.

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

Outside is different. The howling of it past the windows and shuddering through the attic felt perfectly at home in your shoddy little house, but as the door swings shut behind you, it feels entirely alive. Cold and bitter and angry— the things you keep repressed that nature lacks the tact to.

The trees bend and sway from its invisible yet incessant pushing. The hand containing the package falls down to the lap of your skirt to keep it from flying up just as your other clutches the umbrella ever tighter to keep it from billowing out into the air to be left discarded miles away.

It isn’t a short walk to town, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, it almost seems as though you’re in more tender company than the lumber and the ticking clocks.

The path through the forest is overgrown as always, branches are pushed aside and your skirt is lifted to avoid burrs and thorns.

You should have had the sense to bring along a coat, because when the thunder does strike up and the rain finally begins to fall in heavy, hurried drops, you find yourself shivering terribly with the package guarded against your chest.

Lamplight would have done well, too.

You would have almost happily allowed yourself to toss aside the umbrella and be battered by the rain if you could only see. The forest is dark on days like this, with the canopy of thick branches and their dense leaves blocking out any sliver of light cast down from overhead.

It’s only by sheer luck that you don’t manage to trip, toss your delivery into the shadow of a tree and lose it entirely before you do make it out. When the trees finally part to the barren hill overlooking town you breathe a sigh of relief, a quiet thanks for the grayed light above.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way through the quiet town. The shop windows are all lit aglow with the silhouettes of people inside, strangely dancing like shadows through a fog. A place you can not be, can not touch.

The stares the townsfolk give you make your skin crawl, as though they are so close to being what you are but not, only tied down to your world when they think themselves lofty. Their eyes always seem to question, scrape under your skin with sharpened arms, ticking and flaying, always asking: Why?

You face forward as your skin begins to prickle, not from the wet or the chill but a subdued sort of fear that nestles burning into your chest, sets your heart rushing like a rabbit.

The streets are silent enough, a small blessing; any passing strangers are hurriedly skittering through the rain and muck to hide away in their homes, children ushered with a hand to their back by flustered looking mothers, complaining in hushed voices about the rain. You only smile at them and step aside when your paths cross.

They never smile for you.

It’s why the broken clocks are delivered to your doorstep rather than brought inside, addresses and names from muffled voices calling out beyond your thick wooden door, coins and bills pushed through the mail slot to lie cold on the welcome mat. The bell above the door never chimes, and you only make your deliveries on days like this, when the rain or the dark blanket you up to keep you safe and eternally somber.

You leave the package on the doorstep, covered from the rain by a small, vermillion awning. One sharp knock is given and you’re back on your way, back to the old house, to the simplicity of the ticking, the comfort of the old cobweb on the vaulted ceiling and the drab gray of the bleakness.

There are puddles now, glistening with any light they can suck into their depths, threatening and taunting as the dull stares and that rickety old desk you really should fix. You think for a moment, that perhaps no one would even notice if one of those dark pits of rain water pulled you in entirely, only to splash through it with ease, dirtying the ends of your skirt.

The rain lessens when you crest the hill, the forest less a tangle of clattering limbs and now only a gentle sway reaches the tops of the trees, light filtering through them, as if to guide you on your way. It doesn’t lessen the bushels of thorns, the tree limbs downed and scattered over the path. In some small blessing, you’re able to scramble over them without having to plan a visit to a tailor to repair a ripped gown; scrubbing the mud from it would surely be tedious enough.

The droplets splatter against the dirt and fallen leaves in hushed bursts, the forest alive as always with the cooing of nesting birds in spite of the rain. The only thing that seems out of place is a sudden, soft thud, the snap of a branch underfoot. Just one footfall, and things return to a placid state amidst the sky’s tears.

You raise your head to glimpse in the direction, gaze sweeping over the figure of a man some paces off to your left. Beneath the shadow of a broad, twisting pine layered in thick branches, his details are mostly obscured, a thin trail of silver light only casting aglow the glimpse of a blue eye.

He’s only large enough to notice, shoulders slumped and chest rapidly rising to fall like a frightened animal; as his silhouette shifts just so you even consider that he’s shivering.

There’s something in that stare of somber blue that splinters at the wall of discomfort; it is not accusing, not bitter, worn and cold. Curious. Something akin to your own.

Damn your sweetness, your inability to simply let things be even as that ache twists around in your chest, clawing at a cage of bone and hissing that you keep silent. Be on your way. Don’t look back.

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

The figure visibly tenses, seems to shrink into himself for a moment before straightening and giving one solemn nod.

“You can take my umbrella. I’m almost home, anyway.”

That seems to spark something, not much, but the stranger does take a step forward. Your eyes catch on the wet, matted hair clinging to his head, cascading down to shroud a face you still can’t quite make out.

The poor thing stirs something in you, a deep sympathy that clouds even the judgment of that flighty, skittish thing resting deep inside.

Even from such a distance it’s clear that he’s been neglected, likely cast off by the town even less favorably than you have. His scent carries on the breeze, like dirt and wood and misery.

You extend the umbrella again before realizing he won’t come any closer with you being there. So, you lower it to the ground, avoiding the mud as best you could and leave it. If he took it, fine. If not, you travel this path so often it would be collected in time.

The figure mutters something as you rise, a low string of foreign words that you can only interpret as being spoken out of surprise, perhaps even gratitude.

You smile toward him as you wipe fat, slithering raindrops from your brow.

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

With that, you’re back on your way, thoughts of the rugged stranger weigh heavy on your mind as the roof of your home comes into view, stilted and in the same drab navy as the flowers on the wallpaper.

You could have done more. It had been instilled into you to not to open the door for someone you did not quite know, yet a part of you longed to take care of something not simply fed by oil, something only capable of telling you how much time you’ve sat alone as thanks.

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

The key is produced, the door opened, and just like the many times before that you have forced yourself from this place, the house seems less unsettling upon your return.

As what little daylight remains fades away into night, you find yourself seated, toying with the old pocket watch once more. It’s the only one that doesn’t make a lick of sense, a puzzle that can not be solved. For all the polished parts and meticulous tinkering, it still won’t work properly.

It grates and growls as though rusted, the cogs shifting inside with each movement of the arms are well-polished yet seem to do little but hiss and spit.

This is the fourth time you have taken it apart only to put it back together with no improvement.

There was little to be known about the man who owned it, some pompous, arrogant creature that you had only seen in passing. He had turned his nose up to you, you were sure of that, only to deliver this dying thing to your door the following day.

Your work had always been compared to your father’s. Though you possessed a similarity in skill, you were not what the townsfolk had deemed to be respectable. An unwed lady out on her own, biding her time repairing what they had broken rather than feeding hungry mouths delivered from her very womb, how terribly scandalous.

The pocket watch is set aside as you busy yourself tailoring a small sheet of metal for it. The graduations are carved in with a sharp razor, impeccably angled. Then, the Roman numerals, just before it’s slotted back into place.

The likeness to the former face is nearly uncanny, it’s only sturdier and less susceptible to ripping from the mere touch of tweezers. The rust s gone from the casing, and at long last— it ticks; no grinding growl as the second hand begins its revolution. The fickle thing just needed a touch up, you supposed as you flick off the desk lamp and rise to your feet.

The curtains are drawn as they always were when you step into the bedroom. The muddy dress is finally peeled away as you change and slink into the covers, and just for a moment, you almost think that you feel the animal between your breasts begin to settle too.

———

There’s a letter stuffed into the mail slot: crumpled with no postage stamp, scrawled across some scrap of paper that surely was plucked from a garbage bin.

You marvel at the lack of care for a moment before your fingers do find themselves pawing at it, unfurling the worn edges to find the words: Thank you.

Written in thick black ink, there’s a clumsiness to it, the dance of a quivering hand holding pen. You think back to the elderly woman you had made that delivery to only yesterday; had she trudged through the mud and muck just to bring you this?

Her thanks was only needed in the blessing of payment, and she had already generously done just that when she left her little humming wall clock at the door.

You flip the note over, inspecting it carefully. There’s a line there, too, hastily scratched out in the same black ink, the lines crossing and digging leaving little pinprick holes in the paper.

Holding it to the light, you can just barely make out the words: I have been alone.

Your mouth dries at the sentiment, tongue flicking out to try and force a wetness to your lips. The animal begins its keening howl, a chain rattling as claws sink into your innards; the very same agitated fear that starved you out of comfort day in and out.

The man in the forest, perhaps. You were sure that you would have remembered seeing someone so disheveled and tall about town, and if not for a certainty that he had not followed you home, you would have assumed it was him. Gratitude finally said, and well on his way to someplace else.

There’s nothing here for him or anyone else, surely he could see that. Even you could.

The walls around you seem to bulge, the room shrinking once again as every little thing held within begins to taunt and yowl. Safety was only a temporary luxury, it always has been.

The letter is discarded onto a table, as you opt to hazard a peek out of your curtains instead. The gray from yesterday remains as thick clouds crowd above, threatening another storm. The treetops and tall grass dance in the breeze, freeing leaves and breaking flower stems. There’s no one standing there to greet you, to explain themselves for the strange message that they had left.

The town had probably already driven you to madness, picturing things that were not there while old fools jab you with ominous letters and jeering stares to see just how long it would take to watch you fall apart.

Another delivery day it would be, then; best to get it out of the way before the rain begins to fall.

Maybe you could even retrieve the umbrella along the path, discarded, battered from the rain and likely unused.

You don’t bother packaging the pocket watch, choosing to hastily stuff it into the pocket of your coat instead. Courtesies be damned. Tea and a warm bath would do well when the house was sated by your absence, when you were finally given time to breathe.

In your haste, you nearly kick over what’s been left on the uppermost stair leading to your door.

You find a table clock covered in a thick black fabric, a little note attached to it giving the owner’s name and address, and a small bag containing payment.

It’s all securely placed inside, next to the ugly letter on the table.

Your umbrella doesn’t wait on the path, but you’ve hardly the mind to care. Your hand tightens around the pocket watch as you cord your way down the path and back into town, rushing amidst the foliage until the sounds of your footfalls are dulled by the street.

Reaching the house, a towering narrow building that smells like tobacco even from outside, your hand curls to knock at the door in the same breath taken as the chain is plucked to place it on the knob, intent on scurrying away immediately to avoid the disgusted gaze of the man that waits inside.

You don’t quite make it far enough before the door swings open and you’re greeted by a round face, nose upturned and lip curled into a sneer.

That isn’t imagination.

There’s a genuine hate in this man, seeping down into his bones that makes him almost seem to reek like sulfur through the cloud of cigarette smoke that wafts around him. It’s the face of someone who would love nothing more than to see your own damnation, watch the earth suck you in until your wails fall silent and a fire roars upward in your wake.

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

“Parts needed to be replaced,” you explain, voice tight and keening like a wolf in a trap, “I assure you that I—“

“It’s shoddy work. Any clocksmith up north would have done better for half the price..”

It goes on like this for what feels like at minimum thirty revolutions, but it must have only been five or so. His droning voice makes it hard to keep track, buzzing as he examines your work, hours wasted upon aiding such an awful creature.

He only seems to grow bored of his chiding when you fall to silence. He wants a reaction, not a wide-eyed fretful stare and pursed lips caging in any sound that may bubble up from your throat.

In one final act of detestation, the watch is tossed to the ground, stomped in repetition until the hands snap, the ticking quiets, and you see months of your work brought to ruin in a mere seven seconds.

He storms back inside and slams the door shut as you stoop to collect the little, broken thing, cradling it in your palms. Maybe it wouldn’t be fixed again, but you’ve hardly the mind to let anything be left abandoned like this.

Though the anger builds, white bitter smoke billowing through your veins, it remains tucked away inside eventually communing with the animal, all but entirely snuffed out when your steps lead you to the front door of the house.

The window to the right is open, not broken. The curtains were pushed aside as though to allow a breeze to enter. A muddy footprint, vast and long scales the siding, but there’s no exiting one to join it.

You stare and listen, taking one quiet step towards the open window to strain your hearing. Nothing. Inside, it’s quiet, only the sound of the breeze rattling that note left on the table, the ticking and the familiar creaks and groans of the house settling.

So, you enter.

With the poker from the hearth in tow, the rooms are investigated one by one. Each and every one of them clear of any intruder. Even the attic, for all of it’s imagined ghosts sits empty, stale and silent. There’s no one here, nothing out of place or broken that hadn’t already been cast out from the world and delivered into your hands.

Strangely enough, it’s more peaceful like this; the leaves could be heard rustling outside, birds calling, even the chirps and strumming of crickets too late to flee the onset of chill seeping through this purgatory, filling the mundane void with sounds of life and peace.

You leave the window open.

The pocket watch is left on the desk, the kettle filled with water and placed upon the stove to heat, all before your eyes trail over to that little table beside the front door.

The only thing amiss is there, your intuition roars at you: “Look, look. Just look.”

The table clock from this morning sits there, the wood casing dusty and the hands perpetually stuck to sit at six o’clock, easy to enough to break, and easier still to fix. An overworked battery and a little oil would be its saving grace; if only things could be so simple for yourself, for the thousand or so others that surely must feel the same— clawed, fretful little rabbits.

Your eyes narrow momentarily, vaguely recalling that the damned thing had been covered when it was dragged inside. Something sable and thick, a scrap of a heavy dress shirt perhaps, verily stained. Odd that someone would have broken in merely to steal something so useless, but stranger tales have been told. For all you cared, the perpetrator could keep it.

You entertain the idea of the wild man in the trees, thick and sturdy as one. Perhaps he left the note, stole warmth from your home and found comfort in that useless old shirt after leaving that roughly scrawled note. Though the idea would horrify others, it only sets your ceaselessly racing pulse at ease.

Toying with the idea that someone so very much like you lurks the hills, found a home in your eyes and paid a visit, kind enough to wait until you were in town as to not scare you… and the kettle begins to whistle.

———

You had forgotten to close the window last night. Or maybe it was left as an invitation, a silent offer of your companionship for the unknown thing that occupies your already haunted mind these days. Something in your subconscious dared you to simply forget, see what happens, and you’re not entirely disappointed to find out that yes, something has happened.

There are three flowers laid out there in a row, smushed by the weight of a heavy palm: a daffodil left golden and proud despite the way her petals fray and wither, and two others wild and unnamed with blue and white colors leading to vibrant green stems. And roots. He hadn’t the time to pluck them proper, nor had a sense of gentleness to his touch in doing so.

It’s the first time you’ve laughed in months, a giggling that makes your chest ache from a sudden mirth through all of this wretchedness. Who knew it would only take three flowers and the appearance of someone so disconnected? You take them and place them in a vase in the same spot, careful to add just the right amount of water to keep them living for a time.

Someone brought you flowers— actually brought you a gift, not a job. You remember those eyes, too. His hands may not have been gentle, but that look was.

Though darkness still creeps internally, you’re resolute in what you must do when you prepare for the day. You’ve never really worn this dress— a soft, white thing with billowing sleeves and tight cuffs that brings a swell to your breasts and cinches your waist. One of the women about town had given it to you in lieu of payment for repairing her husband's watch, left a note prattling onward for three pages about how a woman should dress to find a man. Three!

You’ll find him, thank him for the flowers, bat your eyelashes just a little and retrieve your umbrella. That’s all. The rain would be back, more deliveries would have to be made, and if you could manage a friend from all of this well… surely things could work out for you, just this once.

Your steps are less hurried and more tentative this time around. You don’t barrel through the woods like a galloping mare, mindful of your dress as you lift the fabric at the hips to avoid thick, slickened mire. There isn’t much to do about the thorns nipping at your ankles, leaving little scratches like cat’s claws in their wake.

The thought that maybe this was a ridiculous idea only settles in your mind after an hour of searching. You don’t even have a name to call him by, not an idea on just where he may be or what his intentions truly were, all further punctuated by the fact that you’ve found yourself in the midst of a wild orchard, the yellowing grass nearly reaching your knees as you reluctantly allow your dress to flow free. Thick clusters of apples hang above your head, each nearly ripe, some even fallen to leave a fragrant sweet smell in the wake of their rot.

Thunder roars above, distant but loud, cruelly threatening the wake of a downpour that would so easily sully the delicate thing you wear. Your chest aches from exertion, from whichever horrid fear it's settled on today, and you’re nearly fully convinced of your own madness when something does finally catch your eye.

There’s a cabin, nestled between the trees, old and lacking glass panes for the windows. The roof is covered in moss, walls creeping with the old green of vines and nearly hidden away entirely by the tall grass that rises above its face.

You could wait out the storm in the dark there, rethink your steps until you find a way back home and the prospect of actually entering a building that wasn’t the very picture of your own agony stirs something within you.

You don’t bother to knock, only waltz right in and let the door shut softly behind you. It creaks as it goes, whining from the rust laden over its hinges. As expected, the cabin is mostly barren; a set of dust laden chairs sits on opposite ends of a table missing a leg, a large bookshelf housing only a torn copy of Paradise Lost and a journal, a few dirtied dishes are left on the floor, and in the corner…

There are a lot of things that make you feel small.

You couldn’t live up to your father’s name in town. The thought that you were not an equal to the other ladies with their fine jewelry and dresses, rings wrapped around their fingers, that was a sore spot despite the way you refused to admit to it. Even the hounds lurking about the butcher’s shop on lonely night deliveries, baying and growling when your feet carried you too close.

None of those things could even compare to how you felt now.

The rug he lies beneath is large on its own, but your flower-giving, grateful titan seems even more so. It’s as though walking into a bear’s den and expecting a mere squirrel. Even curled into himself in sleep, he seems impossibly huge.

You couldn’t see much of him that first night, but now… where the rags that make up his clothes reveal a series of long scars along his legs, the hairy arms that seem far too thick: all of him, all of him is massive.

Your rabbit heart does not claw or fight you now, it only flutters, placated by the sight of something so… was there really a word for it? The idea that someone so imposing could strike the match of attraction within you. Feelings were strange, each comes sharp and new like the deliberate twist of a knife through a body, soft like warm bread.

You smile as you wander to his side, recognizing the cloth he wears over his head immediately as the one stolen from your house. Your dress is smoothed at your rear as you lower yourself to sit on your knees at his side, quiet and slow.

“Hello,” you whisper, placing a hand on a shoulder that dwarfs it entirely, feeling the bulge of muscle beneath the ripped shirt, the ridge of keloid scars from deep cuts laid into his skin.

The titan’s eyelids flutter for a moment as he begins to stir, staring up at the ceiling, teetering on the edge between waking and dreaming. Then, those cold blue eyes lock onto you. A flash of disbelief crosses them, just for a moment before something flips and from the holes ripped into that makeshift hood you see an expression that seems almost agonized.

“Hello,” he rasps after a long moment, shifting onto his side to prop himself up and raise his head to level with your own.

His breathing is shallow, almost panicked and you finally think to bring your hands to your lap instead, avoid touching him and potentially startling the poor man further.

“I wanted to thank you… for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” You pause as you study what little of his expression you can make out through the mask, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners only giving a glimpse of a smile. All teeth, probably, an excited one that even the imagination of warms your heart. “I put them in a vase. I didn’t want them to die.”

“I should not have…” His voice is softer than you ever imagined that it could be, well-spoken as the words are pulled from his throat. You find yourself transfixed, almost, praying that he continues if only to hear the delicate strumming of his tone, the soft sigh of breath that leaves him afterward.

“Es tut mir leid.”

The apology is followed by a low sweep of his gaze, slowly crawling from the peek of your cleavage to your hips to rest where your hands lay clasped in your lap.

He hardly seems to know what to do with himself, what to say, and all at once the realization dawns on you that no, he isn’t merely paying his thanks and seeking conversation. Perhaps that was part of it then, but now… he seems almost entranced.

You recognize those looks, from men in passing when they leered, but from him… from this weary, haunted stranger. It only seems a silent sort of reverence; as though longing for something he’s been deprived of.

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

He falls silent at that, conflicted if the pinch of his brow were anything to go by. Then, sudden, he takes your wrist and jerks your hand toward his face, thumb brushing over the small calluses over each pad of your fingers. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, even more scaring along those massive hands and you shiver. It’s not fear it’s… something akin to it, opposite by the way it dances and writhes in warmth rather than the cold.

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

His words are spoken somberly, as if there is more to say that he holds back. A part of you warns that you’re not prepared for it anyhow, so you let him continue that motion, brushing over your palm with a featherlight touch until it begins to tickle.

Your giggle prompts him to raise his head, watery eyes threatening tears when he hears that sweet sound bubble up from within you. His hand curls over your own, trapping you in his grasp as though little else matters to him more than the need to touch you in some way.

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

You shake your head at that, flicking your thumb across the top of his burly hand, marveling at the smooth skin of his scars and the rough texture of the hair that dots his knuckles.

“You’re sweet to me, and that’s all that matters.”

It could have been a mistake, how easily you’ve taken to this bizarre titan. Any lady with proper regard for her standing and womanhood assuredly wouldn’t have said something like that to a beast that has the stature and the scent of something wild.

Still, the words leave your lips far too quickly to draw back; he responds with an urgency.

You find yourself pulled ever closer by the iron grip on your hand, tugged into the rug-turned-mattress by this man as he cages you in to meld against his chest. He’s everywhere, warm and burning against the chill of your skin with flesh touched by hellfire.

You only sigh pitifully when his arm wraps around your waist. When was the last time you had even felt an embrace? You couldn’t recall, and even if you had, it would have paled in comparison to one such as this. You breathe him in like a summer’s breeze, tasting a hint of the apple orchard beyond on your tongue when you open your mouth to speak once again.

“See..?”

The tension in his muscles seems to melt away; if your heart is like a hare then surely his must be more akin to a bull. It takes some time before he softens entirely against you, despite his initiation. His breath is almost a pant when his hand trails upward along your back, feeling every ridge and dip and curve, breath catching in wonder as you allow it.

“You are soft like…”

His head dips to press into your shoulder, breathing you in, humming his approval at the mingling scent of clock oil and tea leaves that lingers on your skin. Even from beneath the hood, you can feel the way his lips brush over you, his mouth parted in a voiceless plea.

“… like one of the flowers.”

It’s almost torture really, how someone could be so comforting, so endearing.

His hand trails further, drifting over the backside of your dress to curl against your thigh threatening something if you don’t conjure the sense to stop him. It stokes the fire within you, glowing ember in place of a brain, it seemed. You feel weak, lost in a foreign touch and sweet, clumsily spoken words.

If the townsfolk could see you now, herded up in this stranger’s arms, surely they wouldn’t dare to cast any disapproval your way. Not one of those meek little devils would have a word to say… not now or ever again.

“You’re like… a tree then,” you whisper as you finally will yourself to twist away from the grip, already mourning the loss of warmth as a cold wind filters through the openings in the cabin.

He doesn’t sulk as you pull away, only seems content to have been blessed with that much. That mist remains in his eyes before they shut again, willing himself to rise to sit up just as you do.

“Will you stay?”

You glance over the cabin again, with all of its dust and cobwebs. Your umbrella sits in the corner, propped upright with its handle leant against the wall, out of place amidst the dilapidation prevalent here.

This wasn’t a home at all, just a quiet, cold purgatory. Though the halls of your own may mock your solitude, this place seems to echo his very being: alone, broken, rotting and so, so very cold.

Your heart bleeds as you weigh your options, expression growing sullen and torn. He notices, tentatively takes your hand again in an almost practiced way of providing comfort. Had he ever even…

Your thoughts begin to drift again, and you force yourself to settle on a choice. It’s not your heart that should be damned, but that horrid seed of doubt constantly burdening, stealing from, and clawing at you.

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

There’s an audible hiss of breath through his teeth, that peculiar look of agony crosses his face again… and finally, he weeps.

———

König, you think to call him.

He teaches you German from time to time, in turn for you allowing him to watch as you work away at the clocks. It feels fitting in a way. Not because he harbors the self-importance of a noble figure, nor his stature; he’s simply become something impossibly important in the week long span you’ve spent together now.

You’ve decorated the guest room properly for him, and in turn he’s brought you firewood, foraged and hunted so that neither of you have had to bother with the town. The fire raged in the hearth as the cold continues to set in, and your walks to town have been enjoyable now. He accompanies you to the hill on some nights, draws you a bath when you come home, even cooks.

So… maybe a king was not entirely appropriate, but calling him a servant certainly wasn’t either. Even with the way he seems to melt and become docile at the slightest brush of your hand, the way you know with a certainty he would die for you if you spoke the word.

And still, you call him König: the king of your heart.

There are flowers at your windowsill each morning, still clinging to their roots. You bake the bread while he cooks stew with herbs gathered from the little garden just beyond the walls of the home, one he’s graciously told you he’s wanted to expand for you. Books you’ve overlooked for years have been read end to end by him, and he especially seems to like those with art of flowers drawn into their pages, always seeking you out to show you, explain their meanings, expressing the beauty that he sees in them and within you.

You don’t know where he’s come from, what his life was like before this, and with the same respect that he gives to you… you don’t ask.

“We’re starting a new story,” you had said the first morning over a breakfast of hastily made apple dumplings. To which he had agreed, with a somber hum, nodding his hooded head.

Though you do wonder about his secrets, his face. Seeing him now is all it really takes to make you smile.

He comes through the door, hauling in the massive grandfather clock that a carriage had left only this morning. The bob and the lyre both appeared broken at a glance, but your heart sinks when you read the name on the note left attached to it.

The same petulant little man that had stomped that poor watch to pieces right in front of you, no doubt he had broken this one too in some sort of tantrum. What was it now? Had the poor clock chimes a bit too loudly during the night? Was that deserving of a foot lodged right into its heart?

“König, do you mind just leaving it there?” You gesture toward the middle of the room, watching as the muscles beneath his shirt don’t even seem to ripple from exertion.

“Natürlich.”

As you set to work, pulling away parts, straightening out bends and replacing what’s broken, he kneels at your side watching with rapt attention. There’s no fixing the pendulum bob entirely, it’s far too bent and scraped, but you wouldn’t be replacing that with work of your own either. The bastard gets what he gets and that will do.

In truth, your work since having König here has only improved, and perhaps you’re showing off a bit, but the way he watches you tinker with the dusty old things as if mesmerized fills you with pride. You could fix anything, yes, with him at your side you wanted to.

The house doesn’t echo wasted time anymore, only that crowding feeling of something buzzing and chirping, budding up in the spaces where shadows should crawl: love. You wouldn’t trade it for the loneliness to return, not ever. A new sort of fear that stings just as much as it does caress.

So you work in silence, only breaking it to answer the sparse questions that he throws out.

When the clock is shoddily finished, you wipe the oil from your hands on a rag, and take König’s own large arm as it’s offered out to you to stand.

“I will carry it for you tonight,” he suggests, delicately brushing a bit of dust from your sleeve. His touch does linger, always lingers, trailing up to massage at your shoulder and cup at your neck. The swell of heat that arrives at your face then, the press of your thighs beneath your skirt… it’s always the same.

“I thought that you didn’t want to go into town?”

Your shoulder meets his chest as you press against him, doing very little to calm your body’s frustrations. The blood within you stirs like a violent wave feeling him this near— cleaned up and dressed in some patchwork conglomerate of your father’s old clothes. He smells like a union between the earth and sea, salt and alder leaf, a hint of thyme and lavender.

His eyes glitter when his gaze roves from your face to chest, hand skittering down to curl at the small of your back. To anyone else, you would look the picture of husband and wife perhaps.

“I would go anywhere with you.”

A fresh normal, like the rise of spring, those words and touches that suggest more: threatening while you plead in silence for him to just give you a push, unlace your dress and finally feel and see him properly.

“Then… yes, let’s get the cursed thing out of here tonight.”

His grip tightens around you just for a moment, fingers curling and flexing into the soft linen covering you, bunching it up just so at your back before he relents, draws away.

“You dislike this one?” König sounds almost hurt, perhaps he favored it, being tall and similar to him in some way. Another odd thing, hard to place, but he’s never seemed to like you talking down about your own work, a habit that needed breaking.

“No,” you begin to explain, curling your arms around his middle as you both stare at the thing, ticking quietly before you, “its owner is just a pain.”

“I can tell. You seem nervous, meine geliebte.”

“You haven’t taught me that one yet,” you point out, not playing coy, despite the look he gives you that suggests you know.

There’s always that ache when his eyes narrow and that playful glint reaches them. How someone could look as though they’ve suffered dozens of lifetimes of pain and still have that look, you did not know, but it excites you. A furious, needy excitement.

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

The stare relents as he heads back out into the garden, leaving you to sort yourself out.

———

“You’re sure that you can carry it the entire way?”

It’s not that you could help, really. The thing must have weighed as much as yourself, strung up over König’s back with a rope he had found lying someplace in the garden.

“Ja, it’s fine.” He’s not out of breath in the slightest either. You realize then that if you put on all your charms bending, arching and delicately maneuvering your hands to fix the clocks, the assuredly this was his way of doing the same. You try to reign yourself in from staring at the damp spot on his shirt, clinging to his broad expanse of chest, the way that his thighs seem to tense with each step forward.

You can’t— you merely trail behind him until you take the lead to bring him right to the other man’s doorstep. Your hands find the ropes that keep the clock saddled to König’s back, carefully untying them as he stoops down to let its wooden legs rest against the ground below. It scrapes, the consequence of being so heavy and forced to stand on those four tiny legs, and only then does it decide to make a cacophony of noise signaling the new hour, a trilling sort of bong that makes even your ears ring as it breaks up the silence of the night.

You don’t even need to knock, because the door flies open immediately. The man stands proud, unperturbed by your giant companion as he shoves past you to inspect his clock. There are no greetings, no pleasantries, and if you were just a bit more careless with your reputation, smacking him would have only brought you satisfaction.

“Not good, but it will do,” the little man huffs, knocking at the glass casing over the clock’s face with his knuckle. “Be a dear and have your friend bring it in for me.”

You’ve no doubt that König senses your annoyance as he cocks his head at you, but when you give a curt nod in response, he does what’s requested. The clock is set in a large den. It’s not as opulent and gilded as you had expected, just a simple home housing a very infuriating man. You watch from the doorway, swaying on your feet as König rights the clock and pushes it where he’s directed. Just a few more seconds and the two of you would be well on your way, and perhaps he would even teach you a new curse for a man like that.

He comes uncomfortably close to König’s side, a smug look plastered over his face that only seems to exaggerate just how greasy and mousy that you know him to be. Something is whispered that you can’t quite make out, a dare, a mocking taunt, something that pisses you off even without the knowledge.

The hood is pulled off by thin fingers, cast aside to the floor beyond the pair.

The man’s face goes pale before you even get a glimpse of König at all. He backs away, mouth gaping as König calmly moves to retrieve the cloth. You think you hear the word “monster” mumbled amidst a slew of incoherent babbling, but when your companion turns to face you, you feel no fear.

König’s face is like patchwork, scars connecting all together. They run like small streams up from his jaw and over his chin, splitting his lip at the corner of his mouth and dancing up to his eye. The nose is broken in places, several times over likely, crooked with a bump that only seems strangely cute. The unkempt hair lining his jaw should be trimmed, but… there’s no monster here. Only a man who has seen and felt pains that you could not bring yourself to imagine.

His head dips when he notices your wide-eyes stare, a sort of shame hidden away behind strands of long, black hair. He shuffles out of the house and shuts the door behind him, standing rigid as he expects the worst, for you to wail and sob and gather a group of townsfolk to herd him far away with fire and stones.

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t bother to hide himself away again during the walk back, his hand remains in your hold, trembling every now and then and gripping you tighter as he struggles with the thoughts no doubt raging in his skull like a storm. You offer your comfort as you lean toward him, head pressed against his arm even as you turn the knob and step inside.

You warm a bath for him then, a task that is no easy feat. König does not offer his help, resigned to some belief that this is only a temporary pity.

He allows you to peel away his clothes, graze your fingers over his body, over the scars all with a barely contained creature scraping out from inside: the untamed bull that you can not see. You press a kiss there, over his heart, feel it’s beating against your lips, pulling away only when his thumb strokes your cheek.

Each new sight of him is just as wonderful as they have always been. It’s not that you take pleasure in seeing the way he must have suffered; the now healed bullet wound over his abdomen speaks volumes of just what people are capable of when met with the sight of something that they do not understand.

The questions burn at the back of your skull, bitten back as your jaw tightens.

You help him wash with soap and a soft cloth, carefully removing any patches of dirt and dust that have lingered despite his near-daily bathing since living beneath your roof. The rough beard is trimmed in full, until all that’s left is a trail of dark stubble lingering along his jaw, broken up by scars like thin spider silk that make up the entirety of his body.

His hair is a mess, too, matted and clinging to his skull in wild clumps. You’re gentle with the brush as you free the tangles, clipping at what can not be saved with sharpened scissors, and massaging at his scalp as he murmurs his approval. It’s such a subdued, gentle cooing from his chest, a purr almost that shatters your heart and forces it back into place instantly.

Whatever he was or was not, you were certain this stray had never felt a touch like your own, if he had ever been touched by human hands at all.

König seems to settle greatly once you’ve tended to him and it does seem to finally dawn on him that you’re not repulsed, you’ve touched most of his damaged body, and have only brought him the gentleness that should have been commonplace by now. This isn’t some elaborate torture method— it’s only tender.

“Your turn, hm?”

That, however, brings you pause. Your hands rest on his shoulder, carefully trying to loosen a stubborn knot when you abruptly still. As if that were all he needed for encouragement, his hands cinch your waist, pulling you up and over the rim of the tub as you whine your protests in hushed little hisses. All for naught, as you find yourself submerged below the waist.

“I’m still dressed,” you sulk as the water dampens your dress, now seated between his parted thighs.

König only gives a laugh in response as his arms encase you in another embrace, his head resting against the dip between your shoulder and neck as his chest is brought to press against your back.

“And you’re still mine.”

His fingers trail further down to the wet fabric billowing amidst the soft, lapping waves of the water, pulling it up until it rests just above your hips. There’s no tact, only a clumsy sort of desperation rarely seen upon men, especially not of his stature.

You allow him to loosen the strands of lace at your back, bring your clothing up and over your head to leave it resting and dripping over the rim, pooling below onto the boards of the wooden floor. Your undergarments follow to join the flooding pile of soaked linen and lace.

You’re flustered certainly, grateful for the water surrounding that conceals the warmth that echoes your fondness for this titan between your legs.

You even considered that he would be more shy, not… as eager to begin to wash you, and not with the cloth but with his own hands, nimbly moving over every dip and curve coating you in the slick residue of soap, leaving suds in its wake. He starts at your shoulders, breath growing heavy the more you soften and relax against his chest.

It’s only a matter of time before his hands find and cup your breasts, and you swear that you can feel the grin that splits his face as you melt further against him. König gropes at and massages you there, eager fingers deliberately stroking at your hardened nipples until you quiver and sigh.

You find purchase moving your arms to your sides to grasp at his biceps, muscles flexing as he works his way down your trembling abdomen to your mound, kissing at your shoulder as you purr your encouragement.

The praises that leave your lips come tight and barely restrained as a finger trails against your slit, moving up to circle your clit before diving back down to prod at you.

Your head is gently tilted back by his free hand, your face peppered in clumsy, messy kisses as a digit sinks into you. It’s lazy work, trying to find a rhythm with your squirming. He only seems satisfied when it presses further, curling against the spot that makes you mewl sweetest, and finally, he kisses you full on.

It’s delivered as sloppily as his fingering, any trailing thought left in your skull dims, fuzzy with sheer bliss as his thumb begins to pet at your clit in tandem with each push and drag of his index. It doesn’t help that you feel his own growing need, hard and hot against your lower back, throbbing with each sound pulled from your mouth, his hips jerking on occasion to drag his shaft against your backside.

“König, we should get out,” you murmur through a flood of heat that curls and urges and presses at your lower half to seek some satisfaction, have him bed you proper. “We can go to—“

His mouth meets yours again, hungrier and more determined than before, the water rolling with each flick of his thumb. In a mere moment you feel that heat stoke to an inferno, blazing from your stomach to cause your feet to kick out, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you ride out each passing wave of paradise crying openly into his mouth.

When your trembling does subside, he kisses your cheek and pulls you up from the water, wrapping you up in his arms. His stare remains ever burning, pupils blown to a coal black, dreamy in the way he slinks back just to drink you in further. You can’t keep track of all of the places his eyes seem to dart, which touch to settle on and relish as he paws at you from chest to rear, as if mesmerized that you are no mere illusion.

You’re giving him everything; no longer the king of simply a beating organ tucked beneath your breast, but your body, bed, wherever he chooses to conquer next, of all the things that he’s been deprived of.

“We will go to bed, beloved,” he rasps, sounding more present than ever. The nightmares lurking behind his eyes have long past now: all focus is turned to you. You’re the only thing that’s ever loved him in return. “We will… become one.”

“Have you ever…” Your own voice fails you now, the evident want between you two incapable of making this any less… tedious. It was tedious, a flighty feathered thing that seems keen on slipping out of your grasp at any moment. If it were to be his first, surely it should be special, somehow, someway. If it were not… you dreaded that thought, a bitter envy sours on your tongue until it’s shaken off.

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

Though a sense of relief seems to flood you at that, you dare not show it. You will take him to your bed, climb atop him and show him how these things work, a slow sort of love and the rest could wait.

It was foolish to believe that König would settle for such a thing, wild and only temporarily tamed by your sweetness: he is entirely different the moment you’re herded into the bedroom. The desperation of his touches has faded out entirely, replaced with what feels almost like a rage.

He wouldn’t take out humanities sins on you, no, but he would years of brutal neglect have left him starved and it just so happens that you’re an outlet for it, something to feed from by way of spilling his soul and his seed all into you, taken back with the kisses and praises that would surely come after this union.

You’re unceremoniously pushed onto the bed, lying at your side as he climbs in behind you. He whispers his requests into your hair, even as his hand wraps to pull your thigh up before you can bless him with a nod in response. He struggles for a moment, parting your labia with the obscene, ridiculous thing that hangs between his legs. It drags over you in repetition, oiled like the clock cogs before the head of his cock finally finds the opening his finger explored only minutes earlier.

You almost expect him to break you right then, force you to take what your body— no body- had surely been made for, but he only thrusts the tip inside and gives you some time to adjust, roll your hips down centimeter by agonizing centimeter.

“You are… Does it hurt you..?” His voice is a breathless pant, trying to hold himself together despite the daze he’s found himself in, buried not even three inches into your cunt.

“No… you can move,” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering as you tilt you head to look at him over your shoulder.

König clings to you as he sinks further, grasping at your waist to pull your further down, sharp breaths hissed between gritting teeth as he delights in the way your womanhood grips at his shaft.

Just as before, there’s no rhythm to him, he takes the sounds that leave you as a direction, huffing into your ear words that your mind could not hope to translate. There’s an indulgence to it, shared between you both as his hand curls tighter against your thigh, spread open and accepting of the brutal pace he takes to have just a taste of what it feels to be a normal man.

His words falter at a point, when you feel your body tightening around him, sucking him in, closer, nearer as your head lolls back. The inferno from before pales in comparison to the blaze that overtakes you now, his voice strained with bliss as you begin to moan for him. With each drag and soar of his cock spearing you open, you’re only brought further to a glimpse of Eden. If this were the fall of man, you find you couldn’t question Eve for relishing in it.

“… you gave me a name,” he rasps, “A home…”

All at once that glimmer of heaven crashes down around you, bathes you in the glow of something lofty and holy as he pulls you close and drives himself to the hilt within you. The throbbing and pulsing of his length pulls you over just as his seed spills within, drips thick and flooding as your own sex drools in tandem, sharing a perfect rapture both clandestine and sacred. He gives you another generous thrust, ensuring that he’s carved a space inside no other man could ever hope to fill.

You fret when you find him weeping, quiet tears rolling down his pale cheeks to spill over your shoulder, but the gentle smile on his face is pacifying as you twist around to face him. “And now you have my love.”

“I’ll cherish it,” he murmurs, voice broken and pitiful as you’re maneuvered upward to rest against the feather-stuffed pillows against the headboard.

You curl against him, head resting on his chest, an arm draped over his waist. He takes your hand into his own, appraising it like the first time you properly met. Hands of a maker. Your mind wanders to significance in that statement, the things that needn’t be told are finding ways to curtain you anyhow when he speaks again.

“Could you fix me?” He asks, tracing over the calluses on your fingertips, still bathing in the afterglow.

The question, though you felt it coming, still hurts to hear him speak it: breathing life into a thought that should have never existed to begin with.

“There’s nothing to fix.” Though you speak true, though you know he feels your sincerity, his eyes are heavy when he looks to you again. “Why would you ask me that?”

The story that he tells you then is one of horror. From his maker down to the things he’s done, seen, felt: hated from the moment he woke into this strange world, the horrible loneliness that pushed and bedded down inside of him like acceptance never would. The people that he’s throttled in some desire to finally have someone like him; men, women, it made no difference. All of it is bared with only one message eternally prevalent: he has only ever wanted to be loved.

In truth, he was a monster. Not because he was given the instinctual urge to be, but because it was all he knew. Gnashing teeth from demons hurling that word out with every stone they threw, every shot and stab at his heart.

You listen, despite the way it hurts, pull him a little closer when he ends his tale with your meeting, how he knew you were the only blessing he would ever receive in his lifetime— however long that may be.

You were good at fixing broken things, but König never needed to be fixed. Only found.

———

“Now you’re supposed to say it,” you hum, as his hands reach to the hem of the hood— his- covering your face. They rove beneath the fabric, curling against the skin of your cheeks, tracing small patterns there, some rotations like the clocks, others the childish hearts scribbled into books.

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

“You’re bad at this.” You giggle when he does finally push the cloth up past your nose, above your eyes and further until it’s pulled back like a veil.

“I will love you endlessly,” he continues, returning your noise of elation with a huffed laugh of his own. “I already do.”

“I love you, too.”

No one in town would ever properly marry you two, not if one look could make a weak man fall to his knees in horror, but here, beneath the roof of a home once echoing the same voice that haunts him… it was good enough. The moon seems to echo your vows with dancing rays, stars twinkling in approval as the calls of night birds carry through the open window.

There are no rings, no written formalities to be stored away with dust-ridden papers, preyed upon by mites. It’s far more sacred, genuine than the flippant affairs and arrangements that go on with those that would so readily cast the both of you aside. In truth— the thought of them rarely comes; doesn’t even rile up that intense fear inside of you any longer.

Everything only seems easier with the blooming garden outdoors, and the man who gazes upon you like he sees divinity itself behind your eyes, in the softness of your flesh.

When you kiss, it’s something from a fairytale, flowers strewn at your feet and the veil removed from your hair by a gentle hand.

Eden doesn’t seem so much like a memory lost to time, after all.

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction

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romanoffsdarling · 11 months

Text

Later Never Comes

Pairing: CEO!Silver-Fox!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your love for her knew no bounds, but there’s only so long you can hold on— only so many empty promises you can stand— before you finally have to let go. Before you finally realize that later may never become real.

Word Count: 4,779

Warnings: G!P Wanda, legal age gap, brief oral (R receiving), dirty (and slightly possessive) talk, mommy kink, slightly rough sex, neglect, and angst (with a bittersweet ending). 18+, Minors DNI.

Author’s Note: I know I promised a second part to Summertime Sadness and Time To Say (Goodbye), but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I hope you can forgive me!

Great love always ends in tragedy.

That’s the saying, right? A stupid one if you had anything to say about it. What’s so great about love if it only ends in heartbreak? If you don’t end up with the person that makes your entire being thrum? If everything that had once been so colorful is suddenly black-and-white due to their absence?

Is the love great due to the story? To the emotions, the events, that occur throughout its long winded saga? Or is it great because it was doomed from the start? Because, even though it’d end one way, two people were still willing to fight the odds, to fight fate, even if they’d never end up winning.

You’re not sure, nor do you care, because there’s no way a love of that kind could be anything except terrible— except bone-chillingly agonizing in the way you’d have to figure out how to move on without it. Figure out how to be without the person that made everything make sense, that made you feel like the person you were always meant to be.

Even if it’s been years since you’ve seen her, years since you’ve felt her lips against yours, an elegantly lithe body pressed to your own, and the sweet scent of sandalwood and lavender mixed perfectly in your nose, you haven’t been able to figure that out. Haven’t been able to get her out of your system, no matter how much you may try.

How could you? When you’ve loved, and been loved by, Wanda Maximoff?

[Past]

“I’m just saying she’s been interested to meet you since she saw our group picture from Fiji.” Your best friend, Agatha, relayed, jovially leading you towards the small, yet upscale, café that Wanda Maximoff— CEO of Scarlet Entertainment— agreed to meet you. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, sweetie. Especially one that came about due to my own propensity to lose bets with that witch.”

Your brow furrows. “I’m just not sure what exactly this meeting is supposed to be about. I just graduated college, I barely have any experience under my belt.”

“But you have me as a mentor,” she rebukes, a small smirk on her lips. “And that’s all that you need to get into Wanda’s head.”

“Ah, yes.” You roll your eyes, amusement welling within your chest. “How could I forget about your age-old rivalry?”

“Don’t phrase it like that. Makes me sound old.” Agatha bumps her shoulder against yours, eyes narrowed.

“And mentor doesn’t?”

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’. “That makes me sound wise.”

“And what does wisdom come from again?”

You’re just able to dodge the swat directed at your arm, a bright smile tugging your lips upward, as you finally enter the quaint café— the aromatic smell of coffee, a hint of cinnamon, and something slightly citrusy, hits you all at once. A combination that shouldn’t have worked as well it did.

Once you placed your order— a simple coffee with your usual additions— you turned back to Agatha with an expectant expression. “Anything I should know about this meetings, Ags?”

She shakes her head, tendrils of brown hair escaping the haphazard bun she had thrown them in. “You’re here.” Agatha hands you the drink the barista had just put beside you, a wane smile on her lips. “That’s the important part to achieve for any date.”

Your steps stutter, nearly causing you to trip into a nearby table. “W-What?” Widened eyes meet Agatha’s unaffected one, a certain level of calmness that you found irritating. “What do you mean date? I thought this was a meeting?”

Agatha waves her hand. “Lunch meeting, lunch date. Means the same thing in the end.” She shoulders her purse, clearly not planning on staying any longer than she has to. “You’ll be fine, Y/N. You’re a catch. Maximoff would have to be a bigger idiot than I think she already is if she lets you go.”

Before you’re able to respond, Agatha places a chaste kiss to your cheek, offers one last cheeky wink, and saunters her way out of the café, leaving you completely alone. You’re honestly tempted to just abandon ship and get out of dodge— you weren’t good on dates, let alone blind dates. Something your best friend is well aware of, and would definitely be getting in an earful about this later.

However, before you’re able to make a concrete decision on your exit strategy, a husky voice speaks up from behind you.

“Are you Y/N?”

The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen stood in front of you when you turned around: long auburn hair, speckled with the beginning signs of gray, paired perfectly with the sharp emerald green of her gaze. An elegantly lithe body, encased in a form-fitting suit, tailored made to enhance every perfect curve, relaxed in a way that almost seemed arrogant— if it was for the confidence that exudes from her very being.

“Yes.” Your brain finally catches up with you, remembering the question she had asked. “Y/N.” You hold out your hand for her to shake. “Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

A small smile catches full lips, a slender hand grasping your own in a firm shake. “Wanda Maximoff.” Green eyes trail down your body. “And, trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

The months that followed the blind date went by in a blur. You could honestly say that you’ve never met anyone else like Wanda Maximoff— a woman that personified ice and fire. Watching her work— whether it be as you’re lounged on her large leather sectional, laptop balanced on her lap as slender fingers gently stroke your back, or she’s pacing back and forth with her phone pressed to her ear; voice dripping with barely concealed annoyance, underlined by a calm collectiveness that never failed to make you swoon— was an art form in itself, but being able to see the woman that appeared at the end of the day?

Where an icy facade of professionalism melts into warm smile and gentle eyes. Sharp words being replaced by sweet nothings and gentle humming.

In Wanda’s arms you’ve found a place you never even knew you were missing— home. You had a couple relationships in the past, but none of them made you feel the way Wanda does; all paling in comparison to the beautiful Sokovian.

The one thing you hadn’t expected upon beginning to date the older woman was how insatiable she was— not that you were complaining— but Wanda needed to have you as often as she could. Taking you the bedroom of your apartment, the various rooms in her penthouse, in her office within Scarlet Entertainment, hell even in the back of a limo on the way to an event. Wanda needed to have you and you needed to have her right back.

Another little thing you’ve learned about her? Or, you should say, not so little? The Sokovian sported an extra appendage that had quickly become your new best friend— not that you were going to tell Agatha that— who seemed to want you as much as Wanda did.

Which is how you found yourself where you are now— on your back, thighs clamped around Wanda’s head, as she thoroughly ate you out on the couch of her office.

“Yes.” You arch sharply, a sob being torn from your throat as Wanda’s tongue plunges even deeper into you. Your girlfriend hums happily at the sound, the vibrations sending a shockwave across your clit, and another wave of wetness gushes out of you— something that Wanda is all too happy to lap up. She had told you on more than one occasion, after she spent hours upon hours between your thighs, that you beat out even the finest of wines to her. “Please. I need you.”

With clear reluctance to leave, Wanda pulls back and easily settles on top of you. Lips and chin shining lewdly in the dim lighting of her office, darkened emerald eyes sparkling even brighter.

“You taste great, detka.” She lowers her head, offering her tongue for you to suck on. Giving you a taste of yourself, mixed intoxicatingly with her own natural one. “Could spend hours eating up your perfect pussy, but that’s not what you want, huh?” She jerks her hips, rubbing her cock against your wetness. “You want mommy to be inside you, right? Want her to stretch you out and make you scream?” Another roll of her hips causes you to arch, a breathless gasp leaving you, but Wanda doesn’t relent. “Answer me, detka. Be my good girl and I’ll give you what you crave. What do you want mommy to do?”

“Fuck me.” The cry is practically wrenched from your chest, a deep felt plea for her to just plunge into you and ruin you for anyone else. Not that she hasn’t been able to accomplish that already. “I want you to slam your cock into my pussy and make me yours, mommy. I want your cock to make my pussy its own, to shape me in its image.”

A deep, almost rumbling, snarl erupts from Wanda in response, her hips snapping forward and you’re finally filled; stretched out so fucking perfectly, an obscene slurp echoed across the room the moment Wanda’s hips met your own. She hadn’t made you cum with her mouth, but you had been so close, she had given you a mini orgasm just by entering— a feat that brings a smug smile to Wanda’s lips.

“You feel that, detka.” She takes your hand and brings it down to the slight bulge in your lower abdomen. “That’s my cock ruining you for anyone else. No one will ever be able to fill you the way I do, make you scream yourself hoarse.” Wanda snaps her hips forward after a shallow pull-back, giving out a satisfied hum at the feeling of your slick walls pressed around her. “Your pussy belongs to me, your pleasure belongs to me, and you belong to me.”

Wanda lowers her head, lips pressed firmly to your own, giving you even more of a taste of yourself than before, as her tongue practically fucks your mouth while her cock fucks your pussy. When she detaches her lips from yours, only a thin trail of saliva is left, before she’s far enough away for it to snap.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh permeates the air, an occasional grunt or moan intercepting it, and you’d be concerned about the noise level if Wanda hadn’t sent Peter, her assistant, home early— having planned to have you like this from the very moment she had invited you over.

“Just like that, mommy. Keep fucking me like that,” you babble, drunk on pleasure as Wanda kept driving her hips forward, one slender finger roughly rubbing your clit in time with each thrust. It’s of no surprise that you find your release quickly after, gushing over Wanda’s cock.

The tight contractions around her cock— as your second orgasm was much more powerful than your first— causes Wanda to groan, hips stuttering in their brutal pace. It’s clear that she was close, sweat slicked brow, causing strands of silver hair to cling to fair skin, but she obviously wanted you to come one last time— to be tossed over the edge with her.

With a shake breath, Wanda roughly brings you to the brink of your third orgasm, not even giving you time to fully get through the second. “One more, detka. You’ve got one more in you for mommy.” She dips her head, lips tenderly brushing across your forehead. “And when you come around mommy’s cock, I’m gonna fill you up like the good girl you are. Would you like that?”

You nod, practically whining. “Yes. Please.”

The older woman snarls once more, clearly affected by the look on your face, and, before you’re even aware of it, you’re crashing over the edge again— a cry of Wanda’s name passing over your lips as you spasm around her. Barely being able to catch Wanda’s own groan in response: “Yes.”

Jets of her cum paint your inner walls white, warming you up. It’s a feeling you don’t think you’ll ever get used to— or want to get used to, if you’re being honest.

Once she’s spent, Wanda gently lowers herself onto your still slightly spasming body, lips pressed softly against your cheek. “You did so good. So perfect for me. My beautiful girl.”

You happily nuzzle into Wanda’s neck, eyes drooping out of contented exhaustion. “I love you.”

You’re too out of it to feel Wanda stiffen in surprise, or to really understand what you had just whispered, but you are aware of Wanda’s arms tightening around you, her lips pressing more firmly against your skin, as she cuddles you closer to her.

And, as you begin to drift off completely, happy in Wanda’s arms, you faintly feel Wanda exhale across the shell of your ear, a shaky breath, uncharacteristic for the older woman, before her soft voice breaks through the silence: “I love you too. More than I ever thought I’d love anyone.”

[A Few Months Later…]

“How many do you want?”

It’s asked softly, one of Wanda’s hand gently running up-and-down your back in a soothing motion. Her lips pressed against the crown of your head, your face nuzzled against the crook of her neck, a place you don’t feel like leaving anytime soon.

“How many what?” You snuggle closer, delighted in the way her arms tighten instinctively. “I want a lot of things, Wands.”

Wanda huffs out a light chuckle. “Children, Y/N. How many children do you want?”

You stiffen in surprise at the question— Wanda hadn’t made it a secret that she didn’t plan on having kids. That she didn’t think she’d make a good mother due to her childhood and her busy lifestyle, but you also know that your girlfriend wouldn’t ask something unless she’s serious about the answer. Something you’ve figured out after all these months together. Regrettably, you pull your face away from the warm nest it had made so you’re able to look at her, and Wanda met your eyes calmly, sharp green softened in a way that’s only ever meant for you.

“What’s this about, Wanda?” You roll your lips, trying to process your next words carefully. “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

Emerald eyes flash warmly. “I didn’t want a lot of things, Y/N.” She easily tugs you back into her arms, lips pressed to your forehead. “But that was all before I met you.”

Touched by her words— and the clear sincerity within them— you decide to just bite the bullet, there wasn’t a point in delaying your answer. Especially if Wanda expected it.

“Two.” A gentle kiss is placed to her collarbone. “I want two boys. Twins.”

She breathes out another chuckle. “Twins, huh?” Maneuvering you both, you’re suddenly pressed against the mattress, Wanda hovering over you, smile still in place, with a familiar hardness nestled between your thighs. “That seems like something we’d have to get just right, correct?”

Even though it’s posed as question, you can tell that Wanda meant it rhetorically. That she already knew the answered you’d both settle on— an answer you always agreed upon.

Wiggling your hips, grinning mischievously at the sharp gasp that leaves Wanda’s lips at the added pressure, you throw your arms loosely around her neck.

“Yes.” You pull her closer, lips millimeters from her own. “I think it’s something we’re going to have practice quite a bit.”

Not needing any more prompting Wanda descends onto you with a ravenous hunger. One that you’re all too happy to match.

You can’t wait to experience your future if this is what’ll be waiting for you there.

The phone is cold against your overheated flesh— a concoction of anger and disappointment courses through you like lava.

“Wanda—” You pinch the bridge of your nose to stem the tide of anger. “This is the eighth time this week alone. What the hell am I supposed to tell the caterers? Again.”

A soft sigh resounds through the speaker. “Just tell them that I won’t be able to make it, Y/N.” The response, in a clearly distracted tone, does little to ease your growing ire. “I know you’ll be able to handle it.”

“I don’t want to handle it, Wanda. This is our wedding, I’d like for you to also have a say in it.” From the time on the clock, you didn’t have much time left to leave the penthouse. Not if you wanted to get to the appointment on time. “I’ve been planning this entire thing by myself, I want your help. I want to hear your opinions. I want you.”

To care goes without words, but you’re certain it rings out just the same. You had been so happy when Wanda had suddenly proposed, seemingly out of the blue. Though wasn’t that the point? Taking you to a rooftop restaurant, which she had rented out, and offered you the rare chance of getting to taste her impeccable cooking; all dishes she had learned from her mother back in Sokovia. It had been a night you’d forever cherish, memories forever ingrained in your heart: the way the stars made the green in Wanda’s eyes sparkle more, the subtle wind allowing you to be surrounded by her comforting scent, the bright smile she had given you when she dropped down to one knee, and the happy laugh that had escaped her when you said yes. It had been a fairytale, everything you had ever wanted.

Until you realized your Disney fairytale was beginning to turn into Brothers Grimm.

“You have me, Y/N.” Wanda lets out another sigh. “Look, I can’t keep talking the investors for the meeting just arrived and I need to get prepared. I promise that I’ll go over everything you discuss later, okay? I love you.”

“Wanda—”

You’re only met with the sound of the dial tone, barely getting the chance to reply before being hung up on, and the familiar aching sense of silence that follows— a hollow sound that distantly reminded you of what your heart has become.

It hadn’t always been like this. The penthouse, upon your first visit, had been cold, lifeless in a way that seemed almost inhuman, but slowly it had livened up— been filled with a sense of warmth and peace. Of love. It had been a place you could go to when you just needed an escape from the rest of the world, when you needed to be surrounded by things that remind you of the woman you love.

Now it’s suffocating in a way that you never wished for it to be.

You’re aware that Wanda is a busy woman— had been aware of it before your first date occurred— but she had always at least tried to be there. Always left you feeling like you were at least on the list of things that mattered, you didn’t necessarily need to be at the direct top; not when she had so many things to content with already. But, you’ve felt like nothing more than an afterthought lately.

Gentle kisses in the morning turned to brief parting words as she made her way quickly out the door.

Soft smiles, and inside jokes, turned to barely there quirks of full lips, and stretched out silences.

The warmth of her hold, the safety you felt from her touch, turned to an icy chill as she left you to the cold air— you don’t even remember when the last time was that you had been together properly. Since you had woken up in her arms.

You didn’t need a lot, you didn’t need all of her time, but you wanted to feel like you still mattered— that everything you have isn’t just another thing Wanda had marked off on her checklist of things to do before she turns 55.

Checking the time, a small curse leaves your lips once you realize that you’re going to be late, and, with one final glance towards the empty penthouse, you make your way out the door— hoping that the growing chill you feel isn’t indicative of a love grown cold.

Silence had become your greatest friend in the weeks that followed. The one thing that you’ve grown to count on as Wanda’s schedule only seemed to get busier and busier— hell, your relationship with her personal assistant had grown to the point that he’s been calling you by your first name now. Instead of the usually nervous ma’am or Ms. L/N.

Wedding appointments had come and gone, all of them spent alone, with Wanda barely perusing the choices that had been made before crashing out of sheer exhaustion. Conversation had grown stilted due to her own growing ire at you consistent worry— although she labeled it as nagging. That she’s been running her business for over thirty years, and she’s been doing fine.

Even now, on New Years Eve, as the clock moved ever closer to midnight, you were completely alone— expansive shadows, that seemed darker somehow, stretched out towards you like ghastly fingers, trying to tear whatever semblance of comfort you’ve found away. You’re not sure what you had been expecting, not even sure if you’d truly believed that Wanda would show herself, but you can’t lie and say that you hadn’t hoped.

Hoped that today, of all days, would be different. That you wouldn’t feel like a stranger, an intruder, within your own life, within your own home.

Fanciful musings and hopes of a lovestruck fool.

The small chirp of an incoming message pulls you from your reverie, a bright smile appearing instantly at the sight of who it’s from, before withering away once you read it: Sorry, I won’t be able to make it home tonight. Going to the Hamptons to meet some new business partners. I promise I’ll make it up to you later. I love you.

You don’t bother to send a message back— what could you possibly say? Yet another promise had been thrown to the wayside by the older woman. Even if it was just a cursory, and unspoken, one being as simple as not leaving your fiancé alone on New Years. Or waiting until the last minute to actually say anything about it.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, an acidic twang settling over your tongue, as bitterness seeps into your bloodstream, poisoning your heart and soul. You knew what you needed to do, have known since this had become your new normal, but hadn’t had the strength, or the courage, to make it a reality. Until now.

Until the heartbreak, the suffering, has become as close of a friend to you as the oppressive silence.

And, as the door to the penthouse gently closed behind you, never to be opened by your hand again, you feel a sense of bone-deep sorrow settle over you. For everything that could have been, for what you had hoped for, and all that you now had to live without. You could just step back inside, hide or destroy the letter, and Wanda would never know. She’d never find out how close you had been to giving up, but you couldn’t find the strength to do so. Could no longer gather up the power to keep fighting for something that’s been lost long ago— no matter how much your heart screams at it not being true.

Tears gather in your eyes as you take another step away from the door, away from the place you’ve lived in for the last two years, and your heart breaks with every step. But, it breaks even more at the knowledge that you were leaving your true home behind too— that doing this would destroy everything you have with Wanda, never to be salvaged. The penthouse may be expensive, and it may be beautiful, but it’d never be home to you like Wanda; it’d never offer you the same feeling of protection like her arms did.

You’ve been shut out of your home for months now, and being left out in the cold has finally frozen your heart enough for you to be able to do this. No matter how much more it was going to hurt once it thaws once more.

Shouldering your duffel bag, the only thing you’ve allowed yourself to bring, you step into the private elevator and press the button for the lobby. Hands tightening around the strap of the bag, trying to ignore the way your ring finger no longer felt the familiar press of metal against it as you do so.

It was time to look forward, to finally make your own laters, the things you had been pushing off, become an actuality.

Even if you wanted nothing more than to have never needed to say goodbye to Wanda Maximoff in the first place.

Losing the ring was one thing, but losing the love of your life?

It’s a wound you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to recover from.

[Present]

“Mom?” The small voice catches your attention, your eyes focused back in to see bright eyes, twin grins being sported between the pair. “Can we still get hot chocolate?”

Billy and Tommy had come into your life when you needed them to most— a blessing that you’d definitely been searching for after everything imploded with Wanda. And, even if how they were conceived didn’t lend itself to a happy tale, you’d never change a thing. They were your twin miracles. Your beautiful baby boys— even if they were eight years old now.

“I thought you decided to get caramel popcorn instead?” You poke Billy’s side gently, delighted in the giggle the actions caused. “That’s what you both told me at the theater.”

Tommy’s eyes widened dramatically, in full puppy-dog mode. “But that was before you took us past our favorite store.” He points to the small café only a few feet away— one that you frequented with the twins when you could find the time. A place that you hadn’t even realized you’d be leading them towards. “Can we please get hot chocolate.”

The twins chime in unison: “Please.”

You chance a glance towards the café— deliberating your options— but you know that you’re going to cave. After all, the reason you had gone to the movies was to celebrate their stellar report cards. What harm could some extra hot chocolate do?

So, with a faux long-suffering sigh, you relent. “I suppose.”

“Yes!” Twin cheers are your immediate response, brightening the smile on your lips, and you soon find yourself in the quaint café— one that held so many memories for you. Phantoms of your past the whispered in your ear as you placed your order and directed your boys to their usual spot.

Only half-listening to their chatter about the movie you had just seen— some superhero film— you simply bask in the simplicity their joy brought you. Observing their small faces light up, little hands waving around as they discussed various points, and your heart swells with more love than you ever thought you could feel.

“—What did you think, mom?”

Billy’s sudden question tears you from your musings, his widened eyes, alight with excitement, giving you the impression that he really wanted to hear what you thought.

“About the movie?” They both nod. “I thought it was good, bug.”

Tommy pouts. “Yeah, but what did you like most about it? Did you have a favorite scene?”

“I—”

“Order for Y/N.”

Saved by the bell, you think. A wave of relief crashing over you. “You two stay put.” Standing, you ruffle their hair. “I’ll be right back with our drinks.”

At the prospect of their hot chocolate they don’t seem to mind that you didn’t answer their question— though you’d certain Tommy would ask you again. Though you’d have more than enough time to google some things about the movie before then. Small miracles.

Stopping at the counter, you take the tray with the drinks with a smile and a nod in greeting to the server you’ve grown quite fond of.

“Y/N?”

Breath catching in your throat at the husky voice sounding out behind you, the cadence and tone so familiar that your heart still burns from it. Hesitating only slightly, you turn and meet the shimmering emerald eyes you haven’t seen in a little over eight years. Her face still as beautiful as you’d last seen it, if a bit older now.

“Wanda.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #avengers imagine #mcu imagine #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel imagines #later never comes

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fandom-oneshots-etc · 1 year

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Hello! I'd love to see Jacob Black and/or Edward or Emmett Cullen with a single mama. She was given custody of the 1.5 yr old when his or her parents(reader's friends) passed. The little one is ENAMORED with whomever you write it for(like silently follows them/copies them when they're doing something it's just adorable.) Please and thank you!!!

🍄 Pairing: Emmett Cullen x Reader

🍄 Genre: Fluff

🍄 Summary: Emmett is about to meet the one year old that you took in after your best friend died and surprisingly your toddler's not the one who's nervous...

🍄 Word Count: 1852

🍄 Abbreviations: (t/c) - Toddler's name

🍄 Warnings: None

🍄 Note: Thank you for the request @twilightlover2007! I hope this is what you were looking for, I had a lot of fun writing this. There might even be some Little Bee drabbles in the near future... ♡

(E/c). Bright, shining, (e/c) eyes. That was the first thing that had caught your attention in the hospital that night a year ago. Despite the heartbreak and despair that had gripped at your heart as the Chief of Police stood in front of you, his words seeming to merge together, barely decipherable through your sobs, the second you stepped through those hospital doors your life changed. Surprisingly, for the better. The tragedy of your friend’s death had become a new shining ray of hope in your life as you took on single motherhood. The tot was barely six months at the time of her parents’ death, but you had, had the joy of watching her turn into the one year old she was today.

Your eyes fluttered back and forth as you watched the hulk of a vampire pace in front of you. Emmett had always been a bundle of energy. You had said from the start that he was like a toddler on a sugar high almost a hundred percent of the time. But this was a different kind of energy than the one you were used to. You were used to the boisterous and bouncy vampire you had come to know and love, but this was a new kind of energy. You had never seen Emmett this nervous. If you hadn’t been parked outside of the daycare center you were sure he’d be blurring back and forth in the trees, his ‘human’ pacing just didn’t seem to cut it.

Your eyes glanced to the door of the daycare center as yet another toddler disappeared with it’s parents into the parking lot. You knew soon that the nursery assistant of (t/n)’s class would poke her head out of the curtains wondering where you were. You were never usually late.

Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you pushed off where you had been resting against the jeep and forced yourself to stand directly in Emmett’s path. But Emmett didn’t miss a step and circled around you, stopping at the end of the jeep and twisting to circle back just as he had been doing prior. You reached out a hand and rested it on his arm as he made to pass you again and held on as tightly as your human strength would allow.

“Babe, stop,” you muttered and Emmett came to a stand still beside you. You paused for a moment to make sure that he wouldn’t start pacing again before dropping your hand to your side. “What’s going on?” Your eyes searched his face for any indication as to what had brought on this nervous energy, but nothing. “I thought you were excited to meet her? If you’ve changed your mind that’s fine-” An uncomfortable lump grew in your throat at the thought of him changing his mind.

You wouldn’t dare hold it against him if he did. But the lump in your throat stayed prominent. (T/n) came along with you. There was no way around that and that meant Emmett wouldn’t be able to stay if he decided he didn’t want anything to do with (t/c).You shook your head softly to dispel the cloudy thoughts. Your poker face must not have been as good as you thought as Emmett’s golden gaze locked with yours almost frantically.

“No, no. It’s not that,” he sighed. You reached out and linked your hand with his, rubbing soothing circles on his marble skin. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want to meet her, I do, it’s just...” His lips pursed together as he searched for the right words. “I mean, what if… what if I hurt her?” Confusion flickered across your features.

“Babe, where is this coming from? You never worried about this before.” You waited for an answer but there was nothing. “Look, you’re great with Renesmee-”

“Yeah, but Renesmee’s half vampire.”

“And half-human,” you reminded. “And you’re great with me too and I’m a hundred percent human. At least the last time I checked I was.” And still were to yours and Emmett’s knowledge. “Emmett, there is no one I trust more with (t/c) than you. And I know for a fact that the second she see’s you, she’s going to love you. I know I did. So prepare yourself, you’re about to be trapped forever.” You giggled.

Emmett’s lips tugged a little at the corners.

“Was this your master plan? Make me fall in love with you and then get your toddler to trap me?” He offered you a dimpled grin. “Cause baby, let me tell you, I’m not going anywhere, you’re like a drug and I’m already hooked. You’re stuck with me.” He lowered his head down to rest his lips against yours and captured them in a short but heart-racing kiss. His lips danced against yours, pulling you in closer with his hands on your hips against his firm chest.

A light giggle broke through the parking lot silence as another father passed by you with his son in his arms, asking about his day. You pulled back from Emmett and blinked hazily up at him for a moment. He always seemed to reduce you to nothing with his kisses, they always engulfed you entirely even if you were the one initiating it. Your heart thudded against your chest and your cheeks darkened as Emmett smirked down at you, no doubt hearing every shudder your heart made against your ribcage.

“Come on,” You entwined your fingers with Emmett’s and turned to tug him gently towards the daycare center. As you neared the entrance, your eyes glanced to the Sunflower Room window where the curtain twitched and the familiar red headed woman appeared to peek through the curtains just as you had expected. Lila was a lovely nursery assistant and (t/n) loved her. She had always been kind to her and was never judgmental towards your circumstances.

Just as you reached the doors, Lila appeared and buzzed you in.

“Hey,” she beamed as you entered, tugging a slightly awkward Emmett behind you. “I was just about to start wondering where you were. I take it this is Emmett?” Emmett nodded and smiled politely. “Well, it’s great to finally meet you. I’m Lila, (t/c)’s nursery assistant.”

You followed to the door of the Sunflower Room and Lila pushed it open. One of the other helpers was just clearing away some of the colouring that had been left out. You’re eyes rested on your little (h/c) toddler sat on the floor with her stuffed elephant and some other stuffed animals that she had collected from the corner of the Sunflower Room. She was babbling incoherently which she had been doing for a couple of months now, she had always been quite a vocal baby.

“(t/c),” Lila called over. “Look who’s here.” (t/c) turned her head at Lila’s voice and locked eyes with you instantly. Just as it always did, there was a light tug in your heart as her bright (e/c) eyes stared at you, seemingly looking into your soul. Your lips pulled into a wide smile as the little tot grinned a toothless grin and pushed herself up onto her feet. It had been nearly three months since she had perfected her walking without tumbling to the ground every time she stood on her own feet. And she was fast too. In seconds she was clumsily running over to you.

Her arms were splayed wide as she came towards you, you released Emmett’s hand to drop into a crouch and allow her to slip her arms around your neck. You peppered kisses all over her face as she giggled furiously. You finally stopped with a little giggle of your own as she looked back around for Lila, but instead her eyes locked on Emmett. Your eyes flickered between (t/c) and Emmett. (t/c)’s nose scrunched as she stared up at the unfamiliar man. It was almost comical to see your large teddy bear of a boyfriend acting more sheepish than a one year old, but you knew his nerves were still present.

“Ah?” (t/c) turned back to look at you, seemingly waiting for an explanation, her small head tilted to the side much like a puppy.

“This, my little bumblebee, is Emmett, my boyfriend,” You knew that she wouldn’t necessarily understand what you were saying, but a formal introduction felt right. “And Emmett, this little bumblebee is (t/c).” You offered him an encouraging smile. Emmett dropped into a small crouch, and even then he still towered over you and (t/c). She continued to study him silently as he smiled at her with a little wave.

“Em?” she hummed. “Em. Em!” (t/c) pulled out of your embrace and shuffled over to stand in front of Emmett, her little palms coming to rest on his cheeks as she continued to repeat ‘Em!’ excitedly. You couldn’t help but let out a little huff laugh as she moved to grab one of his hands and tugged him across the room towards the plush rainbow carpet laid across the ground. She dropped his hand and lowered her body to pat her hand on the carpet, then looked up at Emmett expectantly. The poor vampire turned to you baffled as she did it again, seemingly more impatient this time.

“She wants you to sit,” Emmett nodded and lowered himself onto the ground, awkwardly crossing his legs looking a little uncomfortable.

You watched closely as the little (h/c) haired tot trotted over to the shelves in the book corner and selected the one she wanted, you briefly saw the cover and recognized it as the book My Monster and Me by Nadiya Hussain, which you had recently brought for home. You’d been reading it religiously since you’d brought it home from the store and it was one of her favourites. The toddler wandered back over to Emmett, his eyes following her every move. He straightened his back as she approached and turned herself around so that her back was facing him, she dropped down into his lap, her little legs raising above the floor as they didn’t quite reach over his stretched ones.

(t/c) wasted no time, she flipped open the cover of the book. Emmett, thinking that she wanted him to read to her, started to speak but in a second her hand was pressed to his mouth, her little eyebrows furrowed.

“Uh, uh, uh,” She shook her head firmly. She pressed her finger to her lips indicating to him to be quiet. When she turned back to the book, she began ‘reading’ to him. Not that she was giving any of the actual words, instead it was just the toddler gibberish she had picked up, but that didn’t make the scene any less adorable. Three pages into the story, you caught Emmett’s eye. He offered you a soft smile. In that moment you knew everything was going to be okay and that (t/c) had just gained herself another protector for life.

#emmett cullen #emmett cullen x reader #emmett cullen oneshot #emmett cullen imagine #emmett #emmett x reader #emmett oneshot #emmett imagine #twilight #twilight x reader #twilight oneshot #twilight imagine #request #requests open #reqs open

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sunlighthroughthe-ashes · 4 days

Text

every episode of love next door hurts — but this one hit too close to home. my heart absolutely shattered for seunghyo — the tragedy of his (un) ordinary circumstance. when you come from a broken home; you will step on shards for the rest of your life. this is what trauma does: it fragments the psyche — a part of you exists in a pocket outside of time; reliving the moment of heartbreak over and over again. memory becomes a mortuary — a coffin for all the care you were owed but never received.

somewhere inside seunghyo there is still a little boy: listening to his mother declare that she wishes she never had him. there is a seven year old still starved for affection; witnessing his parents pitted against the worst parts of their personalities. where do you go when your own home is a holding place for nothing but hurt? where do you find shelter from the shame of your own obstinate longing — the smoke and tar of your tender wounds; crying out for the same hands that wounded them to now offer healing.

seunghyo in tears up at the mountain was gut-wrenching. the mute appeal of his eyes, that map the consciousness of a hundred helpless dreams — a thousand wishes to be made whole that were never fulfilled. some part of seunghyo will always be waiting for his mother on an abandoned street; with only seokryu to lead him through the dark.

and seokryu does — she always does. it is her hand at his back; her with the halo around her head as she finds him his one and only family photo. her who witnesses his most vulnerable moment and doesn't shy away from it — doesn't shrink from the endless black of his bleak inner child. her who says: "i see all the jagged edges where you are joined by your heartbreak — and i will hold it anyway. i am not afraid of cutting my hands."

to those of you who saw yourselves in seunghyo (as i did) — know that space will be made for your sorrow. your tears are sacred. your pain will become prayer to someone in need. you are loved by the luckless; the listeners of their own loneliness, the carriers of blades that never belonged to them.

you are safe. you will find your own hope and make of it a harbor. you will move past this and make of your memory an open field, free of hurt.

my heart is with you.

#love next door #tvn love next door #love next door edit #kdrama #tvn drama #kdrama lover #tvn #rom com kdrama #jung jung couple #jung hae in #jung so min

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cherryblossom-heart · 2 years

Text

I loved you once B.B

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Loving Bucky Barnes was never easy but breaking your heart seemed to come naturally to him. A love story about your heartbreak,his betrayal and a chance at redemption.

19.1 k words

Content Warning: ANGST, heartbreak, cheating, mature themes, +18 SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (Pussy job, penetrative sex p in v, sad/angry sex? Rough sex mixed with a little pain. It will make sense once you read it) . Fluff, mentions of bad mental health from both Bucky and reader, graphic violence, character's death, mentions of women trafficking as well as assault.

A/N: Wow 19k words. Im sorry this took so long to finish but as you can tell it is super long as I promised. Buckle up y'all, this is sad. Also this is my first time writing a proper cheating fic so if you can/want let me know if you like it or not. You're welcomed to send me an ask with any comments, questions, etc., you have on this 😊

Post dividers by @firefly-graphics and @cafekitsune

Now

"Fuck you," you spat the words.

Tears fell from your eyes as they made their way down your neck, making dark spots in the collar of your red turtleneck. Even when pain was drowning you, beauty never left you. Bucky felt as if he were watching a beautiful Renaissance painting—a tragedy of sorts.

"Is that all? I really don’t have time for this."

He didn’t recognize his own words or the indifference they came out with. He didn’t mean to say them, but it was as if his own body was working on autopilot, and he was only a spectator to the shitshow it was causing. He wanted to stop. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to say so many things, but the only thing he was capable of was hurting you.

"Are you kidding me? That’s all you’re going to say?"

"What else do you want me to say? You know what happened, you saw her with your own eyes. Anything I say is either going to make you angrier or make you cry even more. Let’s just be done with this, you’ll eventually get over it."

The sound of your hand connecting with his face put an end to his sentence. The hit didn’t feel as such, his skin barely processed it as anything more than a simple graze, but once the initial shock wore off, the sting came along. But it didn’t compare to the pain he felt in his heart when his eyes connected with yours once again.

"I always knew you were capable of many things, but not once did I think you would ever be this cruel."

Your eyes drifted to your hands, your right hand playing with the ring you wore in your left. A sigh left your lips, and more tears fell before you finally slid it off your finger, placing it on the table next to you.

A bucket of iced water. Painful, burning, scorching coldness— that’s how Bucky would describe looking at you while silently breaking your engagement. His mind was telling him to get on his knees, beg, and try to fix everything he had broken. But the darkest part of him, the one that had taken over his life was assuring him you were bluffing. You couldn’t leave, you always stayed. You always fought for him, even when he didn’t deserve it.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes rolling with the uninterested façade he had perfected.

"I’m done, I can’t keep doing this anymore." You turned your back, strong and determined steps leading to his apartment door.

Please, fix this.

His trembling hands made their way to your wrist, anything that could mend the cracks in your heart that seeped with pain, the cracks he had caused with his own selfishness. Before his fingers could even graze your skin, your hand quickly swatted away his pathetic effort to stop you.

"God, stop being so goddamed drama—"

"Don’t fucking touch me. Don’t try to contact me ever again, I won’t answer."

"Can you just—"

"If I ever see you again I swear I’ll murder you. I didn’t kill you the first time we met but I swear I’ll do it if you even dare to breath in my direction."

Your words hurt, it seemed as though each one stabbed him right through the chest in a taunting way, a reminder of how much he had screwed up. Bile rose to his throat when you recoiled at his proximity, and the hate in your eyes burned him with such force that he was sure you wouldn't wait until the next time you met.

He deserved it either way.

Bucky's eyes opened just as the car jolted, his heart racing against his chest, his ears buzzing. For a fraction of a second, he's confused, not remembering why he was in the car, but the fogginess of his thoughts was replaced with anxiety when he heard the tracker beeping on Sam's thigh.

"Good, you’re awake. I think we’re almost there." Sam kept his eyes on the road, occasionally glancing down at the device that told him where to go. Judging by his demeanor, his friend didn’t seem as nervous as he did, if at all. It wasn’t like Sam had a reason to, he was the only one who had fucked up.

He looked out at the vehicle, and the passing trees in the darkness of the night numbed his mind while he tried to forget about his dream. No, it wasn’t a dream, it was his worst memory to date. Usually, his nightmares were about the crimes he had committed while being the Winter Soldier, and he could blame them on his consciousness not being there with him. His own body didn’t belong to him, so he couldn’t keep blaming himself for the things HYDRA had forced him to do.

With you, on the other hand, he could not blame anyone else but himself. His mind wasn’t tortured by a secret organization in hopes of ruining his relationship, nor was he forced to hurt the person about whom he cared the most to save thousands of lives. He did it all by himself, and now the nightmares have not only scared him but hurt him all over again.

You started to show up in his dreams more frequently once Sam told him they needed your help. As expected, the super-soldier's first reaction was total and complete refusal. His friend thought it was a childish reaction the former winter soldier was having to avoid the awkwardness of meeting you again, only knowing your relationship had ended on bad terms without hearing the specifics. But the blue-eyed man wasn’t doing it for himself, he was doing it for you. The night you left, you made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with him, or even anything related to him, your resignation from the Avengers Team and subsequent evaporation from the face of the earth was a strong message to leave you alone.

After a few hours of arguing, with both men going back and forth on why they did or didn't need you, Bucky finally agreed to go look for you. Lives were at stake, and no matter how hard he tried to look for a solution that avoided you, there seemed to be none. Before he could ask where to even start looking for you, Sam pulled out a device that seemed familiar to a phone. You had given Sam, and only Sam, a tracker that could find you anywhere in the world and could only be unlocked by a password you had whispered to him

The depth of his tormenting cycle of thoughts didn’t let him register they weren’t on the road anymore until his partner stopped the vehicle. They were surrounded by tall, dense trees, and the crickets and cicadas that hid in the dark made an orchestra that filled the emptiness of the night. Sam grabbed his gear, the sound of a duffle bag being opened broke the rhythm of nature.

"Why are we stopping here?" Bucky asked with a frown. His own duffle was placed across his back, the tinkering of the metal inside it annoying him slightly.

His friend threw an annoyed look at him before rolling his eyes and scrambling through his belongings. "As I said like twenty minutes ago while you were brooding and having your own pity party, this thing shows her inside a building in the middle of the woods. I’d like to take a look around the area before going in blind."

"Oh."

Normally, the super soldier would’ve had a comeback for the annoying yet harmless insults his friend and partner would throw at him, even a snide comment. But this was different, no matter what Sam would say, he could only think of what was about to happen. So he let it slide, submerging himself in his own thoughts while Sam threw the little flying robot he nicknamed "Red Wing" into the air. Once it was hovering above them and Sam made sure to have full control of it, they began a walk that would last about thirty minutes before the device would find any signs of life.

Sam and him were waiting somewhere near the alleged building, Sam's robot scanning the surroundings.The thumping in his chest returned, and his fingers became ice cold.He was so close. Close enough to see you, close enough to talk to you, and perhaps close enough to apologize.

How would you react to seeing him? Would you be happy to see him? Probably not, considering the last thing you said to him was that you would kill him if he ever came near you. He knew he deserved it, but hopefully time changed your murderous resolution. Maybe even forgave him.

Could you ever forgive him?

A slight swat from Sam brought him back from his thoughts, silently letting him know they were ready to go. Bucky could sense it before the place was even visible, the vibrations of the music resonating through the ground. The smell of smoke, alcohol, and humanity reached his nostrils right as they saw the line of cars parked in a plain field next to what resembled a warehouse.

To an untrained eye, it would look like a normal, unsanitary, and probably unsafe rave done by stupid people. But the polarized windows of the cars, the shine coming from the inside of the guards' jackets, and the lot of security cameras installed in the building told another story. Whatever or whoever was in there was dangerous, and as usual, you had gotten yourself in the middle of it.

Bucky wasn’t an idiot. He knew you couldn’t stay away from helping people, no matter how hard you tried. He saw the breadcrumbs, microscopic, little clues that he could recognize as your style. A missing girl suddenly returning to her family, a kidnapped journalist in the middle of war returning to their respective embassy. A child trafficker falling from his hotel room in the twentieth floor. You had always been... effective when it came to missions, sometimes going overboard with your methods, but Tony, Steve, and himself had always guided you towards the good and righteous path that a person with your abilities was supposed to take.

You lost all three of them in the span of a year.

They were lucky that it was relatively easy to get inside, and even luckier that their clothes didn't draw too much attention to them. Sure, they seemed to be wearing more clothes than needed, as most people seemed to enjoy themselves topless and/or pantless, but with the darkness of the room barely being lit by the flashing blue and red lights, no one really noticed them.

Guys, girls, and people he wasn’t sure how to label were grinding against each other. Hands touched him, pulling his jacket, and he had to push them all away, trying to make his way through the sea of people. The inside of the warehouse could pass for a functioning club, with couches, dance floors, and screens accommodating everyone inside.

Bucky wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything like this; the debauchery that people showed shocked his old-fashioned ways. He was sure he had seen several people inside each other, whether it was fingers, tongues, or dicks, no one seemed to mind that everyone else could see them. How had you gotten yourself into the middle of this disguised orgy? What were you even doing here?

Both men made their way to the front of the place, where a private section was installed looking over the dancefloor. Two large guys guarded the stairs that connected the lower and upper levels, allowing mostly attractive girls to ascend. Both men agreed that if you were to be found somewhere, it would undoubtedly be there. They scanned the room, looking for any way they could access the VIP level without having a pair of tits and long legs.

He had never understood scenes in movies where they showed time slowing down. Every time he had been in a fight, whether it was as himself in the forties or as the winter soldier, everything seemed to happen too fast to process. Even the night you left, time had seemed to go at an abnormally fast pace, and by the time he could finally react the way he wanted, it had been too late.

He never understood those scenes until he saw you walking to the protective railing surrounding the edge of the private section. Above the deafening music, the moans, and the music, he could hear your voice talking to someone else.

It was as if he was seeing you for the first time. Your beauty had remained the same your hair, your eyes, and your lips all looked the same, yet his heart started racing just as it did all those years ago. You weren’t dressed like everyone else dancing around him, your black dress with a dangerous deep cleavage was sensuous, but it held a certain level of class that made you stand out from the crowd.

Thump, thump, thump.

Time moved at a slow pace, the slowest he had experienced. He was grateful for it, as it allowed him to appreciate every detail from you. The way your lips came close to the drink you had in your hand, the drumming your fingers did on top of the railing, the glint in your eyes—he knew it meant you were lost in your thoughts.

Bucky had never been more grateful for the way time passed. Until he saw a pair of hands sliding across your waist, fingers gripping your hips so roughly, he was sure they would leave a mark on your skin. A semi-attractive man whispered words in your ear, his beard scruffing against your skin. You smirked, turning around to plaster your lips against his in a kiss that could make a pornstar blush.

He knew you'd moved on; nearly a year had passed since the last time he saw you, and you'd probably found someone to sleep with, but he wasn't ready to watch you become someone else's. His mind was prepared to face your happiness, but his heart wasn’t. And even now, he was sure you were just tagging along with the man, using him for information for whatever mission you had gotten yourself into, yet he felt as if what remained of his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

With strong, rough movements, the man turned you around, pressing your body against the railing. As his hand grabbed your neck, your hips grinded against his, your mouth open as you licked your lips.

The super soldier couldn’t take it anymore, his heart begged him to stop the torture. He wasn’t even sure where Sam was, nor did he care. He cared about you, and he could only think about what he had lost. With the last of his dignity, he began to look away from you and your companion, who had leaned over to your ear once more. Except this time his eyes found Bucky’s, his fingers tightening around your neck.

He knew. Somehow the man knew who he was and, most importantly, who you were.

Your eyes widen slightly, searching through the sea of people dancing downstairs. But it didn't take you long to find those blue eyes you once adored. He was there, looking exactly the same as the night you left him, along with your heart.

"I know who you are." The man whispered in your ear—a threat not so subtly hidden behind every word.

But you couldn’t dwell long on his words because ice-cold eyes looked back at you. Ice cold eyes brought back the pain you thought you left behind, and the rage surfaced once more as you remembered the promises you made him.

Cold metal was pressed against your neck, the edge of it grazing your skin. Bucky’s eyes widened in alarm, and his hands turned into fists, making him look like he cared. Like he actually had a heart.

He barely took two steps in your direction when the wicked smile you wore stopped him. It was sinister. It was deadly. And when you turned to the man to say something, his grip faltered as one word left your lips.

"Good"

Your head connected against the man’s nose, a crack let you know it was most likely broken. You barely heard the man’s yells when bullets made their way to you, a couple of them grazing your skin. The room that was once filled with hips swaying, alcohol, and moans had transformed into a frenzy of screams and people running to get out of the building.

The crowd tried to take Bucky away; their desperate attempts at escaping dragged him away as he fought his way through the sea of people. Seconds passed, and he could hear your grunts as well as more shooting coming from the upper floor, with girls running down the stairs, some of them with splashes of blood staining their clothes.

He didn’t know whose blood it belonged to, and that frightened him.

Sam’s voice pulled him out of his trance. "What the hell happened?"

His friend had managed to make his way to him, both of them still getting pushed around. Bucky offered him a quick glance before resuming his previous task of making his way to the stairs.

"Her cover is blown," was all the explanation Bucky offered, and somehow it was enough. Before any of them could add anything, screams came from the front door, three bulky men were making their way there while carrying very large and dangerous guns. "Take care of them, I’ll go help her," the super soldier said without leaving any room for discussion.

When his fingers finally grabbed the banister of the stairs, Bucky was close to losing his mind. Climbing two steps at a time, he finally found himself a scene that froze him in the spot.

You were there, your black dress ripped in some places, your makeup ruined by mascara running down your cheeks, and blood splashes tainted your flawless skin. Bucky had managed to get there just in time as you twisted a man's arm to an unnatural angle, the crack of his joint popping out of place was followed by his screams. You had managed to kill/knock out everyone except for the guy who had previously had a knife to your throat, and Bucky knew better than to think that was just a mere coincidence.

After the last man fell to the ground, blood sputtering out of his neck, you lifted your gaze towards him. He couldn’t read you as easily as he had once been able to and he hated it. Before, he was sure he knew you better than you knew yourself, more than once already sure of your likes and dislikes before you asked him for an opinion. He had treasured those times in his mind, and the memories were as comforting as they were painful. A constant reminder of what he had lost.

He was right there, right in front of you. The man you fell in love with when you still had a heart. The man who still had a tight grip on it and who would probably always own it. He could keep it for all you cared, your heart was tainted with memories you didn’t wish to keep.

It was the first time both of you were this close, every scream gone as you were absorbed by your own bubble. He looked so familiar that your own body reacted the way it used to whenever you saw him. Your heart stammered in your chest, and even after so long, the butterflies in your stomach appeared for a millisecond. He was the man you had once loved, he was the man with whom you imagined a future together.

Then, you remembered why all your hopes and dreams had been destroyed.

Bucky noticed the hurt flashing through your face, your jaw tightening right before you made your way to him. For a moment, he thought you were about to hug him, your desperation to reach him in your long strides mirroring his as his body begged him to touch you. He wanted to apologize, beg for forgiveness at your feet, and profess the love that he wasn’t able to forget.

Perhaps if his mind hadn't been plagued with all the things he wanted to do, he would’ve noticed your foot rising to give him a solid kick on the chest.

The force and unexpectedness of your attack launched him back to the railing, throwing him over it. His back landed with a loud thud on the floor, fortunate enough for him, everyone else seemed to have dissipated and his fall wasn’t that high up. A second later, you jumped from the banister, landing on top of him with your knife in hand. Your knee found it’s place on his chest, feet pressing his hands flat on the surface. Before Bucky could even muster a word, the blade was pinned against his throat.

"I told you if I ever saw you again, I would fucking kill you."

Then

Steve had changed so much in the years they had spent apart. His friend, who had once been the fragile little Brooklyn boy he would protect with his life, was now a fully grown man with a strength that could crush a person if he wasn’t careful enough. He was also now his protector, not from bullies that would harass him because of his own stubbornness but from a secret organization that wanted to take over the world. That and his own fractured mind.

He had lost control once the man had given him the commands to bring back the deadly assassin they had turned him into. He remembered it all, but it had felt as if he was under water the whole time, falling deeper and deeper the more he tried to fight against it. His own body didn’t belong to him, no matter how hard he tried to control it.

For a year, he had thought it was possible to lead a normal life; his time spent in Romania had given him false hope that he had gotten away from his captors. How foolish he had been, thinking he could ever be far away from his grasps. He wasn’t the man he was before, just a weapon designed to hurt people.

He supposed he was lucky Steve still saw good in him, at least enough to turn against his teammates and friends to help him clear his name. And now, as they drove to one of Steve’s friends' hideouts, he couldn’t help but feel guilty about everything that was going on. If he hadn’t lost control, Steve wouldn't be a wanted criminal. If he wasn’t captured, a shit ton of innocent, good people would still be alive. If his mind had been stronger, he could’ve broken free of HYDRA's mind control.

Maybe it would’ve been better if he had actually died when he fell from that train.

Steve parked outside an abandoned apartment complex, it seemed no one had lived there in years. He threw a questioning eyebrow at Sam, who just shrugged before getting out of the vehicle. Another of Steve’s friends had decided to help him out of loyalty to Steve, not because he particularly liked Bucky or entirely believed in his good side.

All three men walked inside the building, not a sound inside other than their footsteps and heavy breathing. Steve looked around for a couple of seconds before making his way to the second floor, his intuition telling him where to go. He stood in front of a door with a big C plastered on it, his friend's hand hesitating before knocking on the wood.

After the third knock came back without an answer, Steve decided to open the door. He had called a name while crossing the threshold, looking around for any signs of life inside the apartment. Bucky was surprised to find the apartment filled with computers, blueprints, documents, and lots of military-grade equipment. Everything gave away the signs of someone working there, yet there was no one who took ownership over them.

It was too late when Bucky heard you standing behind him, with his feet being swept by your leg and effectively knocking him down. The wooden floor amplified the echo of his fall, catching Steve and Sam’s attention. Your frame landed on top of his, gun aimed directly between his eyes.Bucky's hand reached to grab your ankle in an effort to destabilize you, but the barrel of your weapon was pressed right on his forehead.

"I wouldn’t do it if I were you," you said coolly. "I promise you, I’ll blow your brains out before you can even land a hit."

After your words filled the room, Bucky’s eyes finally took their chance to look at you, actually look at you.

God, you were beautiful.

Maybe it was only your physical beauty that had taken him by surprise, or the fact that you had taken him down so easily with just one leg movement. Or even the fact that you seemed to have no fear towards a man who was being marketed as a "dangerous and armed terrorist." Whatever it was, Bucky couldn’t deny the fact that you were the most beautiful human being he had seen.

After a few explanations from Steve’s part and some begging for help, you released the super soldier from your hold, weapon holstered in your back. Your hand extended to help him get off the floor, and you offered him a charming but wary smile.

You told the three men to make themselves at home and take anything they needed. Bucky had chosen to keep guard, being by himself in the top floor while looking out through a window that hid him from everyone else. He was stewing in his own complicated thoughts when he heard a knock on the wall. You were there, standing a few feet away from him with a shy smile on your face as you extended to him a cup filled with hot coffee.

Thump, thump, thump.

"Sorry about the whole thing holding you hostage," you said as he welcomed the cup.

His fingers accidentally grazed against your own, and it was as if he had touched electricity itself. Heat extended from his hands all through his body, and his ability to think was thrown out of the window. He looked at you, and he couldn’t tell if you felt the same or not, but he could feel how your eyes burned him, with a curiosity behind them that was so easy to read that he was surprised you were the black ops/spy Sam had told him.

"It’s whatever, I would’ve done the same thing if I were you." Bucky answered after a few seconds.

He turned to look through the window again, trying to keep his thoughts in order. You settled down next to him, the warmth of your skin reaching his own. Nothing could be heard other than your breathings, not even the cars outside or the sound of the busy city that hid you. And for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt relaxed with someone he didn’t know from the past.

"I’m James."

He could’ve sworn he heard you smile before you gave him your name.

Now

"What the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?"

The music was still on, as were the blue and red lights that lighted up the darkness in the room. Bucky could feel the breeze of your breath on his face and the smell of expensive whisky and tobacco in every word you said. He wasn’t surprised, the man that you knocked out probably tried to impress you with them.

But behind the traces of blood, alcohol, and gunpowder, he could smell your shampoo. The same peony smell mixed with lavander filled his nostrils, and it brought him back to the many nights you had spent together. Your fingers were drawing circles on the skin of his back, and his nose was buried in your hair.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of the suffering he caused you with every passing second.

"I told you to stay away from me," you muttered.

Your hand pressed the edge of the blade on his skin, and you were sure if you kept going you were going to start drawing out blood, but you couldn’t care less. Bucky Barnes had always been an expert at instilling unwanted emotions in you, and it was difficult to keep those emotions at bay right now.

You felt anger. You felt resentment. You felt pure, long-lasting hatred.

"Maybe I should slit your throat right now, that’ll make you stay away from me permanently."

Your words were intimidating, filled with the same promise you had made him that fateful night. This was his chance, his chance at the apology that had died out in his throat when you closed the door behind him. This was the chance he had chased in his dreams for almost a year.

But he couldn’t say anything.

He loved you. God, he loved you so much. He missed seeing your face other than in the few pictures he kept or in the memories that did no justice. Because even now, as you threatened to kill him, you were a dream come true, just like the first time he saw you.

"Say something!"

"You’re beautiful."

Your grip faltered on the knife, your eyebrows slightly furrowing at his words.

No, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t come back out of nowhere, say some cheesy, basic compliment, and make the walls of hate you had built crumble. Even if he had only managed to knock down one brick, he didn't deserve it. You knew it, he knew it, and everyone else who knew what happened between you two knew it.

Then why did your heart flutter at his words?

"Hey," Sam said, breaking the silence, your head snapping in his direction."I know he’s an asshole, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t kill my partner."

You look back at Bucky for a few seconds before giving up, throwing your knife to the floor. Sam leaned over, his hand extended to help Bucky get up.Your murderous eyes went from Bucky to Sams, your gaze softening at his friend.

"I told you to only contact me in emergencies," you grumbled.

A hiss left your lips when you touched your arm, one of the bullet wounds was still seeping blood. Bucky thought about telling you something, but this time he listened to the rational part of his brain that told him to shut the fuck up.

"Believe me, if we had a choice, we wouldn’t have come," Sam said.

Your eyes flickered between both men, not convinced about helping them. Well, on helping the blue eyed super soldier. A pathetic excuse for why you couldn’t help them died on your lips once you saw his blue eyes. Please, help us they begged.

You didn’t owe him anything. You shouldn’t help him, but in the back of your head, Steve’s voice rang through. Good ol’ Steve Rogers and his everlasting moral lessons. That's what we have to do, he said.

So you put aside your feelings because helping people mattered more than an idiot who broke your heart.

"What do you want?" You sighed.

"We’re looking into something... odd. A bunch of pregnant women missing, still in their early stages of pregnancy. Most of them show up dead after giving birth, but the babies are nowhere to be found."

You shrug. "They take the kids, so?"

It was cold, you were aware of it. But after the things you had seen, the things you had done, you were aware that people kidnapping woman for their babies wasn’t something out of the ordinary, let alone something that required Captain America to look into it. Things like that were always forgotten, pushed back into a slew of cases alongside more missing women.

"They had traces of the super serum."

Fuck.

You laughed. A joyless, cynical type of laugh. Destiny, of course, had to be a jerk.

"Well, you’re in luck. I think we’re tracking down the same people." Sam raised an eyebrow at you with a simple request for you to elaborate. "A girl showed up dead in México a couple of months ago, she’d been missing for almost a year. Autopsy showed she had a miscarriage before dying, the bleeding killed her. The remains had traces of the serum too."

"Are you saying that—?" Sam couldn’t finish his sentence, the thought sending chills along his spine.

"Yeah."

The air is somber between the three of you. Sure, the flag smashers were a problem when they appeared, as you knew from all the news reports you'd seen.People with ten times the strength of a normal human being were dangerous, especially if they were associated with a terrorist organization.

This was different, though. This was sinister.

Groans coming from the top floor broke the eeriness that surrounded you, making you finally remember why you were here. You tore apart part of the black dress that was once pristine and wrapped it around your arm.

"Look at this guy over there," you said, motioning behind you. "He has intel on this, he’s the one that gets the girls and delivers them."

"Well, let’s take him in and—"

You cut Sam off. "No. Look, you came looking for me because this is my specialty. I know how to handle guys like him, and I sure as hell know he won’t tell us shit if we take him to a precinct and threaten him with some jail time. He’s a big fish. A few phone calls and he’ll be out in no time." They knew you were right, but they didn’t like your arguments. "We do this my way, or you better pray you find them before I do."

Sam looked hesitant. He knew what you were going to do to the man, and his good conscience chastised him for even thinking of letting you torture someone. But the rational part, the part that knew that in this case there wasn’t much of an option, knew that they needed you, and perhaps you also needed them.

"Just, don’t kill him." Sam said before walking away.

Compromise. You could do compromise.

"Fine," you said, rolling your eyes.

After Sam slammed the door shut on his way out, you were reminded of the fact that you weren't alone. Bucky’s eyes were already looking at you, the same apologetic eyes you had seen before you kicked him in the chest.

"Thanks for helping us." He spoke, thinking it was an appropriate way to break the ice, but it only managed to make you scoff.

"Let’s make something clear, I’m not doing this for you." you spat. "I’m doing this because Sam needs my help and so we can save those innocent girls and stop any more from being taken. This doesn’t change anything between us, as soon as this is over, you go back to leaving me the fuck alone, got it?"

Say something. Fight for her. Explain what happened, his mind begged him.

But he couldn’t, because even if it had been almost a year since he last saw you, he was still the same coward who let you walk away without a fight.

So he agreed.

"Yeah."

"Good. I’ll meet you outside."

Then

"Thanks for the coffee." Bucky said before taking a sip.

Droplets of water fell from his forehead, a strand of unruly black hair was hanging on the side of his eyebrows. The towel that hung from his waist, showing his torso all the way down to that sculpted V of his abdomen, made it too difficult to concentrate on the files you were trying to organize.

The man was hotter than the sun.

"No problem." you smiled at him.

You had no idea it would be the best and worst decision you'd ever made when you suggested Bucky stay with you while Steve went to rescue the others.You liked Bucky, and the few days you spent with him while Steve and the others gathered everything they needed so they could go find Zemo had been nice. Sure, he was a man of a few words, but it didn’t bother you. It was weirdly comforting to be able to enjoy someone’s company in silence. And the times he spoke, he did it out of pure curiosity, curiosity about the world, about what had happened while he was in the ice, but mostly about you.

He asked about your cases, how you met Steve, and how you came to partner with some of the most powerful people in the world. He asked about your life, about your childhood in the orphanage, and what made you choose to help people. He asked so many questions, yet he still respected you when you didn’t want to answer some of them. He asked, not to pry, but to get to know you, and in return, when you asked him something, he was as honest as he felt comfortable being.

And that was the problem. No matter how much you tried, you knew your days with Bucky Barnes were numbered. Ever since you were young, you knew that being in this line of work would prevent you from having a normal life. You couldn't have a normal relationship. You weren’t meant to have the love story your favorite movies portraited, the white picket fence and the family of five wasn’t in your future.

Neither was he, maybe in the forties he would’ve came home from war and found himself a pretty girl to marry. But now, after everything he had seen and everything he had unwillingly done, he probably wouldn't want a relationship any time soon. Or maybe not at all.

But after three weeks of being cramped up in the same little apartment, you were getting used to him. You had developed a little routine together that always ended up with a cup of coffee at the end of the day. Sometimes both of you would just sit in silence, taking in each other's company while you sipped on your cups. Other times, just like now, he would sit next to you as you watched whatever movie you had decided to put on.

You had to cut this at the root before it became too hard to let go.

"So, you’re going to Wakanda?"

He sighs. "Yeah. Steve says they have someone that might be able to help with... help with my..."

"I know." You finished for him, suddenly placing your hand on top of his. He tensed at your touch, both of you looking down at your hands before you took away yours, embarrassed at your own lack of control. "Well, if you’re not too busy there, I could go visit you sometimes."

"You would?" he questioned.

"If you want me, too," you shrugged, trying not to reveal your excitement.

He looked at you, his thoughts unreadable through his face. For a moment, you thought he was going to reject your offer, but something changed in his eyes. He smiled, the faintest, littlest hint of a smile you had seen, but it was there.

You made him smile for the first time.

"Yeah. I’d like that."

If someone were to ask Bucky when he first felt he could love you, it would be right now. With the dim light of the TV lighting up your face and a shy smile on your lips as you told him you were willing to travel such a long distance just to see him.

And as you lay next to him, your head against his shoulder, you thought to yourself that maybe you could be selfish for once and allow yourself to enjoy his company a bit more.

Now

There were drops of water leaking out of a pipe, he could hear them from the other side of the room. Everything around him was dark, it seemed the only source of light was on top of him and the woman on the floor pleading for her life.

"Please don’t do this," she begged with a Spanish accent. "I don’t want to die, please."

He wanted to move, he wanted to throw away the gun in his hand, but it was like he was a spectator of his own life. His body was not his, or his breathing. Not even his heartbeat listened to the inner panic attack he was having. Nothing belonged to him.

"Kill her," a distorted voice told him. His eyes glanced at him quickly, and he noticed the man had no face. No one around them had one.

Everything felt like it was in slow motion. His finger moved, pressing the trigger of the gun, but he refused to give up. He had to try, even if his own consciousness was trying to kick him out, sucking him into the pool of darkness he had been resting in for a long time.

But even if he tried for years, he couldn’t win. He was powerless.

Broken.

He could only witness how the other "him" obeyed. The woman's eyes changed from scared to lifeless in less than a second. A splash of crimson staining his combat boots kept his attention. He couldn’t hear what the other people in the room were saying, he didn’t exist anymore, or he didn’t want to. The sound of the water leak was deafening now. Growing louder and louder until it consumed everything around him

He didn’t want to be awake. Not like this.

And as he felt himself disappearing, he hoped this was the last time he came back to the surface. He would rather be surrounded by emptiness.

Yet something interrupted him, pulling him back up.

A woman's voice, so familiar it made his heartbeat change.

"Bucky!"

Bucky's eyes opened wide. His head was spinning, his breathing was rapid, and his heart felt like it was going to burst through his chest. The adrenaline in his system made him dizzy, and he could feel his hands shaking. And he was feeling. A lot. Scared, angry, hopeless. So many emotions constricted his chest, burying him under their weight.

"Bucky," you repeated. His head snapped at you, showing you a pair of wide, terrified eyes.

Your feet almost moved. A pure protective instinct filled you with dread at the fact that you couldn’t help him anymore. Your head and your heart were in conflict. In one hand your heart begged you to go to him, stroke his back as you peppered kisses along his shoulder. Then you would lie back in bed while your hands surrounded his body, your front pressed to his back in a way to say, I’m here, I love you, and everything will be alright.

On the other hand, your brain told you to turn in the other direction. Walk away from the night terrors that plagued his mind and let him suffer in silence. He wasn't your responsibility anymore, and you shouldn't be concerned about helping him with whatever was wrong with him.

Was it possible to hate and care about someone at the same time?

"Nightmares?" you couldn’t help yourself from asking.

His left hand rubbed his eyes, a sigh leaving his lips. "Yeah. Sorry if I woke you up."

"You didn’t."

You sat at the table in front of the couch he was lying on, a steaming cup of lavender tea between your hands. The cling of the spoon clashing against the ceramic filled the uncomfortable silence between you.

"Where’s Sam?" he asked, sitting straight as a couple of droplets of sweat fell down his forehead.

"He has a contact in the city. He left to meet them."

"Oh."

Whatever else he was about to say died on his lips. You noticed he seemed to do that often since meeting again, his eyes speaking the words he would never say. Sometimes you would catch him looking at you, the frown on his forehead deepening with the passing of time. It made you wonder if he would now be open to answering your questions.

"He said you’re going to therapy."

He was taken aback by your question. It probably was the first time you said more than the necessary to him. Also, it was the first time that you showed any sort of interest in his life.

"Uh, yeah. Court mandated."

You hummed, sipping on your tea.

"Does it work?"

You saw the hesitance in his eyes. The way his jaw clenched and his grip on the couch made his knuckles white made you think he was about to change the subject with a witty, bitter, or sarcastic remark, or maybe even just ignore the question at all. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did, by the end of your relationship, he was an expert in it.

Bucky didn’t change much after all, you thought to yourself

But he broke the silence.

"In some ways." he started, his gaze dropping to the floor. "The nightmares don’t come as often anymore, and I don’t feel the need to shoot every asshole that drives a shitty car with a shitty exhaust pipe." You chuckled at his confession, making a slight smirk show on his face. "But she’s too much."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed. "She pisses me off. I hate that she keeps trying to make me feel better by just saying my life is better now and I shouldn’t feel like shit anymore. But it’s not that easy. Just like it’s not easy to follow the stupid set of rules she gave me."

He looked up to see your reaction to his words, expecting to see the same hardened look you’ve given him the past couple of weeks. And it was just that what greeted his eyes, your lips slightly pressed together and your eyes decorated with a slight scowl that only showed up for him.

But behind the tough exterior, he could see your eyes had softened. For a brief second, your eyes showed care and understanding to what he siad before going back to the usual void stare you gave him.

"She sounds like a bad therapist." He shrugged in agreement, he couldn’t say anything against the truth. "She also sounds like a bitch."

He laughed. The type of laugh that caught him off guard and made his lungs run out of air. Granted, your joke might’ve not been as funny as his laugh was giving it credit for, but he had always been fond of your bluntness.

You couldn’t help but laugh with him too.

Laughing with Bucky felt foreign yet so familiar at the same time. It felt like reminiscing on a memory you didn’t remember you had, a bittersweet memory that brought back the same good feeling of the memories you built together

But moments like that couldn’t last forever. Your heart couldn’t afford to remember.

A text message from Sam lit up your screen, saying his contact had useful information. You stood up from the table after texting him back and drank the rest of the cup's contents.

"You should try to get some sleep, we have a long day ahead."

His shoulders dropped slightly.

"Yeah, you’re right. I’ll try to."

With nothing left to say, you walked away, leaving Bucky in the loneliness of the night.

You didn’t go right away to the room you had adopted as your own, though. He heard you going through the kitchen, a dim sound of clinking and pouring reaching him due to his enhanced hearing. He didn't think anything of it; maybe you needed more tea before going to bed.

Your steps brought you back to him before you placed an object on the coffee table right beside him.

A cup of lavender tea.

Then

"It’s kinda late to be outside, huh?"

Bucky jolted at the sound of your voice, your presence taking him by surprise. He was completely sure that when he left a couple of hours ago his house was empty and you hadn’t sent a message of your arrival.

Something had happened? Was someone injured? Were you in trouble?

His questions died on his lips as you cut the space between you and him short, your arms tightly embracing him. Your head found its place in the crook of his neck, his long hair falling on your face. His hands took a second to respond, but they eventually wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest.

You stayed like that for what felt like ages, just taking in each other's warmth. He missed you, even if he tried to deny it every time his thoughts would wander to you. He tried to convince himself that his reclusion made him miss everyone he considered a friend, and in a world where everyone seemed to want him dead, you were one of the few people he trusted.

He had been staying in Wakanda for nearly six months, and out of those six months, you had visited him at least once every month. The duration of your trip would vary, sometimes you would stay only a few hours, with most of your time spent in his hut while sharing stories of the outside and his progress. Other times, you'd stay for days, with the longest stay being a week and a half. In those cases, he would show you the surroundings, the forest that surrounded the back of his hut or take you on a long walk alongside the river that crossed his home. Sometimes you'd sit outside and stare at the stars, your only company being the animals and the flora.

He also came to hate every time you would leave, feeling like a part of himself was leaving with you.

One of his hands landed on the side of your hips, the other searching for your face.Your grip on him grew tighter once his fingers brushed the skin on your face but you eventually let go, allowing his hand to guide you slightly away from him.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t respond, but one look into your eyes, and he knew the answer. Whatever it was, it had affected you to the core, the broken look in your eyes could only be compared to the one he saw every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

His forehead rested on yours, both your eyes closing at the contact.

"It’s ok. I got you."

His hand found yours as he guided you toward his bed. It wasn’t until then that he noticed you still had your tactical gear on, dirt and crystals still hiding in some places. He grabbed the buckle of your vest, his eyes asking for permission to get it off. A slight nod gave him the confirmation, beginning the process of somewhat freeing you of the events you had seen. He got rid of his own garments too, leaving you both standing in front of yourselves with only underwear covering you. He dragged you into bed, your frames covered by the light white sheets on his bed.

Not many times had he allowed himself to think of you in a sexual manner, knowing how his body would react in a lustful way. But as he found himself looking at you with barely any clothes on, the desire was left on the back burner of his brain. You needed him. You needed his comfort, and he was more than willing to give it to you.

He would give you anything you asked for.

His hand rested on your face, tracing circles across your cheek, your eyes closed at the soothing action.

"I’m sorry." Your voice trembled. He could see you wanted to say more, but words failed to come out of your mouth

Bucky’s heart ached. He had never seen you in such a vulnerable state, and his mind was going cray at the thought of not being able to do anything to help you.

"It’s ok, sunshine. You don’t have to talk about it."

So you lay there, head against his chest, as he kept you between his arms, with nothing other than the sound of the crickets outside his hut surrounding you. And for the first time in a long time, you felt what being loved felt like.

That night, you kissed him for the first time. You didn’t stop, not even the next morning when he woke you up with breakfast already made and a cup of lavender tea.

Now

"Bring him to the table!" you yelled.

Your hand swept across the surface, knocking over every piece of paper, pencil, and piece of equipment. The vibrations of the heavier objects on the concrete floors matched the beating of your heart.

Bucky dropped Sam on the table. The man had gone unconscious on the ride to the safe house, the bullet wound that oozed liquid crimson was most likely the cause.The same crimson color now stains Bucky's clothes, and his leather gloves were also covered in a thin layer of it.

You brought your knife to slash through his clothes, the sharp metal cutting through them as if they were butter. The hole on his shoulder seemed to have no exit, the bullet was still inside him. You were glad Sam wasn’t conscious for the next hour.

The super soldier hovered over you for the entirety of the time you spent cleaning through the fragments that splintered from the bullet. Everything went relatively well until Sam started waking up, his body contorting in pain as you dug through his wound. Bucky brought him a bottle of vodka while you injected him with some local anesthesia.

Hours later, the wounded man was now resting on the only bed the safehouse had, his breathing bringing great comfort as it meant he was still alive. After half a bottle of vodka and a some painkillers diluted on his IV, you were sure he wouldn’t wake up until tomorrow.

The faucet sprayed cold water onto your palms. Your nails desperately tried to scrape away the traces of blood that still lingered in your skin, leaving red marks all across your knuckles. Dirt and dried blood were trapped underneath your fingernails, and no matter how much you tried to dig it out, it would stay right there.

Bucky’s footsteps brought you out of your trance, the heavy sound of his combat boots felt deafening with each step he took. You tried to tune him out, focusing once again on the sound of water, but it seemed as if Bucky had made it his purpose to be as loud as possible. You held onto the sink so strongly that you were sure it would snap.

A deep rage came from your stomach, spreading all over your body. The anger constricted your chest in such a way that you weren’t sure if somehow you were buried under a collapsed building, its weight invisibly crushing you.

It was his fault. It was all his fault.

You didn’t remember walking outside the bathroom, nor did you remember walking up to him and slapping away the cup of water his hand held.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you barked at him.

"I—"

"I gave you one task. You had to wait until I gave you the signal so you could come in. Not guns blazing, not punching everyone that comes your way, not drawing everyone's attention to us. Your only fucking job was to wait for the distributor to show up and wait for my goddamn signal."

"What did you want me to do? Just stand there and do nothing?" he argued.

You were taken aback by his response. Part of you expected him to just let you scream at him and give you the same soft eyes he always gave you when you spoke to him.You weren't expecting him to snap back at you or to defend himself.

Maybe if things hadn’t gone sour between you two, you would’ve listened to what he said, and in return, he would’ve listened to you. But the anger was too strong to be subdued.

"I wanted you to follow the fucking plan."

"He was about to torture you!"

Bucky's thoughts returned to the old factory turned whorehouse.The way you had purposefully gotten caught and how they had tied you to an exposed pipe line. He could still hear the sound of the man’s hand smashing against your cheek.

"I can handle myself! I told you guys to stay put until the distributor was there. He knows I’m after him, and this was our only chance to catch him. And now he’s god knows where and Sam got fucking shot."

A heartbeat passed before Bucky came close to your face. His big frame towered over you, and his breathing hit your face.

"You’re fucking delusional if you think I was just going to let anything happen to you."

You scoffed, "Oh, so now you care?"

"I’ve always cared."

You pulled away from him, your eyes rolling at his pathetic words.

"Sure."

Perhaps it was the fact that you had been in danger no longer than a couple of hours ago, or maybe it was the heat of the fight that had left some residues on him. Whatever it was, it made Bucky courageous enough to reach for your arm.

"Look at me."

You swatted him away.

"Don’t fucking touch me."

But this time he wasn't going down without a fight.Not again.

"I know I was an asshole at the end of our relationship, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you anymore."

A bitter laugh came out of you. All of this had to be some sick joke. "When you care about someone, you don’t treat them like that. You didn’t care about me, and you sure as hell didn’t love me."

His hand tried to touch you again, and this time you let him. You were tired. Tired of fighting with him. You closed your eyes as soon as his skin came in contact with yours, his touch consuming all of your senses.

You opened your eyes to find him staring back at you, the blue eyes that once hurt you shining the same way they did the first time you kissed him.

"I did love you," he whispered into your lips. "I still do."

His words burned you like someone had branded you with hot iron in the chest.Even after all this time, he could still hurt you, Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? Why did he have to bring back the past you so fiercely tried to leave behind?

"Don’t." Your lower lip quivered. "Y-you can't just break my heart and then come back into my life and just say you still love me."

"I never stopped loving you."

Those five words were all it took to tear down what little control you had over yourself. A year ago it would've broken you to hear them but now they only brought a deep sense of indignation.

With a quick move, you pulled his hand away from you, your hands pushing against his chest until he hit the wall. You wanted him to hurt. You wanted to carve his heart out of his ribcage and throw it far away, maybe then he would understand what it felt like.

"Where was your love when I needed it, huh? Where was your love when I had no one else? Where was your love when I reached for you every night but you were already gone? Where was your love when I begged you to love me, to be there for me?" Your hands were clutching his jacket, and your vision was blurred by tears."Where the fuck was your love when you brought that girl to your apartment?"

Bucky never saw you like this, not even when he stomped on your heart with his indifference. Under the anger, the hate, and the surface indifference you showed him, he could see how broken you were. He could see how you were constantly struggling to put the pieces of yourself back together that he had torn apart.

He hated himself for extinguishing parts of you.

"I’m sorry."

A lapse of judgment.

That’s what you would tell anyone who asked you why you kissed Bucky that night. You would say that you had been blinded by the pure rage his mere presence would bring you. Or perhaps you would take the easy route and you would say that with everything that happened that night, almost being tortured and Sam getting hurt, you had acted in a primitive instict of searching comfort.

The truth was different. You could lie to yourself and say that you didn’t needed Bucky, not after all the things he had done. You lied to yourself constantly when you told yourself you were over him. You also lied to yourself when you claimed that your one-night stands had fulfilled you in the same way that Bucky had.

You couldn’t feel anything, not ever since you walked out of his apartment. You had tried different people, different cities. You had tried different alcohols and different drugs. You had tried anything that could help you fill the emptiness that had found a permanent home inside you. You felt nothing, not until you saw those cerulean eyes again.

Your kiss was aggressive, your lips smashing against his with strength and your hands finding their place in the back of his head. It took a second for Bucky to kiss you back as he thought his mind was playing tricks with him. But after you pressed yourself against his chest, his body reacted on muscle memory alone, his arms surrounding your waist.

It wasn’t what you expected, though. You thought that the specks of love that remained between you would be enough to bring back whatever it was that you were missing. Instead, you were met with the most intense hatred you've ever felt, mixed with the melancholy of what could've been.

He tasted like the past, but he still hurt like the present.

So you made a decision.If you couldn't bring yourself to love Bucky Barnes anymore, you would hate him with all that remained of your soul. You would hate him until both of you burned in the flames of your agony. You'd despise him until you'd ripped every part that matched the ones he'd so easily broken.

"I hate you," you whispered between kisses. "I fucking hate you."

Your words were daggers to his heart. His chest tightened, and his grip on you faltered for a second before he snapped out of it. This wasn’t about him. If you needed to tell him how much you despised him, he would gladly let you kill him with your words. It was the least you deserved.

"I know," he mumbled against your lips.

He felt your body guiding him through the room until the back of his legs hit against the couch where he would sleep. Your hands pushed against his chest, making him sit on the couch while you straddled his lap.

Clothes flew across the room, and you found yourself tearing his shirt apart in two while he only pulled yours off.You'd worry about that later; right now, nothing was more important than feeling your skin against his.

Your hands traveled over his chest, fingers grazing every part of his abdomen as you trailed down to his zipper. You palmed him over his jeans, his cock already hard, and you felt it twitch against the fabric with every touch you gave him. Groans left Bucky’s lips.

"I hate you," you repeated as a mantra.

He shouldn’t make you feel this way, but as you see his head going back when your hand opened his fly and found it’s place around his cock you felt your own desire pooling in your lower belly and the aching in your core became unbearable.

With swift movements, Bucky got rid of his pants and his underwear while you remained on top of him. With your frame still covered by a black lace bra and your black tactical pants on, he couldn't help but feel exposed when he looked at you.Deciding he didn’t wanted to be the only one naked his hands went to the side of your hips in efforts to get you rid of the fabric but your hand swatted him away.

Beg me, your eyes said.

For a moment, he considered tearing your pants apart the same way you had done with his shirt. However, the seriousness behind your eyes warned him that he might end things too soon if his stubbornness got in the way. So he gave in.

"Please, Sunshine." His hands gripped your waist, his hips grinding against your still-wrapped core, sending shivers down your spine."Please, let me see you."

You relented, unbuttoning your pants and throwing them away with your panties. In what were the longest seconds of Bucky’s life, you unclasped your bra, finally getting rid of the last barrier your body held on to.

You stood there, completely naked, staring at Bucky.He remembered the way your breasts felt when he held them. He remembered how soft your skin was. He remembered that if he bit on the skin of your neck, right where the jugular is, you would clench around him. He remembered. In the lonely nights when he needed some release, he would close his eyes and imagine your lips around his cock as he fisted himself in the solitude of his apartment.

All those memories didn’t compare to watching you in the flesh, with hungry, hateful eyes on him as you walked back to straddle him again.

His cock twitched once your legs fell to his sides, the heat of your body settling on his crotch. You sat on top of him, your wetness welcoming him once you lowered yourself. His length placed itself right between your lips, and a groan left him.

"Fuck."

Your hips began rocking in slow but sharp motions as he felt his cock coated with your slick. Slowly, you built up a rhythm that made both of you moan. His hands landed again on your hips, his fingers pressing on your skin in a way that was certain to leave bruises the next day. Your own hands gripped on Bucky’s biceps for stability, and you squeezed them every time you would feel him brushing against your clit.

You felt amazing on top of him, but that wasn’t what made his heart pound against his chest.

It was your eyes. Your eyes never left him, no matter how much pleasure you were pulling from both of you and how badly you wanted to roll your eyes as the coil inside of you tightened. Your eyes, which once showed him what love could look like, now looked at him with a simmering hatred he could not shake.

His chest tightened at the thought of never seeing them again. The electricity that ran through his body was replaced by a deep sense of hopelessness, and the more he kept his gaze on you, the more it amplified. You must’ve sensed the change in him because your movements stopped.

Broken eyes now stared at you with the ghost of tears in them. The anger that had driven your actions and your thoughts through all this had now subsided, allowing itself to mix with melancholy.

I love you. I’m sorry. I miss you. His eyes said.

I hate you. I’ll never forgive you. I wish I never met you. Yours answered.

And in the middle of the lust that was taking place right on the couch, both of your hearts broke again.

You pulled him back for a kiss that tasted of desperation and sorrow as tears fell from both your eyes. The saltiness of the tears bled into the kiss and mixed with it.Quickly, your hand guided his tip to your entrance. You needed him inside you like a person lost in the desert needs water. You craved him with every cell in your body, and it tore your heart apart.

"So tight." He moaned in your mouth as you sank into him.

The stretch of his length burned as you forced yourself to take him fully. It hurt, and even with your arousal completely covering him, you weren't prepared to take his thick length.You didn’t care though, you hoped it would make you forget your heartbreak. Bucky tried to stop you as he felt you struggling to take him in. His hands held your waist, but you shook your head before you started bouncing on him.

You didn’t want love from him. You didn’t want tenderness or care. You wanted roughness. You wanted strength and aggressiveness until the only thing you could feel was the ache between your legs.

The super soldier gave you what you wanted.

Bucky’s pace was brutal, his cock hitting the sweet spot only he could reach. The sound of his hips colliding with yours filled the room, bouncing off the walls and echoing through the hallway outside.In the back of his mind, Bucky was thankful Sam was knocked out with meds so he could be spared from the obscene orchestra your bodies played.

The pain quickly turned into pleasure. Your walls hugged him tightly, each thrust carried a strength that left you breathless. At some point your legs had given in, the only reason why you kept bouncing was the snap of his hips pushing you. He didn’t let go of you though, instead he pushed you against his chest in an embrace that surrounded you tightly.

Your head rested against his while your hands stayed on his chest. The sadness that mixed with the pleasure numbed everything else except for the bubbling up of your release. It pained you to admit that no one else could make you feel like Bucky, you had tried to find someone who could replicate what his touch could do for you, but no one ever came close.

You hated how much you missed him and how much you needed him.

"I wish you would’ve stayed dead." you panted. The poison behind your words shredded his heart. He knew you were saying it to hurt him, he knew you didn’t mean it, but the conviction behind it felt like a kick in the chest. "I wish we never brought you back."

"Me too." he finally admitted.

Bucky felt your walls constrict around him, and he could tell you were close. He drew you in for one last kiss, the kind that took your breath away. The type of kiss that was a solace in a world of agony. The type of kiss that meant a promise that carried forever.

You tightened around him as you came, and his thrusts slowed down as he rode you through your high. As you closed your eyes, more tears fell from the corners, so he reached out to wipe them away.Once you had recovered a little, his brutal pace came back, this time chasing his own release. You brought your lips to kiss his neck, feathery, soft kisses, and he felt his balls tightening. He was so close.

He tried to pull out so he could fist himself to the end but you didn’t budge, instead whispering in his ear.

"Inside."

He came harder than he had done in the last year. You felt his cock twitching inside as he covered your walls with his cum, the mess between your release and his own dripping out of you. You kept bouncing on top of him, making sure to return the favor by guiding him all the way through the end.

You stood up, the feeling of emptiness making you shudder when his cock left you, and his cum started leaking out of you. You turned to go find something to clean yourself up, but his metal hand stopped you. He guided you back to the couch before he walked towards the bathroom. A few minutes later, he came back with a towel, and he positioned himself right between your legs.

He cleaned you up just like he had done for so many years before.His other hand caressed your thigh as he made sure to wipe everything. And just as he always did for years, once he finished, he kissed your inner thigh, a couple of inches away from your pussy.

Bucky threw the towel to the floor, he would worry about it in the morning.As for right now, the only thing he wanted was to hold you close. So he did. He thanked the couch was big enough to fit you both as you layed together. He pulled the blanket he used to warm himself every night over you, and his arm surrounded your waist, his grip making your back settle against his front. His left hand traced lazy circles over your stomach while the other was used as your pillow.

For a few seconds, both of you allowed yourselves to reminisce in the past. He kissed the top of your head as you snuggled against him like you usually did. And as you felt his warmth behind you and inhaled his scent, everything seemed to be alright once again.

Except they weren’t. Bucky wasn’t the man who made you feel secure anymore, and you weren’t the woman who trusted him with all her heart. Both of them belonged to the past.

"I don’t love you anymore. I will never love you again." you broke the silence.

Bucky held you tighter as his heart broke once again.

"I don’t deserve your love." He whispered. "But I’ll still love you forever."

Then

Loving Bucky Barnes was never easy.

It wasn’t all bad, though. For many years you had been together, three and a half to be exact, where you could imagine a life with. Three years where there was no one you trusted more or preferred to be with.Three years that were the happiest of your life.

Those were a few of the reasons why he had asked you to marry him. And those were also a few of the reasons why you had said yes.

You had told yourself at the beginning that you couldn’t get attached to him for the safety of your heart. It didn’t matter that his touch felt like home or that during the times you spent apart, his eyes would be the only comfort you would find in your dreams. He would bring more heartbreak than love.

Oh, how right you had been.

Unfortunately for you, the heartbreak would come in a way you couldn’t have prevented.

The snap came and took him away from you. One second he was standing next to you, the next he was turning into dust that flew into the wind. The last thing he had said was your name and after that half the population was gone.

The years went by in a blur. Between nights filled with drugs and alcohol and days spent cramped up in your apartment, you were wallowing in the type of sadness that the rest of the population could understand. You kept your ring in your finger, it reminding you that what your memories craved for were real.

Bucky had been real.

With his departure, he had also taken your heart.

After a particularly bad night where you crashed your vehicle into a contention bar, Tony had taken it upon himself to help you, offering you a home close to his secluded one. You took it, not because you wanted to get better but because you wanted solitude. But if life had taught you anything about Tony Stark, it was that he was as stubborn as they come.

Every morning he would bring you breakfast along with a visit from a certain little baby that always wanted to be held by you, and sometimes she would be able to bring a small smile to your face. With time, the little baby turned into a little girl that would ask for a sleepover every once in a while, and you would gladly accept the offer to allow Tony and Pepper a night alone.

Things got better. You visited Steve and Natasha at the compound and even allowed yourself to go in missions of your own, as it turned out not even The Snap could make criminals take a break. You even went to one of Steve’s depressing support group meetings, never returning for the next one.

You couldn’t be strong all the time, though. Some nights, when the pain was so strong that it drowned you and the grief was too powerful to keep at bay, you would find yourself staring at the hundreds of pictures you had taken of him. Most of them were of you together, but there were a few you took when he wasn’t looking. The sunset behind him as he breathed in the clean air of Wakanda, or the small smile on his face as he tasted the food he cooked for you both.Even when he was reading some of the books he kept under his bed and a few wrinkles would show on his forehead as his whole focus remained in the text, he always looked beautiful.

With time, everything felt like a routine. Waking up alone, eating alone, going outside alone. Sleeping alone. Everything seemed to be stable, not good or bad, but just stable. You were sure this was the best you could do, or at least the best it could get.

That is, until a ray of hope appeared.

Time travel was the answer. Taken as a whole, it seemed like something out of a science fiction film, but it made sense.Bring the stones back and along with them everyone that had died. Surprisingly, it had worked, everyone that had been snapped away came back just as they had left. It should have been a moment of joy. It should've.

The thing about hope is that it comes with a price. Natasha and Tony were the price to pay.

Steve left shortly after.

You understood him. You understood why he left everything and everyone behind to go live a life with the woman he had always loved. You would be a liar if you said you wouldn’t have done the same if you were in his position. You understood why he did it but it still hurt to know you weren’t enough of a reason to stay and live a life together.

It seemed like you were on a streak of losing people. Wherever you turned, more people kept leaving your life. Wanda was gone, turned into the madness that grief could bring. Thor left to save other planets that needed him. Bruce... well, you weren’t sure where Bruce was, but he didn’t try to contact you.

Everyone was gone but Sam and Bucky.

Bucky. Your Bucky. The man you had spent the past five years crying for. The man who made you the happiest you'd ever felt.The man who felt like home.

But he wasn't your Bucky any longer.

This Bucky didn’t kiss you with the same tenderness he did so many years ago. Instead, he'd barely move his lips once yours touched his in what you'd call a mediocre peck.He also never initiated a kiss, it was you who always reached out for him.

This Bucky didn’t held you at night. Instead, he'd turn around, his back to you, and even if you reached for him between dreams, he'd guide your hand back to your side of the bed.Some nights, he would even choose to sleep on the floor of the living room when he thought you were asleep. It was as if the thought of touching you seemed appalling to him.

This Bucky never hugged you.

This Bucky never talked to you with love only with annoyance and indifference.

This Bucky never woke you up with breakfast.

This Bucky never tried to sleep with you.

This Bucky never said I love you.

Because this Bucky didn’t love you.

But you held hope, foolishly. Every day you tried to talk to him, show him in every possible way that you were still here with him. Every day you tried to make things better between you, you poured your heart and soul to try to fix what you didn’t even know was broken.

Things got worse a couple of months later.

As it turned out, time had taken a toll on Steve’s body, and one night he went to bed and never woke up. You found it a bit ironic the man out of time had finally run out of time.

His funeral was held on a sunny spring afternoon. People from all over the world showed up to say their final goodbyes to the man who had saved the world so many times. Friends, people he had saved, and heroes paid their respects to him. The first super soldier had finally been put to rest.

After everyone had cleared out, you went back to drop one last token for his departure. It was a picture of the both of you. Steve’s arm hung over your shoulders while both of you held a couple of beers. It had been the first time you had seen Steve outside of work related situations. That was the beginning of your friendship.

As you got back to his tombstone, you saw Bucky standing in front of it. His eyes were void of any expression, and he didn’t seem to be talking to Steve’s grave either. Bucky was just there, staring at the place where his best friend was buried.

He didn’t seem to notice when you stood next to him, nothing in his body gave any signs of acknowledgement. You gave him a couple of minutes before you reached for his hand. You knew that, even if he didn’t show it, he was in great pain. He had lost his last connection to the life he had once lived.

You wanted to be there to help him through his pain.

The contact only lasted a few seconds. Your touch surprised him, as he had jolted once your skin grazed his own. He turned his head to the side to give you a glare that you’ve never seen before. His eyes had been filled with pain, as you guessed, but they also carried hatred and disdain. He must’ve seen your expression, because a second later his eyes changed to a neutral expression.

"What are you doing here?" he muttered.

The shock of his stare lingered in you for a moment, but you quickly returned to yourself, a friendly smile on your face."I came to leave a little parting gift."

He hummed in acknowledgement, not sparing another glance at you as you put the photograph against the headstone, right in between the dozens of flowers that decorated it. Both of you stayed silent after that, the sounds of the birds and the faint rumbling of cars were the only sounds keeping you company. It was peaceful. It was good. Just the two of you enjoying a moment's calmness in silence.

For a few moments, you felt comfortable next to him. The first time in months since he came back. But good moments like that never lasted long.

Without notice, he turned around. Long, desperate strides guided him towards the exit of the graveyard. He wanted to create distance between you and him, find somewhere that was as far away from you as he could be. You felt how you were losing him.

But you fought for him, even when he seemed to not deserve it.

"Bucky." You called for him. He stopped in his tracks, but he didn’t turn around, so you took that as a sign to keep going. "I know you’re hurting right now, I am too, but I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you."

He didn’t answer for a few seconds, and you thought you had made a breakthrough. Maybe this was the time when things went uphill. This was the little push he needed to start healing and perhaps to try to rebuild the bridges that had burned. This was the little thread of hope you'd hung up on.

You were wrong.

"You have no idea how I feel," he said before leaving.

That night you came back to your cabin, and Bucky’s things were gone. The only thing left was a note that rested in the middle of the bed.

I found an apartment in the city. I need space.

You didn’t see him for a couple of months after that. You considered tracking him down but ultimately gave up as he had asked for space. He needed time on his own, and you could give it to him. You would give him anything he asked for.

You kept your word until Strange came to visit you, announcing news about Wanda. She was dead.

You barely remembered tracking down his address or making your way there. It wasn’t until you were facing his door that you realized what you had done. He asked for space but in that moment, you couldn’t give it to him. You needed your Bucky.

Knock, knock, knock.

It was late in the night, and you could hear the TV going on in the living room. He had to be home. After a few minutes without an answer, you knocked again, but the only thing that welcomed you was silence.

"Bucky," you called. Your voice was broken, you tried to fight the tears away, but saying his name broke what little self-control you had left. "Please open the door."

You rested your forehead against the door, finally allowing yourself to feel everything you had been pushing back ever since the fight with Thanos. Pain, grief, loneliness, hatred, sadness, despair. A cocktail of emotions ran through you in an overwhelming way and seemed to want to drown you.

"I know you’re in there." You cried. The tears that ran down your face landed on the floor. "I just— I know I said I could be strong for the both of us, but... I need you."

You knocked on the door again, this time with the side of your fist. The desperate sound of your knocking bounced through the walls of the deserted hallway.

"Please Bucky, please open the door. Wanda is dead." Your own cries stopped you from talking, the hole in your chest seemed to get bigger and bigger with each passing second. "Nat, Tony, Steve, Wanda. All of them are dead, and I—I can’t. I can’t keep losing people. I can’t lose you."

You couldn’t do this alone, not anymore. Your heart couldn’t take it anymore.

"I love you. God, I love you so much. I know you want space, but right now I need your love, Bucky. I need you to love me like you used to. Please love me." You begged.

And you waited. You waited for what seemed like hours, but it probably was just thirty minutes until you accepted he wasn’t coming out.

You left with half a heart that night.

Two weeks later, you came back to his apartment, ready to demand an explanation. Your love for him was strong, but you needed him to talk to you. You were ready to fight for your future. You were ready to fight for your love.

"Bucky!" you yelled as you knocked aggressively. "Bucky, open the fucking door!"

The door didn’t take long to open. It surprised you, your confidence and anger faltered for a second. This was a sign, perhaps it was him being ready to fight for you too. This was him showing you he still loved you.

Except the person who opened the door wasn’t Bucky.

It was a girl. A short brunette that was covered by Bucky’s black T-shirt and nothing more.

"Hi."

You wanted to scream. You wanted to burst into tears. You wanted to burn the world and leave everything behind. You wanted to die. But the only thing you could do was stay there and stare at the girl.

"Umm, Bucky is not here." She said awkwardly, your intense stared made her uncomfortable.

"Do you know where he is?" You questioned her. The words came out rougher than you intended, but as the heartbreak and despair set in, you couldn't care less.

"No. I, um, when I woke up he was already gone." She pulled the hem of the t-shirt down in an effort to convey her nervousness, but it only infuriated you more. "Are you a friend of his?"

You wanted to laugh. God, this couldn’t be happening.

"Yeah, of sorts."

"I can let you in so we can wait for him, but I have to leave in like twenty minutes."

"You can’t call him?" you asked, bitterly. You knew Bucky had gotten a new phone but he never gave you his number.

Her face blushed before she answered. "No, uh. We met last night, and he didn’t give me his number.

"Oh."

You didn’t know what would be worse, if he had seen this girl ever since he left your cabin or the fact that he had a one night stand with a random girl. It didn’t matter, though, Bucky Barnes had crushed your heart.

The girl, whose name was Clara, kept her word, leaving minutes later as she had to go to work. She seemed like a nice girl who had no idea the man she had slept with was engaged. And perhaps in another world you would’ve been nicer to her if your heart hadn’t collapsed in on itself when she opened the door. Maybe she was a little naïve, as she let you stay inside the apartment so you could wait on Bucky. She had also asked you to give him her number, the digits scribbled on a piece of paper.

You broke down the moment she closed the door behind her. You thought of trashing the place, breaking every piece of furniture he owned, and burning all his clothes in a pit in the middle of his living room. You imagined yourself hurling the stupid leather jacket he seemed to be fond of lately.You also thought about settling for burning everything to the crisp, wanting to see the look on his eyes once he saw his apartment consumed by flames.

You didn’t do any of those things, though; instead, you waited. This time, hours actually went by, the once bright morning turned into the darkness of the night, and you never moved from your spot on the couch, not even to turn on the lights.

Bucky came back to his apartment around 11 p.m. When he noticed the apartments' lack of lightning, he felt relieved not to have to deal with the girl he had taken home the night before. By the looks of it, she left a while ago.

He turned on the light before taking of his jacket, placing it on the coat hanger next to the door.As he walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water, he tossed his keys on the counter.He had to change the sheets on his bed and do laundry tomorrow. The glass was half full when a voice behind him spoke.

"You have a nice place here."

The glass dropped from his hands into the kitchen sink. His head snapped quickly towards you, finding you seated in the middle of his couch. He turned off the sink, before making his way toward you. You couldn’t be here, not today of all days.

"How the hell did you get in here?" he barked.

He didn’t mean it like that, not in the way it sounded. He wasn’t angry at you being inside his apartment, he was scared. Scared that you had arrived at the wrong time and seen something you weren’t meant to see.

He finally stood in front of you and saw it. Your nose was slightly puffy and red, like you had been crying for some time. Your shoulders were slumped, defeat washing over your posture. But the thing that hurt the most to see was the pain behind your eyes. It wasn’t the normal type of pain of loss or grief as you had experienced these past months. No, it was something else.

It was the pain of heartbreak and betrayal.

It couldn’t be.

You couldn't have been here when she was still in his house. There was no way, life could not hate him this way. It had to be something else that broke your heart, he had hurt you many times this past couple of months, and today was probably the day it all crashed down. It had to be that.

"Clara let me in."

No.

"Nice girl, she left her number for you."

You knew, you had seen the girl who was apparently named Clara, he didn’t really remember it. Bucky knew he had to do something, anything that could save your relationship. Perhaps if he begged you not to leave him, to let him explain everything that had been going on with him, and if he spent the rest of his days making it up to you, then you would stay. Maybe you could forgive him.

He didn’t do any of that, though. The same thoughtless attitude washed over him like it had done ever since he came back. It was as if his brain forced him to act this way in order to protect his own heart in the long run.

Instead of doing everything he could to fix this, he shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest.

"How long?" you asked. Bucky could see your eyes watering as you tried to keep yourself together. He hated himself. "How long have you been cheating on me?"

His mouth answered without his permission.

"Does it even matter?"

Maybe he was right. Maybe it the answer wouldn’t change the way you were feeling; if anything, it was bound to hurt you more. But a part of you wanted to know the truth, to extinguish the other half of your heart.

You didn’t budge, so Bucky finally answered, not before rolling his eyes. "She’s the only one. I met her yesterday in a bar. "He shrugged. "It just happened."

You knew the answer, yet it still hit you with the force of a thousand bricks. He admitted it. He fucking admitted it and he didn’t even show a single morsel of remorse. There weren't any apologies or begs, no promises, or big romantic and sorrowful speeches. You could feel your own love being smothered, the flames that had once brought so much warmth to your soul were replaced by cold and emptiness.

Bucky Barnes didn’t love you anymore.

Now

Bruises covered your body as well as new injuries that would probably give you more scars. Dirt and blood slid down the drain, exhaustion settling in as your muscles relaxed. The droplets of water fell against your body, washing away everything that had happened today.

You found the intel, you knew every single name of everyone involved with the heinous experiments you were chasing.

You had almost died, one of the guys Bucky and you had cornered, had a bomb attached to his chest. You tried to stop him, your gun pointing at his head, but you were too slow. The explosion shook the entire structure, causing a chain collapse of the floors around you.

Bucky had jumped to protect you, his body acting as a human shield, deflecting some of the impact.His flesh arm had a large metal piece embedded in it, as well as some burns on his back. The explosion had knocked you both out of the air, and the resulting wave had thrown you both across the room.

As you tried to shake away the confusion and the ringing from your ears, you felt his hand find its place along your face and travel to your stomach. As he scanned you, blue eyes looked at you with fogginess but also deep concern.

"You ok?" he had whispered.

You nodded, but your mind was still fuzzy, perhaps you had hit your head, but you couldn’t remember much.

But you remembered the desperation. You remembered everything crumbling apart as you tried to make your way to the exit. You remembered Sam’s voice screaming through your earpieces to get the fuck out of there. You remembered Bucky's hand always keeping you safe, guiding you through the clouds of cement and smoke.

You also remembered how Bucky’s steps faltered before collapsing. Neither of you had noticed he had a second piece of metal scrap buried between his ribs. If he had removed it, his enhanced healing would have taken care of it, but the extenuating movements had caused damage to his lungs, bleeding, and a lack of oxygen, causing him to pass out.

You remembered screaming for Sam’s help, begging him to help you save Bucky. You remembered the tears falling from your eyes as you tried to pull Bucky to safety, begging him not to die, begging him to wake up. You remembered the fire catching up to you, it’s warmth burning your skin. You wanted to kill Bucky, you would be happy if you never seen his face again, dance on top of his grave as you celebrated the end of his existance.

Then why were you fighting so hard to save him?

"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. You can’t do this to me!"

"Bucky wake the fuck up!"

"Please! I can’t lose you like this!"

Fortunately, Sam came for you, him and all his Captain America glory had saved both of you, his wings protecting all three of you as you carried Bucky outside. You had barely gone a few steps ahead when the building finally set one last explosion, ending with everything on it's way.All three of you landed on the floor with a thud as the shock wave reached you.

You focused your attention on Bucky's wound, which was already healing, but his lack of response worried you.His breathing was barely existent, and his heartbeat was decreasing. You had straddled his lap and began performing CPR on him while asking Sam to go fetch the adrenaline shot you stored in the vehicle. You had punctured Bucky's chest with it, and after a few seconds, he had woken up.

You remembered clinging to him as he tried to sit straight, the desperation finally gone from your body.

The body behind you wrapped his hands along your waist, pulling you out of your memories and spreading the soap he had covered you with. Bucky's fingers traced all the way down your body, removing every trace of stress.

After everything happened, Sam told you to go back to the safehouse while he met with Joaquin to try and start locating people with the intel you had gathered. You thought about fighting him, but one look at Bucky and any fight you had left was done.

A knowing look from Sam told you this wasn’t just to let both of you rest and get cleaned up. It was a second chance. A second chance at the talk you had avoided to had with Bucky ever since that night you slept together.

You drove back to the safehouse, and once you had gotten inside, everything crumbled apart inside of you. As you reached out to Bucky, your tears had fallen, your hand lingering in his fleshy arm, right where his wound was.His hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing the stream of blood that fell from your eyebrow. In the silence of the room, no words were exchanged, but both your hearts understood.

Just for today, you would allow yourselves to comfort each other.

His lips peppered kisses along your shoulder as he cleaned you, his lips sometimes finding your neck or your lips when you would press yourself against him. As you spread the shampoo over his head, your fingers massaged his scalp with the tenderness he had missed, his eyes closing every time you hit the right spot.

After drying yourselves and changing into new clothes, you both layed on the bed, covered over the head with the thin white sheet you had. You faced each other, blue eyes meeting yours. Your fingers found his face as you traced along every crevice and line you hadn’t seen before. Bucky appeared to have aged years in the time you hadn't seen him, but he remained as beautiful as ever.

Your heart ached in your chest, and you couldn’t fight it anymore. You had denied yourself the other feelings that remained inside of you other than hate and betrayal, but today, as death seemed to call for both of you, it was clear you didn’t want Bucky Barnes to die. A part of you hated him so deeply you weren’t sure you would be able to stop, but no matter how strong the hatred was, you were sure a part of you still loved him.

However, that part of you was broken. Battered and bruised to death by his own doing but it was still there. It was locked inside the thousand-foot wall you had built around it to keep it safe. Refusing to ask questions, refusing to talk to him, and refusing to admit the pain you were in. But in doing so you hadn’t given yourself the opportunity to heal. To move on.

So you allowed yourself to feel and to talk. For both your sake and his.

"Why did you do it?" you broke the silence. His breathing faltered as your hand retracted back to your side. "Why did you hurt me like that?"

Bucky struggled to find the right words. You were asking him the same question he had asked himself for many, many nights. He asked himself that question when he wouldn’t reach for you at night. He asked himself that question when he didn’t open the door for you.

He asked himself that question when you walked out of his life.

You deserved the truth. The whole, unapologetic, heartfelt truth. So he gave it to you.

"The first time I came back to myself, after fighting Steve in the helicarrier, I realized the world had moved on without me. My plans, my family, and the people I knew were all left in the past. They all moved on without me, everyone was gone except for Steve. I had a plan, after the war I would go back and find myself a beautiful girl to marry." A sad smile posed on his lips as he reminisced. "I wanted the white picket fence and three kids package. Cookouts with my family and friends while I was still a war hero. But all of that was gone the moment I woke up in a time that wasn’t mine. My dreams were gone."

He paused before reaching for your face, his eyes closing before opening again, tears streaming down his cheeks."Ever since I woke up, I was a man drifting in a time that wasn’t mine, in a life that wasn’t mine. I didn’t have any dreams, or aspirations other than to survive and perhaps discover the truth. Nothing made sense to me, not until I met you." His thumb wiped away the tears you didn’t know they were falling. "You were the very first person, aside from Steve, that was kind to me. You talked to me, listened to what I had to say. You showed me what this new world was about, how to survive in it, and above all, you never doubted my innocence. It wasn’t because you knew me like Steve did, or because he had asked you as a favor. You were my friend, the very first I made when I was lost. And along the way, you turned into more, you were my new dream. I fell in love with you, and suddenly it didn’t matter that I wasn’t supposed to be here, or what it could’ve been because with you, I finally felt like I belonged somewhere."

A sob escaped you, his words burning your heart, branding them with the love you once felt for him. The heartbreak and the pain came once again, but it felt different. It was comforting in a way that scared you, terrified you. You knew he had loved you once, but you had stored those memories far away where they couldn’t hurt you. Because it was easier to tell yourself that Bucky had never actually loved you than to think he had loved you and had still betrayed you.

"But no matter how much time passed or how loved or comfortable I felt, I was still scared. I was terrified. Terrified of the same thing happening again. Every day, I'd tell myself, 'Something is going to happen, something is going to take me away from you, and when I come back, another hundred years will have passed.' And it did happen. When Thanos snapped me away, I came back, and to me only seconds had passed, but for you it was five years. Everything had changed again, even you. There was this sadness that seemed to have nested behind your eyes every time you looked at me. And every time I looked at you, I could see how much you had suffered because of me, it was my fault, and I couldn’t do anything about it."

"It wasn’t your fault." You tried to argue, but his words interrupted you.

"I felt like it was. I felt like I must’ve had some sort of curse that would always take me away from what made me the happiest, and in return, I would hurt everyone around me with it. I had died once again and the world kept going, once again. And I tried really hard to fight those thoughts, but it was as if a cloud of darkness would whisper to me that I didn't belong here anymore.That everything had changed once again, and it would happen again and again and again until I finally died. And I didn't know what to do; it was as if this voice was drowning me, washing away every ounce of happiness I had left inside me until all that remained was anger and resentment."

His voice had broken, as had his ability to hold back the tears.He had buried this for so long, too embarrassed to say them aloud, to admit how he had messed up everything because he was afraid.He wasn’t the man who had sworn to protect you against everything, he was a coward. A coward who had let his own fear hurt you in ways he could never fix.

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." Bucky kissed your forehead. "You didn’t deserve any of what I did to you, and I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for doing that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, I’m sorry I pushed you away when all you did was trying to help me. I’m sorry I slept with someone else. I'm sorry I messed everything up because the truth is, you have been the best thing that has ever happened to me, past and present, and if I had to go through all of the pain, torture, and heartbreak all over again just to meet you, I would."

You stayed there in silence for minutes. Neither of you dared say anything else that would break the silence. Both your hearts had been through a lot today, from the threats of death to the realizations of love and pain that had been confessed. But amongst the suffering and the torment, both of your hearts began to heal, and the pieces that had been ripped apart came back to where they belonged.

You took his hands into yours, your lips kissing his knuckles. "I don’t know if I could ever forgive you for what you did." Bucky’s eyes closed in ache, he knew it was a possibility, but it still hurt to know there was no hope, but your words stopped him from spiraling. "But I would like to try."

Hope. A tiny silver of hope.

"Do you think there is a chance for us in the future?"

You considered it. Your mind and your heart still pulling towards different directions but none of them letting you decide. Would you be willing to risk your heart once again for Bucky Barnes, or has the damage been too great to be fixed and covered? "I don’t know."

"That’s ok. I'm not going to ask about it again unless you want me to."

He kissed you one last time. His lips still had a subtle taste of smoke and burned, but above it was something overpowering, something both of you felt as he deepened the kiss. You both tasted redemption and forgiveness.

Forever

"Thanks for helping me."

"Don’t thank me, I’m only doing it for the beer."

Bucky and you chuckled at his poor attempt at a joke, your footsteps echoing in the half-empty apartment. A couple of seconds later, your mattress landed with a loud thud in your bedroom, making you happy to be finally done. You threw yourself on the bed, Bucky following you close behind, his heaviness bouncing you off. You turned to your side, resting your head on your hand, and he replicated your pose.

It had been a year and a half since you decided to bring Bucky back into your life, and things had changed dramatically since then.You stopped doing solo missions and moved to New York, where you split your time between assisting Sam and Bucky with their shenanigans and volunteering at the woman's shelter Sam had connected you with.

In the beginning, it was difficult to adapt to a tamer lifestyle than the one you had lived in the past year, but listening to all those women, the things they had been through, showed you that sometimes the thing people need to start healing is to have someone along the way.

Bucky and you had become friends, just as you had been when you first met. It took time to get back to the beginning, but soon you found out how much you needed him as a friend, not a lover or a soulmate but just someone with whom you could talk. And, over the course of the many nights you spent talking, forgiveness found its way into your heart.You didn’t forget the past between both of you, but along the way there was understanding and care.

"How was your date?"

You shrug. "It was ok, not that great to be honest."

During this time you had gone on a couple of dates, even went out with a guy for a couple of months, and since you and Bucky were ‘just friends’ you thought it would be uncomfortable to talk to him about them. But he had developed a habit of surprising you, and as it turned out, he was okay with it. When you asked why he was okay with it, his response surprised you.

"I love you, I’ll always love you. But if you need me as a friend and nothing more, then I’ll be your friend."

Your heart was still reluctant about him, after all, pain is a thing you can hardly forget. That had been the reason why you had tried to find someone else. Someone who could make you laugh as hard as he did, someone who could make you blush with just a cocky smile, someone who could calm you down and make everything better by simply holding you close at night.Someone who could make you happy. But all of them failed, because they weren’t Bucky Barnes.

No one ever compared to Bucky Barnes, because after all the lies, heartbreak, and death surrounding you, he was still the only person who felt like home.

Blue eyes stared at you and all you could feel was your heart racing. He was the man you had once loved and he had betrayed you, but time had mended your heart. The part of you that hated him was gone, and instead the love you felt for him came back, maybe not as strong as it once was but it didn’t matter. Your love was willing to build itself up, your love was willing to let him in one last time.

"Ask me" you uttered. Your voice was so quiet that you thought he wouldn't hear you, but his puzzled expression told you otherwise.

"What?"

Your hand grabbed his, your thumb was drawing circles on his skin.

"Bucky, ask me."

Bucky’s heart stopped. A part of him had always told him that you would never want him back, and he couldn't blame you. He had hurt you in so many ways that he could never forgive himself. He had been sure the best he could have from you was friendship, and he had made his peace with it. Having you as only a friend was better than not having you at all.

But you were giving him an opportunity, and he would be damned if he didn’t take it.

"Would you—" he paused, clearing his throat.The nervousness inside him erased his ability to speak. "Would you like to go out for dinner? As in a date?"

You made it seem as if you were thinking about it, but he didn’t worry about it. He knew your answer already.

"Yeah, I guess I can make time for one date."

You smiled. You gave him your biggest, most genuine smile in a long time.He smiled too.

Loving Bucky Barnes hadn’t been easy. But as you both lay in your beds, his hands caressing your face and new hope brewing between you, your heart told you that this time would be different.

He wasn't the same tormented man from another time you'd fallen in love with, and you weren't the same broken but hopeful girl he'd loved with all his heart.You both had hurt each other, but you had also grown, both of you in your own ways, and yet destiny had brought you back together.

This time, neither of you was scared.

This time, loving him would come as easily as breathing.

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to message me about it.

Tag list: @wintasssoldier @fallenoutofrose @cjand10 @nouk1998 @smplymrvl @littlemiss-yeehaw @magnificentsvn @kentokaze @gostodosopa @musicgirl44 @rebloggingmyrecs @mbindzus-blog @pampeop @buckystwilight @blackhawkfanatic @miss-i-ship-it @bibliophilewednesday

#bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #avengers fanfiction #avengers fic

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littlefireball · 3 months

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ᴍɢ|ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴘᴛ.1 (ᴀ)

ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ! ᴍɪɴɢɪ x ʟᴏɴᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ|ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴀʟ(ꜰᴀᴋᴇ)|ᴍɪɴɢɪ ɪꜱ ꜰʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɴɢʀʏ|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ʜᴜʀᴛ|ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2ᴋ

Part 2 is here

Summary: Mingi's cousin's death got you kicked out of the ATEEZ gang. They put all the blame on you. Although you are innocent, you have no evidence. You decided to sneak into the manor of ATEEZ gang's rival, the Yellow Wolf clan, to search for clues to prove your innocence, but unexpectedly pushed yourself to "death"

"You, traitor!!" "No! It wasn't me." The man in front of you screams as he holds onto the lifeless body, blaming you for all the tragedy. "Please believe me, I didn't kill her." You kneel beside Mingi, tears streaming down your face, reaching out to hold his hand stained with the blood of the corpse.

"Get away! You have no right to touch her!" He forcefully pushes your hand away, causing you to lose balance and fall to the ground. You stare in disbelief at the man who once professed his love to you, now transformed into someone who hates your existence.

"No… I…" Just as you try to speak, he glares at you with a mixture of sadness, incomprehension… and terrifying murderous intent. "Leave, I don't want to see you… before I change my mind…" You clench your fists, your fingertips turning white from exertion, leaving a visible crescent-shaped mark in your palm, even drawing blood.

You want to explain that it's all a misunderstanding, but you don't know how to begin or what to say. The man in front of you, or rather, your former lover, refuses to hear you. "Then… I'll wait for you to come back…" You say these words without knowing why, your mind a jumbled mess, unable to make sense of it all.

Mingi, filled with anger and confusion, stares at you in disbelief. He slowly lets go of the corpse, unable to bear the conflict within him any longer, and suddenly grabs your neck. His nails seem to grow with a life of their own, piercing your flesh and causing fresh blood to drip from his fingertips.

"Mingi!" Others try to intervene upon seeing this, but the sharpness in Mingi's eyes makes them step back. He turns his head, meeting your tearful gaze and warns in a low voice, "I said LEAVE doesn't mean leave here but disappear Forever!! Leave our gang and you are no longer a member! Understand? Don't make me kill you! That's my last mercy."

"!!!" Again, you wake up from this nightmare. Even though over a year has passed, you still vividly remember that night. No matter how much you pleaded, it was futile. In the eyes of other werewolves, you were a betrayer, someone who "deliberately killed" your lover's cousin. You were expelled from the wolf pack, living alone in the depths of another forest, a place where no one could easily find you.

Within this year and some months, you have been waking up from this nightmare every night, scared and crying. You are not the killer, yet you bear all the blame. What is most heartbreaking is Mingi's lack of trust. He hasn't heard your side of the story, or your explanations, and even directly drove you away.

Every morning, you face a world colored in darkness. You try your best to alleviate your melancholy, but always gradually sink in helplessness. You feel like every nerve in your body has been pulled out, a deep weariness and sense of powerlessness engulfing your entire being. Your eyes gaze forward, but you cannot see the light of hope.

You are tired, tired to the point of not wanting to live anymore, but you are unwilling to let everything from the past be destroyed like this and want to try to reclaim it all. But will it make a difference? Even if there is evidence to prove your innocence, will Mingi and his friends accept you again? They won't.

Whatever the outcome, it won't change because the dead will never come back.

The reason for being alive now is to find the killer and uncover the truth behind this incident. Perhaps you no longer care about your innocence because it is already an "established fact" that cannot be changed.

Mingi will not come back to your side.

After months of relentless effort, you finally manage to find some clues. All the evidence points towards the rival pack of ATEEZ, the yellow wolf clan. They are highly suspicious. A week before Mingi's cousin was killed, you received a letter from her, inviting you to prepare for Mingi's birthday together and asking you to come to her place the night before his birthday for decoration. And so, you went as agreed. Strangely, her place had no scent.

Every werewolf has their own unique scent, and their belongings would carry that scent. Mingi's cousin had a sweet floral scent, which was easy to recognize.

"Why is there no floral scent? Is my nose congested?" The moment you opened the door, a bucket of fresh blood suddenly poured from above, splattering your entire body in crimson.

You screamed in fear, and your body sprouted wolf ears, a tail, and deadly claws due to the shock. As you regained your composure, you realized that what lay before you was the drained body of Mingi's cousin.

Before you could react, a familiar voice came from behind you. "Y/N…? What are you…" You turned around and saw the surprised faces of the ATEEZ members. When Mingi saw his cousin's lifeless body, he collapsed, screaming in agony, rushing past you to hold the body and weeping. Then, everything that happened in the dream unfolded.

The ATEEZ gang and the yellow wolf clan are the only ones who could understand your every move so clearly. They are your enemies, eager to destroy you so that their clan can rise to become the strongest wolf pack. You recall the suspicions from that day-how could Mingi's cousin's house have no scent? Someone must have used an unknown object to eliminate the scent, as if to cover up something.

The scent of a yellow wolf is stronger than that of an ordinary werewolf, and if they truly killed Mingi's cousin, then they naturally had a motive to "eliminate the scent". However, without evidence, it is just speculation.

Tonight, you decide to go alone to the dwelling of the yellow wolf clan to find evidence. Because you know that only they possess such magical objects capable of completely erasing the scent of werewolves. And tonight is the Blood Moon, a night when all werewolves' powers are greatly enhanced, and most werewolves leave their dwellings temporarily to hunt outside, only returning when it's daylight. This weakens their defenses, making it a good opportunity to infiltrate.

Although it is an extremely dangerous move, this is your only chance.

The ominous blood moon hung high in the sky, foretelling a night full of danger. Unexpectedly, you effortlessly knocked out a guard and smoothly entered their territory. Without thinking much, you arrived at their manor.

In the center of the manor stood plants with yellow fruits. You plucked one of the fruits, squeezed its juice onto a fabric soaked in soy sauce. As you sniffed it, the scent disappeared, just as expected. You picked a few more and put them in your pocket, continuing to explore the manor. A warehouse in front of you aroused your suspicion.

Carefully, you approached the warehouse door and found that it wasn't locked. Pushing the door open, you discovered that the walls were covered with photos of the ATEEZ gang, and scattered documents littered the floor. You looked around in astonishment, unable to believe what you were seeing. To your horror, you noticed several photos with a red X drawn on them. The photos marked with a red X were of deceased members of the ATEEZ gang, including Mingi's cousin.

Anger and sadness instantly occupied your mind. Tears fell uncontrollably, dripping onto the documents beneath you. Clearly written on them was: "Extermination Plan." You picked it up, reading about the plan to kill members of the ATEEZ gang.

"What…! These people!" You clenched your fists, fueled by an overwhelming anger. Your blood boiled within you. "Damn it! I will definitely kill all of you!"

"Oh! Who do you want to kill?" Surprised, you turned around and found a werewolf from the Yellow Wolf clan standing in front of you. He wore a gas mask and leaned against the doorframe, seemingly unsurprised by your arrival.

"Why…?" "Did you really think you could enter our manor so easily as a lone wolf?" "This is… a trap!" Of course, how could it be so easy for you to enter the manor? And how could they allow you to see these documents so easily? It was clearly a setup.

He slowly approached you, his height creating a powerful sense of oppression. "Y/N, we've been looking for you for a long time! You are our savior, taking on all the blame for us!" "You bastard!" Impatient to listen to his nonsense, you gathered all your strength into your fist, forcefully striking his abdomen. Unexpectedly, he easily blocked the attack with one hand, gripping your fist and not letting go.

"Oh? You should be more patient." He squeezed your hand against your throat, using overwhelming force to push you down onto a table, pinning you down. Your struggles were in vain as your limbs grew weaker and your consciousness faded. "Didn't you notice the mask I was wearing? There's toxic gas here." "Hmm…" Your breath grew faint, your eyelids grew heavier, and you were on the verge of giving up.

"Huh? He didn't mark you? Then let me be your mate instead. How about that?" Seeing your lack of response, he chuckled triumphantly, his right hand caressing your thigh and directly squeezing your buttocks, exerting force from time to time. "Fuck… off." You weakly warned him, but he paid no attention, taunting, "Can you kick me off?" He tore off your shirt, leaving only your bra, exposing your bare and white breasts. He couldn't help but knead your chest, and his lower body frequently pressed against your sensitive area.

"Do you know how she died? She, just like you now, lay beneath me. I was gentle, but she didn't appreciate it. I had to hit her--" Every time he said "hit her," he slapped you, leaving a crimson handprint on your face. "And then, I entered her body. She dared to fight back! I was so angry that I killed her. Only then did she behave." Although your body couldn't move, your eyes emitted intense anger, as if wanting to incinerate everything.

"Now, let me see who is more obedient, you or her?" He took out a remote control from his pocket and pressed the red button. The gas in the room immediately stopped releasing. He removed his gas mask, opening his blood-filled mouth, and directly bit into your neck, causing blood to gush out. "Ahh!!" The intense pain made you struggle once again, desperately trying to push him away, but your powerless limbs wouldn't respond. Your body stiffened, and with gritted teeth, you stared at the yellow wolf in front of you, eyes filled with rage and terror.

"You… get off me…" "Shut up! Bitch! No one will save you, you better keep quiet!!" He forcefully rammed into you, hitting your sensitive area harshly. "I can't resist having you, Y/N. I love you so much, don't worry about Mingi, I will take care of you." "You… bullshit…" Tears streamed down your face as you prayed for someone to save you, but who would? Unsure if you were on the verge of death, memories of happy times spent with Mingi flashed through your mind. It all turned into an echo.

After struggling multiple times in vain, you gradually gave up, accepting the fact that you would be violated and left as a discarded corpse. Since you had nothing to lose, there was no meaning in staying alive.

"Let me taste you, babe." He tore off your lower clothing, wanting to remove your underwear, when a familiar voice rang out from behind.

"Y/N!!!"

Is Mingi…?

Part 2 is here

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez oneshot #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez imagines #ateez mingi #ateez angst

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rifualk · 5 months

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On Mental Health and Cosmic Embarrassment

I don't usually make a post in the aftermath of one of my spirals, so I bet most people see some of the vent posts I make, and assume I am just off my meds or something. I am on them but I might not be on the right ones. This is a thing that happens to me sometimes. I have psychotic episodes, where it feels like the things I am saying are completely inconsequential and I genuinely believe no one cares what I'm saying or, worst of all, that it cannot scare anyone that cares about me. I get too tired to fight my intrusive thoughts and I just ride them out. Most of my thoughts are not ones I enjoy having. I have trouble parsing what is real sometimes. For most of my life, out of a kind of primal shame and terror of being perceived or judged, I beat myself into believing that I just roleplayed as a crazy person online because I wanted attention for it, but it finally clicked for me at some point in my 20s that I was, and am, genuinely very mentally ill, maybe in ways that make me not-entirely-functional in the culture I inhabit. Also, I want attention for it.

Life is very embarrassing. I think embarrassment, shame, et al. is probably the most cosmic feeling of them all, because being embarrassed, for me anyway, leads invariably to my OCD extrapolating the embarrassment, no matter how slight, into its natural extreme, becoming a full-blown existential meltdown and often manifesting in some self-punishment. Or a lot of self-punishment. Instead of saying "everyone wants attention, it's not a big deal", my brain will overwhelm me with shame and make me vow to be quieter about the whole thing next time. Good emotions are meant to be expressed, I tell myself, and Bad ones are not. I think it's very unhealthy for people to not express their negative emotions openly. Or maybe I'm psychotic. I mean, I am psychotic. But maybe right now, too.

Ultimately this feeling peaks with the realization - again - that I'm a eukaryote. I live on a spinning ball of stardust in the aftermath of what had to have been a colossal disaster and waste of time. But it happened, and so now there's a bunch of stuff floating around, and some of that stuff started moving for reasons I don't personally understand and the implications of which scare me. And the moving stuff that moved faster got to stay moving longer. And so a chain reaction escalated, and eventually there were very large moving things whose survival adaptations had evolved in such a way that they could conceptualize and communicate complex information about the world around them, but they were also able to conceptualize themselves. This gave them a lot of grief. They wanted very badly for there to be an answer to why they were able to do that. Surely it served some purpose. But we never found one, and here we are.

I don't have a god to turn to. I have tried - earnestly, sincerely, and desperately - to reach out; I never hear back. I don't want to be an atheist, it's heartbreaking. Honestly. I want someone to be up there, or out there. Knowing there isn't, is just... cruel. It's horrifying and it wrenches my heart. Look at us, look how much we're suffering, where the fuck did you go, what the fuck is your problem? Help us!

In spite of everything, I am still not sure what I believe.

Don't you ever just cry about the world? Like, broadly? Don't you ever just have to take off your glasses and wipe the brine from them because you caught a glimpse of what people, as a species, could be capable of? And I get angry at myself, too. What am I doing about it? What even can I do? I can barely hold down a job. I am barely an adult. I am often mired in this feeling. It permeates everything. I'm living in a tragedy - not just my own, but millions and millions of others'. This is a nightmare. It's a nightmare and I'm an embarrassment, and my brain doesn't work right, and I'm living in a terrible reality that is shared by everyone, and yet somehow equally isolating and alienating to all of us. Does it have to be that way? Aren't we all lonely?

When I am spiraling I really do think that the end is near, either for me, or for everyone, or for both. To be fair, my confidence about humanity's future is not promising even when I am at my most sane. But in this kind of emotional place, the stakes are too high for me to care that what I say might come off as upsetting. It is completely overwhelming. I see my life up to this point, and I see how long I've been alive and realize I'm very Not Normal and I look and sound different than everyone around me and I'm an embarrassment. It's embarrassing to exist. It's embarrassing to be transgender, too. It's really, really embarrassing to be mentally ill and fully aware of it all the time. It's shameful. I am ashamed of how my family likely sees me. How my peers see me. I'm just a walking disaster. I feel like this bars me from leading a happy life or finding some success in art - It doesn't seem like you're allowed to be quite this much of a problem and "get away with it", does it? There's a bit of social sanitizing at work there - you are only allowed to be a certain level of messed up and if you pass that you're sort of a pariah. I don't think I've ever done anything pariah-worthy, but I can only see things from the inside of my own head, and there's a lot of unwanted noise in here.

I painted this when I lived in Oregon. I don't know how. I could not do art like this again if asked.

I'm not in a good place, generally-speaking. It could be worse - and it was for a long time- but it's still just not great. The main reason is that I am very homesick. I grew attached to the Pacific Northwest in a way I've never really grown attached to any other place. It had a quality that exists nowhere else. It resonated with me immediately and I knew right away from the moment I first set foot there that it was my home. I grew to be a part of it, and it's the only place I felt I somewhat-belonged... I have been away from Oregon for 2 whole years as of next month. I feel like I'm a fish out of water, or a sapling in the wrong soil. I can't and won't say that the place I live currently is a bad place, but it isn't my place, and the disconnect has been maybe the nastiest shock to my system in all my life. Finding the place I loved, and living for over 12 years there, only to be wrenched away from it so suddenly, left a shock on me that I think has yet to surface in my work. I'm excited to see what form it takes when it does. Location is very important to my mental wellbeing, more than I think it is for most people. Maybe I am a plant. It's also very important for my art. I've struggled to find inspiration since I moved here. That said, I've had the very precious opportunity to just work on myself - on my transition, as well as my personal issues. I think I'm getting better, gradually, in some way. I have a job now, at least. So it's not entirely bad. I even grew sunflowers last summer.

Around this time I got banned from twitter, but I don't feel any shame about the reason why because I believe in my message. But it forced me to be a lot less active online for a long time. It also made me lose a lot of support. That's been something I've grappled with a lot these last 2 years - that people really don't like people like me, for reasons that are mostly not our fault. I will likely always be something of an outsider for being who I am now, but I was one before anyway. It's still worth it. I like the person I'm becoming. I feel like only recently did I allow myself to feel this self-love. I was too embarrassed of myself. It took a lot of patience and a lot of de-tangling my self-worth from a lot of trauma. So it's likely I would have needed to go through all of this regardless of where I was.

I still slip up. It's an uphill climb and it's slippery. I like to be transparent about these things. It's a relief - feeling like I need to hide things is my default state and it's lovely to just let go of stuff so I don't need to keep it in my head all the time. I have a lot of hangups still. I get discouraged about my art still - I fear I'll never build myself back up to where I was before, and that there will never be a time when I can really pay the bills with it. Or worse-still, that it just isn't special enough to last. That it isn't remarkable enough to survive after I'm gone. But I think a lot of people who make stuff feel that way, and it's not our fault. There's some relief in that. I'm happy to have even a few people that care about me and my work, and something I've been trying really hard to remember in recent years is to take time to appreciate them. I'm not actually alone. I have a lot of people that love me. I'm not an outsider. I'm very lucky to know the people I do, and I hold a deep regret for all the connections I've let go of because I was just too sick. Deep down I really do wish I could love everyone. I have no ill will towards anyone, not really.

I still don't know what I'm doing. I am just doing my best, I think. I'm really, really tired. I don't want to get any older. I'm scared of the passage of time. My memory is so bad, it feels like time is taken from me without me realizing. I am 33 years old. I do not have 33 years worth of memories. There are huge leaps. Gaps where suddenly I was just older and in more pain. Being adrift in time like this is horrific - one day I will blink, and the present moment may be completely forgotten. It can't go this fast. It just can't. Something has to be wrong. I don't want to die, I don't want to miss out on so much life or be unable to remember it. I don't want to find myself on my deathbed someday way sooner than I think and be unable to string together any kind of coherent thread from my memories. What is it all for? It has to mean something right? Why am I doing anything?

I think I finally understand that love is why. I don't know much more than that. Love is real, and it's the answer. If you find love, don't take it for granted, ever. No love is perfect. Take it with all its flaws. You don't have time to bargain with it. Love like you'll never love again, love like it's your last day alive, love like it will keep you alive forever, because it will. Every year closer to death you get, you will feel the regret of all the times you did not follow your heart. Life is short. I'm finding this out entirely too late. It goes by so fast, and what you have at the end are people and memories of being loved. To be loved is to live forever. It's the thing that connects us to everything else. It's the source and the answer to everything. It makes more sense the older I get. It used to sound cheesy, but I believe it with more sincerity every day.

youtube

I'll be okay, okay

I once promised someone that I would stop self-harming. They are no longer in my life, but I kept the promise anyway. There are no new scars on my arms, or bruises on my head or face. I'm keeping this promise for myself, now.

#mental health posting #is there a better tag for that #edited 20240506 #Youtube

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jinchuls · 6 months

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𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈, 𝐹𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐹𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 ₊˚✩

ᡣ𐭩 prince!sakusa x princess!reader

about 𝜗𝜚 the reception is underway and the hall fills with laughter, music and joy—you’re glad someone had found a way to enjoy your wedding

divider by @/cafekitsune

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉

Had you not been an unwilling attendee, you may have enjoyed the elegance of the night planned. Gorgeous music played throughout the vast ballroom. The sound of string instruments danced to your ears, blending beautifully with the piano taking control of the movements of everyone brave enough t0 take a partner to the centre of the room. A place you doubted you would visit yourself.

Even though it was a magnificent event, awaited by many, dedicated to you and your husband, you could only stare at it with hopes that time will be in your favour; that the end of the night would come for the night to simply be a blur by the morning. Your mind wanders to when you would finally be able to remove the light corset wrapped around you and climb into bed. But, you’re also hoping the night never ends. There’s part of you that wants to enjoy the reception, and there’s more of you that wants to avoid the first night you’ve expected to share with your husband – a constant worry forced into your mind by your mother.

You know neither of you are anticipating the evening, a night neither of you can truly avoid regardless of your will to be anywhere else. But you know what you need people to believe. When you Halle in the morning, you need your marriage to be among the successful of the royal family. You can’t risk any other result. The voice of your mother rings in your ears. ‘I’m giving you advice because I care, my child. It is now your turn to make me proud.”

Hidden within the music, you can near the clinking of flatware on plates as people stand by the grand displays of food, happily talking and laughing whilst you, under order of your mother, stay at the side of the room theoretically waiting for the moment Sakusa asks you to dance—an unlikely outcome.

Yet, you do as she expects. You stand. You wait. And your mother’s voice comes to mind again; this time the memory of her persistent comments uttered before you were able to even attend your own reception. “Do not even think of approaching the food table.” You had questioned why but quickly regretted so, her reasoning was as you had expected. There was no need to hear them allowed. “Why? You must look your best and the food the Queen has suggested,” she scowls at the thought, “it may be your favourite,” another unimpressed expression crosses her face, “but it is messy, my dear, I won’t allow it. And the drink! You can’t so much as hold a glass. You must be a perfect example tomorrow.”

The memory, now at the front of your mind, sends you spiralling into thoughts of now dreadful, how constricting, how disappointing this day has truly been; yay simply want it to end.

Though, the universe is not on your side as you watch your mother approach you with a smile painted on her face, so artificially proud. It’s horrendous to see. She’s quick to take you by the arm and pull you out of earshot of the overly curious nobles. You know her intention but knowledge does not retire your desire to be elsewhere.

“Are you prepared for this evening?" she questions, taking your hand and shining her bright smile your way. You try not to let her notice the frown that falls on your lips.

You know she’s not clueless on now you feel, on what this entire day had once meant to you. She knew how much you had once been dreaming of this day and exactly how distraught you had felt finding out just now little your husband seemed to care about you. She knew your concerns; witnessed your heartbreak and, yet, still believed the two of you were some sort of destiny.

She simply chose to ignore the royal tragedy unfolding.

“My dear, are you listening to me?” her tone changes as she realises you’re drifting from the conversation she is leading, and you quickly come back to reality- regardless of your emotions today, it is not worth an excuse for your mother to berate you.

You nod your head, urging her to continue except, this time, you’re listening. She adjusts the neckline of your dress as she speaks, another grimace crossing her for just a second. But that second is enough to make you feel small. “You must remember, you are now a member of the royal family. There is no longer any room for your embarrassing behaviour.” Her words, her voice. She has no care for how much they hurt you; you’re given no time to respond -to tell her now much you lowly despise her and the woman she has forced you to become. Had she looked at you for a moment, she would have seen the harshness in your expression. It’s clear she would have thought nothing of it.

“Mother—“ you signh, gently moving her hands away from your dress. You could – should – have stiffened your tone. A simple warning from the Princess to the duchess – as though that held any importance to the woman. She was still your mother after all.

“You’re a princess now, and a princess has a role to fill. You mustn’t disappoint him tonight, the sooner an heir is conceived the better, is it not?” she speaks as though her actions are not now toward a member of the royal family. As if she inhabited a role more important than her own.

“Mother!” You almost raise your voice, stopping at the last second as you stare at her with wide eyes. You’re amazed at her confidence in saying such a thing in the middle of the ballroom; you’re certain there’s no one within earshot but you fear someone will hear your improper conversation–ruining the reputation your mother places on such a high pedestal.

“There are certain duties a woman has to complete,” she continues, ignoring your worried expression and attempts to stop her, “and you’re not truly a wife until the marriage has been consummat–”

“I understand, mother.” You interrupt her and she finally stops, although she looks less than pleased at the manner in which you’ve ended the conversation. You ignore her once more; forcing all thoughts of sharing the night with Sakusa from your mind. Excusing yourself from her silence, you make your way back to the lively event mere feet away from you and silently pray you will hear no move of a princess' ‘expectations' for as long as the music fills the hall.

You keep your head high as you search for familiarity; you don’t want to seem lonely at your own wedding and you can hear your mother’s voice in the back of your mind reminding you of the appearance you’ve been trained to exhibit. How you hate the sound of that voice.

The familiarity comes in forms you don’t wish to entertain: family members that likely share the same thoughts as your mother (and lack her same decency), the young women your age who, shockingly, don’t understand the lack of love in your marriage- they wish to hear endless stories of how romantic the crown prince could be. How naïve.

There’s Komori—and he’s certainly not the person you shall ever seek in times of comfort. Sakura himself stands among a small group of men you do not recognise but your eyes glide past him effortlessly.

You’re certain he’s not so much as looked at you since your vows had been exchanged. Why should you offer him such courtesy?

The one person you wish to see is elsewhere, likely sent away by your mother to perform a job that is not her responsibility. Kiyoko’s kind eyes, her soft smile, that would be your only peace for the night, that still seemed years away from an end.

There is not a single person attending that is there for you. The realisation swells in your mind until you feel as though you are suffocating. It’s unbearable. You had been expecting this very outcome but it does not soothe the excruciating ache of your chest.

Hastily, you leave the ballroom desperately searching for somewhere—anywhere—that gives you a chance to breathe. Your escape goes unnoticed by everyone except the guards at the door. You suppose your marriage does come with some perks—they were not to question the action of the princess they now serve.

There’s a brief moment you can relax as the doors close behind you. You know you’re safe, monitored closely by the royal guards that won’t let anyone besides your people approach, with the exception of those trusted by Sakusa himself. Though any of him men are unlikely to care about the well-being of his wife. You could finally be alone.

Eventually, you find yourself on one of the many balconies of the palace, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the view of the verse garden as The Sun was beginning to set. It’s as beautiful as you remember.The solitude it brings, the peace, the comfort, the sanctuary_ it’s a small bliss that makes you believe living in the palace-with sukusa – won’t be impossible.

Compared to the warmth of the ballroom, the chill air forces goosebumps to rise on your skin but you don’t mind the icy wind, it’s a pleasurable contrast to the hell that has been your day. The few minutes you had alone, in silence, shivering are the happiest you’ve been all day. If only for a moment, everything feels infinitely better.

The quiet hum of the music reaches your ears; a reminder that you one of no true importance in the solely political day. But, it no longer bothers you; you’ve accepted the rest of your life will be spent in your husband's shadow. You are a princess, first and foremost.

You are yourself second.

Your peace is disrupted by the sound of heels on the corridor floors and a gentle sign escapes you, expecting your mother to burst through the balcony doors and drag you back to your burden.

“I’ve been looking for you, My Lady.” You’re pleasantly surprised by the familiar voice, twisting on your heels as she makes her presence known. The door closes behind her with a gentle click and you’re no longer alone—you’re company is more than welcome this time, especially as Kiyoko stands with a soft smile on her face and a small plate of palace delicacies she’d more than likely had to sneak away from your mother.

Your eyes widen and you take it from her gleefully. Of course, of all people to notice, Kiyoko was the only one that would do something that could anger your mother—she’d risk the consequences if only to see you content.

Kiyoko had been assigned to you when you turned 16; close in age and the only woman considered even remotely worthy to be the lady-in-waiting to the future queen, according to your mother, she had adopted quickly to her role. Taking the additional, and much needed, position of older sister and, eventually, the stance of sole ally in those pitiful years. She had helped you through tough days and had listened to every complaint you had about any minor detail. She never once cared what upset you, she only cared about you.

She sighs beside you, in a similar manner to how you had when you first escaped from the bustling ballroom. And, suddenly, you’re not the princess anymore; you’re just a woman with her friend. You’re not a person dreading your married life, you’re you. You’re just you.

“Your mother—“

“Please.” You interrupt, sending her a quick glance, you know she wants to ask what you were pulled aside for: a conversation you wanted to forget. “Not now; not here.” Kiyoko nods in return, a comfortable silence enveloping the two of you as you finish the food she managed to sneak away for you.

That’s how you stay as you both stare over the garden: there’s nothing to say. She had already heard your fear for your wedding day; she had witnessed you’re waterfall of tears the night before as you voiced every concern and fear, letting out all the emotions you had been trying to ignore for years. She had seen you at your worst before, what was supposed to be, the happiest night of your life. There was nothing she could ask that would make you feel better.

“Excuse me, Your Highness.” You turn to the entrance of the balcony, the approach of another person going unnoticed by the both of you; straightening your posture your posture in an instant, the fear of your mother catching you in any ‘unladylike’ position running through your veins. Its only when you realise it’s Komori that you allow yourself to relax. “My apologies, I didn’t realise you had company, My Lady.” He bows his head to both you and Kiyoko. You greet him with the best smile you can muster: though you're not entirely happy to see him either–Sakusa’s silence broke your heart but Komori’s helped stamp on the pieces helping you learn losing a friend was just as painful.

He reaches a hand out towards you, offering you a glass of champagne he’s graciously brought with him, unaware of Kiyoko’s presence, he was ill-prepared for company yet, he hands her the second glass initially intended for himself.

“You look beautiful, Your Highness.” He’s the only person, besides Kiyoko, to say those words to you; to remember that this was your day and make it seem as such even if he knows, more than most, the reality of your relationship.

These a brief moment where you do feel beautiful, his soft voice unlocks more memories of the three of you as children, the nights in which Komori would listen to your endless rambling of your excitement for this very night—the plans you had for every detail of the decoration and dress, the exact opposite of what you’d endured. But those few words, his grin that was painted in your memory, childish, familiar and likely one of few things not destroyed by the horrors of war.

But that moment is fleeting; in seconds those memories are tightly locked up again as he speaks: he’s not there for you. “I wish I could come with better news, but I believe your mother has noticed your escape.”

He’s simply on an errand.

Your head drops as you sigh, a sound that has come from you today more than any day of your life. Turning to Kiyoko, you send her a disappointed smile.

“I would gladly escort you both back, My Ladies, if you allow it.” He steps forward, offering his arm to you.

You don’t move.

The thought of your mother seeing you walk arm in arm with your husband’s cousin is daunting: you know she’ll have strong words to say against it. As though he can hear the string of thoughts; you know he can see the conflicted expression on your face but he certainly wasn’t expecting it.

He clears his throat, embarrassment obvious as he lowers his arm. Instead, he opens the door again and steps aside, silence falling between the three of you as you make your way towards the music again, an uncomfortable atmosphere worsening with every step.

Once you arrive, Kiyoko steps aside as she’s beckoned away and you’re left with Komori. He, once again, clears his throat gently—a nervous habit he’d picked up in the years he’d been absent—-and hold out his hand again.

It feels less forced this time as the music plays loudly around you and couples still fill the hall laughing hand in hand as they spin.

“You should enjoy your day, the same as everyone else. I’d be honoured if you were to allow me a dance.” That grin, that voice, that kind man. You falter again and wonder how the friend you’d cherished so strongly had left you in darkness for years yet still acts as though you are the 13 year old girl begging for him to help her practice the endlessly complicated palace dinner etiquette.

But people are watching, he is waiting. “I would be—“

“Komori, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of a dance with my wife yet.” Anyone would have believed you had seen a ghost, the shock on your face impossible to hide as you twist, turning to face Sakusa. He glanced between you and Komori before he holds his hand out to you. “If she’ll allow it.”

She will not. You want to scream. She would not have allowed any of this.

Forcing a smile at the man you’ve married, you take his hand and allow him to lead you to the middle of the ballroom floor now even more painfully aware of the eyes glued to you.

Everyone stops what they’re doing; those dancing step to the side and the music restarts, playing the song you’ve heard hundreds of times in your life.

It begins; Sakusa crosses an arm across his torso as he bows at you. He lifts his head first, eyes meeting yours as he straightens his back. You falter for a millisecond under his gaze before you take hold of the your dress, curtsying elegantly in return before the dance truly begins.

Your hands interlace and he pulls you close, his free hand slides to your back, while you delicately place yours on his shoulder. He pulls you as close as he can resting his head against yours as he takes lead of your movement.

“Must you look so uncomfortable?” He whispers into you ear, loosening his grip on you to allow some distance between you again.

“There is only so much I can hide, Sakusa.” Your voice is more venomous than you had intended yet you feel no shame—the first words you’d exchanged since your vows were not to be pleasant.

“Today, of all days, you must, My Dear.” He fights the want to frown himself as you meet his eyes again.

“This may mean nothing to you,” you grin, sarcasm leaking from your expression that doesn’t go unmissed by your husband—it’s certain to fool those watching. The beautiful first dance of their future leaders, lost in each other; in their love that’s bloomed since their young friendship. “you may be content with a marriage of convenience. But I once wished I’d be married to a man that cared enough to tell me he was alive.”

His face does fall at the words, his frown lasting only a second before he can think of a rebuttal. “I was at war; leading an army. I spent my days fighting and my nights fearing my men would be ambushed; there was not time—”

“There was time for others, was there not?” He blankly stares, effortlessly moving to the music, leading your through the dance you could perform in your sleep. “We are no longer children, Sakusa. You’ve certainly made it clear how foolish I was when we were.”

“That’s not what I—“ He stammers in his defeat, making no effort to refute your claims as your hand comes away from his shoulder. He stylishly spins you, catching you by the waist with ease.

“Four years of silence. I didn’t know if you would even return until you,” Embarrassment fills you as your voice shakes—this is not the place to admit this but there may be no other chance—“until your letter of ten words.”

Your voice is quiet, you’re distracted by the way his hand is placed on your lower back, your clothing hides the feeling of his hands on you, but you feel the pressure as he pulls you close again.

“The war was won;” he defends “I was not aware the wedding would be the day after my return until I received a letter no more than a week ago, I sent word to you to prepare you.”

He leads you further through the dance, dipping your with grace, bringing a memory to the front of your mind.

You remember when you were young and learning this dance in anticipation for this moment; you remember the first time you practiced this very movement; the day he dropped you onto the floor, much to the shock of the instructor but to the entertainment of the two of you. Komori had heard the story later that day: teasing Sakusa alongside you until the novelty wore off.

Sakusa lifts you, bringing you back to an upright position, although, neither of you are prepared for the lack of distance between you. It’s more shocking for you at the sight of his much softer expression mere inches from you: he’s looking at you like a man truly happy to be wed—such delusion.

The music stops, and your curtesy once more; you interaction ends as Sakusa takes your hand, kissing it softly. When he raises his head, his soft demeanour is once again replaced by the unimpressed man you’ve quickly come accustomed to. You weren’t convinced you eyes weren’t playing a cruel trick on you.

He keeps hold of your hand as he guides you to the sidelines again and you try to ignore the beaming smiles of the woman wanting so desperately to be in your position.

Everyone’s in awe of your performance, unaware of the conversation unfolding between you: one that’s worsened your already sour mood. And everything continues as it was with more people swarming to the floor as music begins again, and conversations are in uproar as everyone falls deeper into drunkenness as time progresses.

And you’re not comfortable until you’re sat in front of a vanity mirror again, in an unfamiliar room that you’ll be leaving once you are prepared. You’re thankful Kiyoko was the only one beside you, brushing through your hair and untying the corset that’s crushed you throughout the day.

“My Lady,” Kiyoko whispered, “You mustn’t do anything you do not want to. No matter what your mother wants.” You meet her eyes in the mirror again, offering her a sincere smile.

“I know. I simply need her to believe. Neither of us want this, or an heir right now.” She nods, obviously unconvinced but she doesn’t argue; she doesn’t want to make you feel any worse than you had been.

“I worry—“

“I know.” You take hold of her hand that’s rested on your shoulder. “I appreciate it all; all you’ve done for me today.”

You’re soon wrapped in a shawl, hiding your nightdress as you’re led by a maid to your new bedchambers within the palace.

The door is opened for you and is closed the second you step inside; you’re met with the back of Sakusa’s head as he focuses on the paper he has displayed on his desk, the light of his candle beside him.

You clear your throat, gaining his attention. He turns to you and, he too, has ridden himself of his wedding attire and. instead, donned a much thinner sleeping set. And your briefly distracted by the low cut of his shirt, revealing his toned chest to you.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything.” He sighs, glancing over your appearance, his lingering gaze unnoticed by you. Instead, you frown, and resist the desire to argue the same of him.

“I expect nothing. My mother, however, is under the impression we are eager.” You drop the shawl at a chair in the centre of the room, ignoring the way he did briefly stare once more stopping as he realised and turning back to his papers—he hopes that too was missed along with the gentle blush that paints his cheeks.

“Your mother is—“ His voice gives away nothing.

“Be careful of your words, Your Highness,” you warn as you climb into bed, “she is now your mother too.

Sakusa stops, glancing to you just once more before he lets out a sigh of his own. “Your lady-in-waiting will arrive tomorrow.” He informs you after a few moments of silence.

“I have Kiyoko.” You respond instantaneously, somewhat fearing he’ll replace the closest friend you have with a stranger.

“The future queen requires more than a single lady-in-waiting; she’ll be here tomorrow.” You turn in bed, leaving your back to him and refuse to respond: nothing you say would change his mind.

You close your eyes and bask in the silence of the room, after the day of roaring excitement from almost everyone but yourself, you’re glad to finally have a moment with your own thoughts. You’re uncertain of how much time has passed; but soon enough you feel the bed dip beside you and the warmth of a body beside you. It’s that very warmth that lulls you to sleep.

You wake the next morning to exactly what you expect: the spot in the bed beside you empty and cold.

#𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝑒𝒸𝒽𝑜 ༉‧₊˚.#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu

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flowersandbigteeth · 2 years

Text

Your vampire boyfriend gives you a ride home

General Plot: As a bartender, you meet a lot of people. You never expect to meet the vampire you met at one of your jobs again, but he's kind enough to offer you a ride home.

A/N: ADDITIONAL WARNING: This is a story for the older tumblerinas that I had in my mind. When I turned 30 I suddenly felt like there were no vampire stories for me? So this is with that in mind. If you're not 30+ you might not really like it, unless you want to pretend to be a jaded 30-something for a while...I've been dying to do more mind control yanderes and this was a good space for it

Vampire (Julius) x female reader (30+)

Word Count: 4k

W: sfw vampire fluff, yandere vampire, mind control/hypnosis, light kidnapping?

“You don’t look like you belong here,” the vampire said to you, leaning against the bar you were standing behind. You were filling in for the usual bartender at these kinds of parties, a much younger woman with big boobs. That’s what they always asked for.

“If that’s a crack at my age, you should know I’m also too old to fall for negging,” you shot back, finding somewhere else to look.

He chuckled.

“The opposite, really, you’re the most interesting woman here,” he said, smiling, revealing long fangs. He picked up one of the glasses of blood you were pouring and took a sip, looking out over the slew of 19-23 year old girls and boys the vampires had invited to entertain their party.

“These kids are just that,” he said, “children. They look like children, baby faces...”

He turned back to you.

“Women look like they have secrets,” he said, his sharp, red eyes peering at you over his glass, “I bet there’s a few things you’ve seen, maybe done, that will follow you to your grave.”

You looked a little incensed and shrugged. It was true, what grown woman didn’t have secrets? You’d all done something you hoped never saw the light of day, it was part of making mistakes and growing up. He wasn’t unique for guessing that.

“The same goes for me,” he laughed, looking at his drink and spinning the glass, “but that’s what makes you so much more fascinating. I won’t be so trite as to compare a woman to a glass of wine, but there’s something alluring about complexity. You’ve had heartbreaks. Triumphs."

"You’ve gotten high on your ego. You’ve been dragged down and humbled. You’ve created your own tragedies that you’ll always regret and they have formed you into a layered person. All things these kids have yet to experience. There’s nothing wrong with them…just…I’ve never been interested in innocence.”

“You’re bored then,” you said, ignoring his musings and wiping down the bar. It was late in the night and most of the vampires had found willing humans to feed from, no longer needing your services. The sooner they all filtered out to whatever dark caves they disappeared off to, the sooner you could pack up and go home.

“I’m here to serve drinks. I’m not good company,” you said blandly, “sure a handsome guy like you could find better pickings at a bar uptown.”

Sure he was handsome, with deep brown skin and black locs swept away from his face trailing down his back, but all vampires were good looking. They also liked to play games and drink blood, neither of which sparked your interest.

“I guess you caught me,” he said, “I hate coming to these things. I arrange them for the clan, so I have to be here, but parties got old a long time ago.”

He looked you over, considering what was under the crisp white button down you were wearing.

“But you’re wrong about one thing, I’m not going to find a more captivating woman anywhere else,” he said. “I’ve lived a long time, but I’ve never met someone who piqued my interest quite like you do.”

You laughed in his face.

“I’m sorry, but that sounds like a line,” you said, smirking, “and I’m a bit too complex to fall for those, too.”

You appreciated it, anyway, but you weren’t letting the smooth talking vamp make headway with you. You were going to go home alone to another peaceful night drinking tea and reading novels in bed, not getting chewed on, tossed aside by a vampire playboy, and taking an awkward Uber home at 4am. While that had been fun at 23 it had long since lost its shine.

The house lights went up and you almost let out a sigh of relief. The party was finally over.

“That’s my cue to make myself scarce,” you said, giving him a smile, “have a nice night, mister.”

You turned your back on him to pack up the rest of the blood bags you hadn’t used and when you flipped back around he was gone. Not thinking much of it, you finished cleaning up and headed home.

–

Julius watched you from across the room. You’d never know he was there, slinking in the shadows. He was jealous of the way you were smiling at the man in front of you as you mixed his drink. He made a joke and you giggled, making his blood boil.

You weren’t taken with the man, just doing your job. There was a conference at the hotel and the after party was filled with forty-somethings mingling and sloppily dancing to 2000’s hits in ill fitting business casual.

Before he walked away Julius watched him slide his business card across the counter to you. You chuckled at his back as he walked off and dropped it in the fishbowl someone had placed on the bar for the raffle, making his rage deflate a little bit. He wasn’t the only man you rebuffed.

Julius was a hunter, though, in his 597 years of life he’d perfected his craft. He’d identified his prey and nothing would shake him off your trail. He’d been watching you, showing up to the parties you bartended at and creeping on you from the shadows. It had been weeks since he’d first talked to you.

In that time he’d learned your name was (Y/N), what catering company you worked for, and your home address. He knew the names of all your friends, who you were closest to and who you had drama with, and enough about your troubles to get a pretty good picture of you as a person.

He was fascinated with your complicated smiles and the walls you put up to keep people out. From following you, he knew you were self reliant and a homebody. You didn’t go on dates. You always turned men down even when you found them attractive. He’d watched you go home to read one of your spicy books alone night after night.

He was starting to learn what was a fake facade you put on for your customers and what genuinely pleased you, but it was all from so far away. You were a pretty bird that he could only observe. He wanted to get closer, but he didn’t want to frighten you away. How to arrange a meeting?

He glanced at the 40-something who had approached you, pulling him into the shadows and looking at him with his swirling red irises, whispering something to him before releasing him again.

When the party ended, fairly early due to the crowd, you packed up your bar and loaded up the van you used to transport the liquor and coolers.

“Looky here, it’s you again,” the man from before slurred as he appeared behind you.

You jumped, startled and narrowed your eyes at him.

“I’m just about to go,” you said, hurrying to put the last of the coolers in the van, but there was still some stuff to load.

“Why don’t you let me give you a hand, doll?” he asked, stumbling towards you, obviously drunk. You had no idea how he got so drunk because you didn’t remember giving him that many drinks.

“I’m really fine,” you said, holding up your hands to warn him off.

The drunk took this as an invitation and fell into you, trying to plant a kiss on you.

“Hey get off!” you growled, pushing at him.

“You started it, doll,” he purred in your ear, his hands finding your hips.

You were just going to push him away when he was suddenly removed from you.

“Get lost,” a deep voice said and the handsome vampire you remembered from the vampire party you catered a month ago appeared dragging the guy off of you by the collar.

The man blanched, looking suddenly very lucid and terrified, disappearing down the alley.

“Thanks,” you gasped, catching your breath, “that guy was a creep. If you hadn’t of been here…”

He smiled at you, flashing his sharp fangs.

“How auspicious that we meet again,” he said, “maybe this time you’ll let me introduce myself before you scurry off.”

Shaken from the attack and thankful for his help, you stuck out a shaking hand.

“(Y/N),” you said.

He took it, but instead of shaking it he folded himself down and kissed it.

“Julius,” he said.

You pulled your hand back, even though your heart fluttered a little. No one had ever done that before.

“Well…like I said, thanks…I should get going,” you said, slowly turning back to your stuff and putting the last of it in.

“It’s been a pleasure,” he said, “maybe I’ll see you again.”

You glanced out of your rearview and he was still standing there when you started the van and took off. There was a loud grinding noise and you hurriedly brought the van to a stop to try and figure out what it was. Julius appeared by your driver’s side window and pointed for you to roll it down.

“Seems we meet sooner than expected,” he laughed, “someone stole your back tire.”

You jumped out of the van and clucked in your throat when you saw that indeed, someone had stolen the tire from the van.

“Just great,” you groaned, fishing in your pocket for your phone to call someone and just to make your night, your phone battery had gone dead.

“Need some help?” Julius asked.

You turned back to him, rubbing your head.

“Yeah, actually, jeez…I’m so sorry to impose like this but is there any way I could use your phone or something to call someone?” you asked.

He smiled at you.

“I can do you one better and give you a ride home if you want,” he said, “we can call the tow truck in the car. I’d hate for you to have to sit out here in the dark on an obviously dangerous street until someone comes to pick you up.”

You looked around, acknowledging that you’d both been accosted and had your tire stolen on this street. It wasn’t looking good for your prospects.

“Okay…” you said, “but let me send a picture of your driver’s license to my friend…just you know, to make sure you’re not a wierdo.”

He chuckled, pulling out his wallet. He was happy to hand it over, because it was fake.

“Of course,” he said, “that’s perfectly reasonable. I want you to feel safe with me.”

He handed you his phone and you snapped the picture, typing in your closest friend’s number that hadn’t changed in the twenty years you’d known her. She was on vacation in Italy and wouldn’t see it, but this was all just to discourage any funny business anyway. He didn’t have to know that.

Ironically, since he’d been stalking you, Julius did know and smirked as you sent the message. When you were done you passed him his phone back and he led you to a sleek foreign sports car parked in the back lot.

“This is niiiiice,” you laughed as he opened the door for you, “I’m shocked you still have all of your tires.”

Julius stiffened imperceptibly and if you’d thought about that statement for a minute or more you might have saved yourself a lot of trouble. Or maybe you were already stuck in the spider’s web and it was too late.

Whatever the case, the door shut with a click as you sat down and Julius swung around to the opposite side to slide into the driver’s seat. To your surprise he tugged your chin to face him. You would have been annoyed or startled, but when your eyes met his swirling red ones you only felt a sense of peace.

“I’m taking you to your house,” he said, evenly.

You nodded, believing him because he’d hypnotized you. He’d ensured that you didn’t struggle while he took you to his. He wanted to talk to you, not watch you sleep in his passenger’s seat.

Having stalked you for a month, he wanted to hear your voice…see your eyes flicker when you spoke with him. When he let go of your chin, it never even occurred to you to tell him where you lived.

Instead you leaned forward and nervously fussed with his music system, swiping through songs on the touch screen. His scent was filling the space, some kind of expensive cologne mixed with a masculine musk unique to him, and making your head a little swimmy and maybe your heart a little fluttery.

You strategically avoided situations like this, chronically single for a reason. Significant others came with compromises and you were happy with your life. Over years you’d built it to be what you wanted it to be. No, you weren’t rich, but you could buy the things you wanted, within reason, and had a comfortable roof over your head filled with the things that comforted you.

Your own frugality and ingenuity gave you a lot of pride. You’d DIY’ed a bunch of things to make them nice and you did your own car maintenance. You felt whole. The idea of changing your world, carefully crafted over the course of decades to make room for some unreliable stranger seemed simply unappealing.

Now you were all fluttery and your hands were sweaty and it annoyed you. It was a threat to your way of life.

“You listen to Death Cab…?” you snorted, staunchly pushing him away with the first thing that caught your eye, “what are you a moody teenage girl from the early 2000’s?”

He smirked at you and reached over your hand with his larger, cooler one, pressing play.

The stormy, proggy guitar riffs that were enigmatic in 2004 drifted out of the speakers all around you. You jerked your hand back, cheeks burning.

As the music pulled you back to an earlier time when you smoked pot with some boy who’s name and face you didn’t even remember anymore while you avoided a party on a rooftop, listening to this song filtered through the shingles under your feet.

Oh, instincts are misleading…you shouldn’t think what you’re feeling…

You’d believed in love then. Maybe you’d thought you’d loved that boy that you couldn’t even remember. Just like the song love was campy, but annoyingly poignant and you felt your eyes water with some kind of wistfulness you weren’t used to feeling.

Surprising even yourself you snorted when another song you recognized played.

“I had my first time to this song,” you laughed, blushing at admitting something so personal on a whim, but smiling to yourself, “god, how things have changed…”

We looked like giants, in the back of my gray subcompact, fumbling to make contact…

He tipped his head to the side, glancing at you while trying to keep his eyes on the road. He really just wanted to look at your glowing face on the brink of tears at a silly album he had in his music collection.

“You’re telling me,” he laughed, “want to hear what I had my first time to?”

Your head snapped to him, interested. A vampire’s song? You had to know.

He flipped through the songs until the sound of lutes and flutes filled the car and you couldn’t hold back your giggle when a deep voice singing in Italian bellowed something that sounded maybe like opera?

He smiled at you, tapping his hands on the steering wheel and flashing his fangs.

“You laugh, but this was extremely popular in my time,” he said, “Guacomo was a genius!”

You gave him a pacifying nod, smothering a snicker and remembering that oldies in vampire time was very different from yours, as he sang a few lines with a booming baritone.

“It’s kind of a bop,” you said, acknowledging that the flutes were nice. Giving him a devious look you asked him a question he liked.

“So where was it?” you asked.

“My first time?”

You nodded and he laughed.

“In a brothel my father took me to. I was so frightened I almost couldn’t do it, but she was a kind woman. Took me right in my chair in the middle of the performance.”

He was too polite to ask you yours, so, because it was fair, you told him.

“Mine was in the back of a Chrysler Sebring,” you chuckled, “on a very rainy day after I finished a job interview.”

He laughed out loud.

“After a job interview?!” he chuckled, “naughty girl. Did you get the job?”

You nodded and he grinned. The air in the car had cleared and you’d gotten so comfortable you hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped until then.

“Where are we?” you asked, looking around at the underground parking lot he’d driven you into.

He looked into your eyes.

“You asked me to bring you to my house,” he said, “we are getting along so well you don’t want the night to end just yet. You want to have a cup of tea, but you’re all out.”

“Oh, right,” you said, chuckling that you’d forgotten and letting him help you out of the car.

He had to stifle his grin as he led his unsuspecting little lamb up the elevator that would deposit the two of you at his penthouse.

“This is beautiful,” you gasped at the lovely apartment.

It was wide and open with an almost 180 degree view of the city and the river running beside it. Stars sparkled in the night’s sky, above the light pollution. His decor was sleek and modern in light, cool colors.

You jumped as a vampire servant appeared, silently taking Julius’ coat.

“Bring my guest some tea,” he said over his shoulder as he led you out onto the terrace wrapping around the building. A small swimming pool was built into the balcony with a hot tub, but he led you to a couch under an elegantly designed propane heater.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you had the sneaking suspicion something wasn’t right, but it had been so long since you’d been alone, intimately with a man you were kind of getting drawn into the attention and the environment. The weather was a little chilly, but it was warm under the heater.

He cupped your elbow as he got you comfortable on the couch, sliding next to you. Not too close to spook you, but close enough to be a bit thrilling. He’d played this cat and mouse game with a thousand other women, but no chase was as exciting as this one. He didn’t plan on having you for a night and then tossing you aside.

His plans for you were much, much bigger. Some part of him had been looking for his dream woman since his first time, but women had always just been…unmemorable. It didn’t matter if they were glamorous, perfect vampires like him or innocent human twenty-somethings, he found them utterly dull, until you.

When he’d first spotted you in your crisp white shirt, he’d immediately frowned. He thought someone had put a spell on him or a glamor on you. He’d never responded so viscerally to a woman before, his cold heart thudding in his chest. And when you’d put him off…he’d been sure you were sent from the Goddess herself to punish him.

You weren’t perfect, like some plastic doll. Your face had character, framed with the rogue gray hairs you stubbornly refused to pluck or dye and fine lines around the corners of your eyes. Your boobs weren’ that ideal ratio teenage boys who’d never been near a woman’s breasts before had determined was beautiful and your stomach wasn’t tight. But all of those imperfect strokes painted a ceaselessly lovely picture for Julius.

You looked like he’d dreamed you with all of his favorite little quirks, the way your teeth were spaced and the shape of your nose…they would all seem not quite perfect to anyone else, but to him…they were exactly what he would have chosen if he'd designed you himself.

He knew it was a little cliche, but he had to ask. “It’s surprising a sophisticated, pretty woman such as yourself is still single,” he murmured, glancing over your face.

Your cheeks warmed slightly.

“I like my life,” you said, confidently, “never needed a man, I guess.”

“Maybe never needed,” he agreed, “but never wanted?”

You swallowed thickly as a pot of tea and a cup was set out for you by the silent butler.

You took a sip of the too hot liquid before answering.

“Romance just never seemed important,” you replied, “I have friends. I can buy myself everything that I need.”

He scoffed.

“Now that’s interesting,” he said, patting his knee, “because the only thing I can confidently say I’ve learned in all of my 597 years is that love is the most important thing. Everything else…dust…but love never had a form. It lasts forever, hovering in the aether. Even death can’t kill it.”

He narrowed his shrewd eyes at you.

“I see we have to disconnect you from your comfort objects,” he said, thoughtfully.

You wrinkled your brow at him, a little confused, but just laughed it off. People said strange things all the time, maybe you’d missed something.

“I want you to kiss me,” he said, this time to you.

“What?” you asked, a little taken aback at his direct approach.

He smirked.

“As an experiment. If you really aren’t missing anything, then there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll kiss me, it’ll mean nothing and you’ll have won the bet.”

“Your wager is I am missing something?” you asked, “something you have?”

He nodded, an amused smile playing on his lips. You chuckled.

“Okaaay, that’s one of the more interesting lines I’ve heard to get a kiss, but I’ll bite,” you said, then gave him a more serious look, “but only one. This isn’t an invitation.”

He nodded innocently, agreeing.

You couldn’t help but like Julius. He was handsome and a little bit charming. Kissing him wasn’t really a hardship. You were willing to try it. Carefully, you placed your tea cup on the saucer and smoothed your hands on your pants. You gave him a careless look to let him know you were absolutely not going to fall for this, before, leaning in and pushing your fingertip under his chin to lift it just a bit.

Then you tipped your head to the side and pressed your lips against his. He let you stay in charge for just a moment, his cool lips moving just slightly under your warmer ones. Then you felt his hand take yours, pulling it aside, while his arm circled around you nudging you into him. His tongue brushed your bottom lip as he deepened the kiss and you saw sparks when yours automatically followed his, just lightly scraping one of his fangs.

He had a slightly coppery taste with a bit of spice and your mouth watered just a bit, tasting him. Your lips and mouths moved together like they’d always known one another. Like this wasn’t your first kiss, but one you’d given him a thousand times, yet was never less exciting than the first. You would have been startled if you hadn’t been so lost in it.

He didn’t want to pull away from you, knowing he could push for more…but again, he didn’t just want one night with you. He had to be careful how he approached you, so he let his mouth drift from yours, delighted when your head followed his just a bit, chasing him.

His red eyes sparkled down at you.

“Did I win the bet?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

He chuckled and you blinked, your eyes focusing and your sense slowly coming back to you. You hurried out of his arms.

“No,” you said, quickly.

“No?” he asked, very amused, because he knew you were lying.

You tried to school your very guilty features. That was a good enough kiss it was actually difficult to lie about. You definitely wanted another one, but you absolutely did not want to ask for it. Your emotions were all over the place. He read the slight panic rising in you and, though it was amusing, decided to play the long game.

“Why don’t we call it a night?” he said, “you won the bet, so I’ll give you a favor.”

You looked at him.

“What?”

He shrugged.

“Whatever you like,” he said, “think about it…a favor from a vampire is valuable. Don’t waste it.”

You chuckled at him and shook your head at the strange statement.

“I should probably be heading home,” you said, finally.

He grinned at you with a knowing look and tipped his head to the side, his eyes sparkling.

“You’re too tired to go home tonight,” he said evenly, “you want to sleep in my guest room.”

You yawned as his hypnosis worked and your eyes got heavy.

“I’m so tired,” you said, “thank you for offering me your guest room. I think I’ll head to bed now.”

He nodded and waved his hand. To your surprise the butler eerily appeared.

“He’ll show you to your room,” he said and you followed the butler out, only glancing back once over your shoulder to see Julius was watching you with glowing eyes as you walked away.

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