#middle of the night posting without proofreading is power is powerful...too powerful...

[aashidoodles]

Domestic Shiguang Yingdu edition: Part 2

(Except every time Lg makes an error in the timeline something chill happens)

[the-winter-spider]

Pink Skies | Bucky Barnes

Word count: 17k

Warnings: Death, Angst, sadness idk

A/N: Working on the next couple parts of Yours, Always. Found this fully finished One Shot i forgot to post i guess lol Not proofreading, enjoy!

He left, and the world didn’t end but something in you did. What followed wasn’t healing, not at first, just presence, patience, and hands that never let go.

-----

You met Steve Rogers long before you knew what it meant to be the man on the posters.

Before you knew what his name meant, before you saw they built statues in his honor, before you noticed what that shield truly meant and the silence and the burden of everyone else’s expectations. You knew him when his shoulders still carried guilt heavier than any battlefield. You knew him when his hands shook, when his voice cracked, when he sat in the dark listening to jazz records because the world had moved too fast and he couldn’t quite catch up and he knew you when you were still afraid of your own power, when the wind howled because your heartbeat did, when the ground trembled under your feet without you meaning it to.

Steve found you in the middle of a mission gone wrong young, scared, half-buried beneath the wreckage of a burning compound in the middle of the mountains, your fingertips lit with sparks of a storm that hadn’t learned how to rain gently. You were a weapon. You were a ghost. But he didn’t look at you like that. He looked at you like someone worth saving and from that day on, he never stopped saving you.

You were never just another mission report to him. You became the one he trusted to watch his six, the one who could calm his breathing when the air got too thin, the one who sat beside him after long battles when he didn’t have words for what he was feeling. You called him Cap for years, but eventually it softened into Steve and eventually, Steve became family.

So when the world broke apart, when the Accords tore the team in half and the sky stopped pretending to be safe you didn’t hesitate. You stood by him. Even when it meant running. Even when it meant losing everything else. Because you trusted him. Always, and when he told you Bucky Barnes was worth saving, you didn’t question that either. You helped him bring Bucky home. You helped him heal. Even if Bucky was a stranger to you, the kind with quiet eyes and decades of pain stitched into his silences. You didn’t need to know Bucky to believe in him.

You only needed to know Steve.

And then you were gone.

Dusted away in an instant that rewrote the sky and for what felt like seconds to turn out to be five years, there was nothing. No air, no sound, no time. Just nothing. But when you came back, when your feet hit solid ground again and your body remembered how to breathe it was Steve who was there waiting. He held you like you weren’t real, like you would slip away all over again. Like something he couldn’t believe had come back to him.

You didn’t realize then it would be the last time he ever looked at you like that.

The night before he returned the stones, you found him sitting on the porch of the cabin, the shield at his feet and the sky bleeding gold into the lake.

You hesitated in the doorway. Watched the way the light touched his profile, how tired he looked. How much older than the last time you’d really seen him. The silence between the three of you felt like something sacred, or maybe like something already ending. Bucky was leaned against the railing, arms folded, eyes locked on the horizon, like he was trying not to look at either of you.

You stepped forward, slow and careful, like your presence might crack whatever this moment was and you already knew. Before Steve said a word. You knew.

“You’re not coming back,” you said, your voice quiet, but steady. It wasn’t a question. It was already the truth.

Steve turned toward you. Met your eyes. “No,” he said softly. “I’m not.”

The air changed. The wind stilled. The world held its breath, just like you held yours. 

You stared at him, blinking slow, as if the weight of his words hadn’t fully landed yet. But then they did and the storm started building in your chest, hot and tight and shaking.

“You told me we’d be okay,” you whispered. “You promised me. After everything, we lost five years. Five years, Steve. And you brought us back. You brought me back. Just to leave?”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away.

“Why?” you asked. Your voice was cracking now, because your heart was. “Why now? Why her?”

Steve exhaled, like the answer hurt him too. “Because I owe it to myself. To the man I used to be. I owe him a life.”

You shook your head. “And what about the life you built here? What about the people who needed you, who still need you?”

His voice was gentler now. “You’re strong. You always have been. You and Bucky—”

“Don’t!” you snapped, stepping back. “Don’t put this on him. Don’t act like we’re just going to pick up the pieces together because you decided to disappear.”

Steve swallowed hard. “I’m not disappearing.”

“Yes, you are,” you said. “You’re choosing to walk away. From all of this. From me.”

The look in his eyes nearly undid you. Regret and guilt. But no change of heart.

“You were the first person who ever made me feel safe,” you whispered. “You were the first one who didn’t look at me like I was dangerous or broken or too much. You were my family. You are my family and now you’re leaving. Just like everybody else.”

His voice was quiet. “You’re not alone.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

You turned before your hands started to shake. Before the tears made it to your throat. Before Bucky, silent and still as stone could say anything at all.

You walked back into the cabin, the storm at your heels and you didn’t come out the next morning.

Didn’t watch him step onto the platform. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t see him pass the shield to Sam. You stayed inside, staring at the walls like they might give you answers he wouldn’t.

Because the truth is, you didn’t lose Steve the day he went back. You lost him the moment he decided that his future didn’t include you.

He was never a maybe. Never a second guess. He was home. The closest thing to unconditional you ever had and losing that, losing him wasn’t just grief.

It was abandonment.

And nothing you could summon, not fire, not wind, not thunder could protect you from that kind of hurt.

Steve did technically come back, but not the way you needed him to.

Not as the man who used to sit across from you on long missions and fall asleep mid-sentence, head tilted back, shield leaning against his chair like it was just another piece of luggage. Not as the one who made you feel like you belonged in your own skin. He didn’t come back as the person who knew how to help you breathe when your powers spun out or how to stand close without making you feel small. He didn’t come back with his sleeves rolled up and worry in his voice and that firm, steady certainty that used to hold you up when you couldn’t hold yourself. No. He came back as something else. Someone else. An old man with a soft smile and the kind of peace in his eyes that made you ache, because it meant he wasn’t carrying you anymore. Because it meant he had set it all down. Including you.

You weren’t beside Bucky like Steve always said you would be. You had been long gone by then disappeared the way you always feared you might, turned invisible by grief and disbelief and something sharp that lived deep in your gut where your loyalty used to sit. And when Sam looked around after taking that shield, his hands heavier for it, his heart unsure, he didn’t see you. He glanced toward Bucky, quiet and tense, like the silence had finally gotten too loud.

“Is that why she’s not here?” Sam asked quietly, his voice dipped low. “Because of this? Because he left? Did you both know?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes on the trees on the exact spot where Steve had once stood, his hand on both their shoulders, telling them they’d always have each other. Like that promise hadn’t splintered the moment Steve chose the past over everything they were still trying to hold onto. After a long, brittle silence, Bucky exhaled. “Yeah,” he said. “We knew.”

Sam didn’t respond at first. Just nodded once. Like it hurts to understand. Like it hurt more than he thought it would. “Do you know where she is?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

Because whatever had tethered the three of them had come undone the second Steve walked away and the only person who might’ve helped knot it back together was gone, because he chose to be.

The messages started a few days later.

Sam’s voice, softer than usual. Hesitant, like he didn’t want to push. Like he was knocking on a door he wasn’t sure he had the right to open anymore.

“Hey,” he said the first time. Just that. A beat of silence. “I don’t know where you are. Or what you’re feeling. But I hope you’re safe.”

The second voicemail came the next day. “I know you think nobody gets it. But I do. He was my family too.”

The third. “You didn’t lose everyone. Not this time. You still have me.”

The fourth. “You don’t have to call me back. I just want you to know I’m here. That you’re not alone.”

You never deleted them.

You listened in the dark, sitting with your knees drawn up to your chest, your phone pressed to your shoulder, eyes blank as the world went quiet around you. You didn’t answer. You didn’t speak. You just let the words sit there. Familiar, kind and unbearably gentle.

You didn’t know how to let them in.

Because something in you had cracked the day Steve came back and handed his shield to someone else. Something had broken when he smiled that soft, faraway smile and told you nothing was wrong. When he looked at you like a memory. Like something from a life he’d already closed the book on. He didn’t die. But he was gone. And he had left without looking back.

You made it to the hills two days later. Some forgotten stretch of land just outside a nameless town, where the grass grew high and the wind came easy. You didn’t pick the spot for any reason. You just kept driving until the road gave up and your body said enough. You climbed, slowly, barefoot and quiet, until you reached the highest point of the hill and sat down hard in the dirt. Your powers buzzed just beneath your skin, restless, raw, aching. But you didn’t call to them.

They came anyway.

A single dark cloud unfurled overhead, silent and heavy, pressing close enough to almost touch. The sky everywhere else was clear, soft and distant. But right above you, it mourned. The wind stopped moving. The trees stilled. The world held its breath, and then the rain came…thin, steady, cold.

It rolled down your spine, soaked through your shirt, pooled at your ankles. You didn’t move. You didn’t shield yourself from it. You let it fall. Because for once, it wasn’t your powers you couldn’t control.

It was your grief.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t crack the earth open or summon lightning or tear the clouds apart. You didn’t have it in you. You just sat there, completely still, and let the water blur your vision and the sky sob in your place.

Because this was what abandonment felt like. This was what it meant when the only person who ever truly saw you decided not to stay and no storm, no matter how loud or how bright or how wide could drown that out.

------

Steve’s house was quiet when they arrived. It always was these days. Tucked away on the edge of a field in Maryland, a one-level farmhouse with white siding, wide porches, and curtains that never seemed to change. It wasn’t the kind of place that called attention to itself. It wasn’t built for legends or gods or war heroes. It was built for a man who had done all that and just wanted to sit in a chair with the breeze in his hair and the weight of a life finally laid down. The nurse, Marisol qhad called earlier that morning. Said she didn’t think he had long now. That his breathing had changed. That he was asking for people who weren’t there. So Bucky and Sam got in the car and didn’t say much on the drive, just passed the time in silence, knowing what it meant. Knowing what they were walking into.

Steve was already out back in his favorite chair, a blanket over his lap and a book open in one hand that he wasn’t really reading. His eyes were tired, red-rimmed, but the second he saw them, something in his face shifted. The same soft warmth that had never quite left him, even when the rest of the world had. Sam walked over first, crouched beside him, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Cap,” he said, voice low. “You’re looking old.” Steve huffed a laugh that broke halfway through and turned into a cough.

Bucky stepped forward after, just stood next to him, eyes on the book, not really knowing how to start. “You’re still reading The Old Man and the Sea?” he asked, mouth twitching. “Fitting.”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “It’s the only one I don’t get tired of.”

They sat with him like that for a while, not saying much, just letting the breeze move through the trees and the light shift across the porch like it always had. It was quiet in a way the world hadn’t been for a long time. Peaceful, almost. Like a page was turning in slow motion. Sam sat back on the step and asked about the old team, if Steve remembered the first time they all trained together in the Tower. Steve laughed again, wheezed, and nodded. “You mean when y/n knocked the power out because Tony said she couldn’t hit him?” Sam grinned. 

“Exactly that one.” Steve’s expression softened. He leaned his head back. 

“Haven’t seen her in a while,” he said, eyes drifting. “She missed coming by this week.”

That made Sam glance up. “Y/N?” he asked carefully. “She’s come by?”

Steve’s mouth pulled into a tired smile. “Every week,” he said, almost like it was a dream. “Tuesday mornings. She comes around for the day. We sit, we talk. She never stays the night, but she always leaves tea in the cabinet when she goes.” 

Sam’s brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re serious?” He looked at Bucky, then back at Steve. “She’s been here? I haven’t heard from her in months. I thought—” He cut himself off. “You sure this ain’t old age Cap?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Are you sure, Steve?” he asked. “You’re not just… thinking about her?”

Steve turned his head slowly and looked over toward the sliding door, where Marisol was just stepping out with water. “You can ask her,” he said, voice thinner now. “She’ll tell you.”

Sam stood and met Marisol halfway. “Sorry—uh, quick question. Has Y/N actually been coming by here?”

Marisol smiled softly, nodding. “Oh, yes. Once a week, just like clockwork. Comes with a bag full of books and those little pastries from that bakery in town. Doesn’t talk much, but she always comes.”

Sam blinked. “Huh,” he said, almost to himself. “I thought she was still… out there.”

“She is,” Steve muttered, amusement filling his tone. “She just comes back to haunt me.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “So… you two made up?”

That made Steve laugh again, short and wheezing. It rattled in his chest. Sam reached for the glass of water, handed it to him without a word. Steve drank, coughed, then set it down on the arm of the chair and leaned back with a small shake of his head.

“She can hold a grudge better than anyone I’ve ever met,” he said with affection. “We didn’t make up but said she just couldn't leave me.”

Sam looked out over the yard. “How’s she doing? Should I be worried?”

Steve’s smile faded. His eyes didn’t lift from the trees. “You should be worried,” he said simply. “She doesn’t look well. She talks less. She’s smaller somehow. Like she’s still carrying everything and doesn’t have the strength to hide it anymore.”

He turned, not to Sam, but to Bucky.

“She won’t let Sam in. He’s been trying. But she alway used to answer you.”

Bucky shifted slightly, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t heard from her either.”

“I know,” Steve said. “That’s why I’ve got one last order for you, Captain's orders and all.” He raised a hand, a faint ghost of his old grin tugging at his mouth. “You need to look out for her. No matter how hard she makes it. Promise me that.”

Bucky stared at him, nodded once and reached for his hand. “Yeah,” he said. “I can do that for you.”

“Not for me Buck, but for her, for you.” Steve’s fingers gripped his just tight enough to feel. His voice was barely above a whisper. “‘Til the end of the line.”

Bucky held on. “‘Til the end of the line.”

The funeral was small, quiet. No cameras, no press. No flags or horns or long speeches. Just the people who mattered. The ones who knew him, not the symbol, not the legacy, but the man. Sam wore a dark suit, hands clasped in front of him, staring down at the casket with a tight jaw and tired eyes. Bucky stood beside him, still, arms crossed, the weight of the years between them showing in the lines on his face. There were a few others, Wanda, leaning quietly against a tree; Bruce and Clint, both with bowed heads; even Rhodey, who said little but nodded at every word spoken like he was hearing them for someone else, too.

The chair next to Sam was empty, until it wasn’t. The moment was quiet just before the minister began speaking. The wind had picked up, shifting through the grass and lifting the edges of the canopy. And then footsteps. Soft, slow and deliberate, you stepped into the clearing like a storm walking on two legs.

You weren’t dressed for the occasion, not really. A dark coat clung to your frame, too big, sleeves hiding your hands. Your boots were caked in dirt. Your hair was pulled back, but loose strands clung to your damp cheeks. The sky above you had gone darker than before, not enough to rain, not yet, but heavy with the threat of it.

Bucky turned first. Then Sam and when Sam saw you, his breath caught. “Oh my God,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything. Just walked to the edge of the gathering and stopped. Eyes fixed on the casket. Shoulders trembling. One hand pressed over your ribs like you were physically holding yourself together.

Sam took a step forward like he might say something, but Bucky caught his arm gently and shook his head. Not yet.

Because whatever was happening in your chest, whatever storm you’d brought with you, it wasn’t finished breaking, it just started brewing and the sky above you, loyal as ever, waited for your permission to fall.

You left before the dirt hit the coffin.

Before the sound of it could settle in your chest. Before you had to hear the final thud of goodbye. You didn’t wait for the eulogies to end. Didn’t linger for the handshakes or hugs or the sympathetic looks that would’ve made you crack. The second they stepped forward to lower the casket, you turned. You walked away from the field and into the woods, taking the long path around the house, boots sinking into the wet soil. You didn’t care. You just walked and  when you reached the back porch, hand on the screen door, you paused only once just long enough to breathe in the air like it might still smell like him.

The house hadn’t changed. Everything was still there. His books you brought him are still stacked on the little side table near the fireplace. The same old wool blanket folded across the back of the armchair he always sat in. The fireplace was cold, but you could still feel the warmth of all the hours you spent there, long afternoons, Tuesday mornings, those quiet visits where nothing got resolved but everything hurt a little less. You stepped inside slowly, letting the screen door creak behind you, and moved toward the chair like it might move too if you didn’t walk carefully enough.

And then you stopped, you just stood there, frozen, staring at it.

The chair was empty and still…undisturbed. It felt wrong, seeing it like that. It had always looked the same but now it looked abandoned. The way a home looks after everyone’s gone and only the ghosts are left to sit in silence. You didn’t reach for it. You didn’t touch the blanket. You just stared, eyes fixed on the curve of the armrest where he used to drum his fingers when he was thinking, where his hand had rested the last time he said goodbye without saying it.

You didn’t hear them coming.

Bucky and Sam were still walking up the gravel path, their voices low, footsteps crunching in the quiet. They didn’t expect to see you there. Sam had just said your name, softly, like it might summon you from thin air.

“She’s still not answering,” he muttered. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“She was here,” Bucky said. “She showed up.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, stopping just before the steps. “But that wasn’t her. That was… something else. You saw her face.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I did…I know.” 

He opened the door first, letting it swing inward. The two of them stepped into the front room and stopped short at the sight of you.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t even flinch. Just stood there like you had been standing there for hours. A statue made of rain and memory. Sam’s breath hitched when he saw you. The way your shoulders had folded in, like you were barely holding your own weight. The way your hands were at your sides, clenched into fists so tight your knuckles had gone white.

“Y/N,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

That’s when you spun around and they both felt it in their chests.

You didn’t speak. Your mouth opened, then closed. Once. Twice. Your lips trembled. But nothing came out. No words. Just tears, thick and fast, carving tracks down your cheeks. Your eyes didn’t blink. They were wide and wet and shattered, and Sam swore later he had never seen someone look so completely broken and then the wind picked up. Not through the door, not through the trees….from you.

The air in the room shifted like it had a heartbeat. Like it was alive with the sound of grief. A low groan in the walls. A pressure building beneath the floorboards. Bucky stepped forward carefully, like the wrong movement might tip the whole house sideways.

“Hey,” he said, soft. “Hey, it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t.

Because then the thunder cracked. Not overhead, not in the distance, right outside.

It ripped through the air like the sky couldn’t take it anymore, and then came the rain, fast and hard and angry. It beat down on the roof with enough force to rattle the windows. Water streamed down the glass like the house was crying, and still, you didn’t move.

Sam moved toward you slowly, palm up, helpless. “You don’t have to say anything. Just—just let us in. Let us be here, okay? Please.”

Your chest rose sharply and then your knees gave out.

The storm didn’t stop.

It just followed you down as you collapsed to the floor, shaking, silent, gasping for air between sobs that didn’t make a sound. Sam dropped to his knees next to you. Bucky was right behind. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them touched you. They just sat with you. In it. As the rain came down. As the house held all of it…the love, the pain, the pieces left behind.

Because grief like this doesn’t ask for permission. It just comes and it doesn’t stop until it’s done with you and Steve… he wasn’t done with you yet.

The rain was still coming down when Sam finally stood. He didn’t say much just reached over, rested a gentle hand on your shoulder for a beat, and said, “I’m gonna run into town. Get some food. Something warm.” His voice was quiet, the kind of quiet people use in hospital rooms and front porches after funerals, like sound itself might break something if it’s not handled carefully. You didn’t answer. You didn’t nod. You just stayed curled on the floor where your legs had folded beneath you, one hand braced against the old wood, the other limp at your side, fingertips barely twitching from the storm still humming in your bones. Sam’s eyes lingered on you for a second longer before shifting to Bucky. That look between them wasn’t loud, but it said enough. I trust you. Be gentle. Bucky gave him the smallest nod, and Sam pulled the door shut behind him.

The house went quiet again, except for the sound of rain on the roof and the storm moving in slow waves outside. You didn’t lift your head. You could feel Bucky sit down a few feet away, just far enough not to crowd you, just close enough that the space between you could hold something. The silence wasn’t awkward, it was thick. Dense with all the things neither of you had ever said. You kept your eyes on the chair by the fireplace….Steve’s chair. You remembered the way he used to sit there, worn cardigan sleeves rolled up to the elbows, book open, mug steaming beside him. You remembered the way he’d glance up at you mid-sentence when you’d arrive on Tuesdays, like he’d been waiting for you all day and now the room was whole. But now it was just a chair. Just fabric and wood and memory. It looked smaller without him in it and you couldn’t stop staring.

Minutes passed, maybe more. The storm didn’t ease, it just shifted, like it was waiting. Waiting for something to give. You didn’t speak until your throat ached from holding it all in and even then, your voice sounded foreign.

“I hated him for leaving.”

You didn’t turn to look at Bucky. You didn’t need to. The words fell out like water finally overflowing the edge of a cup.

“I hated him for choosing a life that didn’t include me. I know he earned it…I know he deserved peace. But I still hated him. Not for the dance. Not for the ring. But for how easy it was for him to say goodbye. Like I was never going to be part of the rest of his story. Like I was something he could set down….” You paused, inhaled, dug your nails into your palm until your hand started to shake. “I loved him. Not like that, not like the world thought. I loved him like he was the only person who ever made me feel like I belonged somewhere. Like I wasn’t just power and damage and the worst thing that ever happened to anyone. He was my family, he made my world quiet and then…. he left, then he sat in that chair every week like everything was okay, like still being here made up for leaving in the first place.”

You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you. You could feel the weight of it. But he didn’t move, he didn’t interrupt. He let you breathe through the thick of it.

“I know he gave you ‘orders’,” you whispered, voice bitter at the edges. “Told you to look after me like I’m a mission. Like I’m some wounded thing to babysit.”

Bucky’s voice came quiet but steady. “He didn’t think you needed pity.”

You finally turned your head to face him. Your eyes were swollen and rimmed in red, and your mouth trembled as you said, “I needed him to stay.”

“I know.”

Your throat worked like you were going to cry again, but you didn’t. You were already wrung dry. You looked back toward the fireplace, where the air felt heavier than the rest of the room. The storm outside had gentled a little, the thunder further off now, but the rain was still coming. It was always coming. You pulled your knees tighter into your chest.

“I’ve been angry for so long,” you murmured. “Angry at him. At myself. At the way people just… slip away and I know I made it hard for everyone to reach me. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see what was left after he walked away, I don’t even wanna see…me.” 

Bucky leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them, his fingers brushing the floor. “You don’t have to explain it,” he said. “I’ve been mad too, I am mad…I get it.”

Your voice barely came out. “Do you?”

He looked at you then, not just a glance, but full-on and he nodded once.

“I do.”

It was quiet again. You stayed beside him, knees drawn to your chest, head tilted slightly toward the fireplace, but your gaze lingered on Bucky now, he shifted his weight slightly and exhaled like it cost him something.

“I didn’t think he’d actually do it,” Bucky said, voice low, gravel-thick. “Not really. I mean…I knew. He told me, he told us. We talked about it. Said he was thinking about going back. Said it like it was some hypothetical, like he just wanted to see her again, maybe tell her what could’ve been. I thought it was just one of those things we say when we’re tired and full of ghosts. I didn’t think he’d actually go.”

You didn’t move, just listened.

“He told me, before he stepped onto the platform. Told me it was my job now. Told me Sam would take the shield, that I’d look after the two of you and I nodded like I understood.” Bucky’s mouth twitched slightly. Not a smile. Something sadder. “But I didn’t, not really, I still don’t. I stood there, and I watched him go, and part of me kept thinking he’d come back. That he’d walk out of the trees with that dumb expression like, ‘Did you miss me?’ You know the one.”

You did and it cracked something deep in your ribs.

“But then he didn’t… and when he did show up again… he was old, happy and I couldn’t get a read on whether I wanted to hug him or hit him.” Bucky rubbed his palm against his thigh like he could scrape the emotion off it. “I spent seventy years getting ripped apart and put back together. All I ever wanted was to get back to the man who knew who I used to be. The only one who remembered me before I was a weapon and when I finally got him back… he left.”

You turned toward him more now, slow and quiet. His eyes weren’t wet, but they were red at the edges, raw.

“I know he deserved peace,” Bucky said, voice softer now, more broken around the edges. “And I know I should’ve been happy for him, but I wasn’t….I was pissed. I was so fucking pissed. Not because he went back but because he didn’t say goodbye like he should have. Because he made that choice without thinking about what it would do to the people still here.” He looked down at his metal hand, turned it slowly in his lap like it might tell him something. “He said he believed in me. Said he trusted me to keep going. But he also knew how fragile I still was. He knew how hard I was hanging on and he still left, after everything, he still left me…” 

The confession hung there between the two of you, and your breathing picked up at the vulnerability filling the room.

“I didn’t even know who I was without him,” Bucky whispered. “He was always the one constant. The one person who didn’t look at me like a monster. Who never stopped seeing the kid from Brooklyn, even when I didn’t see him anymore.”

He finally lifted his gaze, met yours fully now, and the look in his eyes nearly undid you. “And now he’s gone…and I don’t know what to do with that.”

You inhaled slowly, sat with it, with him. With the wreckage he had so carefully hidden behind quiet strength and soldier training and all those years of not breaking. You reached out, not to fix it, not to make it better, but just to touch his hand. Real to real. Warm to cold.

“I don’t either,” you said quietly.

And that was the truth, you didn’t know what to do with Steve’s absence. You didn’t know what to do with the anger or the ache or the way the world felt tilted now, off-balance without his presence holding it steady. But at least you weren’t the only one who felt that way. At least in this house, in this quiet, in this storm, there was someone else who still understood what it meant to love him so much that his absence felt like a betrayal.

You sat with Bucky in that silence, your knees touching now, your hands close and let the storm pass outside, letting it cry for you both.

The rain had settled into something quiet by the time Bucky stood. You didn’t ask why at first. You were still curled in on yourself, breath moving slower, throat raw, but your body no longer shaking. You watched him move toward the fireplace, toward that chair, his chair and kneel down beside it, brushing a hand beneath the cushion like he was reaching for something he wasn’t even sure was there. You heard the soft sound of paper, faint and dry. The rustle of something old and deliberate. He pulled out a small, black journal bound with string and tucked beneath it and three envelopes. Each one marked with a name. Yours. His. Sam’s.

He held them for a second, just staring down at the ink. His name in Steve’s handwriting, the familiar curves. The weight of it, like seeing a voice he’d thought he’d never hear again. You watched him swallow, then move back toward you slowly. He didn’t say anything when he sat down. He just extended his hand toward you…your name on the envelope facing up.

You stared at it like it might burn you, like it might make it worse. But you took it anyway, your fingers trembled as you turned it over and slid your thumb beneath the flap. And when you opened it, you smelled him faintly. Cedar…..paper…..dust. Like memory, like home.

You unfolded the letter, you didn’t read it out loud but the words filled the room.

Y/N,

I never figured out how to thank you, not really. You gave me back parts of myself I thought I’d lost for good. When I brought you in, when I found you I didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew you didn’t need saving. You needed someone to stay and I did, for as long as I could. But I realize now, that maybe staying any longer would’ve made you smaller. Not because you needed me. But because I made it easy for you to stay where you were.

After I found Bucky again, after we had time, real time and I understood something I didn’t before. I wasn’t meant to stay. Not because I didn’t love this life. But because this life wasn’t mine to keep. It belonged to you. To Bucky. To Sam. To people who had years left to shape it into something new.

I’ve always believed people come into our lives for a reason and I know now that you weren’t brought to me so I could save you. You were brought to me so I could make sure you survived long enough to find the person who could.

Don’t close off the world, please..not now. Not when it’s just beginning to know who you are without me. You’re fire and rain and everything in between. You’ve got the kind of strength that doesn’t need a shield, it is one. Don’t be afraid to love again, any kind of love you find. Don’t be afraid to let someone love all of it. Even the parts you still flinch at.

And if you’re reading this, it means I didn’t come back. I’m sorry. I hope you never doubt that I loved you like my own. And I hope you’ll let him love you in the way I never could.

Your big brother forever, 

Steve

You didn’t realize you were crying until your hands blurred. Until your fingers curled around the letter so tightly the paper crinkled. You didn’t sob, you didn’t collapse. But the tears came quiet and slow, tracking down your cheeks like the rain on the windows. You stared at the words, reread them, then lowered the paper into your lap like your chest had just opened all over again.

Bucky didn’t speak.

But when you finally looked at him, his letter still unopened in his hand, he nodded like he already knew what Steve had said. Maybe not the words but the meaning, then he opened his. 

Bucky,

I don’t know how to write this to you without getting it wrong. I don’t think I ever really knew how to say the things you needed to hear when we were younger. Back then, I just tried to be loud enough for the both of us, hoping you’d never have to carry more than you already did. And when I couldn’t follow you into the dark, when they took you from me, I kept telling myself I’d find a way to fix it. That if I could just bring you home, everything we lost would somehow return with you. But it didn’t, it couldn’t.

I know I let you down more than once. I know there were times when you needed me to understand something I just… couldn’t. And still, you stayed. You let me believe in you. You let me call you mine, my brother, my better half, my reason. Even when the world tried to take that from you, you never stopped being the man I grew up with in Brooklyn. Not to me.

And I know how heavy it’s been, all of it. The blood on your hands. The years they stole. The weight of survival when you didn’t ask for it. But Bucky, none of that was ever your fault. You hear me? None of it. You were used. Hurt. Rewritten and rewritten and still, still, you came back with a heart that hadn’t hardened. A soul that still looked for light. I don’t know anyone stronger than that. Not even me.

I chose to leave. I chose to walk away from the fight. And I need you to know, I didn’t do that because I stopped needing you. I did it because I finally believed you didn’t need me to keep going. For the first time, I looked at you and saw a man who could build something without me in the picture. Not because I wasn’t proud of you. But because I was. More than I ever said out loud.

You spent so long in someone else’s shadow, carrying orders that were never yours. I wanted to hand you something that couldn’t be taken away. I wanted to give you space. The kind of space you needed to figure out who you are when no one’s telling you what to be. You don’t owe anyone anything anymore. You never did. What you choose to do now..it’s yours. That life, that future… it belongs to you.

Look after her. You know who I mean. Not because I said so, but because I know you will. Because you already do. You always did. Even when you kept your distance, even when you thought you were the wrong person for the job you saw her. Like you saw me.

You were never the weapon they made you. You were never a broken man. You’re the one who survived and I hope to hell you finally believe that.

Until the end of the line,

Steve

“He always saw more than he said,” Bucky murmured.

You nodded, tried to answer…couldn’t. And then you whispered, “He knew.”

Bucky’s voice was rough. “Yeah.”

“He knew that if he stayed, I would’ve kept hiding behind him.”

“And if he stayed,” Bucky said quietly, “I never would’ve stepped forward.”

The two of you sat there with the letters in your laps, the fireplace cold, the storm nearly gone. And in that moment, you understood. Steve hadn’t left because he didn’t love you. He left because he did. Enough to let you go. Enough to give you back to yourself. To give you to Bucky. To make space for the life that could only begin once he stepped away from the center of it.

The screen door creaked open just as the last echo of thunder rolled out over the fields. Sam stepped inside with two brown paper bags tucked under his arm, the scent of something warm trailing in with him. Fried chicken, cornbread. Something soft and southern, the kind of food that didn’t ask for conversation. His boots thudded gently against the floor as he stepped further into the living room and took one look at the two of you, your back leaned against the wall, Bucky sitting on the floor beside you, both of you holding the weight of something that no longer felt completely unbearable.

He paused, not saying anything right away. His gaze flicked to the letters in your laps, the open envelopes, the soft, wrecked look in your eyes and then Bucky stood, walked over, and without a word, handed Sam his.

Sam looked down at the envelope for a long moment. It was lighter than he expected, but somehow heavier in meaning. He sat the bags down on the kitchen table before opening it. He didn’t speak as he read. He just stood by the window, the letter held in one steady hand, the other braced lightly against the sill like he needed to feel something real beneath his fingers. You watched him silently, your stomach turning slow, heavy from more than just hunger.

Sam,

There were a lot of things I got wrong in my time. A lot of things I fought for before I understood what they really meant and a lot of things I held onto for longer than I should’ve. But you weren’t one of them. You were one of the few things I got right. From the moment I met you, I saw it, you were already doing the work. Already carrying people. Already making sure someone else got to live. You were never in it for the glory. You never needed the spotlight. You just needed to be in the fight, because it mattered. Because people mattered.

I know the weight of the shield isn’t easy. I felt it every day. Sometimes more than others. Sometimes it felt like a promise. Sometimes it felt like a grave. But I gave it to you not because I was tired, and not because I wanted to be done. I gave it to you because it was always meant to be yours. You’re the kind of man this world needs…especially now. Not just a soldier. Not just a leader. But someone who sees the cracks in people and doesn’t turn away. Someone who understands that strength isn’t measured in how hard you hit, it’s in how many times you get back up. How many people you bring with you when you do.

You didn’t ask for any of this. You never wanted to be Captain America. But you’ve always been the best of us and  when I looked at you that day, when I placed it in your hands, I saw the future. Not my future. Yours. One that would belong to the people who never got a voice in mine. I knew there’d be questions. I knew some people would say you didn’t fit the mold. But Sam….you were never supposed to fit the mold. You were supposed to break it.

You’ve carried so much, and I know there’ve been times you’ve felt alone in it. But I was always with you. I still am. In every choice. Every fight. Every moment you stand tall when it would be easier to walk away. You honored me just by believing I could be something worth following. And now I’m asking you to lead. Not for me. But for them. For her. For Bucky. For the kids who’ll never know our names but will still live in a world you helped shape.

You don’t need permission to carry the shield. You never did. You just needed to believe you were already enough.

And you are.

Thank you, Sam. For everything.

Your friend always, 

Steve

When he finished, Sam exhaled through his nose, long, deep, almost like it had to travel through years to reach the surface. His jaw was tight, his eyes wet, but he nodded. Once. Folded the letter back into thirds and slid it into his jacket pocket.

He didn’t say what it said.

He didn’t need to.

He turned back toward the kitchen, unwrapped the takeout, and placed it gently in the center of the table. Cornbread, mashed potatoes and chicken still hot in the foil. He pulled out plastic forks, napkins, nothing fancy. Just enough for the three of you to sit down and eat like people do when there’s nothing left to fix but everything left to feel.

You moved to the table slowly, shoulders still stiff, but lighter somehow. Bucky sat beside you. Sam across. The plates passed without question. Food taken without much thought. The kind of silence that used to stretch in cemeteries now sat at your table like a guest, but it wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t suffocating. It was just… still.

No one said a word until the last bite was done. Until Sam leaned back in his chair and looked out the window, eyes half-lidded like he was watching ghosts pass through the trees. Bucky was quiet, his fingers resting near yours on the table, not touching but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. You hadn’t cried since reading your letter. The grief hadn’t disappeared but it had settled. Had folded into your spine like something you could finally stand upright with.

You pushed your plate forward, wiped your hands on a napkin, and looked up at them both.

“So,” you said, your voice still a little raw, but clear. “What’s our plan?”

Sam turned to look at you. Slowly. The smallest shift in his expression, then he blinked, sat forward a little.

“Our?” he echoed, like he wasn’t sure he heard it right.

You gave him a tired, crooked smile just enough to be real.

He smiled back, wide and warm and aching with something like relief. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t need to.

He stood up and walked around the table. Pulled you into a hug before you could overthink it. His arms wrapped around you with all the softness of a promise that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. You let yourself lean into it.

Bucky didn’t interrupt. He just watched, eyes steady, the corner of his mouth barely lifting.

-----

Grief didn’t stop, it just changed shape.

Time didn’t heal it. You didn’t wake up one morning lighter. You didn’t stand in Steve’s house and suddenly feel whole again. You just… kept moving. Kept breathing, kept waking up and doing the things you promised him you’d do, because that’s what people like you and Sam and Bucky do. You keep going. Even when everything aches.

The weeks after the funeral passed in a haze. You stayed in Maryland for a while, cleaning out drawers, folding blankets, rereading old notebooks you weren’t sure were meant for you to find. Sam took the couch most nights. Bucky would leave at sunset and return before the coffee finished brewing. You didn’t ask where he went. He didn’t ask why your room stayed lit until morning. There were no questions. Just routine, quiet survival and then the missions started again.

Not the end-of-the-world kind. Not the ones with exploding helicarriers or world-ending stakes. Smaller ones. Messy, complicated, real ones. People falling through the cracks. Power shifting hands. Shadow organizations still crawling out of the ruins of what was. You didn’t join back right away. You told Sam you weren’t ready. He said, “Okay. But when you are, you have a place.”

It took two months before you called him. Said, “Where’s the next one?” like it was nothing. But it wasn’t and you both knew it.

The first mission back was in Latvia. You flew with Sam and Bucky, shoulder-to-shoulder on a cramped jet that smelled like sweat and old metal. No one said much on the flight. You spent most of it staring at the clouds outside the window, your fingers unconsciously tracing patterns in the condensation. Bucky sat across from you, arms crossed, eyes closed, but you could feel him watching you every now and then. Not in a protective way. Just… checking. Like he didn’t quite know what to say yet.

That’s how it started.

No declarations, no epiphanies. Just you, Sam, and Bucky working side by side again. Rooming in rundown safehouses, passing intel across cracked kitchen tables, whispering strategy in back alleys and rooftops at two in the morning. You didn’t talk about Steve. Not out loud. But he was everywhere. In the way Sam barked orders with more authority now. In the way Bucky took corners with his body half-shielded in front of you, even when he didn’t have to. In the way you stayed up long after the others fell asleep, sitting with your back to the wall, wondering if Steve would’ve made the same call you did. If he’d be proud of who you were now. Of who you were becoming.

You started to trust your instincts again. Started to believe in your powers again. The first time you let the wind rise mid-mission, Sam gave you a look across the rooftop like there you are. The first time your lightning dropped a rooftop gang like dominoes, Bucky grinned as he cuffed the last guy and said, “Remind me not to piss you off.”

It was subtle at first, but things shifted.

Bucky started walking beside you more often, matching your pace. Started bringing you your coffee the way you like it, black with honey, without asking. Started leaning in during debriefs, his knee brushing yours beneath the table, neither of you moving away.

He still didn’t talk much. But when he did, it wasn’t sharp like it used to be, it was softer. Dry humor, honest observation and quiet concern. He was learning you. Watching how you worked. How you flinched when your powers got too loud in your chest. How your fingers trembled before a fight and stilled afterward.

You caught him once, standing outside a motel door after a long mission in Jakarta. He was staring out at the rain, face lit by the low hum of a streetlamp, his hands stuffed in his pockets like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. You didn’t speak. You just stood beside him, both of you watching the water slide down the glass.

And he said, “You sleep better on the left side of the bed.”

You blinked, looked at him. “What?”

He nodded toward the other room. “The night we had to share a room. You stayed on the left. You slept through the night for once.”

You hadn’t realized he noticed and well, you started noticing too.

How he rubbed his thumb over the inside of his palm when he was nervous. How he always offered to take night watch but fell asleep sitting up with a book open in his lap. How he laughed louder when Sam was around, but watched you longer when it was just the two of you.

It was never loud.

It was never sudden.

It was… a slow unbreaking.

The kind of thing that grows in the quiet, in the aftermath, in the moments that don’t look like anything until you string them together and realize you’ve been building something without meaning to.

You weren’t falling in love…not yet.

But you were falling into something.

------

You were both bleeding, but neither of you would admit it.

The motel room smelled like sweat, smoke, and rust like too many fights and not enough sleep. The lights were dim, one bulb flickering in the corner near the peeling wallpaper. You were sitting on the edge of the tub with your sleeve rolled up, a long gash running along your bicep, crusted with dried blood. Bucky knelt in front of you, silently dabbing at it with a damp towel. His brow was furrowed, eyes sharp but soft, like he was focusing hard to keep his hands steady. You’d seen those hands snap necks, crush weapons and catch you mid-fall with barely a grunt. But now, they moved with the kind of care that made your heart pull in your chest. Not fragile…just deliberate.

“You don’t have to be that gentle,” you said, your voice low, amused.

He didn’t look up. “You flinched the last time.”

“That was because you dumped alcohol straight into an open wound.”

He paused, glanced up through his lashes, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “You passed out. It wasn’t that bad.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you. Smiling small and quiet. The kind of smile that only ever showed up around him now.

He pressed the towel once more to your skin, then leaned back on his heels. “You’re good. Just needs wrapping.”

You didn’t move. Just looked at him, chest rising slowly. “You gonna do that too?”

His gaze met yours, unflinching. “Yeah.”

You should’ve looked away. Should’ve joked. Should’ve said something snarky to break the tension crawling up between your ribs. But you didn’t. You just watched him tear the edge of the gauze with his teeth, metal fingers catching the edge as he leaned in again, brushing the skin of your arm with the backs of his knuckles as he worked. His face was close now. Closer than it needed to be. You could smell the sweat in his shirt, the iron in the blood on your own and still, he didn’t pull back.

You swallowed. “You always this gentle with your partners?”

He looked up, his hands still on your arm, and smiled slowly, tired, something darker behind it. “Just the ones I like…so, only you.”

You blinked, heart tripping.

Before you could answer, the door creaked open and Sam stepped in, wiping his hands with a takeout napkin. “I swear if you two are flirting while actively bleeding out—”

You both froze.

Sam looked between you, eyebrows raised. “Oh God, you are.”

Bucky stood, not flustered, but definitely caught. He leaned back against the sink, arms crossed like it would hide the pink warming his ears. You slid your arm down to your lap, suddenly very interested in your shoelace. 

Bucky had just wrapped gauze around your arm with hands too gentle for what they’d done hours before. You hadn’t said much since then. Neither had he. The energy between you was taut, not urgent, but pulled, like something invisible had been slowly tightening between you since that first mission in Latvia. Since the first time his hand found your lower back after a fight. Since the first time your name sounded different coming out of his mouth. There had been a moment in the bathroom his fingers brushing your wrist, his head bowed over the wound he was tending and you had to look away because if you hadn’t, something in you might’ve cracked. Something in you already had.

Now you were out on the balcony, breathing in the night air, the motel’s rusty railing cold against your palms. The world was quiet and soft mist curling under the parking lot lights, a radio playing low from a nearby room. You could still feel the echo of Bucky’s hands, the way his gaze had lingered on you for just a second longer than it needed to. You hadn’t spoken since. You didn’t trust your voice not to give something away.

The door creaked behind you, and you didn’t have to turn to know it was Sam.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stepped up beside you, leaned his forearms on the railing, mirroring your posture. The silence stretched for a few long seconds. He glanced at you once, then back at the street.

“I saw the way he looks at you,” he said finally, voice low, not teasing just matter-of-fact.

You blinked, didn’t answer.

“I’ve seen it for a while,” he continued, softer this time. “But tonight? It was different.”

You exhaled, slow. “I don’t know what it is.”

Sam nodded once. “That’s the thing about good things. You don’t have to know. You just have to let yourself have it.”

You turned your head slightly, looked at him through the corner of your eye. “You sound like him.”

Sam smiled small, bittersweet. “I think he saw it coming.”

You stiffened. “What?”

He shook his head, that smile widening just a little, like it held a secret you weren’t ready for yet. “Nothing,” he said. “You’ll see.”

He gave your arm a gentle squeeze before pushing off the railing, walking back inside and letting the screen door creak closed behind him and that’s when you looked.

Bucky was standing inside the room, leaning in the doorway between the bathroom and the beds, still in his undershirt, hair damp, arms crossed loosely like he was trying not to make the moment too heavy. But his eyes were on you, something swirling softly in the deep blues of them like he’d been watching, not waiting. Not expecting anything, just seeing you like Steve said he would.

You looked away first but not because you wanted to.

Because it was too much to hold all at once the way he looked at you like he already knew what this was and maybe he did, but what scared you worse was maybe you were starting to know too.

Later, when Sam was out cold in the other bed, snoring softly, limbs spread wide like his body hadn’t been through a firefight just hours before you and Bucky sat shoulder to shoulder on your bed, the television on mute, both of you staring blankly at the soft flicker of some late-night infomercial neither of you were actually watching. Your arm brushed his once… then again… then didn’t move. And after a long, unbroken silence, you turned to look at him.

He was already looking at you.

Neither of you said a word. You just stayed there, breathing the same quiet air, like even the space between your ribs had finally stopped trying to keep you apart.

----

It started with the small things.

You weren’t even sure when the flirting truly began, or if it had always been there, tucked into the way he called you trouble under his breath after a mission, the way you said his name with a grin that made him shake his head but smile anyway. Sam noticed it first, of course. He’d arch a brow when Bucky handed you your coffee without asking how you take it. He’d clear his throat dramatically when the two of you got just a little too close in the middle of strategy briefings, eyes narrowed, amused. But he never said anything out loud. Not yet.

On one mission in Cairo, the safe house was too small for all three of you. One bathroom, one kitchen, two beds, and a broken AC unit humming in the window like it was barely holding on. Sam went to bed early that night and said something about needing to be up for recon before dawn. You and Bucky ended up eating dinner at the tiny kitchen table alone, your knees brushing beneath it more often than they needed to. He passed you the last piece of flatbread without being asked. You poured him tea without looking. Every time you glanced at each other, one of you smiled like it couldn’t be helped. You didn’t talk about the mission or Steve or anything big. Just little things, places you wanted to see, foods you missed, the one time he accidentally fell asleep in a tree on a stakeout. You laughed so hard you had to cover your face with your hands. He didn’t stop looking at you for the rest of the night.

A few weeks later, after a long, bruising extraction in Munich, you both ended up back at a borrowed apartment Sam had secured through a favor. He knocked out early, still sore from the landing. You and Bucky collapsed onto the old couch, bodies aching, muscles spent. It was quiet. Not heavy, just worn-in and that’s when you talked about Steve.

You asked him what it was like. Not the war, not the headlines just him. What it was like to know him before the shield. Before the serum. What it was like to grow up with someone who ended up becoming a symbol to the world. Bucky’s voice was softer then. He told you about how Steve used to get in fights he couldn’t win. How he used to draw comic strips in his notebook. How he used to worry about everyone else before himself, even back then. You listened with your legs pulled up beside you, a pillow in your lap, heart full and sore in a way that didn’t feel painful anymore. 

You teased him after, nudging his shoulder. “He said you were a ladies’ man. Said you could twirl anyone around a dance floor.”

Bucky groaned, dropped his head back against the couch. “Oh God. He would bring that up.”

You grinned. “Is it true?”

He smirked, eyes on the ceiling. “I haven’t danced in ages.”

You tilted your head. “I’ve never danced, not once.”

That made him look at you. Really look.

“Never?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Why are you so shocked? I spent most of my life being trained like an animal. Dance lessons weren’t high on Hydra’s priority list.”

He didn’t laugh, not at that. His smile faded into something softer and sad, then it got quiet.

He stood up slowly, walked to the corner where Sam had left his old speaker, connected his phone, scrolled for a second and then the first notes of something old, something warm, began to float through the room. He turned back to you, the lighting dim, the edges of him gold with city glow, and held out his hand.

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you doing?”

His smile tilted. “Being your first.”

Your chest clenched. You tried to laugh it off, but your palms were already sweating.

“I don’t—Bucky, I don’t know how.”

He stepped closer. “You don’t have to.” His voice was low now, gentle. “It’s just me.”

The wind outside shifted, not violently. Just enough to nudge the curtains, he felt it.

And he whispered, “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”

You looked at his hand and then you took it.

His fingers curled around yours like they’d been waiting their whole life to. He pulled you in slowly, one hand at your back, the other holding yours steady, and you moved. Clumsy at first, stiff. Then warmer, smoother. Your eyes never left his face, not once. He watched you like he couldn’t believe you were real. You watched him like you’d finally stopped being afraid of letting someone else in.

The first song ended, another started and still, you didn’t stop.

You danced through five, maybe six songs, moving slowly around the living room like the world had shrunk to just this. Just the way his thumb moved at your back. Just the way your breath stuttered every time he smiled. You didn’t speak, you didn’t laugh, you just stayed in it.

At some point, Sam woke up, probably from the music. He padded out to the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and paused when he saw you. His hand on the fridge door, his mouth quirked up at the edges.

You didn’t see him.

You were too busy leaning your head against Bucky’s chest. Too busy letting yourself rest. 

Sam watched for another few seconds. Then walked back to his room without saying a word. On the way, he stopped by the window. Looked up at the sky and whispered, “Damn, Cap. You really were right about everything.”

----

Things changed more after the dance, not in any obvious way. No sweeping changes or whispered confessions. Just something quieter, steadier, slipping beneath the surface of everything. Bucky wasn’t just your partner anymore. He wasn’t just your shadow on missions or your quiet at night. He became something more without either of you saying it out loud. He was the reason your coffee was already waiting on the table when you came downstairs. The reason your ribs were wrapped tighter than you asked for after every fight. The reason your hand started brushing his a little more often, staying there a little longer, until the gap between you became the most natural place to be. You hadn’t kissed or anything, not even a hug but the air between you changed. Every time he looked at you now, it lingered and you let it.

There was a mission just outside Prague, bad intel, sharp turns, too much smoke, and not enough backup. You came back with a bruised rib and a busted shoulder, and Bucky hadn’t stopped pacing the room since they pulled you out. He hadn’t even taken off his jacket. Rain streaked the back of his neck, his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides like he didn’t know how to be still. You watched him from the edge of the couch, blood still drying down your forearm, and when you tried to joke “You should see the other guy” he didn’t smile.

 He turned and said, voice tight, “You could’ve died.” 

You tried to deflect. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

And he came apart. “You don’t get to say that to me. Not after everything, not after what we’ve already lost.” He sat down hard beside you then, eyes dark, hand hovering above your leg like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. “I thought I was going to lose you too,” he whispered. And for once, you didn’t have anything clever to say. You leaned in, slowly, rested your forehead against his, and whispered, “I’m still here.” His hand found yours, gripped it without asking. You didn’t pull away.

In Romania, it was the fire. A temporary base, the kind of safe house with mismatched furniture and a fireplace that actually worked. The power had gone out mid-dinner and Sam had gone off to make a satellite call, leaving you and Bucky in the flicker of orange light. You sat on the floor near the hearth, the flames dancing against the curve of his cheek, and he told you he used to be afraid of silence. That after everything, after Hydra, after Wakanda, after losing Steve it was the stillness that scared him most. That in the quiet, he didn’t know who he was supposed to be. You didn’t say anything. Just watched him talk, watched the lines in his face ease as your hand found his without either of you thinking about it. That night, you lay side by side on the rug, an old record spinning low in the background, and Bucky read from some old book he found on the shelf in a voice that made the world feel soft again. You didn’t fall asleep, but you stayed still long enough that when you opened your eyes, he was already watching you.

In Greece, it was the ocean. Sam had gone off chasing a lead, and the two of you stayed behind to clean up the last of the mess. You walked the beach at dusk, wind in your hair, salt on your skin, and Bucky found you with his hands in his pockets, his jacket open, that look in his eye that meant he’d been thinking too much again. You asked him what was wrong, and he said, “I think I like who I am when I’m with you.” The words hit like a wave. Not heavy, just deep and real. You tried to make it lighter, asked if that meant he liked when you made him do recon reports and he smiled. But when you looked at him again something pulled in your chest. Something that whispered, this is the kind of love you grow into, not the kind that burns hot and quick. But the kind that roots into the soil and stays. You reached for his hand without thinking and when he held it, it felt like you’d done it a thousand times before and you knew that a thousand times more wouldn't be enough either.

Now, when you walk into a room, his eyes find you first. When you laugh, it’s often because he said something under his breath just for you. Now, when you come back from a mission with bruises, it’s his hands that hold your face and check for cuts before he even sits down. You haven’t called it anything. You haven’t needed to. But you’ve started to feel it like a rhythm, one that hums through everything now. Through the space between your fingers. Through the look he gives you before you fall asleep. Through the way he breathes a little easier when you’re in the room.

You haven’t said I love you, but it’s there.

 In the way he presses a kiss to the crown of your head after a hard day.

In the way you squeeze his hand twice when he’s lost in thought.

In the way you both stay, quietly, deliberately, always.

----

It wasn’t supposed to go sideways, that's what they all say but the mission had been clean on paper, tight formation, mapped exits, predictable resistance. You had your roles, your zones, your escape plan. You’d all done this before. Dozens of times. Sam had cleared the perimeter and was stationed at the upper south tower. You and Bucky were inside, splitting off to cover more ground, his route taking him to the data terminal, yours to the locked archive room. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing worth worrying about. Until the moment the gunfire cracked like thunder two floors above you and your heart stopped mid-beat.

You froze at first, just long enough to register the sound, too close, too rapid. Your comm buzzed in your ear, but it wasn’t his voice. It was static. Then it cut to nothing. You didn’t think, you ran.

“Bucky, come in.” You took the stairs two at a time, voice sharp in your throat. “Bucky, status report.” No answer. “Bucky, talk to me.” The static didn’t even hiss back. You rounded the next landing with your lungs clawing at your ribs, boots slamming concrete, your pulse thundering louder than the sound of the fight you couldn’t see. Every corner you turned felt too quiet. Every hallway too long. “Goddammit, Bucky, please respond.” You were screaming by the last word, the panic twisting around your voice like wire.

Still nothing.

You turned into another hallway and stopped dead. Blood, not a lot, not a puddle. But enough to make your knees buckle. A splatter across the far wall, fresh and red and human, and the kind of silence that only comes after something irreversible. Your grip tightened on your weapon, but your hands were trembling so badly the metal knocked against your vest. Your chest constricted like your own body was trying to suffocate itself. It wasn’t just fear, it was grief. Premature, bone-deep. A world cracking in half inside your chest. You whispered his name once, then again, then louder. You didn’t hear yourself anymore. Only your heartbeat, only your footsteps. Only the sound of something breaking behind your ribs as you whispered, “No. No, not him. Not him.”

And then, he came around the corner.

Hair plastered to his forehead, breathing hard, his shirt torn, his knuckles scraped. But alive, whole. There was a shallow cut over his temple, but he was walking…walking toward you like nothing had happened. And when he saw your face, the terror still carved into your expression, he stopped cold.

“My goddamn comms died,” he said, panting. “I—I tried to fix it. It wouldn’t come back.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. The blood was rushing too loud in your ears. Your limbs had gone numb. You took one step toward him, and then another, until your hands found his arm and clamped down like he might disappear if you didn’t hold him still.

He looked down at your fingers wrapped tight around his sleeve, then back up at your face and something shifted in his eyes.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low, steady. “Let’s get to the roof. We need extraction.”

He took your hand. Without asking, without explaining. Just laced your fingers through his like it had always been meant to happen. You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Your breath was coming faster again, but you followed him up the stairwell anyway, your boots echoing off the walls, his hand not letting go once. Not even when you tripped a step. Not even when your free hand gripped the railing like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

By the time you reached the roof, the wind had changed. The sky above had turned metallic, the kind of gray that made the air feel electric. You let go of his hand the second your boots hit the top landing and walked out into the open, the cold air slapping your cheeks, your lungs too tight to function. Your pacing started before you even realized it…back and forth, back and forth, arms crossed, nails digging into your sides. You heard Bucky’s voice faintly behind you, radioing in for extraction. Sam’s voice came back over the line, saying five minutes out. But if a storm rolled in…..and you were the storm.

You were the reason the wind was climbing. The reason the clouds were swirling like bruises over the skyline. Your fear had nowhere to go but out, and the rooftop air was trembling with it. Then his voice broke through the noise, calm but weighted.

“You need to calm down, sweetheart.”

You stopped pacing. 

“The wind’s getting worse,” he said, taking a step toward you. “If a storm rolls in, we lose our window.”

“I know,” you whispered, chest rising too fast.

“Then talk to me.” he said gently. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You turned around like your body couldn’t hold it in any longer. And it all came crashing out.

You didn’t turn. You couldn’t. Your arms were crossed over your chest so tightly it hurt, your shoulder aching from where you’d landed hard earlier, your mouth full of the copper tang of fear, but not from the mission. Not from the fight, from something deeper, from what came after.

You finally turned around so fast it made you dizzy. The wind shoved your hair into your face, your clothes clinging to your damp skin, and Bucky was just standing there, rain beginning to speckle across his shoulders, worry etched so deeply into the lines of his face it hurt to look at. You stepped back, voice shaking before you even opened your mouth, and then everything just came out at once.

“I’m scared,” you said, the word leaving your body like it had claws. “I’m scared because I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’ve never felt like this before. Not like this. With Steve…it was different. I loved him like family,  it was safe. It was different then…. It was… it didn’t undo me. This—” you waved toward him, toward yourself, toward the wind that was rising around your feet, “you…you terrify me. You make me feel like I’ve opened up something I don’t know how to close again. I can’t stop thinking about what happens when I lose you and I will. I always do. People always go. People leave, Steve was never supposed to leave and he did and I don’t know what I’m going to do when you do, because it won’t be like when Steve left. It won’t be like losing anyone else. It’ll be worse. Because this thing between us…whatever it is, it’s in my blood now. I feel it every time you look at me. Every time you don’t. Every time I think I’m fine and then I realize I’m only okay because you’re in the room.”

Your hands were trembling now. The wind whipped harder, tugging at the edge of your jacket, the clouds overhead shifting darker, lower. You took another step back like you could outrun it, outrun him, outrun the truth that had just spilled out of your chest, but he moved with you. One slow step forward. Then another.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” Bucky asked, his voice low and rough, cracking like it hurt him to say it. “You think I haven’t been waking up every morning wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with this feeling? You scare me too. You scare the hell out of me. Because I’ve never had something like this before. Something I don’t want to lose more than I want to protect myself.”

Your throat clenched. You turned your face away, but he reached for you. Slowly, his hand touched your jaw with a trembling tenderness you weren’t ready for, and he wiped the tear from your cheek with his thumb before you even realized you were crying. His other hand reached down, found yours, and pressed it flat against his chest, right over his heart.

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s yours. All of it. I’m not going anywhere.”

You blinked hard, rain catching in your lashes now, your breath still ragged but beginning to slow. His heart beat steady under your hand, thudding like it had always been meant to sync with yours. Your voice came out as a whisper, broken, wet. “You promise?”

He nodded, lips twitching into the softest smile. “I promise.”

You pulled your hand back slightly, lifted your pinky between you. A little laugh broke through your panic as you said, “I need it. The pinky swear. I need it to be real.”

His smile grew, eyes bright despite the storm. He hooked his pinky through yours, held it like it was sacred.

“It’s real,” he said. “I swear.”

And then you surged forward, couldn’t help it, didn’t want to and kissed him. Not with urgency, not with desperation. But with everything you’d been too afraid to name. His arms came around you fast, holding you like the sky might take you if he let go, his lips soft against yours, sure. The rain came harder. The wind blew wild. But the storm inside you broke like glass.

Because you believed him.

The wind had slowed.

Not entirely, not all at once, but enough. The clouds above held steady, thick but no longer swirling, the air cool instead of electric. The tension that had knotted itself around your ribs had started to loosen, bit by bit, thread by thread as your forehead rested against his, both of you still clutching the aftermath of what had nearly torn you apart. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved. It wasn’t a silence that asked for distance. It was the kind that only exists when you’ve been through hell with someone and finally know, without a shadow of a doubt, that they’re not going to leave you in the ashes.

The sound of the rotor blades came next, faint at first, then rising. The extraction team cutting through the fog like it had all been cleared just for you. Bucky didn’t move until you exhaled. He felt it, your breath finally steady against his chest, your heartbeat no longer racing like a runaway train. When you leaned back just enough to look at him, his eyes were already there. The kind of look that didn’t demand anything from you, he wasn’t asking for a decision. He wasn’t pushing for more. He was just there.

The chopper descended slowly, blades whipping the air in loud, rhythmic pulses, the open hatch facing the far end of the roof. Bucky reached down and gently laced your fingers together again. You followed him toward the edge without a word. Your boots moved on instinct. Your hand never left his.

When the crew waved you over and dropped the ladder, Bucky turned to you like he wanted to say something, maybe thank you, maybe I love you, maybe I’m still here. But he didn’t need to. He just helped you up first, his hand pressed steady at your back as you climbed, the warmth of him staying even after you reached the cabin. And when he pulled himself up behind you, settling beside you on the bench with the door open to the night air, he didn’t let go of your hand.

The ride was quiet.

The kind of quiet that says, we made it through.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, the fatigue crashing down on you like a slow, gentle wave. He didn’t shift. Didn’t breathe too loud. He just rested his chin lightly on your head, his hand tightening just a little on yours every time the chopper jolted. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. Not even when the lights of the city began to blink below, and you knew you were almost home.

And you didn’t need to because everything that mattered had already been said in the way he held your hand, the way you leaned into him, the way neither of you let go.

The room was quiet when you stepped inside. Dim light from a single bedside lamp spilled gold across the floor, brushing over the edge of the bed like a hush. The air smelled like rain, clean, wet cotton, the faint trace of soap on your skin. You’d showered first. Bucky had insisted. Said you needed to feel warm again, said he’d go after. He hadn’t left your side once since the rooftop, but there was no fear in the distance now. Just room…room to breathe. Room to feel and you had. The moment the water hit your shoulders, your chest cracked open, and you let it. Let yourself cry, silently, under the pressure of the showerhead like it was safe to fall apart for once. Not because he wasn’t there but because you knew he was.

Now, you were curled in one corner of the bed, knees tucked under you, one of Bucky’s long-sleeve shirts clinging to your damp skin, your legs bare, the blanket piled around you but untouched. You watched the door without really meaning to. Your eyes had softened now. Your shoulders were loose. But part of you still wasn’t sure any of this was real.

The door clicked open softly.

He stepped inside slowly, hair damp, a fresh shirt hanging loose over his frame, his expression open and tired but still watching you like you were something precious he couldn’t stop checking on. He didn’t speak. Just closed the door behind him and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. He didn’t ask if he could lie beside you. He didn’t have to.

When he eased onto the bed, sitting first, then turning to stretch beside you, the space between you felt small. Your knees touched. Then your hand brushed his and then you shifted, just slightly and lay down on your side, facing him. He lifted his arm, just enough for you to nestle into the space beside him, and you fit there like you always had, like it had been waiting for you.

Your hand came to rest over his chest again, just like it had on the roof. The beat beneath your palm was slow now and he looked down at you barely a breath between your faces and murmured, “Still yours.”

------

The next motel was one of those quiet ones off the side of the highway, the kind that still used real keys and had chipped paint on the doorframes. You’d stopped in Maryland to rest, just a night between the last mission and the next. Sam had gone ahead to scout, and Bucky had said, “Let’s just stay close for a night, get some air.” You hadn’t argued. The room was small, two beds, even though you only need one, one flickering lamp, a little table with a stained coffee pot that neither of you trusted. The rain had started sometime after dinner, soft and steady against the window, and the whole world felt hushed. Like it knew what was coming.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, legs curled under you, hair still damp from your own shower earlier. Bucky was in the bathroom, the sound of water running slowly fading as the door creaked open. He stepped out barefoot, towel slung low around his hips, steam clinging to his shoulders, and for a second, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you. His expression unreadable. Something in his eyes caught hesitation. He grabbed the shirt he’d dropped near his duffel, pulled it over his head, slow and wordless.

Then he spoke, softly. “I was thinking… we’re close. If you wanted to—” He paused, rubbed a hand down the back of his neck. “We’re not far from where we buried him.”

You froze. You didn’t look at him. Just stared at the threadbare blanket under your hands, your knuckles curling slightly. Your breath caught in your throat and quieter than you meant to, you said, “Okay.”

He stepped closer, not all the way. Just enough that you could feel the shift in the air. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice gentler now. “We don’t have to if you’re not ready. I just thought—”

“No,” you said. Firmer now. Still not loud. But certain. “I want to, I need to.”

He nodded, said nothing more. Just crossed the room and pulled the covers down on the bed you shared, he laid back against the pillows in silence. He didn’t press, didn’t look at you. But he didn’t close his eyes either. He just stayed there, breathing steady, waiting.

You stayed seated, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes on the window where the rain had started to blur the world outside into streaks of light and water. You could feel it rising in your chest, the ache you’d been carrying like another rib, the thing you never said out loud because saying it would make it real. Steve was gone and you never told him the things that mattered. You never said goodbye. You never said I forgive you. You never said I understand.

It was well after midnight when Bucky finally drifted off. You watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand still lay open beside him like he’d been reaching for you in sleep. You didn’t lie down. You pulled the motel notepad from the drawer between the beds and the pen that barely worked from your bag. Sat at the little table by the window. The lamp buzzed faintly, the storm rolled on and you started to write.

The words you’d been holding inside since the day Steve left, the one you needed to say more than anything else.

------

The headstone was simple. Nothing flashy. No shield engraved in marble, no list of accomplishments. Just his name, clean serif lettering, the years that never felt like enough, and a line you were sure he didn’t pick himself: A soldier. A friend. A good man. You stood there with your hands in your jacket pockets, wind curling around your ankles, boots damp from the early spring thaw. It was quiet out here. Not empty, not forgotten. Just still. Like the earth knew better than to be loud around someone like him. Bucky stood to your left, his hand brushing yours once in a while when the wind caught his coat. Neither of you had spoken in a while. The walk from the car to the hill was long, and your silence stretched comfortably between you, full of memory. When you reached the grave, you stopped and looked down at it like it might answer back. The sun was low, the air still cold, but the sky was soft. Like it had heard your prayers and was finally listening.

You looked over at Bucky. He didn’t look at you. His eyes were on the stone, the lines in his face deeper in the quiet. You could see the way his jaw ticked, the way his breath slowed, the way he stood like he was still bracing for orders that would never come. Now here you both were, standing over the resting place of the man who made you both whole once, and then broke you in the same breath when he left.

You hadn’t planned to say anything, not when Bucky first had the idea. You planned to come just to stand here, maybe leave the letter, maybe not. But when you looked down at the name carved into the stone, at the years that felt both too short and too full, your chest caught. Not in pain this time, in recognition. Because everything he left behind..this hill, this silence, he had brought you exactly where you were meant to be.

“I wrote him back,” you said, quietly. Bucky turned to look at you, eyes soft, and you pulled the letter from your coat pocket, creased and weathered from being touched too many times over the last few hours. 

He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped slightly back, then, “Do you want me to go?” he asked, voice low.

You turned to look at him, his face lined with worry, with knowing. With all the quiet kindness he gave you without asking for anything in return.

“No,” you said. “I want you to stay.”

So he did, like he said he always would. 

You stepped forward and unfolded the letter. The wind stilled, the moment held. You started to read, your voice was quiet. Not gentle, just tired.

Steve,

I was angry. For a long time. Longer than I admitted. Longer than I even realized. I wasn’t just grieving when you left, I was furious. You promised me we’d keep going. You promised you wouldn’t leave and I know you didn’t say the words. I know you didn’t look me in the eye and make some big speech about forever. But you didn’t have to. You made me believe in something again. And then you left me with it.

And it wasn’t just the leaving. It was how you smiled like it would be okay. Like we’d all understand. Like it was a simple thing to walk away from the life we bled for together. Like it didn’t matter that you were everything I had left, the only real thing I ever had. And I hated you for that. I hated you for thinking I’d be fine. For not looking back. For not choosing me, even just for a little while longer. And when you came back as someone older, someone finished, it felt like a betrayal I couldn’t explain.

I know now that it wasn’t meant to hurt. That you were chasing a kind of peace none of us could give you. And maybe you were right to take it. But it cost something. It left cracks in me I didn’t know how to fill. I disappeared for a long time. Shut down. Closed off. Because without you, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be. You were my center. My family. The only place I felt safe enough to be all of me. And when you left, I didn’t just lose a friend Steve, I lost the one person who made the noise in my head go quiet.

But something happened after you left. Something you probably saw coming before I did.

He didn’t walk in and save me. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no moment where everything changed. He just… kept showing up. Without asking anything from me. He fought beside me. Sat in silence beside me. Watched me fall apart and didn’t try to piece me back together, he just waited until I started to do it on my own.

And then one day I realized I was reaching for him without thinking. Listening for his voice in the dark. Watching his back and knowing he was already watching mine. I didn’t fall for him all at once. It wasn’t a wave. It was a slow tide pulling me back toward something I didn’t know I still had the strength to believe in. And it wasn’t because he reminded me of you. It was because he didn’t. He let me become someone new. Someone who didn’t need you to stay in order to become whole.

And I think you knew. I think that’s why you left when you did. Because you knew if you stayed, I would’ve kept looking to you for every answer. And Bucky never gave me answers, he gave me space. He let me choose.

I don’t know what we are yet. I’m not even sure it matters. What I know is that he’s home in the way I always thought you were. But this time, it’s different.

You were right, Steve. You were meant to find me. So that I could find him.

I don’t forgive you for leaving, not completely, not yet. But I understand now. And I think… I think that’s enough.

Thank you for everything. For finding me when I didn’t know how to be found. For trusting me. For loving me in your way. And for knowing when to let go. 

I’ll always carry you with me, but I’m not lost anymore and I’m not alone.

Love your little sister, 

Y/N

You folded the letter carefully, fingers trembling just a little now, and leaned down to tuck it beneath the smooth stone at the base of his marker. It didn’t feel like letting go. It felt like placing something down. Something you’d carried too long and when you stood again, your throat tight but your lungs full, Bucky was still there, watching you. His hand reached gently for yours, no words exchanged. Just pressure, just presence.

“I think he knew,” Bucky said quietly, his voice barely more than breath. “Even before we did.”

You nodded, looked at the hill one last time.

“I think he always did.”

And this time, when you walked away, the ache in your chest didn’t drag you down. It stayed behind, with the letter, with the stone, with the man who gave you back to yourself by stepping away.

Time didn’t stop for you. Not after the grave. Not after the letter. It didn’t shift in some poetic way either, it just kept moving forward. One day into the next. One foot in front of the other. But something inside you did change. Something in the way the weight in your chest settled. The ache didn’t disappear, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. It dulled into something manageable. Like scar tissue you’d grown used to tracing. Saying goodbye to Steve didn’t close a door, it opened your favourite one and in the weeks that followed, you started walking through it.

The three of you settled into something that almost looked like peace. Sam had found a rhythm with the shield, more confident now, less hesitant, like he finally understood that Steve didn’t choose him out of pressure, but because he believed no one else could carry it better. You saw it in the way Sam stood taller in briefings, in how people listened when he spoke, not because he barked orders, but because he always asked first. Always saw the human before the hero. Sam never tried to be Steve. He didn’t need to. He was already exactly who the world needed.

And Bucky, God, Bucky he changed, too. It wasn’t drastic. It wasn’t even visible, really. But you could feel it. In how he didn’t flinch at kindness anymore. In how he let himself laugh, not just under his breath, but full and unguarded. In how he touched you now, without hesitation. His hand on your back. His shoulder brushing yours. His lips against your temple when you passed him the report in the morning.  You saw it in how he reached for you before he fell asleep. In how he waited for you to take the first sip of your coffee before taking his. In how he called you “darlin’” under his breath like it slipped out when he wasn’t paying attention.

You were a team now, a family. The three of you, not just operationally but emotionally. The kind of bond that didn’t ask for loyalty because it had already been proven. You’d been through the worst together and you’d come out the other side, bruised and stitched up, but still standing. Missions came and went, so did the cities, the languages, the names on the files. But every time you came back to the little apartment you shared in D.C. the one with the creaky stairs and the view of the river, it felt like coming home.

You cooked together now or tried to. Sam was the only one who could make rice without burning it, and Bucky pretended to hate your taste in music, but still let you play your records in the mornings. Sometimes you all ate dinner in silence. Sometimes you argued about who got to pick the movie. Sometimes Bucky fell asleep on the couch and you curled up next to him, Sam throwing a blanket over both of you with a muttered, “Pathetic,” before smiling and grabbing another beer. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

And one night, after a mission that went smoother than expected, you sat on the roof with Bucky, legs tangled, his arm around your waist. The city buzzed below, lights blinking in the distance. And without turning his head, without making it into a moment, he said, “I think I was always meant to find you.”

You turned your head at that. Slowly, like if you moved too fast, the moment would disappear. The words hung between you, not fragile, not uncertain, just real. His eyes were still on the skyline, but you could see it the slight tension in his jaw, the way his thumb twitched against your hip like his body was bracing for something, even now. You stared at him for a long time, studying the curve of his mouth, the scar that tugged just slightly at his temple, the steadiness he’d grown into. Not just as a soldier, not as the man Steve had left behind. But as himself, as the man who stayed. The one who didn’t run when it got too quiet. The one who learned to be soft with his hands even after a lifetime of them being used to break things. The man who looked at you like he couldn’t believe he got to keep you.

And then, still not looking at you, his voice dropped, barely a whisper, like he didn’t need it to carry far, just to you.

“I love you.”

You didn’t breathe, not for a moment. Not because you hadn’t been waiting for it but because somewhere deep down, you hadn’t believed he’d ever say it first. That maybe he’d carry it in the way he touched you, the way he stood between you and the worst of the world, the way he kissed your shoulder before missions and held your hand in sleep but never in words. But now here they were, raw and naked in the cool night air, and he wasn’t rushing to cover them up. He let them sit, let them breathe, let them be true and you smiled.

Not the practiced one you gave reporters, not the sharp one you wore in combat but the one that only ever belonged to him.

You leaned in close, lips brushing his jaw, your voice softer than anything you’d spoken all week.

“I love you too.”

His shoulders eased. His head dropped against yours. He didn’t speak again, and didn't have to. The words were out. Finally, after everything, they didn’t need an explanation.

You sat there a little longer, just like that, legs tangled, fingers woven, his heartbeat slow against yours. The city below kept moving. Cars passed, planes crossed overhead. Someone in the next building laughed too loud. Somewhere far away, trouble would come again. But for now, for this, you stayed still.

Maybe….just maybe, this was what Steve had seen before either of you could.

Not an ending, not even a beginning. Just the place where you’d finally stopped surviving and started to live.

[umnitsa]

Crashing and Burning

Summary: Jim is a hunter. You're the prey. Not all goes off as planned.

A/N: So, yes, this happened. I can't even say I'm sorry, because I'm not. Inspired by the awesome @toxicanonymity, encouraged by @chaosclownzdaddy. We have Slasher!Hopper. I'll go back to Big Jim after this, I promise! Written with unholy eagerness and posted without any proofreading.

Pairing: slasher!Hopper x fem!Reader

CW: NON CON, PIV, creampie, violence. This is not a cute fic, it's pretty dark. Dead dove, for real.

Hopper smiled as the white beetle crossed the road. He could see you singing happily as you drove into the night, confident in the safety of an empty, deserted road.

He shifted in the blazer, tightening his hands on the wheel, counting slowly. He had a method.

The moment his countdown came to an end, he excitedly turned the keys to the ignition, feeling the roar of the engine in his bones. He smiled.

He took the road, following you, far enough that you couldn’t see him (headlights off, he knew the road like his own hand), and he could see your tail lights. You wouldn’t hear his engine until it was too late, you were distracted. Now he just needed to find the right moment.

In his excitement, Hopper took the first long stretch of road to accelerate. He could see you jumping as the car approached, and he turned his headlights. He laughed as your car swerved, the driver momentarily blinded.

But you managed to keep your car in the road. Hopper grunted, nodding in approval.

You were special.

This would be much more fun than he expected at first.

But it was imperative that you crashed the car before realizing he was in a police blazer, so he accelerated once more, bumping your car just right to send it spinning into the woods.

He loved the game. It made him seem so powerful.

Life took everything from him. His daughter, his family, sent him spiraling into depression and despair all the way back to his starting point, alone and in the middle of nowhere. He wanted control back and this is how he wanted it.

Hopper stopped the car and looked at the crash. He whistled, appraising the damage. A big part of him hoped you were one of the special ones, and survived the first part of his twisted little game.

For now, a smoke and some wait. If you were alive, you would come to your senses soon.

***

You woke up, still confused. You couldn’t think, you only felt the smell of gasoline, metal and the woods.

Your memories coming back into a rush, you realized you were still into the car. You crashed as you took your family’s beloved car to your aunt.

They would be pissed.

You crawled out of the car, trying to stay on your feet; a searing pain shoot from your ankle up, and you moan. Your leg is probably broken.

“Hey! Everything alright there? Need help?” You see a man in the distance, holding a flashlight. He was tall and broad. Once your eyes adjusted to the light, you realized he was a police officer. You felt incredibly lucky.

“Here!” You waved your arms. He pointed the flashlight to you and you sighed. “I think I hurt my leg.”

“It’s ok, I can carry you.” He approached, smiling softly. “Wow, that’s bad.”

The moment you looked into his eyes you felt a shiver. His flashlight on your eyes triggered a memory of the crash and you remembered the car that threw you off the road.

The car was exactly behind him.

His car.

You stepped back, panic taking your senses, the cold realization of what could happen washing your whole body.

Not thinking of your leg, you ran, around the car and into the woods.

The police officer just cackled; you could hear him perfectly into the silent night.

“So that’s how you wanna do it?” He said, booming into the night. “Ok. Let’s do this. Look, bunny, I’m turning off my flashlight. You’re hurt and I’m a fair man.”

When you finally stopped, exhausted and in pain, his voice seemed far away. You waited, crouching behind a big trunk, completely hidden by darkness and some foliage.

Silence covered you like a warm blanket, and the forest came alive around you, the noises becoming loudly comforting, until you heard the sounds of branch trees and dry leaves breaking. Under a big foot, it seemed.

“C’mon, little bunny.” You hear his voice, loud and clear through the woods. “You’re just delaying the inevitable.”

You heard some hustling; you wanted to look up from your hiding place, but decided against it. That’s how you could get caught, the noise and being seen. You stayed very still, listening to the noise approaching.

“I’m an old man, little bunny. I’m getting tired.” He chuckled darkly, closer and closer. You could hear his breathing, somehow.

You tried to calm down. If he was tired, he could move away, taking danger with him. You decided to stay hidden until morning, your leg be damned.

Tension made you shiver. Things were all too quiet. You could hear the breathing from behind you, he was right behind the trunk. You pressed yourself against it, closing your eyes.

A hand moved through the foliage to your left, you felt your hair being pulled with violence. You screamed, grabbing the arm that held you, as you got dragged from your hiding place.

“Boo.” Hopper chuckled, as you hit his chest and tried to scratch his arm. “Damn, you ARE feisty.”

He wrapped around your body, his big arms immobilizing you, his hands pulling your arms behind easily, almost as if you weren’t fighting. You felt the cold metal and heard the click of handcuffs. All your fight drained from you, exhaustion and pain taking all your senses.

“Aw, bunny.” The police officer propped you on his shoulder. “Don’t look that sad. This hunt was so fun I’ll give you a gift, before letting you go.”

“You’ll let me go?” You asked, tense, some weird hope blooming into your chest as you were being carried to the car.

“I will.” He said softly, but there was no reason for you to believe him.

As you looked down, the moon showed him how he found you so easily. He was following your tracks. And now he was following your steps back, making one indistinguishable trail.

The officer placed you on his back seat, door open, laying on your arms. With a smile, he got a switchblade from his pocket.

“If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you go. Are you going to be a good girl for me?” He asked, the blade shining ominously under the moonlight.

You nodded, just wanting to stay alive for longer. The officer chuckled again, quickly using his knife to cut your pants off. The feeling of the blade whispering against your body froze you, making his job easier.

With a happy chuckle, he threw what was left of your pants on the floor of his car. You kept quiet, the blade on his hand a reminder that violence was always possible. The officer yanked your panties off you with a tug, then stepped between your legs, keeping them open.

“Why?” You asked, in tears already.

“Why not?” The officer answered, shrugging. He spat at your open pussy, growling. “It’s not something I usually do, but you got me hard… Now you have to deal with it.”

His thick fingers slid between your lower lips, efficiently rubbing his saliva over your clit. Unfortunately, his rough fingertips felt immensely good, circling and dipping lightly into your hole. He chuckled once more as he felt you getting wet.

“Good girl.” He pushed two thick fingers into you, and you felt so full. He moved his fingers, looking for something. The officer knew he found it, when you moaned, pushing against his hand. He leaned, looking at your face. “Relax, bunny, or you’ll get hurt. I’m big all over.”

You whined, to his delight.

“Too bad I can't take my time now.” He pushed his fingers into you, rubbing his fingertips against your g spot, playing you like an instrument, rushing you towards the cliff of ecstasy. You moaned and whimpered, trying to stop the inexorable orgasm. “You sound so sweet.”

You came on his hand, regretting every choice that took you to that moment, welcoming the feeling of your consciousness slipping away.

You didn’t get to enjoy it much. The officer thrust his big, thick cock into you, splitting you open in one thrust. It was sad that he felt so good, and you felt so full.

His hand wrapped against your neck, and he squeezed, his hips moving in sharp thrusts. Your eyes rolled back, unfocused.

He watched your expression as he moved, tightening his hand as his hips sped up, chasing his orgasm and unwittingly pushing you towards another.

You faded out as you came, suffocating, not entirely sure you would ever wake up again.

***

Hopper chuckled as you fainted mid orgasm, grabbing your hips with both hands. You were so tight, and so so wet. Hopper grunted, pulling out, spilling himself over your mound.

Stepping back, not even bothering to fix his pants up, Hopper watched your unconscious body, his come staining, marking your skin.

He blew smoke into the night, his mind swimming in pleasure, deep satisfaction settling in his bones. Hopper carefully put his cigarette out, against one tire, then pocketed the filter. He didn’t want any stray evidence.

Hopper huffed, arranging his pants, then pushed your legs into the car, closing the door.

You did sound sweet.

Maybe he should keep you, for a while.

[espinosaurusrexex]

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

two - suburban magic

BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader

summary: Bucky and Y/N get to Westview, but things are not exactly as they imagined. How will they work now that everyone thinks they're married?

a/n: I know the first two chapter are a little slow and establish the story, so I'm thinking of posting ch. 3 tomorrow. That's where things really start off - let me know what you think!

!Divider is mine. Please give credit when using!

word count: 4k

chapter warnings: fake dating, settling in, so much angst, kinda fluffy, also this is not proofread - all mistakes are my own

✶ 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ☾

“So this is it?” Y/N peered up at the red static wall. Her head was leaned back all the way to try and catch the end of it. 

“This is it.” Bucky stood behind her, his hands buried in his pants pockets. 

It was unbelievable. Yes, Wanda was powerful, but this? This was so wide and big and... kind of intimidating. Just not the Wanda Y/N thought to have known. She let her eyes wander to either side and watched as the wall extended into the distance. There was a faint whirring sound from the red. It seemed almost nostalgic, in an indescribable way.

Y/N turned around to Bucky, her eyes hesitant and drilling into his with nervousness. But Bucky seemed determined. He stepped further toward the wall until he came to a stop right next to Y/N.

When she had called him two days ago in the middle of the night, Y/N was set on this obscene idea to get here and start a totally unbothered life. Right now, it was rather scary. She hadn’t thought about how intimidating change was in a long time. She was too busy dealing with all her grief and the aftermath of the last major change. And now that she was confronted with this feeling of uncertainty again, she wished herself back into her boring New York City apartment with the same view and the aggravated neighbor, and the constant street noise. That was where everything seemed calculated. There she could control the next couple of hours without fear of major outside influence. It was safe and it was habitual, without heart racing or sweaty hands.

Maybe she should have never called him. Because right now, all of these things were happening. Racing heart: check. Sweaty hands: check. Uncertainty: check, check, check. Y/N didn't know what would wait behind that wall. That was if they were even able to break through. She didn’t know what would happen after they had made it. Back in her apartment, the thought of suburbia and its idyllic atmosphere had brought comfort and longing to her chest. But seeing it so close in front of her really made her question her sanity. She couldn’t just run away and live a life as a housewife. That was not how life worked. 

So yeah, if she would not have Bucky by her side right now, she would have probably bailed the second she felt her doubts bubble up. But with Bucky, it was different. There was someone else sharing the dream of escaping with her and it brought a weird comfort to her. She wouldn’t be alone in there. She would have Bucky and Bucky would have her. She felt safe with him.

“We’re really gonna do this,” she whispered to herself, but Bucky’s ears picked up on it anyway. Without a response, he took her hand in his. 

They locked eyes for a moment and Bucky look this time to nod intently in her direction. His hand twitched, reassuring Y/N of his presence and it felt as though this small gesture conveyed a bigger message only he could decode. 

“Are you ready?” His stare was hopeful but concerned. He looked like he was ready to bail just as much as she was. But she wouldn’t pass on a chance like this, not because she chickened out.

“No.” She smiled. “But that’s okay.” She probably never would, but Y/N had decided then and there that that was nothing that should stop her anymore.

Bucky’s vibranium arm reached forward, hesitant to touch the magic wall, but not really stopping in its movement. When his fingers grazed the static, a faint shock hushed in the air, traveling through his body to hers and making her feel the force behind it. This was real. As unbelievable as it looked, this was real. Bucky retracted his hand in surprise, looking back to Y/N with a questing glare. But she just nodded forward in a ‘try again’ motion, her eyes desperate and nosy at the same time. 

His flesh hand tightened around Y/N’s when he laid the whole of his vibranium palm against the red wall. Noise, light, power. All at once flooded Y/N’s senses as she watched Bucky lean forward to break through. Every part of her body was tingling with electricity shooting tiny white specks of pain in every part of her skin. Tears were brimming in her eyes with determination. This might have been a bad idea, but before she could even comprehend that thought, Bucky turned his head in her direction. There was something in his eyes that made her want to withstand so much more pain than the one she already felt. Like an urge to uphold anything for him in trade for the sacrifice, he made for her. A silent message was passed between the two and only a heartbeat later, Bucky pushed further into the flickering scarlet. His foot stepped forward, digging into the ground as he bent his knees to bring up more strength. Y/N took a deep breath and then she lifted her free hadn’t to the barrier as well. 

Together they drove their entire weight up against the wall, but it was like leaning on cement. Nothing would move this mysterious piece of magic. It was painful, too. Like touching fire with bare hands. As if the lights were slicing through her skin, pulling on her nerve endings with unbelievable force. 

Bucky took another step, releasing a forceful scream as his hand began to dent the wall. His fingers were halfway hidden by the rest of the structure. And all of a sudden, there was a shock washing right through Y/N’s body. As if she was walking through a painful waterfall that could tear right through her. There was no more pushing against the wall because it felt as though the wall was actually reaching forward, hugging them in its ear-shattering static noise. Y/N screamed as well. Her body was on fire, her head felt like exploding and if it weren’t for Bucky’s hand anchoring her to something tangible, she would have probably fallen unconscious from the pain. 

And then, as fast as it started, the pain was gone. Y/N fell forward with a thud, as did Bucky, their faces touching the soft grass and an overwhelming warmth consumed the pair. 

Y/N’s heart beat faster than ever, her thoughts running a mile per minute but not producing anything remotely sufficient for her situation. Her fingers were tingling, her head heavy - almost dizzy. She sat up slowly, looking around and taking in her new environment. The noise of the wall was faint from this side. The grass seemed greener and the air warmer. Not unbearable, but definitely summery. Y/N took a deep breath as she listened to the birds chirping in the distant trees. It was paradise, peaceful and calm - totally secluded from everything else, maybe even reason. There were houses in the distance and if she really listened closely, Y/N could make out the sound of children playing in their front yards.

A groan emerged from her left, and her eyes wandered to the man beside her, slowly pushing himself upright.

“That was...”

“Weird,” Y/N completed as she watched him taking in his surroundings as well.

“Yeah.”

Then he redirected his gaze to her body, scanning up and down for injuries. “Are you okay?” His hands rested on his thighs, his head leaning forward, urging her to talk.

“I’m okay.” Y/N smiled and watched as Bucky’s brows softened. He looked around again, probably taking everything in properly. “Are you okay?” She asked carefully.

“I’m okay.” His eyes stayed on hers for a little longer and Y/N could feel her chest warming again. 

Bucky stood up, cleaning off his jeans, and then he held his hand out to Y/N. She looked up at him, her eyes wandering back to his extended offer and finally placing her hand in his. 

“I really didn't think we’d make it halfway through,” she said as she too cleaned off her clothes.

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, it hurt like a bitch.” 

That it did.

Bucky stopped in front of a beautiful house. Painted in light blue and with white shutters accompanying the windows, the house stood proud over the suburban street with an unmatched significance. He must have felt it too, the pull this home had on everyone’s stare, inviting one's gaze beyond the white picket fence and longing for a peak within its bright walls. How Y/N would have wished to live in it as a child, how her inner desire longed for the ocean blue to engulf her and marry calmness to her soul. It was truly perfect. 

The lawn stretched from the porch to the mailbox that stood right next to a real estate sign. It showed two heavily photoshopped agents with bright smiles and a bold number beneath, indicating that it was, in fact, for sale. Unbelievable, in Y/N’s opinion. This home was too nice to ever lay empty in an area like this: suburbia. Filled with people desperate to live a perfect life with their perfect families and their perfect happy, smiley faces that would hang above the fireplace.

Y/N’s heart ached at the thought. A family - the whole that had been ripped in by fate twice by now, which was definitely two times too many. And simultaneously exact the reason why she stood on this street, with that beautiful home mocking her misery in bright blue hues.

“It’s like out of these movies.“ Bucky muttered with a frown that didn’t match his doughy eyes at all, and a smile snuck on Y/N’s face as he said what she had been thinking out loud. 

“Oh my, you must be the new neighbors!” Y/N whipped around and watched a brunette exclaim with the brightest smile. “I am so thrilled to have a new couple in the neighborhood,” she leaned towards Y/N and brought her hand up to her mouth; “Let me tell ya, Berta from down the street is becoming a little old and she always kills the mood when she starts talking about her dead husband.” The woman laughed loudly and then she waved her arms. 

Y/N was glued to the ground, her expression unintelligible as all her concentration shifted to the sudden encounter with one of Westview’s occupants. The woman must have noticed how shocked and confused Bucky and Y/N looked because a second later she extended her hand.

“How rude of me. I am Agnes, it's so nice to meet you!”

“Bucky,” Bucky said while shaking her hand. “And this is Y/N.” He smiled as he hid his left arm behind her back.

Y/N just smiled. It was all she could do with the sudden realization that this woman had assumed them to be together. Moving into a house in the suburbs together - Oh, God. She thought they were married! Y/N’s heartbeat was pounding in her chest as Bucky played it cool, trying to get the neighbor away.

“So nice to meet you both! You seem like you’ll fit right into our lovely neighborhood.” She clapped her hands before her chest once. “And you chose the most beautiful home of them all, too!”

“We- what?” Y/N’s voice faltered as she turned her head back to the house. The sign with the two agents had a bold red sticker on it now: ‘SOLD’ 

She felt Bucky’s hand twitch on her side and was met with an equally confusing stare once her eyes traveled from the magical sign back to him. A silent monologue passed between the pair, though Y/N wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted to convey. Another squeeze of her waist and Bucky’s face turned back to the brunette woman with a bright smile.

“We really don’t want to be rude but why don’t you let us get settled, Agnes? It's been a long day already and we would appreciate some rest before the movers get here.” His smile didn’t falter and Y/N tried the same, but she couldn’t shake the uneasiness spreading in her stomach like a wildfire. Something had changed already and Y/N couldn’t place her finger on it. 

“Oh, of course. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.” And then she turned around and walked towards a house with deep purple flowers in the front yard. “Welcome to Westview!” That was all she said with raised arms before she disappeared behind the door.

Welcome to Westview. That was the plan, right? But for some reason, it didn’t feel like it was going according to it.

That night was horrible. Y/N tossed and turned in the sheets of her indefinite home, and even though it was the most beautiful place she had ever laid eyes on, it was intimidating. As if she had no control over her future, nor the slightest possibility of knowing what could happen. To her, to Bucky, and really everyone else.

The time the neighbor had left felt like a blur. Up until the moment, Y/N’s exhausted body hit the soft sheets of her new bed, time had seemed like a concoction of colors that stretched and faded in long lines as if the moments had rushed by her and she could watch them from the window of a speeding car.

A lot of weird things had happened today. The first and undoubtedly the most scarring of them all was the wall moving through her to engulf her into Westview. She had never felt such a phenomenon but it was comforting that she could share it with Bucky. 

That Agnes lady was a weird component, too, but Y/N figured every town needed a nosy neighbor and she just happened to have met her on the very first day. That was something both of them probably had to get used to still. In the city, people minded their own businesses. They went about their life with as little contact with strangers as possible and Y/N kind of liked it that way. Bucky probably did, too. And neighbors? Well, neighbors basically ran to their doors when another opened. The casual small talk Americans were so well known for was avoided like the plague. The only encounter people had with neighbors was in the case of complaints. And those were, again, nagging about their privacy being disturbed. Y/N had felt it the second she entered Westview: a shift in demeanor. Unlike New York City, people actually cared for their fellow occupants. In Agnes’ case maybe a little too much. People knew about the person at the end of the street. They cared about their well-being and they dug up gossip about their dog sitters if the occasion called for it. Suburbia’s inmates were well aware of the community they lived in, and that thought alone scared her.

When Agnes had left, Bucky had found a key in his pants pockets that actually unlocked the pretty blue house. And before the both of them were even able to step one foot in their new estate, a moving truck halted on the street with scratching tires. Four men, all dressed in blue overalls, carried box after box past Bucky and Y/N, who just shared another look of confusion. Whatever had been in those boxes apparently belonged to them, and once the men left the property the house looked like someone actually lived in it. 

Beautiful wallpaper lined the walls of the foyer that lead directly to a staircase painted in white. A mirror hung above a small table that was decorated with flowers. There were jackets and umbrellas hanging in the closet by the staircase and just a step to the left opened a wide arch the view into a stunning open kitchen with an island of marble. The cupboards were the same blue as that of the house’s exterior. Further back beyond the open kitchen and the adjacent dining area opened another arch to a broad seating area. A glass door by the living room lead out to the patio, where a green lawn unfolded in the distance. A sizable pool covered part of the area and the rest was framed by flowers in all shapes and colors.

It was just as Bucky had mentioned earlier ‘like out of these movies’ and Y/N could have sworn that she had seen a house comparable to this in one of Wanda’s TV shows before. 

When Bucky had reached to open the door to the backyard, Y/N had felt a shiver run down her spine. That was what had felt so off out on the street before. Bucky had looked at her with a questioning glare and as Y/N’s stare traveled from his hand back to his eyes, the expression on his face had fallen and been replaced by one of utter helplessness. His arm, Bucky’s vibranium arm was gone. Well, it wasn’t gone, It was normal. It was a flesh arm, one like the other he had. And just as it did Y/N, Bucky looked like it scared the living shit out of him. That had been the first thing that had actually been terrifying. The nosy neighbor and the changing signs, she could deal with, but this? This felt like an intrusion. Like a bad magic trick that secretly pulled the ground from under your feet.

He had ripped his hand from the handle and held it away from his body as if it didn’t belong to him, and that’s when Y/N had noticed the silver wedding ring shining on his finger. She had checked, and sure enough on the fourth finger of her left hand sat a thinner, more delicate version of Bucky’s ring. She Didn’t mention it, thinking it would just destabilize him further after the discovery they had just made. So after another beat of silence, Bucky had excused himself and left to the upstairs, where Y/N only guessed the bedrooms to be.

She had been right. Because after another hour of rummaging around the house, and getting to know the place to distract herself from thinking about Bucky, who probably just wanted to be alone, she went upstairs herself. Bucky had left her the master bedroom and chosen, what she could only assume the guest bedroom to be, for himself. She had gotten ready for bed reluctantly, her eyes regularly pulling to the door that led to a corridor that led to Bucky. He was just two doors away. Five feet and two doors, and yet, Y/N didn’t feel ready to take on this kind of comfort for him. Because it wasn’t. 

So ever since she had gotten to bed, her thoughts had been spinning around the same topic. It was two in the morning, now and there was no sleep in sight for her. Y/N turned to her side again, staring at the clock on her nightstand in frustration. She was about to close her eyes when she heard a hesitant knock on her door. 

She looked up when a muffled voice traveled through the wood. “Hey, Y/N?” Her heartbeat quickened.

“Yeah?” Bucky stepped into the room silently, his gaze low as his hand clutched the doorknob.

“I-“ His eyes met hers in the dim moonlight shining through the window. His were sparking with secrecy, an indecisiveness settled deep within. Y/N didn’t dare to move. He looked like a deer in headlights with his shoulders slumped and she could see his mind working on his features. Anything could scare him away now, and really, Y/N completely understood. “Never mind. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.“ And then the door closed again and Bucky was gone.

But she hadn’t been sleeping. Y/N sat up in her bed as she heard his footsteps decent the stairs and after about ten seconds, she could hear him rummaging through the kitchen. Yeah, she would definitely not go back to sleep now.

The patting of bare feet sounded through the cool hallway before traveling down the stairs as well. Bucky stood by the refrigerator, retrieving a box of milk and pouring himself a glass. His bare back was exposed to the air-conditioned room, his muscles moving under his skin as his hands worked in front of him. He seemed to have settled with his new arm, as weird as that sounded. Of course, Y/N couldn’t possibly comprehend what that would feel like, but she imagined it must be hard to have it taken from him, after years of accepting it as part of him. 

She remembered faint conversations in the compound with Bucky. She’d never asked him about his arm, but she had listened in on Peter’s curious questioning. Bucky had answered a bunch of questions about what features his arm had, and how he dealt with some issues, but he couldn’t really answer the stuff Peter was actually interested in. What she had picked up from it, however, was that the arm from Wakanda had grown on him and that he actually liked it, especially because it was from his friends.

Y/N slowly approached the brunette in the kitchen, and when she could clearly see the absence of scars on his arm shining in the refrigerator light, he turned around, his eyes tired and low on her frame.

“What’s the matter?”

He just stood there, holding eye contact as his mind fought with something Y/N couldn’t place. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but then he closed it again. Time passed teasingly slow as he repeated the action. 

“It’s just-” He turned around again, leaning on the counter and looking out the window. There was Agnes, walking along the street. What was she doing out so late? Y/N stepped next to Bucky.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, though she really wanted to know. She wanted to see if Bucky would confide in her, now that she was all he had in proximity. There had been an aching pain settling in her chest ever since he had given her that helpless look. A desperate cry about not being able to help the way she wanted, because she didn’t know where the boundaries were placed.

“No, I know.” There was a long pause, and Y/N thought that was where the conversation would end. She didn’t move though, her hand so close to his on the counter that she could feel him twitching on the stone. His breaths were steady and deep, the only thing sounding through the dark kitchen beside the constant whirring of the refrigerator. Agnes had gone further, she wasn’t within the frame of the window anymore, and Y/N quite frankly didn’t care, but Bucky’s eyes stayed focused on the dark. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Bucky just hummed absently, the distance in the sound far more tangible than him at the moment. Y/N moved her hand closer to his left, her pinky fingers grazing his on the countertop. Bucky didn’t react.

“Do you feel with it now?”

His head slowly turned to her hand where her fingers met his. And for a second, Y/N thought she could see a grieving twitch in his eyes.

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s the same as before. Just looks... different.” Reluctance laced his tone as his eyes shifted back to the window after stealing a quick glance at her face.

Y/N just nodded and slowly retreated her hand from his, a sudden cold replacing the warmth that had been beating through her body just moments prior.

“A little late for a walk don’t ya think?” His voice sounded distant again as he nodded towards the window through which the pair had watched their neighbor.

“Maybe she’s looking for something.” Really, Y/N wanted to go back to the intimate conversation they just had. But Bucky’s demeanor had already switched. 

He looked at her with raised eyebrows and then he stepped backward, walked to the door, and took his jacket. And with a final ‘I’ll be back’ he left the house. And Y/N? Well, she just stood there wishing for a little more Bucky. Just something that told her, that maybe, everything she wished for wasn’t just a distant dream.

𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓

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[milks-thoughts]

IM MAKING MORE :DD since people seemed to like my last post

this is so self-indulgent I can’t. I'm sorry if this writing is dog water

not proofread!

word count: 867

TW: death, war, apocalypse, illness, it’s bad future rottmnt we all know what’s going down

“ And it was nice “

Your hands gently shook, you looked at the smooth ground. Your lover's shell laying on the wall. your mouth opens in a small breathy intake before you sobbed.

" I knew you once, and it was nice. "

You were 16, a dumb teenager doing a science experiment on your roof. the chemical compound had exploded and colored the roof in a purple disaster. you turned and looked at your friend, his normally green face was purple like yours. a small laugh left you as you tried cleaning his face. he pushed you off and grumbled at you "C'mon! let me help- I was the one who wasn't listening to you and made the mess " Donnie just glared and you playfully shoved him a bit

" I knew your brain and your heart...and all your insides "

The first major casualty of the resistance hurt. it was a group of 30 that ended like a few ants on the sidewalk. It was a mission to infiltrate the Kraang and destroy a large portion of them. Donnie's tech had been destroyed like nothing like the titanium was just toothpicks. it had hurt him but no one said anything about it. your oh so rough hands held his face gently. he leaned into your touch and you simply sat there, letting his fears wash away. your gentle touches helped to heal his scars.

"Oh, I could tell, just with a look. what you were thinking, that's all it took "

Donnie glared after Leo, it was their fourth argument of the week and it was only Wednesday. April held CJ close to her before walking off, Mikey left in the middle again. you sighed and followed after Donnie, his prosthetic leg uncomfortably moving with each stride. his eyebrows furrowed in what one person could explain as anger. But you could see, he was scared. you all were. Cassandra died and left a child with the resistance, the apocalypse was no place for a baby after all. you caught up to your lover, his gaze softened when he turned to you. you simply held his face like all those years ago. you quickly learned to become the glue after Raph died a few months back

" you shared your secrets, and I shared mine "

He looked down and spoke to you of his plans " I'm going to plant an explosive in the Kraang base " he spoke of your mission in a few months. the resistance was charging the main Kraang base. you planned to attack Kraang Prime and hit him where it hurt. your eyes widened as he continued " the explosive will only detonate if you are within ten feet of it " your eyes widened in horror "Donatello no! " you yelled at him, already knowing what he was planning " the resistance needs this! " you felt tears brim your eyes as you sucked in a shaky breath " But I need you " the silence had never been more deafening.

" silence was comfy, without having to try "

You were going over food and other supplies, and he was fixing someone's prosthetic that had gotten stuck. Donnie, he smiled at you. It was another late night when you both struggled to fall asleep. You remembered nights like this before everything happened. Nights where you would draw, or do late-night school reports. and he worked on tech, you missed school even if it was hell. the apocalypse started right as you started college, April had convinced you to join her.

" We swapped our smiles, gifted advice "

Donnie smiled widely at you once you both figured out how to get the power working again. the resistance needed power, especially in the infirmary. He glanced at your paper afterward, you were quickly placed in charge of keeping track of food and other materials " you should also write when they'll expire " you hummed in agreement. too many times the food you have relied on has gone bad. You looked at the machine he was working on " you should grease the cogs a bit more, it's not gonna go fast enough "

" yes, I knew you once "

you tried fighting against Leo's hold as Mikey led the remaining resistance away. the plan had gone terribly and Donnie, your love, your life died for no reason. All you had left was a battleshell, his mask wrapped around one of its arms. you sobbed into its hard material. you have never felt more anguish, not even when you lost your parents.

" And it was nice "

the resistance had gotten sick with some strange illness. you were recovering from an amputated leg. April stayed at your side the whole time, they all knew you weren't going to survive. Hell, you knew you won't survive. so you held out until CJ had become a nice young man, and Mikey had such power that he could open portals, where April's hair had started to become gray. you couldn't help but let go, illness was pain, it was suffering. your eyes had become sunken in and your body was refusing food. You didn't feel as tired anymore. You blinked and saw the one person you prayed you'd see in death " I wondered when you were finally going to rest my love "

[osakiharu]

BEACH SCENARIOS !!

content : gender neutral reader, fluff, not proofread, me pulling ideas out my ass running on 0 sleep and changing ideas 8 times because i couldn’t think of something whoops :(

characters : mikey, baji, kazutora

notes : this is not how i intended for them to come out but tbh i like them so here‘s my gift to you lot after not posting for over a month <3

“˗ˏˋ MIKEY

“my fingers are fuckin’ grey.” mikey spoke through his mouthful of crushed taiyaki that he’d had in his pocket all day. he held his hand out in front of his face, rubbing his dirty fingers together after spending hours fiddling with coins at the arcade. he'd been determined to win you a stupid plushie that had been buried right at the back of a claw machine; the only reason he wanted to get it for you is because you said it looked like him. he wasn't sure how, not being able to see it himself, but that information was enough to make him turn his fingers almost black trying to get the damn thing out from under the other toys. "well, i never said you had to get this for me, did i?" he didn't respond as he pulled one of your hands away from cuddling the plushie and lay it down on the sand between you.

it’s not rare for you both to end up at the beach when you go on walks. there was never a specific time that you went at and it was never arranged, you’d both simply show up together and sit on the golden sand whilst mikey buried one of your limbs under it like usual. ”there.” mikey said with a satisfied smile. you peered down at your now completely covered hand. mikey was always gentle with you despite being known for his physical power, and now with his head resting atop yours burying your hand under the sand, you still found it hard to believe that he was the same person he was when he fought. “you’re kinda like a dog, mikey,“ you fiddled with the paw of the plushie, “i’m always looking after you making sure you don’t do dumb shit.” you squinted under sunshine, the fiery orb beginning to lower in the sky as you watched a small dog sprint towards the sea, its owner running after it with their arms out. it felt familiar, like you were watching yourself.

“hey, i look after you, too!“ he almost wined, picking up more sand to cover your fingers with. that wasn’t something you could disagree with. despite mikey being a handful for many reasons, he never seemed to leave your side, either. he was always trying to protect you without ever considering if you actually needed it or not. he made sure you never felt alone, like he always did, taking you out with him at every spare chance he has. you were sure it was simply because he loved you and never wanted to lose you, but you knew the passing of his friends and family members would always play on his mind, fear settling in at the thought of that happening to you. ”there.” mikey said with a satisfied smile. you peered down at your now completely covered hand, an ‘M’ drawn in the middle of it. you smiled before abruptly bringing your hand up to flick the pile of grains at him. you hadn’t meant for the sand to splat all over his face… or all over the rest of his taiyaki. let’s just say there’s a reason why that woman and her dog felt familiar.

˗ˏˋ BAJI

"y/n, are you awake?" is the question that had taken you both to the beach at silly o'clock in the morning. baji had always been a heavy sleeper, never stirring or turning around for unknown reasons, but during this time of year, he just can't keep his eyes closed. he was hot, he was bothered, the humid summer night refusing to aid him to fall into a state of slumber. the huffing and groaning coming from beside you had caused you to open your eyes and see nothing but the very dim lighting of dawn peeking through the gap in the curtains. so, when you felt a hand brush against your arm and a familiar, deep voice asking you a question you'd heard more times than you could count, you knew where you were going next.

you'd been here many times before but it never seemed to get boring. never seemed to be repetitive. you heard baji yawn next to you. "oh, so now you're falling asleep, hm?" you felt the weight of his head lift off the top of yours as he leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs, letting the edge of the flat waves meet the soles of his shoes (he always insisted that you sit as close as possible to the sea). "no! 'm just relaxed now... the sea sounds nice." relaxed, something that baji rarely ever feels. not in the way that he was constantly stressed it's just that your boyfriend was... well, he had a lot of energy. he looks so pretty like this, you thought. whilst the sunrise was beautiful, it was never as kind on the eyes as baji was. the sun made his skin shimmer like gold and the wispy hairs on his head danced in the breeze. he thought the exact same of you. the horizon could never paint a picture as pretty as you.

"kei, your shoes are getting wet... kei!" you nudged his leg with your foot and pulled him out of his trance. baji could feel his heel getting damper and damper and only then did he realise that you'd started moving back from the tide. "hey, come back!" he lay flat on his back and reached out to grab you. when you didn't come closer to him he pouted and stood up. "what, you scared of the waves or something? don't wanna get wet?" he laughed, almost teasingly, as he took long strides into the sea, all the way up to his calves. baji turned around with a toothy grin as if to say "see, i can do it, it's not scary!" as if you were afraid in the first place. "complain about having wet socks on the way home and i'm never coming to the beach with you again!" getting up, you spoke through laughter as you watched the tall figure kick towards you, water spraying all over you. perhaps a little more than he intended and your surprised face was enough to tell him that he'd be going home with more than just wet shoes.

˗ˏˋ KAZUTORA

kazutora likes to go to the beach when he’s stuck in his head and can’t think about anything but the things he’ll never forgive himself for. he goes in the evening when the sky turns a deep blue, the fluffy clouds even darker. the breeze grows a little colder by then and flows through the long, soft strands of his hair, forming new tangles and knots in it. sometimes he’ll lie down and let the golden sand caress his head. he’ll close his eyes and take a breath that‘s never as deep as he wants it to be - even the breeze kissing his cheeks and the distant sounds of the little waves clapping against each other couldn’t calm him anymore. other times he’d simply stand and stare outwards into the horizon of dark blue, yellow eyes still shining bright under the moon. if you were to walk past him, you’d think he was calm, mind undisturbed by anything that could be distressing or perturbing. he was anything but.

so one day he brought you along with him, when going alone no longer aided him. your chest felt warmer against his back than the stone cold sand he was used to resting on, your arms holding him close against you. your fingers didn’t tangle his dark locks, but brushed through them with a gentleness the wind would never know how to execute. it didn’t kiss his cheeks like you did, either. your kisses were warm and loving against his skin and it made him want to grab onto you and never let go as if the sea would carry you away if he did. he never goes without you now.

‘you okay?’ you mumbled into his hair after he settled down between your legs, arms wrapping around you. ‘mhm.’ you could feel his smile on your shoulder. kazutora usually saved conversations for the drive home. he’d let you speak instead, drowning out the rippling water he’d grown sick of. he likes when you talk about your day, silly things you remembered recently, anything. it’s times like these that remind kazutora of how special you are, how much he loves you, how lucky he is. not that he doesn’t think that 24/7, but every time he watches the sun disappear over the horizon he holds you a little tighter, thankful for being able to spend another day with you.

reblogs appreciated <3

[starlighthan]

PAINTING FAITH

read the revised and extended version here!

pairing: non-idol!seungmin and fem!reader

featuring: several skz members, an oc

genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, rival gang au, forbidden lovers au, lowkey sunshine x grumpy au (an au in chloe gong’s these violent delights)

warnings: spoilers from the actual book, a curse word, mentions of death and murder, weapons, government problems haha, sensitive content (killing, blood, character death)

word count: 6.5k words

synopsis: in the middle of a secret mission of the heirs of two of the biggest gangs in makan, the solano and leyva gangs, you stumbled upon your secret lover in a ball arranged by the makan president’s family, the figueroas. you spent the night with him until tragedies ascend.

mini-playlist: monster - paramore | warning! - day6 | lover of mine - 5 seconds of summer | far too young to die - panic! at the disco | immortal - marina

tag list: @plutominho @hwangsify

note: hi :DD it’s been a few months! i’m a little rusty so bear with me with this fic, i think it’s a little messy </3 here’s a fic heavily inspired by a book that i enjoyed! please do note that a lot of parts here are based on the book, and there are original stuff from me as well! there were changes from the similarities such as city/country names, family names, etc. heh this is not-so-proofread too btw since i want to post this right away lol i hope you guys enjoy this one! i hope this won’t flop bc i really like this one a lot rip ig jk

© starlighthan - all rights reserved. please do not copy, translate, modify, repost, or claim as yours.

Glittering chandeliers above you, you prance around the expansive function room. In all honesty, you thought that it was a gorgeous venue. But you weren’t surprised at how glorious the room is because it is a property of the family you somehow loathed, the Figueroa family.

You fear that Caasi would change even more, especially after the growing madness around the past month — that monster. The horror took the lives of the innocent and some Leyva members by ripping their throats without their gut feeling.

After pocketing a sketch of the creature in the office of a government official that half of the country admires, Ereden Carlos, you have no idea when you will see such a creature like that. Minho, a cousin of yours (and the secondary heir) under the Leyvas, reported that a Leyva member saw the beast with their own eyes on a random night — you were frightened at how powerful that creature could be. It could be more powerful than you, the Leyva gang, or Leyva and Solano gangs combined.

“You don’t have a mask with you? We’re in a masquerade ball,” you hear your father mumble, taking the view with you on your seats while taking a slurp of the pasta in front of him.

You roll your eyes. It wasn’t a requirement if the Figueroa family wanted your presence and not your masks to hide your identities. “You don’t have a mask as well, am I correct? If you don’t have one in your pockets, then I don’t have any with me too, Father.”

Without any surprise coming from Lord Leyva, he shrugs and continues chatting with the strangers at the same table as you. 

You truly treated them as strangers despite the familiarity tied between them and the Leyva gang. Of course, it was the Figueroa family.

Despite categorizing the financial capabilities of your gang as nearly the same as that family, you despise the carelessness they attain within themselves. This is why Caasi is holding on to the Leyva and Solano gang to keep the country alive. At this point, they were begging to have the two gangs lead Makan, but unfortunately, none of you have the highest power to do that, even if you have the strongest connections to those up there.

You never followed the conversation between the family and your father. After all, you were there as support — unnecessary support — for your father. Aimlessly looking around and enjoying the food was all you did in your seat, and you didn’t want to ask for more.

“How about you, Miss _____? How are you doing?”

You stopped twirling the noodles around your fork, slowly raising your head to where the voice that ruined your mood came from within your table. Oh. It was just some random Figueroa family member that you didn’t damn care about.

Your eyebrows furrowed, answering bluntly, “It’s none of your business.” You lowered your head by an inch, glancing at your plate, and returned to take a bite. “Weren’t you talking to my father the whole time? I thank you that you didn’t acknowledge my presence until this point.”

It wasn’t shocking that the Figueroa family was taking your statement seriously. Although you also expected that they’d brush it off in a little while, it seemed like they were still in a state of confusion on whether that was sarcastic or genuine.

You, on the other side, behaved like whatever you said was nothing. Indeed, it was nothing to you. Why would you bother with a bunch of corrupted capitalists? 

Before one of the Figueroas opened their mouth to speak, Lord Leyva ended the conversation with a peaceful greeting and dragged you out of your seat to the nearest corner of the function room. 

“_____.” Your father sighs, rubbing his temples to control his temper that erupted randomly. “You shouldn’t have said that! You know they have the capability of exiling you or killing you.”

You snorted and shook your head in disbelief. “Father, you probably forgot that we also have the power to do that, right?” 

“Yes, we do, but right now, we can’t—”

Lord Leyva wasn’t able to finish his sentence. “All of a sudden, we can’t? Why are you underestimating the Leyvas all of a sudden? If only there weren’t that many people right now, I could’ve brought out my gun and killed them with my own hands.”

Why was he siding with the more significant problem this time? Besides the madness occurring in the past few weeks, Makan has been at its lowest because of the Figueroas. You have seen Makan, specifically your city, Caasi, lose its colors to the grimy black — the people were suffering, the city’s polluted, and the feel of Caasi was no longer what you felt when you were a child. Unfortunately, being in a gang like the Leyvas exposed you to the monochromes of the world. The worst imperfections stood out more, and blood and dirt were more evident everywhere. All of the colors were indeed lost, and it was because you are a Leyva.

Even the ability to kill without remorse made you question your existence. What if you weren’t a part of the Leyva clan?

Without hesitation, you walked past your father straight to the balcony. What if you really weren’t a part of the Leyva clan?

You leaned on the arc, right below the arch ring. That question brought some memories to the back of your mind flawlessly.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we grow old like this?”

“Like what? Hanging out by the pier all day?”

You nodded with all of your might. “Away from all of the things our families have been doing. Away from what could happen to both of us.”

Seungmin, curious enough, scoots more to your side. “What do you think will happen to you and me?”

You heard numerous times how your father and your relatives come home scarred, wounded, or worse, weakened by losing a lot of blood from missions and fights outside the home. You were expecting that you and Seungmin would go through the same thing.

Worse, the rivalry between your clans could progress, distancing you, feeling helpless. You’ll have nothing to do but fight each other and go home on your own bloody and vulnerable because of the feelings you had for each other before all of the commotions you had to deal with just for the sake of being a part of a gang.

“Losing you, each other, and our life.”

Seungmin hums, lightly placing his arm around you and holding you tight, “You’re not going to lose me or each other — even our lives. We’ll be fine, _____. Let’s appreciate that we could still do this despite the rivalry between our families.”

“That’s because we’re still kids, Seungmin. Once we become older, all of this wouldn’t be fine,” you anxiously said. Both of you are still clueless about the ins and outs of this world and the role of being a notorious gang member. Your destiny is like this: you’ll be innocent and gullible about everything, learn the truths of reality, then your mind and heart will change.

Hopefully, your mind and heart wouldn’t change. You hope that your thoughts and feelings for Seungmin will never fade.

“There’ll always be a way for every problem. We’ll get through this together,” Seungmin rubs your arm and softly pulls your head to his chest, holding you slightly tighter than before.

If you weren’t a Leyva, maybe you immediately got your happily ever after. Perhaps you don’t have to go abroad to study and guiltily leave Seungmin. 

Too late.

“Good evening to you, Miss Leyva.”

Someone interrupted your thread of thoughts. Looking beside you, you see Jisung Isidro with a glass of wine. A fucking Isidro again? When can I get out of this room full of attention-seekers?

This guy visited you a week ago to ask for your hand of approval in the Isidro-Leyva partnership for a particular project. Knowing that his father was persistent about the same thing to you a week before Jisung’s visit, you kicked him out of your home and repeatedly said no to his offer.

Without listening to his blabbering mouth, the word ‘attention’ was etched on his face, indicating that all he wanted was clout and your mere consideration for his existence.

Unfortunately, Jisung was expecting you tonight since he sent a letter a few days ago that he was looking forward to meeting you again at the masquerade ball.

With no introductory greetings, you go straightforward with what you want to say. “I said no to the partnership, Jisung. Can you stop pushing me if I said no multiple times already? Is the word with only two letters, no, unclear to you?”

All Jisung did was giggle at you, which struck a nerve within you. He fixed his coat and went right in front of you, standing at the center of the arc. “Oh, don’t worry, _____! I understood that. I decided not to pester you or your family about that.”

Smiling wide with blank eyes, you impatiently ask, “Then, why are you here?”

Gasping, Jisung wonderfully clasps his hands together. You immediately know there’s something wrong behind those eyes. He’s going to bother you about another random thing again.

“I would like to go after your heart there, pretty girl,” Jisung shortly points to your chest, “your affection, you know? Heh, if you don’t mind—”

So, he just finds you pretty? 

Cross him out right away. You have no time for a guy who’s chasing a woman for her beauty.

Being a big name in Caasi, you received compliments for looking similar to your ethereal mother. You admit that your mother is one of a kind, but you were always annoyed over how being beautiful is the only compliment you receive. Was it because you exude a ruthless vibe? With your dominating voice and outspoken mind, people find you intimidating aside from the fact that you are pretty.

You have no time for a man like him. You are here, an heir of the Leyva gang, trying to save Makan from a hideous monster that has infiltrated the streets and houses of Caasi. And you have someone else, someone who you think is better than him on so many levels.

“No need to chase for my love and affection, Jisung,” you sighed, slumping your shoulders to show your lack of interest in his new pursuit. “I have a lot on my hands, and finding a significant other is not a part of my bucket list at the moment.”

You achieved it for a while now without anybody’s notice.

The bubbly, weird guy was planning to change your mind until you two heard somebody clearing their throat. 

You glance at the masked man near you. “May I have a word, Miss _____?”

Shit, you know that voice. Seungmin?

You forgot that he planned to snatch the drawing you pocketed. You returned to your home with Seungmin following you silently on the trip for the sake of protection. He saw you get into Carlos’ office and go home with a tight grip on your coat. With that minor detail, he knew something was up.

When he pretended to visit you so he could get that mysterious paper in your inner pocket, he failed to steal it but brought home the invitation to this masquerade ball. Both of you were still sneaky with each other, making you laugh over how much Seungmin failed with his attempt to get the sketch without your permission.

You look back at Jisung, waiting for his final words. 

With much annoyance, you furrowed your eyebrows and glared at him before waiting for his greetings. You quickly decided not to waste time and let him leave with your own hands. “So?”

Jisung bowed and sighed with disappointment evident on his face. You guessed he was desperate for your attention for real. You’d never thought that he was attracted to you anyway. “I’ll get going then, Miss Leyva. Thank you for the quick chit-chat.”

While waiting for his exit, you glance at the view outside the arc. The grass was glimmering after a light rainshower before the ball started. Trees and buildings surrounded the small field, making the gazebo look enchanted. You’d not dare to take a short walk to the gazebo — you might go home, Lady Leyva pissed off at how soiled your gown and heels were from the wet dirt of the grass field.

“How beautiful,” you finally hear Seungmin.

You agree. This was the type of view you wanted from your room. You were so used to the urban side of Caasi, houses and buildings standing side by side, filled with people going in and out of places besides you. You would say that you’re on the busy side of Caasi. The territory of the Leyvas is in this area. “Very relaxing after that absurd conversation with Sir Isidro.”

“I mean you, _____. Beautiful,” Seungmin corrects, “you’re beautiful.”

You pull his mask from his face and drag him outside the function room. From the eyes of the stranger, the scene looked like you were attempting to torture him. And guess what? That’s what’s probably going to happen.

“Seungmin Solano,” hissing, you drop his mask and gracefully drag the knife out from under your dress, “the heir of the Solano gang, don’t you dare do this outside, especially on my territory.”

His presence in the Leyva territory in Caasi could get him killed instantly. Between the two of you, you are the protective one. You want to attain such privacy in the secret relationship that you’ve been keeping. After Seungmin betrayed you years ago for a mission, you ghosted him to leave Makan and return with unresolved feelings; you had to keep this one since the rivalry between the gangs is still wildly alive despite working together privately to stop the madness within the country. Members of both groups are still hesitant to collaborate, even if it is the only way to find the cure.

If anybody catches your revived romance, your families may abandon you or kill you. You are very sure that Minho wouldn’t hesitate if he knew. Both of you would get replaced by other potential heirs, like Minho.

You’re only working together for the sake of finishing the madness. And you’d rather not have this relationship delay or add conflict to your progress or future missions.

“I have an urgent matter with you, _____. Jeongin and I found something new that can help us with the madness—”

You pull him further away from the function room to the nearest corner of a building. Gritting your teeth, you push him further to that corner, “Your cousin knows what we’re doing? I told you we should keep this a secret! We could get in trouble if anybody saw us together.”

Now, you sound like you do not like this relationship. You despise that you two are forbidden lovers in a time wherein both of your families relentlessly kill each other — wanting to see the last man standing. What could be left is both of you if you keep safe and protect yourselves together.

Everything would’ve been so different if Seungmin had proceeded to stab you in your chest years ago. He knows that he wouldn’t do anything to harm you, but father’s orders, he said. 

What made him stop seeing blood seep from your heart? Your heart it is.

He loved you too much. Even if he betrayed your trust once by killing your grandfather for Lord Solano’s validation, he still loved you. And he still loves you. He’d risk anything to keep you alive, which includes him invading your territory and visiting you at the masquerade ball. As long it’s not you who’s dead, what Seungmin thinks every time.

“Put the blade down, _____.” Seungmin grunts, resisting the steel on your hand. “We’re away from any people to be seen. No one’s going to see us here. Put it down.”

“Please.”

And that was the signal for you to bring down the blade. “What brings you here, Seungmin? Keep it quick too, maybe?”

Seungmin chuckles. “Jeongin and I discovered that the monster produces those insects that get into people’s heads.”

You hated how straightforward he was for this matter; how he said that the monster and insects were one; how he and his cousin found out perfectly. It was ridiculous to think that Seungmin would never get the correct information because he always does get everything he wants and needs.

You took a deep breath. Everything’s not clicking yet. First, you know that the Isidros have the cure to the madness, then Ereden Carlos holds the information about this monster, and now this? “Do you know any relation between the Isidros and this monster? I have some suspicions with Carlos already, but not with Jisung yet.”

Seungmin hums. Nothing was in his head just yet. He was still dazed at how you pointed him with that sharp knife that came out of nowhere. Although, there could be relations between Isidros and the monster.

“It’s more of the relation between Carlos and the Isidros. They may be setting us up, probably trying something out to lose the people’s trust for the gangs.” He gets back up on his legs, straightening his back and pulling down his coat. “It is possible that Jisung got some information about the monster from Ereden and created the vaccine formula so the Isidros could be back up there while the Leyvas and Solanos go down since we didn’t do anything good with the madness this time. They’re gaining power.”

Cursing under your breath, you walk in circles on the grass. Before it is too late, more information about Ereden Carlos and the Isidros is needed. The vaccine might have boosted the Isidros’ name since their business became dead in a heartbeat after a foreign company settled in the city. Only the Isidros, Carlos, and almost anybody associated with them has the answer to ending this madness.

“I think I could lure some info from Jisung,” you stopped, looking back at Seungmin. “I think he’d be glad I’m suddenly interested in his matters. I could go in the other day, hopefully.”

Seungmin took a few steps, tilting his head out of curiosity. “And for tonight? What can we do?”

Oh, you know Seungmin has something in mind. That look on his face tells you it’s something out of your mission. The glint on his eyes, that goofy smirk, and the wiggling eyebrows tell you that he has something foolish to say.

“What are you going to suggest, Seungmin? Say it,” you roll your eyes, “I just want to get over whatever’s in your head.”

You will never get used to Seungmin’s tomfoolery. He has always been the type to do things outside of what his family wanted. Even if his mother warned him to stay away from any Leyva, he fell in love with you. He was not allowed to hang around any place outside their territory not to cause any trouble — he still wandered around, even intentionally walking to a city nearby Caasi. Caasi is smaller than other cities, after all. Although, despite being smaller than those, your hometown is still big regardless. People would be desperate to use horses or bikes to travel around Makan, especially during summer. 

Seungmin invited you once to visit a farm outside the city. He wanted to show you a discovery that he found on his own. He wanted you to enjoy life outside of being a gang member. And when both of you enjoyed your time prancing around the strawberry fields, he knew the risk was worth it. Seungmin’s heart was beating so fast because of that smile on your face when you saw the greenery and the sun shining brightly above you. Of course, he’d do anything to see the joy in its most visible form — you at that time.

That was one of the moments that he treasured so much. He didn’t care that he got scolded for coming home late as long as he knew that you had the most fantastic time of your life. He loved the risk of being with you. It gave him more reasons to quietly rebel for an extension of his freedom — more reasons to be with you without any prejudice.

Until this day, even if he still unsuccessfully tries to bury the guilt he felt for killing your grandfather, he’d still want your love. He still wants you despite breaking you multiple times.

“Let me bring you to the pier again?”

Again?

“Did you know that the pier only reminds me of one thing?” Seungmin carefully reaches for your hand, taking a deep breath. “You.”

The question and the touch of his hand felt like electricity climbing up from your feet. It was almost like you got shocked that you got stuck. You never knew Seungmin associated the pier with you and you only.

Seungmin found the daze on your face, giggling and shaking his head. He always found your reactions so adorable, no matter how deadly or soft it looks. It was his way of thinking that you’re just that animated and expressive, and that’s also one of the things he adores about you. With his soft touch against your rough skin, he says, “Whenever I see the ocean, I feel safe. I feel relaxed. I hope you know I think the same way as you by my side.”

The sweet words of your lover are not enough to touch your heart to its fullest. You mumble, “You probably forgot that I fear the ocean.”

Seungmin’s smile on his face drops, “I was trying to be romantic here.” 

Pretending was your asset. You had to push Seungmin further. Waving it off, you tell him, “It’s not working, Seungmin. Try harder.”

The man in front of you smirks and tightens the grip on your hand. “Will you trust me?” Oh, he knows his second attempt to fluster you will work. His plan is simpler but stronger than the waves that crash loudly from the pier.

You’re probably going to trust him with this one — even with a small ounce of doubt because of the mischievous expression that quickly returned on his face. You’re aware that he will not stop until he satisfies you. “Fine. Go for it.”

He quickly picks up his mask from the ground and pulls it back to his face. He assumes you still have no expectations for what he could do, so he gently snakes his arms around your waist. Leaning to you, he asks you, whispering near your ear, “You up for a dance in there?” 

Pulling his head back, he checks your face for any response, hopeful that you were good with the subtly risky request. All he saw was your lips quiver, unsure of what to say.

To be flustered was an understatement for you. His touch around you was electrifying you once again. The soft words to your ears gave you goosebumps. 

“_____?” Seungmin traces circles on your back, still waiting for any answer from your mouth. He returns his head to where it should be, placing it on your shoulder and tightening his arms around you. When you stiffen around Seungmin, he chuckles. “Are you still there?”

Feeling like you’re unable to find any way to reciprocate the physical affection, you mumble, “Yeah, I’m still here.” Leaning your head over his on your shoulder, you finally answer him, “A dance would be nice. Just make sure your identity is covered. I don’t want you to get caught, please.”

“I don’t want to lose you. Don’t die.”

Those two sentences pulled Seungmin’s heartstrings. Even if avoiding death is a big oath to live by, he’d do anything to stay with you.

Losing each other has always been a topic you two talk about, especially in intimate moments like this. It was your way of declaring your love. It was your way to say that you’re never letting go of each other. Barriers and distress always come around, and you’ll let it pass every time you encounter them together. It was hard to be apart, hurting alone, after a piece of tragic news like losing your grandfather. What’s unfortunate was that it broke you more than usual because Seungmin did it. Your secret lover did it without fully holding himself back for you.

The two of you became numb that tragedies will always arise because of your social standing. You both resorted to surviving on your own and not delving into the casualties within your own families. Why? 

Because, in the end, only one will be standing amidst this feud. And losing anybody hurts way too much. You and Seungmin were hopeful enough that there’d be two left standing, or for the better, everybody could still live, and the rivalry would be over.

Unfortunately, the duel is still going on too strong, and it’d be a long way to make peace.

“Such a heavy promise, _____.” Seungmin grins and looks down for a second. “But, yes, of course. I’ll always make sure that I’m still here alive. Even if our families tell us to tear each other apart, I’ll live because of you.”

Here lies Seungmin and the promise to possibly break. He wouldn’t mind committing to a vow like that. He’ll do anything for you.

You breathed out heavily. “This feels so wrong, Seungmin. But I hope you know that I love you, alright?”

The shakiness of your voice alarmed Seungmin. He knows what that meant. It was your occasional doubts about your relationship. 

You had this before, too, when you were young. Yes, your families were unfortunately aware of your relationship, which was your problem. Simply being together will always make you question who will make the first move in threatening the other. No matter how space gets big or small between the two of you, both of you will always have a weapon ready to kill the other because your family said so.

“This is your chance to kill the rival gang’s heir, _____. Kill him.”

It felt right and wrong. You should’ve done that earlier if you did not fall for Seungmin. But if you did not fall for him, you wouldn’t feel the emotion of love and happiness if you buried yourself with anger and misery.

It felt wrong because you had your whole family behind you, looking forward to every chance to kill Solano’s intelligent and romantic heir. 

It felt right because you escaped the sorrowful life of being a part of a violent gang temporarily every time. You finally felt the butterflies on your stomach, the blushes, the goosebumps, and the tingles.

And Seungmin’s your first and last love.

You know he'll always be the one even if you’re separated by force or dead in each other’s arms.

“I love you too.” He finally moves away, reaching your hand. “I know you’re concerned about us, but it’ll be alright. You’re safe.”

Stepping back into the building, he pulls you into the function room past the arc. Soft classical music and the aroma of the menu filled your senses, comforting you somehow. The fear of getting caught with a Solano by your side, holding your hand, ruins your mood, a flat expression visible on your face.

Seungmin beside you should be reassuring you. He covered himself with a dark blue mask and an outfit he wouldn’t usually wear. The navy blazer, white dress shirt, and black slacks should be enough to hide his identity. He’s known for wearing black from head to toe here in Caasi, a city of color. Whether that was his jacket, t-shirt, or even his shoes, they were black. Any Leyva wouldn’t notice him now.

He looks nice, cleaner than usual — a nice change for one night.

He brings you to a small space in the middle of the room, filled with pairs slow dancing to the music. Seungmin slips his arms around your waist once again, looking forward to your touch on his skin for another time.

You lightly place your arms around his neck, tying your hands together behind him, your skin touching the nape of his neck and his smooth collar. “Can we not make us too obvious here?” 

He nods. “Quite a challenge, but anything for you, Miss Leyva,” he smiles. You want to remove his mask so bad. You want to see him smile at you with his whole face visible to your eye.

If only you two were dancing privately, you’d pull that piece of fabric in an instant.

Anybody can stumble upon your conversation, so you start with a discussion that is enough not to notice the sweet words and gestures. Hushing, you ask Seungmin. “I wasn’t able to ask you this earlier,” you chuckled, tilting your head, “but how were you able to discover the monster and those insects? How did you know they’re… one?”

He shivered over the memory but tried to answer you as calmly as possible. “We saw it on our way home. We found the monster releasing all of the insects from its back.”

“I was expecting as it’d get out of the monster’s mouth. That was a bummer.” You two laughed. Shaking your head, you ask him further about his discovery, “In all seriousness, did any of the insects chase you two after getting out of the monster?”

His mouth twitched. “We almost got the insects on our heads.” Seungmin felt the hands on his neck get heavier. “Hiding was our best option — we covered our heads with sacks, sitting behind boxes. The insects lost us when we ran away.”

You closed your eyes, relieved enough that Seungmin didn’t reach death by a tiny but lethal creature. “Thank god none of you got bitten. I’d be devastated if any of you gets bitten by that insect. We shouldn’t be losing any more people here in Caasi.”

Fear crossed Seungmin’s face behind the mask. Aside from you being one of his priorities, he had to finish what was breaking the city. They should move as soon as possible. People die every minute, and it has become a norm, something way too normal to see.

Incidents of dying because of the insects became regular, receiving multiple reports within a day. He once saw one die in the distance, noticing that the people didn’t care and the nurses nearby just dealt with the lifeless body immediately. 

Seungmin agrees with your statement, humming with contentment. The madness should indeed end as soon as they could. “If you’re going to the home of the Isidros, you must send a letter right away,” his brows drew together, “I am very sure that we’ll get anything to stop this madness. I’ll even go with you to make sure the information is safe—”

You tap his shoulder to stop his words. “No, I’ll be the only one going. I don’t want to give you that risk of going there with me.” Trying to lower your voice down, you continue. “Right after I visit, I will tell you everything in detail to ensure we didn’t miss anything to find answers.”

Seungmin, right then, realized that you established your desire of wanting him to live. But what about you? Will you be the one who needs to face the danger every time? “Everything we’ve been doing for the past few weeks has been a significant risk, _____. Accompanying you to their manor wouldn’t hurt as the things we previously did—”

“Take your hands off of my cousin, Solano. I know it’s you.” A voice boomed around the room, followed by a gun click, the weapon pointed right behind Seungmin’s head.

When Minho popped into your head with that hell of a display, you gently pushed Seungmin away, facing your cousin. This time, the gun is right in front of you. “Dear cousin, put that down—”

Minho resists. He points at Seungmin with his other hand, his forehead creasing with much aggravation, “I know that voice, _____! It’s—”

You reach for his wrist, ensuring he’ll not shoot anybody in this room. “No, it’s not. Leave the poor man alone, Minho. The stranger’s harmless. Solano would be gone in a second if he stepped into our territory, right?” You take a look around the room. You caught the sight of who you assumed was Jeongin, who took a careful step forward in case anything happened to his cousin. You warn Minho again with a soft voice, “Everybody’s scared of your gun, Minho. Put it down, keep it.”

You glance at Seungmin, waving your hand at him to quickly leave the scene. Minho sneers. Before he got the chance to speak, the silence broke with a woman’s cry.

No.

Someone’s dying. Again.

You want to break down on your knees and cry. With such instinct, you yell to everybody to get out of the room. Desperate enough to save more citizens, you push the ones nearby to the door. 

Noticing that more people slowly reach for their throats and kill themselves, blood flooding near tables and chairs, you try your hardest to push to your limit and put the people to safety. One by one, people are ‘possessed’ by the insect on their heads to end their life, and you feel so mad at yourself for that.

You failed to save them. They could’ve lived longer if that insect didn’t fly silently to their scalps.

Holding your tears, you take a deep breath and continue to rush to the people around to get out. You can’t break in front of all of them while trying to save them. Keep that for later and finish this.

You hear a familiar voice calling for your name. You quiver. This feels wrong. So wrong.

Running to where the voice is, you found Felix, Minho’s younger brother, and another beloved cousin, resisting his hand to reach for his neck. Your jaw clenches, straddling his waist and meeting your hands with his wrists to join him from not becoming a part of the madness’ pitiful victims.

Chanting his name, you hope the resistance would last, and he’ll live. “Please, I don’t want to lose you too.”

Please, let him live, you prayed.

This is what you don’t want — losing precious people. Why does this keep happening to you? 

You didn’t notice with your heart full of anger and resentment that you were already crying and breathing heavily. Looking behind, you get your body up and step on one of the legs shuffling on the floor. 

“Felix, hold on. Please, don’t put your hand on your neck!” You shout. Your chest is getting heavy metaphorically. You try to keep your hands on his wrists, feeling the pain on your fingers and wrists from the force Felix’s arms are pushing against you.

With his consciousness still alive, Felix has been trying to put his arms down not to claw his neck. He hated what came for him. Felix knew what you were doing for the city. He knows that you’re finding an end to the monster. But he’s been holding on way too long for his energy not to go to waste.

And perhaps, this is where he ends before your mission does.

You saw the eyes of your cousin, your brother, slowly lose their sparks. If he stopped himself a little more, you’d let go of one of his hands and search for the insects in his head.

You felt someone touch your arms from behind, pulling you back. You thought everybody got out already, including Lord Leyva and Minho. 

“_____, let him go,” you hear Seungmin grunt, pulling your hands away from Felix. You want to scream, to resist more along with Felix. You’d seriously do everything to keep one of the most valuable people you ever had alive. You’d hate yourself more if you leave this place with your dearest cousin dead and gone.

Feeling the strength of his hands to reach the neck get stronger, Felix slowly loses his energy to keep up and shallowly tells you, “You heard him, _____. I’ll be okay. I don’t want you to get these insects to your head either.”

“No, Felix,” you shake your head vigorously, repeating a few more before stepping your foot away from his leg and leaning to his chest, sobbing harder than before. “You mean a lot to me, Felix. I don’t want to lose you too.”

Technically lying down on his chest, you feel your tears fall to your cousin’s brown button-down. Seungmin reaches for your arms once again, pulling you away from him.

Seungmin calls for your name, telling you to get away from him immediately if you let him go. Sniffling whilst holding onto Felix’s pale wrists, you share your last few words with him.

“I’ll make sure I’ll end this madness for you, Felix. I’d hunt down whoever started this, whoever made you die like this.”

Seungmin jolted at how every word from your mouth felt like fire. Gripping on your limbs, he asks if you’re getting up. When you said yes without such emotion, he quickly pulled you up after you finally removed Felix’s wrists from your hands. 

When you get back up on your feet, you pull Seungmin into your body, covering your eyes with his chest and your ears with his hands. You chose not to see how your cousin died with his own bloody hand. 

Seungmin holds on to you securely, covering you up until Felix is truly lifeless. He shudders when he looks back at Felix’s body, his left arm lying on his chest, his hand painted red, and his neck sliced open. He wanted to give you a great night, only leaving you a catastrophe that might’ve changed your life for another time.

He removes his hands from your ears, stroking them on your head to check if any insect flew to your head. “He’s… gone now, _____.”

Your hands fall from Seungmin’s waist, moving back to look at the body — rage courses through your veins at the sight of your bloodied cousin. You crave violence even with no absolute idea of who started the madness. You want to kill who made these creatures with your own hands. 

Killing the culprit will be the only thing that will satisfy you for a lifetime.

Seungmin’s name fell off your lips, wanting his attention before you end the night. “I’ll send the letter to the Isidros tonight. Let’s end this as soon as possible. Meet me at the usual spot tomorrow first thing in the morning. ”

You guess you ate your own words. You’re not numb to losing people at all. You still care for others’ lives.

[cheezritsu]

Haikyuu Couple Aesthetics

Daichi Sawamura: good luck charms, front row seats at his games, the mature couple; “mom and dad” of the friend group; saying “goodnight” to one another on your doorstep, sentimental captions on their instagram posts, eating dinner and talking about your day like you’re already married; making plans for the future with one another involved; impressing one another’s parents; the thrill of doing everything together; being each others emergency contact; sleeping so well because your love is reliable and stable. You two are the timeless high school sweethearts, making the unattainable look so easy.

Sugawara Koushi: cafe dates, doting words, “sweetheart” and “darling,” laughing just from looking at one another. The secretly chaotic couple, perfectly curated dates, being approved by all his friends, soft, sweet pecks; random flower bouquets on your doorstep; kissing away your tears; hugs warmer than fresh baked cookies, grading student papers over dinner, smiley face post-it notes in your bento boxes, farmers market dates, always, always knowing each other’s favorite things; thoughtful gifts, mistakenly being called “Sugawara-san” before you’re married, shy smiles, kissing his beauty mark, a relationship as easy as the breeze. You two are like bees and flowers, working in tandem to create something natural and sweet.    

Nishinoya Yuu: cutting class to hang out in the hallways, popsicles melting in the summer heat, tongues dyed red and blue from convenience store slushies, dinner dates with no leftovers, neon colored band-aids, learning to hop a fence, scuffed sneakers, bruised arms. The lawless couple, squad posing in couple pictures, matching dyed streaks, sneaking out past midnight, pulling pranks, sitting on the swingset in the middle of the night, counting the stars over head. Adoring stares, “I’m so proud of you!”, kissing his bruises, screaming out the window of your car on a road trip. Traveling the world together, video messages, blowing kisses to each other, saying “I missed you!” after one day apart. You two are twin stars, constantly orbiting each other and burning brighter, together.

Tanaka Ryuunoske: shaving his head, mini skirts, being Saeko’s favorite, troublesome trio antics, late night food runs, horror movie marathons, couple gym workouts. The unexpected couple; getting compliments from the eldery on how cute you two are, flipping off his teammates while you kiss in front of them, excessive worrying, scaring off any boys that look at your wrong, the “Will Smith gesturing to his Wife” meme; thinking you’re too good for this world, calling each other “bro” romantically, kissing him after winning games, placing a beanie over his head in the winter, taking unflattering photos of one another with the most sincere captions. You two are the moth and the flame, drawn together by an inexplicable pull. 

Tsukishima Kei: Wool overcoats, headphone splitters, dogeared textbook pages, study dates, strawberry desserts, “This song reminded me of you.” The better than you couple, wearing his t-shirt to sleep, borrowing each others sweaters, kissing his bruised fingers, hiding in his jackets, going to the same university, softly singing in long car rides, always slightly touching one another, quick, secret kisses, height difference jokes, moon-centric nicknames (“moonbeam,” or “moonshine”) trying on his glasses, mirror selfies,sharing record collections, concert dates; weekend dinners at Tsukishima’s childhood house, being adorded by his teammates, dinosaur themed gifts as a joke, Studio Ghibli movie marathons, listen parties as dates, opening up to one another, “quit staring at me” “but I love you;” him constantly smiling when you’re next to him and denying it ever happened. Sharing insults as a love language, being soft when the time comes, humming into his hair as you fall asleep together. You two are a sweet, slow ballad; a duet between lovers in perfect harmony. 

Akaashi Keiji: library dates, meet cutes, book recommendations, fancy dinner dates, proofreading each other’s work, cuffed trousers, trench coats, french perfume, dainty jewellery, knuckle kisses, the academic couple; good grades, pet names, longing glances, visiting each other’s jobs, sharing clothing, reading books over his shoulders, cocooning in linen blankets, the scent of fresh laundry and lavender, running your hand through one another’s hair, smoothing wrinkles out of his works shirts, working around each other in the bathroom in the morning; matching schedules, museum dates, “you’re the Romeo to my Juliet.” “please don’t die for me.” Literature references, letting Bokuto third wheel, being the smartest couple in the room, massaging one another’s shoulders after long days, words of affirmation, sitting on top of his desk, smiling as he edits another page; “are you coming to bed?” ‘quick, secret smiles. You two are matching portraits in a museum, your love equally as timeless and beautiful. 

Oikawa Tooru: alien bandaids, golden hour selfies, matching skin care routines, wrapping his bandages, phone calls to remind him of things, leaning his head on your shoulder, the king and queen couple; listening to each others insecurities, being his biggest cheerleader, holding your face like it’s the whole world, helping him learn spanish, constantly bragging about one another, stupid nicknames in each other’s phones,  “~Iwa-chan!~”, the Seijoh team rolling their eyes at your PDA, threats from Iwaizumi, making promises you intend to keep, being his rock, letting him cry if he needs to, petty rants, keeping nail files in your purse, knowing the real him, framed couple pictures, teasing him with the team; “I have faith in you;” being there when each other needs it. You two are beloved monarchs, ruling your domain hand in hand with benevolent smiles. 

Kuroo Tetsuro: matching leather jackets, red lipstick kisses, theater hopping, chemistry puns, trying (and failing) to get rid of his bed head, constantly handsy, late night drives, cram sessions, lipstick smudges on his neck, “I’m always this kind,” Yamamoto crying in the distance, “Kenma, love us!”, being double trouble, the power couple; better grades together, singing off key, ugly couple photos, sleeping on the train, awful, cackling laughter, adored by his grandparents, stroking your hair as you fall asleep curled onto a too small couch; making it work no matter what, your eyes shining with pride at all his games. Being on the same wavelength, adoring stares while brushing your teeth, kissing him by his tie, making out in the back of taxis, pulling him into a well needed hug without thinking, playing with your food, whispering ‘I love you’ into the crown of your head. You two are immortal lovers, reunited in this life, and all those after. 

Osamu Miya: late night diner runs, lazy mornings in, being business partners, staying up late drafting new menu items, slow dancing in the kitchen, all you can eat buffets, roses before every date, subtle pda; the domestic couple; matching outfits, holding hands with intertwined fingers, clutching your chests with heavy laughter from each other’s jokes, eating half each other’s plates on dinner dates; devouring ice cream by the tub while bingeing television shows, treating grocery store runs like dates, falling asleep to his heartbeat, comfortable silences, long talks while washing dishes, baking cookies at ungodly hours, hanging onto one another’s arms, sneaking away from parties to be alone, tracing patterns on one another’s skin, whispering “I love you” when the other isn’t listening, temple kisses, side hugs, growing into one another, cooking food as a love language, having immense pride for the one another. You two are best friends, falling in love with each other over and over again every day.

Atsumu Miya: neon colored lights reflecting off his hair, open mouthed kisses, toothy smirks, house parties, being one another’s arm candy, diamonds glinting under flashing lights, breathlessness, wandering hands, showering together, black lingerie, superfluous travelling, first class seating, poorly concealed hickies, clinking champagne glasses, “That’s my girl/boy!” wearing his track jacket, selfies in expensive hotels; the celebrity couple, “I don’t speak broke,” shiny engagement rings, paparazzi photos, explicit pictures, red sports cars, winks meant only for you, hands on your waist, matching manicures, tipsy kisses, flaunting cash, making out on kiss cams, holding ring covered hands, never being alone; cheesy romantic texts, only having eyes for one another. You two are wrapped around each other’s fingers tighter than a bandaid, and that’s how you like it. 

[atlafan]

Tethered - Sneak Peek

Based off this ask.

a/n: this is going to be a doozy fam, the full thing is 27K. I really wanna take my time to proofread, so here’s the first few “pages” to hold you over. I’m hoping to post the full thing tomorrow if I can get it proofread tonight. Enjoy doctor!Harry!! 

Becoming a pediatrician was no small feat. Four years for an undergraduate degree, perhaps in biology, or biochemistry, something of that nature, four years of medical school, and then five years of residency. Thirteen years total, and hundreds of thousands of dollars just so people will know you as doctor. But it was worth it, and not just because a person can get paid nearly $200K a year, although, that was pretty nice. No, it was worth it because a pediatrician got to spend the day with babies and kids, and even teenagers, who loved coming in for a checkup. Most kids loved going to the doctor. It was someone they knew well, someone they trusted, and someone to sneak them an extra piece of candy after a particularly difficult flu shot.

Dr. Harry Styles was just about thirty, and had gone into business with another doctor, Dr. Niall Horan, to open up their own pediatrics office. After their residency, they both agreed that smaller offices were better than working in a wing of a hospital. It was pretty easy to do, Harry had a friend from undergrad that he stayed close with who was a business major. She helped them with a business plan, with hiring, and even selecting a proper location for their practice. They wanted a space with a proper parking lot and all that.

It wasn’t difficult to keep patients, most of the parents that brought their kids to see Niall and Harry at the hospital followed them to their new practice. Word of mouth spread about the two handsome doctors with the accents, and the rest was history. They hired a couple of nurses, and a receptionist or two, and they were up and running with style. They had a nice little play area for kids, and a TV in the waiting area for everyone else.

Harry loved kids ever since he babysat them as a teenager. He knew from a young age he wanted to become a doctor of some kind, opting to take Latin in high school to get familiar with the terms earlier on. Pediatrics was guaranteed money, which was good because medical school is fucking expensive, and Harry had to take out loans to go to a good school. He sure as hell didn’t expect his mother to pay for it. Oh, and his mother was extremely proud of him, of course. As was his older sister, who, wasn’t doing so bad herself either, she was an Ecologist. Anne was amazed by both of her children, having zero idea where they got their brains from. The only thing she didn’t like about Harry’s career path was that he had to put so much on hold while he was in school. She felt like he didn’t really get to enjoy being young. Not that he would ever tell her, but he made plenty of time for fun when he was in school, even during his residency, he and Niall had plenty of fun.

“But when do you think you’ll find someone to settle down with?”

“Mum, I’m only going to be thirty, got plenty of time for that.”

“I’d like to be able to actually play with grand babies and not just be some old crone in a rocking chair.”

“You have two children, you know?”

“Funny, your sister says the same thing to me all the time.”

Harry was just happy he practiced his medicine in an entirely different country from where his mother lived. His sister wasn’t so lucky to be far away, she got the brunt of the married and kids talks. It’s not that Harry didn’t want those things, he did. It just wasn’t the right time. He finally felt like he could breathe. He only had to work four days a week, and he was finally getting his home in order. He just wanted to get settled before he started going out to try to meet someone.

*                                                                                       *                                                                                             *

It was an average Tuesday morning. Harry came in at 7:30AM, and said hello to his staff. It was Niall’s day off so he’d be holding down the fort, which he didn’t mind one bit. It was spring time which meant lots of kids had been coming in with sinus infections. Harry always felt horrible for them. He was alerted that his 10AM was in and waiting for him. He snags the chart and looks things over. It was a new patient, Michael Y/L/N, age two, both of his ears hurt. Harry sighs and goes into the room, putting on his best smile.

His eyes fall to the little boy sitting up straight on the bed, and then they fall to the woman sitting in the visitor’s chair next to the bed. She was wearing a white blouse, and a light pair of jeans, cuffed at the ankles. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and she had her hands folded in her lap. Her lips were painted red and her eyes were being illuminated by some faint eyeshadow and long lashes.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Styles.” He smiles at her.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, and this is Michael.”

The two shake hands. Harry extends his large hand out to Michael’s, and his little hand grasps it.

“Well, Michael.” Harry sits on the rolly chair and skootches closer to the bed. “What’s going on today?”

Michael looks at Y/N and then back to Harry.

“Go on, you can sort of speak.” She smiles at her son.

“My ears.”

“Both of them?” The boy nods at Harry.

“I think some water got in there during his last tubby, and we weren’t able to get it out.”

“Ah.” Harry stands up and grabs his otoscope. “Michael, may I check your ears?” Harry always liked to ask the kids if he could touch them before he did. It was a way to show them early on that their bodies were their own.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” He smiles. He gently tilts Michael’s head so he can get a better look. He hums while he does so, and then steps to check his other ear. “Oh, yeah, they’re both infected.” He tells Y/N. “But not swimmer’s ear. Has he had ear infections before?”

“Yeah, a few. I think he has allergies. He gets them a lot in the spring.”

“The shape of his ear canal may have something to do with it as well. You may want to look into tubes down the line if this persists.”

“Aren’t those…” She looks at Michael and then back to Harry. “P-A-I-N-F-U-L?”

“They can be.” Harry chuckles. “They knock the kids out nowadays.”

Harry checks Michael’s nose and throat as well. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m going to write him a prescription, and then I’d like him to come in for a follow up so we can get his ears cleaned out. I’d do it now, but I don’t want him to get irritated. I’ll put a prescription for some ear drops too. That’ll loosen a lot of the wax up that he doesn’t need. He’ll need to lay on his side when you put them in, and then you’ll want to stick a tissue under his ear for run off. Get some cotton balls too, so when he stands it won’t all fall out.”

“Alright.”

“Michael, I know you don’t feel well, but if mum says it’s okay, I have some candy that may lift your spirts.”

“Mumma?”

“Sure.” You smile.

Harry opens a cabinet and reveals a bucket of different chocolates and lollipops. Michael sticks his little hand in and takes out a kit kat.

“His favorite.” She tells Harry.

“Anything for mum?”

“Oh, no thank you.” She scoops up Michael in her arms. “What do we say to Dr. Styles?”

“Thank you.” He beams up at Harry.

“You’re more than welcome. Here’s his prescription.”

“Thank you, Dr. Styles.” She takes the small slip from him, and he notices she’s not wearing a wedding ring. Just a simple ring on her middle finger in the shape of a sunflower. “We’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“Wait, uh, will I be expecting you or…another guardian?”

She stops short with Michael in her arms. She turns to look at him and she smirks.

“I’m home with him during the day, so it’ll be me.”

He lets her leave after that. He goes behind the receptionist desk, where Joyce was sitting, to look into her file.

“You only have a few minutes before your next appointment. You’re swamped without Niall here.”

“Eileen can handle it f’me.” He searches for Michael’s information in one of the spare computer’s. “Ah! Seems like they just moved to the area from a couple hours away.”

“Who?”

“That woman and her son.”

“You really shouldn’t shit where you eat.” She shakes her head.

“Oh, stop. I was just curious is all.” He stands up from the computer. “A man can’t know where his patient is from?”

“He can…but the patient’s mother…?” She smirks at him.

Harry rolls his eyes and walks away from her, going to wash his hands to get ready for his next appointment.

He tossed and turned when he first got into bed that night. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. She didn’t really answer his question about whether or not there was another person in the picture. A lot of people didn’t get married these days, but they at least still wore some type of ring, didn’t they? He thought to maybe see if she had any social media, but knowing her full name was confidential, and he didn’t want to abuse his power.

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {16}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: I never realize how much I drop “fuck” until I proofread...ah, oh well. 5 chapters left. Do y’all mind when I post 2 chapters in 1 day? yay? nay? I’ll only do 1 if it’s too much, but either way, R&R will be finishing up, soon.

Enjoy (you know, if possible).

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

One month had passed since they arrived in Hybern.

They had endured one battle, which lasted two weeks. Many of Hybern’s men went down, but a large number perished from their own side, too.

Even when they relaxed at camp, they were always on alert, always kept one eye open.

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand sat around the fire.

The three of them had created quite the bond, never leaving one another’s side - both in battle, and out. Rhysand had an opportunity to stay away from the front lines because of his title, but he did not. He stayed with Azriel and Cassian, refusing the opportunity without any hesitation. 

“Elain says she should start showing soon,” Azriel announced, the other two looking up from their letters. “She also says morning sickness is getting much worse.” 

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Cassian grinned. “If a little you was growing inside of me, I would probably feel like shit, too.” 

Azriel chuckled. “Yeah.”

Cassian knew that Azriel’s chest ached as he wondered how long he would have to be away. It seemed as if the war had only just begun, but he felt like he had been away from Elain for far too long.

“Any news from Feyre or Nesta?” Azriel asked.

“Feyre says Nesta is being extra bitchy,” Rhysand mumbled. “Other than that, she says she wrote to Elain, telling her to visit soon and their father is finally getting back this week. Oh, and they got a dog. Named him Oswald.” 

“Oswald?” Azriel asked, brows raised. “That’s a….nice….name.” 

Rhysand snorted. “And Nesta?”

They both looked at Cassian, who was reading his letter with narrowed eyes. “She gave me an update on the weather, says it has been raining a lot. I also hear of Oswald, and it is a terrible name, so don’t lie. She said she put a gift in here for me, but there was nothing in the paper.” He looked around for the envelope to put the letter back inside, and once he found it, and opened it up, he froze.

Azriel raised his brows as Rhysand reached for the envelope.

Cassian quickly put it out of his reach. 

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

Cassian put the letter back in the envelope and closed it. “Nothing. A photograph.”

Azriel blinked. “Of what?”

“Hmmm,” Rhysand hummed, leaning back. “Is this photograph of Nesta?”

“You will never know, will you?” Cassian asked.

“Is she nude?” Azriel chimed.

Cassian backed up, toward his tent. “I am going to bid you both goodnight.”

Rhysand howled as Azriel’s grin widened. “Alright. Don’t get too vocal with yourself, no one wants to hear all that.” 

Cassian rolled his eyes as he climbed inside, shutting the tent flaps behind him. He used a match to light his lantern, and his pipe, as he laid back against his blankets, atop the grass. 

He pulled open the yellow envelope, once more, removing the letter and setting it aside as he reached for the other contents. He pulled out a long, silver chain, an oval locket attached to the bottom. When he opened it up, all the tension was released from his body. 

On one side was Nesta, and on the other, was Marigold. Cassian chuckled at the photograph of the horse before brushing his thumb over the one of Nesta. She sat, poised, her chin lifted high. Even in black and white, he could see the intensity of her gray-blue eyes. 

He closed it shut and clasped the chain around his neck, tucking the locket beneath his shirt.

There was another photograph inside of the envelope. Azriel’s guess had not been wrong. Cassian took it into his hands and brought it closer to the lantern, his heart beating wildly. Her hair hung loose around her pale shoulders, reaching just below her breasts, which Cassian admired as he brought his pipe to his lips. Her legs were open, waiting for him, and he suddenly had the realization that someone must have taken such a photo, and wondered how Nesta had swung it without anyone seeing.

He laughed, under his breath, at the thought of Nesta ordering someone around to take a nude photo, only to have it instantly taken away and put in an envelope to ship to him overseas. He turned it over and on the back, it read, I know what you are thinking. Do not worry, Helion helped me with such a project and kept all details to himself. Cassian snorted - knew what he would be thinking, indeed. Then, below, it read, For when you are lonely. At night, this is how I wait for you to return. Hurry back.

Cassian flipped the photograph back over and ran his fingers down the image. She was so beautiful, especially when she was natural, bare. Nothing but the locket in which she sent along, the locket that was now around his neck, covered her skin. The silver oval laid between her breasts. 

He studied her until he could no longer bear to keep still. 

After unzipping his trousers, he wrapped his fist around his cock and began to stroke himself. His head fell back and his eyes fell shut, but the image of Nesta, his Nesta, remained.

~~~~~

Rhysand was eating a bowl of some kind of slop the next morning when Cassian emerged from his tent and stretched.

“Have a nice date with your hand last night?” Rhysand asked, filling his mouth.

“Fuck off,” Cassian said, shaking his head but unable to stop his grin. “Where’s Az?”

“Bringing our letters to the post. They’re going out this afternoon.” 

Cassian nodded, reaching for one of the bowls Rhysand had brought. “Okay, I grew up poor, but even this shit looks disgusting to me...and my standards are fairly low.” 

“At least it keeps us from starving to death,” Rhysand said. “Hopefully.”

Cassian was just about to reply as a bell sounded from the middle of camp. Rhysand quickly met his gaze, his jaw set, as soldiers all around them got to their feet.

Azriel was running toward them, eyes wild. “They’re coming, less than a mile away. We have to go.”

Rhysand swore, dropping his bowl to the ground as Cassian reached for their guns. A moment later, helmets were atop their heads and rifles were tossed across their backs and they were running across the landscape. Once in formation, they marched as one through the valley and halted. Beyond was the battlefield they had already seen, the battlefield in which so many had died around them. Rhysand looked to Cassian on his left. His friend was focused, his breathing even. He had a good shot, if he ever had nerves, he did not show it. Then Rhysand looked to Azriel on his right, who was closing his eyes. Azriel was fast, could dodge anything. Rhysand was not worried about either of them. He would not allow himself to be. They would stick together. They would make it out.

“Stay together,” Rhysand whispered.

The other two repeated, in the same quiet calm, “Stay together.”

~~~~~

“Feyre?” Nesta called, knocking on her sister’s door. “A letter just arrived from Elain. She will be here next week, she says.”

The door was opened a moment later.

Nesta froze.

Feyre’s eyes were red and puffy. “Sorry, I just….” her words trailed off and Nesta pulled her sister into her arms.

“Has something happened?” she asked. “Is Rhysand okay?”

Feyre nodded. “Yes, it’s nothing like that, I just….Nesta, I’m pregnant.” 

Nesta blinked. “Pregnant?”

Feyre laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Yes.”

Nesta smiled, wrapping her arms around Feyre even tighter. “That’s great news. Why are you crying?”

Feyre allowed Nesta into her room before she closed the door. They both sat by the fireplace, on the floor.

“I knew when I last wrote Rhys,” she explained. “But, I did not tell him. Now I feel guilty.”

“Why?” Nesta asked. “Why keep it a secret?”

Feyre nibbled on her bottom lip. “Is it truly better to tell him?”

Nesta’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...would telling him make him happier or just more upset that he is not here?” she asked. “He says he misses me, that all he thinks about is coming home, and if I tell him that I am with child, it would just be more of a burden. I thought perhaps I should wait, until he returns.”

Nesta nodded. “Well, I think you should let him know. He would want to know, considering he tried so hard to impregnate you to begin with.”

Feyre laughed, pushing her sister in the arm. “Perhaps. I do not know the right answer to anything these days.”

Nesta stared at her hands when she said.  “Would you like to know something that will cheer you up? Perhaps make you laugh?”

Feyre raised a brow. “You are going to tell me something that will make me laugh? That seems unlikely.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “In the last letters we sent, I put a photograph of myself inside.”

Feyre blinked. “Why would that make me laugh?”

Nesta could not control her smile as she said, “Because I was not wearing any clothing.”

Feyre’s mouth fell open before she broke into a fit of laughter. “You? Nesta? You sent Cassian a nude photograph?” 

Nesta nodded, her own laughter sputtering out. “Yes. I wonder if he has received it, yet.”

Feyre put her hands over her mouth. “I cannot believe you did such a thing! How was it? Was it awkward?”

Nesta shook her head. “No, Helion took it when he was here last week, in my room. It was actually quite invigorating. I have never felt so….I don’t know. Powerful.” 

Feyre’s laughter died down as she watched the flames. “How very risque of you.” 

“Indeed,” Nesta agreed, then looked at her sister. “I am happy for you.” She nodded toward her sister’s abdomen. “Truly.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said, patting her sister’s knee. “And I am so very proud of you.”

Nesta looked over at her sister and they both broke into laughter, once more.

They were not certain of much lately, but they were certain that when their worlds were full of the unknown, laughter was the best medication.

~~~~~

Cassian had never seen so much blood.

The explosion happened quickly, no one had seen it coming. At the time, Cassian had his rifle pointed at one of the enemy, and the moment he pulled the trigger, as if on que, the ground exploded.

He was knocked on the ground, into the dirt, his ears ringing as he looked around for his brothers.

Rhysand was on the ground a few yards away, but he was already pulling himself up, rifle in hand. 

To his other side, men lay scattered, motionless.

He called out for Azriel, and when he looked back to Rhysand, his violet eyes were wide and panicked. 

“There!” he shouted, but Cassian could hardly hear him. He turned himself around, pulling himself fully off the ground, as he followed Rhysand’s gaze.

Azriel lay still, his gun a few feet beside him, his helmet having flown from his head. He was covered in blood, how much was actually his, Cassian was not certain. 

They were all covered in blood.

Their fellow man’s.

Their enemies.

Cassian and Rhysand ran to his side, sinking down in the dirt alongside him. Rhysand instantly had his back to them both, his gun raised, protecting them. 

Cassian pressed his ear to Azriel’s chest. “He’s still breathing.”

Rhysand gave a curt nod, the only sign he had heard as he pulled the trigger, firing upon any threat coming toward them. 

Cassian found the gaping wound coming from his side and tore open his shirt, where blood was flowing. “Fuck,” Cassian breathed, pressing his hands down on the wound to stop the flow. “Fuck! Rhys….Rhys, we have to get him out of here. We have to get him to medical.” 

“Can you carry him?” Rhysand called, still holding up his gun, not looking behind him. 

Cassian panicked. He was losing blood. So much blood.

He tossed his gun up to Rhysand, who took it and put it around his shoulder without taking his concentration from his own. Cassian quickly pulled off his shirt and tore it into long strips, his helmet discarded. He bundled up a few of the strips and pressed them into the wound, then tied a few together to make it long enough to wrap around Azriel’s abdomen a few times. Once he tied it tight, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I can.”

“Okay,” Rhysand called. “Let me know when to walk, I’ve got you both.”

The blood was still pouring from the wound, although not as bad.

With a grunt, Cassian lifted Azriel off the ground, carrying him over his shoulder. “Fuck, you heavy bastard,” he groaned, getting himself into a steady position. “Alright, Rhys, I’m moving!”

Then they both were moving, Azriel unconscious, but his heart still beating within his chest, against Cassian’s back. He was heavy, and nearly Cassian’s height, but Cassian did not let himself think of it as he hurried through the gunfire and around those that were already dead.

“Do not die on me,” Cassian grunted, Azriel’s weight starting to slow him down, “Do not fucking die on me. Elain would kill me if I let you die. Do not die, you hear me? You’re going to be a dad, do not fucking die on your kid!” Cassian yelled, eyes still ahead, blurred with tears but determined. “Do not fucking die on me!” 

Rhysand’s gun fired from behind them. 

“We’re almost to the clear!” Cassian called.

“I don’t see many more from Hybern!” Rhysand called back. 

Cassian could feel the warmth of Azriel’s blood sinking through the shreds of his shirt, onto his own skin, down his arm.

He suddenly became lighter a moment later, once they neared the end of the valley. Rhysand, with both rifles slung across his chest, said, “I’ll take his legs, you take his arms.”

Cassian nodded, putting Azriel down as gently as he could among the grass. He put his fingers against Azriel’s neck and swore before putting his forearms underneath Azriel’s underarms.

Rhysand took him beneath the knees and they lifted him from the ground, and they hurried, as fast as they could, across the remaining distance.

When they reached the camp, the medical tent was the first to appear.

They brought Azriel inside and a nurse yelled for a table to be cleared. Rhysand and Cassian put him down, then both stepped back to let the nurses swarm him.

“He’s going to be okay, yeah?” Rhysand asked, face paled. “He’s still breathing? He’s going to be okay?”

No one answered him, which only made Cassian ask, louder, “Just tell us he’ll fucking make it!” 

A nurse pressed her hands against the newly unraveled wound as she said, calmly, “Yes, he’s still breathing.”

“That doesn’t answer my fucking question,” Cassian spat. 

Rhysand met him at his side and started to pull Cassian back. “Let them work.”

Rhysand’s hands were surprisingly calm as Cassian turned to him, Rhys’ face covered in the blood of others and dirt, his hair drenched in sweat and wild. 

“He can’t die, Rhys,” Cassian breathed.

“I know,” Rhysand said, taking Cassian’s face in his hands. “I know, alright? So we have to let the nurses work. Yeah? We have to let the nurses work, Cass.” 

Cassian nodded, and Rhysand did not let go of Cassian’s face until his breathing began to even.

A soldier poked his head into the tent a moment later and said, “Hybern retreated. It is done for the day.”

The nurses gave a sign of understanding and the soldier went away. Cassian had not even heard them coming back, had not even heard the shouts of victory from the outside. 

“You two may stay, if you wish, but you have to sit to the side,” a nurse said, the one with her hands against Azriel’s wound.

Cassian nodded as he and Rhysand went to the side of the tent and slumped to the ground. 

Neither of them spoke as they waited. 

~~~~~

Hours passed, the day had gone and turned into night, and he did not open his eyes. The nurses had sterilized the wound the best they could and sewed his skin shut. He had lost a lot of blood. 

Rhysand looked at Cassian every once in a while, but neither of them said a word, neither of them dared. Cassian still sat with his chest bare, covered in filth, dried blood matting his hair to his forehead. Rhysand assumed he did not look much better. 

The minutes were passing too slowly, it was agonizing. Rhysand had killed more than he thought he would have to since arriving at Hybern. The thought was unnerving, but he tried not to dwell on it. He was protecting himself, protecting Azriel and Cassian. 

“If he dies, how would I ever go back?” Cassian whispered. Face glowing in the lanterns that surrounded them. “How could I stand there, in front of Elain, and Feyre, and Nesta, and tell them that Azriel died?”

Rhysand cleared his throat, his gaze falling to his hands where he began picking off the dried, crimson coat. “I don’t know.”

Cassian nodded, eyes empty. “They have a baby on the way, Rhys.”

“Yeah,” Rhysand breathed, not bothering to wipe away the tear that fell down his tanned cheek.

Cassian shook his head, but said no more.

When the silence became unbearable, Rhysand stood and walked to Azriel’s side. His chest was still rising and falling, his wound closed. Rhysand reached up to feel his forehead. He did not feel feverish. 

“Before we left,” Rhysand began, quietly, “me and Feyre tried, for a baby. Seeing you here now…” his words trailed off and he shook his head. “Elain needs you. That baby needs you. Fight for them, yeah?” he used his torn shirtsleeve to wipe at his eyes, his nose. “If you can hear me, you have to fight for them. Because if it were me in your place, and Feyre was pregnant, that woman would cut off my fucking balls.” 

Cassian stood and joined them at Azriel’s other side. Rhysand knew Cassian was thinking of their conversation on the ship. I wanted to give her a baby, to look at, to love, to remind her of me, if I don’t make it back. 

Azriel’s eyes rolled behind his eyelids, and both Rhysand and Cassian froze. 

“Az?” Rhysand whispered.

Azriel’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He stirred, then groaned, softly.

Cassian and Rhysand said nothing as they watched, as they waited. 

Rhysand thought he would collapse once Azriel’s eyes fluttered open and met his gaze. “Rhys. Cass….”

Rhsyand nodded toward Cassian where Azriel’s eyes slowly trailed to. Cassian stood completely still, as if he were afraid to breathe. 

Azriel let out a breath as his eyes closed, once more. 

But his hands found theirs. One in Rhysand’s, the other in Cassian’s. 

“My side…” Azriel began, as if each word brought him pain, “fucking hurts.” 

Cassian, unable to control himself, began to laugh, and when he couldn’t stop, Rhysand started to laugh, too.

Azriel’s hands tightened around theirs, smiling faintly, eyes still closed. 

That battlefield had been littered with the dead, husbands and sons and fathers who would be no more.

But Azriel would not be one of them.

They promised to stay together.

They would stay together. 

At least, for now.

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red@littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty  @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth @queenofillea1 @mynewdreamwasyou @levivlio @hellolenas @burritowithfeels @that-other-pineapple @girl-who-reads-the-books @raghad-50725@musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld @negativenesta  @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit@sannelovesreading @nerdperson524 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nerdperson524 @mariamuses @gorl-power @booklover242 @rowaelinforeverworld @regular-nessian-trash @izou1204 @aelin-rowan-whitehorn @opheliatheemerald @eversincebeirut @musicmaam @ladybookwrm​ @santas-dwynwen​ @starryandbooks​ @candid-confetti​

[tripstaysnoided]

Flow Just Like Water

Story and writing-related transparency update and my many shames...

The Question on Everyone’s Mind

“Hey you haven’t updated No Stars over Uptown in almost a year...”

Hmm, I hate it when you’re right. (This section has been rewritten ad-nauseam to curb back the bitchiness by the way)

So back in early/mid 2018, the idea was to divorce Uptown from a person who influenced it (and myself) heavily. She was my most important audience member, the closest friend I ever had, and unfortunately someone who used her power to bully, ostracize, and hurt others with my help. I cut contact when the hurt + some self-awareness finally reached me. Apologies were made and I feel like my work will never be done with it, but there was still Uptown.

Between censored comments, entirely recasting Axel’s save, different plot threads, and a load of disclaimers, there was nothing that would scrub her influence from the story. There was no way to cleanly drop everything because of how deep her influence went. It disgusted me to look back at it, and I had to private the blog because I feared what it endorsed, even if just in the past.

I pulled back from that sims writing community. I had its main thread on the Official Forums removed too (I guess if that was a mystery to anyone). It was a surrender that I never wanted to do, but I had it in my mind that if I was gone, then she wouldn’t be there either. Uptown became this cursed item, and as I quietly retired it, I noticed that she went quieter too. Not gone, but enough to make me sleep easier at night and even occasionally say hello to old friends.

And I hope deep in my heart that no one else is getting hurt in my place, but now this is gonna haunt me all day huh!

The two paths forward...

1) Complete Uptown rewrite that I’ve been threatening everyone with all year. While it won’t ever be clean because I can’t undo time, I do have a sound outline for a story that is much more true to my actual vision and how I’ve evolved, with a few necessary boundaries in place that are going to be there for all stories moving forward: no more casting calls and no more collaborative efforts. I am not going to open myself up to this happening again, even if the people have changed.

2) Same as above, but I continue the original Uptown as a favor to loyal readers alongside the rewrite. I would try to put the effort into it that I initially did, but with no promises on an update schedule and no advertising. I did ask myself “is there Patreon but without pledging money, just the private posts function” but it could operate as part of a private forum, a members-only part of a website, etc.

Also readers of the original would be beholden to a rule of “don’t spoil the rewrite for new readers, c’mon guys”. I mean, not really, but it is a good courtesy to extend to people.

Priority on this isn’t high but you at least will see what is!

I will probably make the blog public again either way due to the many broken links on my Tumblr but we’ll see. There are other things to deal with as I shall list!

Where Life’s Been Regardless

Been spending more time with my grandpa every weekend. Life’s pretty good and he’s warming up to my dogs.

Shiny New Webbed Site

Cucumber Fields Forever is a site I own now. We have a full domain, cucumberfieldsforever.com, a blog with one post, and the framework needed to host stories the way I want to and still through WordPress. The functionality of likes, comments, and following should still be the same but you know...I’ll take feedback too...

The main blog still has an undefined purpose though I do have drafts sitting around about:

The maybe/maybe not hoax band that was on the Metal Archives and the history of Funeral Doom Metal.

The curious case of when Sims 4 babies get their genetics and my only collaboration (read: was talking about it with a friend and might quote her if needed, it’s actually a bit of a doozy)

Amazon.com’s fake dried udon noodles, an actual issue by the way.

Things I’m reading! (This’d be a monthly feature if so)

For the sake of unity, I am thinking of solutions for hosting old and shameful content there including Uptown and for the real fans in my followers feed, Eight Cicadas...a world I totally have plans for too (not really). I don’t want them to be front-and-center, and that’s why I mentioned forums/members-only content. I finally have that power! Maybe.

Ooooh but what are the costs? Not too much to handle, that’s what. 😉 (Like really, I don’t need any hand-wringing about this, I can manage my finances)

Project Queue (In Order of Confirmedness)

Outrun the Scythe: have you seen me post out-of-context Sims 3 pictures? Did you want more? Did you hope it was Linda in Custody? If the answers are yes, yes, and “meh, whatever you want”, then you’re in luck.

Outrun the Scythe is a Sims 3-based tale of a young gay man and his zombie grandma, as they are both offered separate roles of being the undying intermediaries between the world of humans and the influence of a race of space daemons. It’s pretty familiar if you’ve been following me pre-Uptown, taking some cues from stories I’ve kept under lock and key like Eight Cicadas, The Chains of Lyra, and the not-so-locked-up Ironstar Immortals (of which Outrun is just the direct sequel to sans any retconning...ah the smell of early 2013 and performative heterosexuality)

Ah, back to my roots.

It’s a hybrid of gameplay, story, and lore about my little race of daemons with a lot of my own idiosyncrasies that I’m not really ashamed of: basing it off a super-polarizing Sims 3 challenge from a site I moderate, using a lot of EA’s pre-made townies and their genes, lots of unnecessary posemaking, stupid references. It’s a comfort to have in my roster.

While the first few chapters are in the middle of revision, I have around six in the queue and will be making this public when I have ten. I’m guessing December then?

Undocumented Black Widow Challenge: I just did this for fun/forum kudos (yes, in fact I have joined many forums), there was going to be a short story but it was quickly becoming something against my code of ethics. I mean, sims die and all. (read: I had to choose between “heterosexual widow” and “widow with some same-sex marriages that still end in tragedy, reinforcing negative stereotypes to the public for the sake of me not getting bored and detached during gameplay” so there were no good choices. Except for her affair with the mailwoman, 10/10) I hope to finish this before October ends and get my medal on Boolprop, I’m pretty far through it all. I might upload the sims involved anyways. This is for TS4.

I mentioned it because it’s keeping me busy. But not for long!

NaNoWriMo 2020: Dipping my toes into that again! It’s not sims-related, just a tale of lesbians, nosy neighbors, a haunted beach house, and some light murder and kidnapping. And I actually got my brother to scout out locations for me this weekend. If there’s any demand, I can share chapters as the rough drafts are finished, especially for the sake of proofreading.

Not saying I’m publishable, but wouldn’t it be nice? Will keep me occupied for much of November.

Untitled “Dear Diary” Challenge: Tired of feeling left out of the fun on the Boolprop forums, their “Dear Diary” challenge was the one that appealed to me the most on first glance. Why? Probably once I found an idea that let it be set in the early/mid-2000′s to begin with and explore some interesting characters through diary entries (which I have mixed feelings on as a literary device but I think that’s just me saying “well I didn’t like Dracula”, yes you get bonus points for writing it like a diary)

Also writing is the one skill I’m good at across multiple games. Wanna hear me bitch about the cooking skill tree in TS4 or riding in TS3? I’ll spare you.

I guess I could have included “spending time on Boolprop with old and new friends” in where my life has been. It’s a nice lil community if also a place with its own idiosyncrasies as well. So it doesn’t feel like I’m promoting another community if/when I make a thread there for Outrun the Scythe, I want to have a couple chapters of this ready to go by Outrun’s release, though it’s not gonna be the highest priority compared to it nor as long because I think I can blast through the gameplay quickly.

This one will be played in TS4 due to it having the easiest writing skill/I dunno variety is the spice of life. And hopefully another December release.

Defunded or Forgotten?: Oh shit I actually released stuff in 2020 and told no one? I do have a “mortifying ordeal of being known” sinking feeling whenever I get a site hit because it’s not my best work (but good enough) and veered sharply into issues I may be over my head in, though I try to be a good noodle with research and listening. Maybe hiding is bad after all.

Being based off a very flawed and incomplete Sims 3 challenge I found in the annals of the Official Forums, there’s a lot of behind-the-scenes work just making sense of things. And I’m scared of working on reconstructing the house but I haven’t abandoned the project yet. The story has eight chapters so far and is pretty game-based with some additions here and there. Scared of how long it could be though!

Date for this unknown.

Untitled Sunlit Tides Decadynasty: another year-long abandoned TS3 project with a much stupider reason why. Last update was about Hua getting ready for her wedding, and I wanted to do some poses for a bait-and-switch wedding chapter because to put it mildly, her real one was an absolute disaster.

Blender decided to fuck up its interface again, I got discouraged (this probably does account for some of the Uptown delays too), and when I decided to plow forward, it was for other projects instead.

Meanwhile I played all the way to Gen 5′s teenhood and the only thing stopping me is time (it takes almost 30 minutes to load the file right now, though they’ll be looking at moving towns in a couple gens) and maybe fear of the Logic skill.

Date for this also unknown but it’s easy to pump out updates once I’m in the groove for it. My third heir had a difficult life so maybe I’m just trying to bury it.

Also I just noticed the view count there was really good and probably because I linked it here on Tumblr last year. Thank you so much guys. I can’t really fret over views on Carl’s forum these days thanks to the years-long death spiral pretty much every forum anywhere has been riding on. But it’s a nice surprise. And it’s an alright little challenge recap to read during your lunch break or whatever.

The Wawas

I figured I’d end on the real news everyone wants! Both the chihuahuas are a year and a half now and reached their adult size around a year ago. For the most part, they are happy and healthy dogs.

[dp-marvel94]

Face to Face-Chapter 16

Summary: When Danny went through the ghost catcher, he expected to be cured of the ghostliness that had haunted him since the accident, not to wake up on the lab floor with his parents saying he’d been overshadowed but everything’s back to normal now. But why does Danny Fenton cry himself to sleep to then dream of flying? Why does Phantom, the ghost who was supposedly possessing Danny remember a life that wasn’t his? Most of all, why do both the human and the ghost feel that something vital is missing, in their very soul? Or: Trying to cure himself of his powers one month after the accident, Danny accidentally splits himself but neither his ghost nor his human half know that that is what they did

First ->Last -> Next

Word Count: 5,385

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Note: I'm back with a new chapter! I would have posted this last weekend but I took a trip out of time and didn't have time to proofread it with my sister until yesterday night. But anyway, I hope you enjoy this!

Phantom felt numb, like a balloon, weightless, disconnected. His eyes unfocused, seeing nothing. His ears were full of cotton, only muffled, faraway sound penetrating his sluggish mind. If he was human right now, he’d be stiff, his muscles struggling to drag himself forward. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t turn human because the fusion failed. He was still incomplete, half a being...and he’d never felt more like the ghost he was. 

Floating silently, he let himself be led by his sister, down the hall and to his bedroom. His other self stumbled robotically beside her, mirroring his ghost half’s sober posture.

Jazz stopped outside Danny’s bedroom door. She turned to face the two halves. “Good night, Danny.” 

With a soft smile, she leaned forward to kiss Fenton and then Phantom on the forehead. If either Danny was more aware, they’d have leaned away, nosing wrinkled in disgust. Or wiped the ‘kiss’ away with an annoyed groan. But both halves were numb, eyes fixed down sadly.

Their sister frowned, turning the knob and pushing the door open. “I love you so much. And I’m here if you want to talk, even in the middle of the night.”

The words passively washed over Phantom, who couldn’t even think to respond. But his human half sighed, glancing up at Jazz. “Okay.” He said meekly.

Jazz’s lips twitched, her frown threatening to deepen. Her brow wrinkled in thought as her gaze flitted between the two boys. Out the corner of his eye, Phantom could almost see the decision mulling in her head, hover and try to comfort or give them space. After a moment, her shoulders fell. “Okay.” Her expression softened. “I’ll see you in the morning. Try to get some sleep.”

Hesitantly, the girl stepped away, slowly walking to her door and all the while watching the two until Fenton stepped through the door and Phantom followed. The ghost closed the door. Silently, Fenton who was still in his day clothes, grabbed a pair of pajamas from the drawers. Without any warning to his ghost half, he started undressing. Phantom didn’t even bother to blush, just looking down to give an illusion of privacy (ha). As if he needed privacy from himself. And that was supposed to be him. The merging was supposed to work, leaving only one Danny to get dressed for sleep and climb into his bed. But instead, Phantom was still stuck like...like….this. Just a ghost.

“Phantom.” His own voice broke the silence. “I’m sorry. Mom and Dad...they’ll….” 

Oh, yeah. There was Mom and Dad to think about too, who may or may not believe them about being the same person. The ghost sighed, looking up to find his human self now dressed in spaceship pajamas. 

The human continued, frowning. “We’ll….we’ll figure this out. We’ll figure out how to re-fuse and get Mom and Dad on board. And...it’ll be okay, right? Yeah.” 

Fenton looked at him with wide, begging eyes. A silent plea for comfort, for assurement of his hope. But Phantom couldn’t muster the response his human half was looking for.

Instead, his expression turned carefully neutral. “You should….try to sleep.”

“Oh.” Fenton’s shoulder dropped, disappointed. “I guess I should. Yeah. It’s late and….” The human trailed off, eyes focused down as he sat on the bed.

Silence fell again, the atmosphere heavy. Phantom turned around, looking out the window. After a few moments, the bed behind him creaked. The ghost glanced back, seeing his human self laying down and settling under the covers, a somber expression on his face.

The ghost’s brow uncreased, his lips turning up slightly. “I think….I’m going to go for a flight. Ok?” He floated forward, meeting his other half’s eyes. “Good night, Danny.”

The boy blinked, his own expression softening. “Good night, Danny.” He muttered, closing his eyes. 

Phantom nodded, turning back around. His softer expression falling, he phased through the window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ghost streaked across the sky, the wind stinging his face. Maybe another night he would have enjoyed the speed, the sensation but now….he just wanted to flee as if he could get away from his own thoughts. But one’s own mind is not something that one can so easily escape.

Mom and Dad’s faces flashed through his mind. Heartbroken, teary, and guilty. Like they’d been after talking in the lab that morning. It was painful and that reaction he’d understood and could accept but after…..Mom’s thoughtful expression as she contemplated his origin. Scientific curiosity and excitement when Mom and Dad talked about him like he wasn’t even there, as they threw hypotheses back and forth about how he was a formerly unaware copy. A kind but pitying look that made him feel sick. ‘No wonder you were so confused.’

The boy careened to a stop, now in a forest at the edge of town. He felt his core flare within his chest, the cold energy swirling. At the same time, Mom’s words burned in his mind. 

‘Phantom’s just confused. We’re trying to help him.’ Over and over again. ‘Phantom was confused and they were just trying to help. They were the adults, the experts so they knew best.’ They did want to help; But really, that was worse than them just rejecting him. If they had just rejected him, the boy would know how to react, how to feel. He would know to not trust Mom and Dad, to not give into the hope that things would get better. But now…..

More words painfully pricked at his core. ‘Get away from the ghost!’ His parents loomed over them, threatening to pull him and his human self apart. ‘That ghost is lucky we don’t-’ Guns, cages and experiments. Another threat, subtle, just below the surface. They hated ghosts, rambled about how they would study and experiment on them. Except….

They would never hurt him, right? He was their son; they loved him. They just wanted what was best for him, to help him?

But they never listened! He and Fenton told them exactly what they needed but they refused to believe it. Mom and Dad were being so stubborn and bull-headed and blind. They just wouldn’t listen…. until Jazz stepped in and beratted them for their bias. 

And that was the real problem; they still hated ghosts. Ghosts weren’t like humans….they’re lesser... Confused post human consciousness. Not evil monsters but…’unnatural, wrong’.

Phantom’s fists balled; he was still unnatural and wrong in their eyes. His own parents and they thought this, he was wrong. That word, wrong, it burned again and again, stabbing his core. He was wrong, a freak like he thought. He’d never be normal again and Mom and Dad saw that now and said he ‘wasn’t supposed to be a ghost’. Their son, their Danny wasn’t supposed to be, should not be a ghost.

Anger flared, ectoenergy igniting in the ghost’s hands. He’d already dealt with this, damnit! He’d acknowledged and accepted that this was just what he was, a ghost. There was nothing he could do about it; it was just reality. But he could live with it, for lack of a better word. And his friends still loved and accepted him. Jazz still loved and accepted him. But most importantly, his other half finally understood and accepted this. Or Phantom at least thought he had.

The ghost mentally growled, pain prickling again at remembering his human half’s wide fear-filled eyes, the flicker of doubt he’d felt from him. What’s worse, Fenton had pushed him out. They’d tried to merge and his human self had pushed him out of his own body. Anger flared again and the ghost shook his head. This was ridiculous; he knew this was ridiculous. The fusion had failed, painfully. Fenton pushed him out because they were both in pain and it wasn’t working. But...it still hurt so damn badly! How could his human do that after everything? Why couldn’t the merge have just worked?!

Phantom’s eyes flashed bright, the light in his hands flaring before shooting forward, away from his hand, and impacting a tree. The bark singed. The ghost’s eyes widened at the sight, surprised. Earlier today, he would have been alarmed at the display, ashamed that he was capable of something so destructive with so little effort. But now, he finally realized how angry he was. He hadn’t really been properly angry since this started, not like this, but now the emotion raged within him, roaring through his veins.

Another ectoblast. Why did all this have to happen? The accident, the portal, the ghost catcher, being split. Why did he go into that portal? Why did he have to die? Why did he have to split himself? A branch fell, neon green energy severing it from the tree trunk. Why did Fenton have to split them? Why did Mom and Dad love his human half but not him? The ghost shivered, something like jealousy running up his spine (except he probably didn’t have one, since he was a ghost). He was angry at, jealous of human half, of himself. And it was horrible. Why did Fenton push him out? He thought the human wanted him but this kept happening. They took one step forward, towards accepting themself just to take two steps back.

And Mom and Dad. It’s all the same with them. One step forward, two steps back. Gritting his teeth, Phantom shot another blast and a sapling fell. He thought they accepted him, just for them to turn around and deny his very existence. Another blast, scorching a rock. And then! And then, they finally said they believed both of him about being a hybrid. Mom and Dad said they’d help them fuse. But could he really believe that? Chest heaving. More neon green light. Leaves incinerated. What if they changed their minds? Or where just saying that so he and Fenton wouldn’t do something ‘reckless’ and try merging again? What if they were hoping to research him, claiming to find a way to fix them but were really trying to prove that their theory was right?

With a shout of rage, Phantom pushed more power out of his hands. The ectoenergy impacted a tree with a thud. The plant creaked, the trunk splintering. With a crash, the tree fell. The ghost paled, feeling the anger drain out of him. It was replaced by dull shame as his panting breath slowed. He...hadn’t meant to do that. Well….he’d been meaning to let off some steam but he hadn’t meant to be that brutal. He let himself lose control and…..someone could have been really hurt if he hadn’t been alone.

Shoulders falling, the ghost fixed his gaze on his hands, watching the light flicker around his fingers before it blinked out. He sighed, really taking in his surroundings for the first time. The green leafed trees, softly rustling in the breeze. The hoot of an owl and chirping of insects. The beat of wings. A green earthy smell and a soft hint of flowers. Phantom startled slightly, not at the still surprisingly peaceful environment, despite the destruction he just wrought. But at the supernatural clarity of the scene. With his ghostly night vision, every leaf was distinct, the image crisp. He could even see the colors of the flowers growing in the understory. 

How hadn’t he really noticed this before now? He sighed again. As cool as the enhanced sense was, it also made him sad. Another reminder of this strange situation. He was here, in the middle of the night. Alone. Unable to turn human. Stuck as a ghost, with little idea of why the merging didn’t work. And Mom and Dad? Their former (?) disbelief still sent pangs through his core. Could he even hope to trust them again? The ghost put his head in his hands. What was he supposed to do?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was long as Phantom spent it alone. He wandered the woods for a while before taking to the sky again. He flew up, trying to enjoy the star up above the clouds for a while. Then he took to flying around town aimlessly. Almost like he was haunting Amity Park…..Maybe he was, though Phantom didn’t know how he felt about that. It felt almost natural for him as a ghost, not that there was really anything natural about being a ghost. He wondered what his human self would think or the whole Danny. The fact that he didn’t know made him uneasy.

The night felt like it dragged on into eternity, but eventually it ended as the sun rose, bathing the world in light. The ghost phased back into his bedroom a little while after to find the room empty, the bedsheets ruffled and pajamas discarded. His human self had probably already gone downstairs for breakfast; it was a school day.

That familiar uneasy feeling rose in the ghost’s gut. Fenton was downstairs….with Mom and Dad. He should...he should go down and join them, face his parents. But….what if…?

Doubts rose but the boy pushed them down. He’d be fine. He just needed to take the plunge. Taking a calming breath, he phased through the door and floated down the stairs. He stopped at the foot, taking in the scene. His parents, not wearing hazmat for once, and his half-asleep human self sat around the table. 

As he quietly crossed the living room, Dad looked up from his breakfast. The man grinned at him. “Danny-boy! You’re up!”

Mom also looked up, smiling at him. “Good morning, Sweetie.”

Phantom stopped, now in the kitchen. He rubbed the back of his neck, now feeling awkward. “Oh Yeah. Good morning.” 

Dad’s grin shifted slightly, dimming as if he noticed the boy’s nervousness. Waving at the boy, he said. “Come on and join us son.”

Mom gave him a nodd, still smiling at him comfortingly. She held up a plate of baked goods. “I made some cinnamon rolls. Why don’t you grab a plate?”

After a questioning glance at his human half who gave a slight nodd, Phantom opened one of the drawers and grabbed a plate as Mom suggested. He then took a seat at the table across from Fenton, where Jazz normally sat. Speaking of….

“Where’s Jazz?” The ghost asked.

Fenton answered through a yawn. “Upstairs. She was in the shower when I came down.”

Phantom nodded; now that the human mentioned it, he’d thought he’d heard the shower running upstairs. “She might be a bit. You know how she likes to hog the shower.” He tried for a mischievous grin but it fell flat.

“Yeah.” His human self added with similar lithelessness. But Phantom couldn’t tell if it was because the boy was tired or he was feeling nervousness similar to Phantom’s.

With nothing else to say on that subject, the ghost reached for the cinnamon rolls and placed one on his plate.

“Do you want some eggs and bacon too?” Dad offered, passing another plate.

“Sure.” Phantom said, though he didn’t really want the food. It’s not like he could taste it.

But he added two pieces of bacon and a spoonful of eggs anyway. Half-heartedly (half-coreedly? Since he had a core instead of heart right now), he picked at the food, trying to ignore how out of place he felt. This, eating breakfast with Mom and Dad was so mundane. So normal. So human. In another situation, the familiar action would have been comforting, showing that despite the difficulty with Mom and Dad, things were still okay. That life was still going on. But now, it felt like he didn’t belong here, doing something so normal. Granted, Mom didn’t normally make a hot breakfast on school days; both of his parents actually sitting down together at breakfast was rare also…...Maybe….this scene was a little too normal.

Mom’s voice broke Phantom out of his thoughts. “Do you not like the food? I can get you something else.”

The ghost looked up, noting Mom’s frown. He sighed. “No. It’s fine. I’m just not hungry.”

His mother’s frown deepened. “Are you sure? You must be hungry.”

The ghost’s stomach dropped. “But I’m not.” He swallowed nervously, deciding to explain. “I haven’t really been hungry since before the ghost catcher.”

“Really?” Dad tilted his head while Mom glanced at him, a mixture of concern and curiosity on the parents’ face.

Phantom nodded. “I haven’t felt like eating since then and I don’t need to.” He poked at the eggs sadly. “And I can’t even taste this.”

“You can’t?” Mom questioned. Then she looked at his human half. “Have you had that problem too?” She frowned. “You’re eating right now.”

Fenton nodded, swallowing the bite he was eating before pointing at his mouth. “These taste buds work just fine and my appetite’s normal.” He shrugged. “It’s probably just a ghost thing.”

Mom raised an eyebrow, fixing her gaze on Phantom. “That would make sense. I suppose a ghost wouldn’t want or need human food.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “How does that work when you and Danny…..” She waved, pointing at Fenton. “The other Danny are….?” She trailed off, motioning between the two as if unsure how to refer to their arrangement.

“Fused. Merged. Together. The way we’re supposed to be.” Fenton supplied.

Mom pursed her lips, expression uncertain, while Dad tilted his head thoughtfully. "Fused." He tried out the word tentatively.

Phantom frowned; he didn't know what to make of his parents' tentativeness. Though had that been a curious gleam in his mother's eye earlier? Looking to change the subject, he side-eyed at his human half. "Speaking of fusing ….uhhh…"

"Last night you said you had a theory about why us fusing didn’t work." Fenton continued his thought.

"I do.” Mom’s thoughtful frown deepened. “I think the cause is the antiecto residue from the ghost catcher.”

“Antiecto residue?” Fenton questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. The anti-ecto field in the ghost catcher which separated you two left minute particle traces in your tissues.” The woman explained, looking at Fenton. “You two then tried to merge through overshadowing.” The ghost stiffened at the wording.

Dad placed a gentle hand on Phantom’s arm. “Your mother and I understand what you were trying to do now.”

“And we aren’t angry about it anymore.” Mom smiled at him kindly. 

“Okay.” Phantom swallowed, trying to believe her words. “But still, why didn’t it work?”

“Well do you remember how I explained the anti-ecto field repeals ectoplasm from real world material?” The ghost boy nodded and his mother continued. “That residue must have repealed your ectoplasm from your human counterpart’s organic body. Hence why you couldn’t merge. Your bodies just aren’t compatible right now.”

Phantom nodded again, thinking he understood. It seemed to make sense but he didn’t know enough about their invention and how being a ghost-human hybrid worked to argue.

At the same time, Fenton’s eyes lit up. “So that means if you can get rid of the residue in me, then we can re-fuse.”

“Figuring out how to do that will be our first priority.” Mom started. “But that’s not necessarily the case.”

Fenton’s hopeful look fell. “Why not?”

“There’s a lot we don’t know, son.” Dad said.

“We don’t know exactly what the portal did to make you into a hybrid or how your biology is supposed to work. We don’t even have data from before the ghost catcher on you in….ummm.” She motioned to Phantom.

“Ghost form?” Phantom raised a brow.

“Ghost form.” Mom continued, the words tentative before she spoke with more confidence. “We don’t know what your base line should be and if your body….or bodies I suppose….” She wrinkled her nose, not in disgust but a more perplexed expression. “Can return to that baseline without assistance.”

“Yeah.” Fenton blushed. “I guess we...I...have two bodies right now, so that’s kinda weird.”

Phantom rolled his eyes. “I think kinda weird is an understatement.”

Fenton snickered, more nervous than actually amused. “Really weird then.”

Mom and Dad looked between each other, saying nothing to agree or disagree with the statement. Instead Mom continued, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And then there’s the more….metaphysical connections between your two forms which you still need to tell us more about.”

“You mean sharing emotions and stuff?” Fenton questioned.

“Yes.” Mom nodded and then sighed, worry plain on her face. “There’s just so much we don’t know.”

“But we’ll figure it out.” Dad tried to look confident. “Your mother and I promise we’ll do everything in our power to get you back to the way you’re supposed to be.”

A flash of uncertainty crossed Mom’s face, making Phantom’s stomach churn. They were ‘supposed to be’ half ghost and he could almost see the pain on his mom’s face from the thought. Then the woman shook her head and swallowed. “Yes. Of course we will.” Her expression softened. “We love you Danny. Ghost, human or both at the same time.”

The declaration sent comforting warmth through the ghost Danny, mixing anguishingly with the still lingering pain. He glanced down, biting his lip. “I...I love you too.”

“Oh sweetie.” The ghost looked up, meeting Mom’s eyes as the woman’s lips turned up in a loving smile.

At the same time, Dad reached over to ruffle his hair. “You’re a good kid, Danno.” The man smiled, reaching Fenton’s head at the same time. “Both of you are.”

“Thanks Dad.” The human half-smiled. “And you can quit being sappy.” He whined with little heat.

Dad said nothing, chuckling instead. Mom shook her head, somewhat amused before clearing her throat and glancing at the clock. She frowned and then looked at Fenton. “Go ahead and finish your breakfast. Jazz will be down soon to drive you to school.”

Phantom raised a brow. Yeah, it was Monday and that meant school...at least for his human counterpart. He frowned while Fenton nodded.

“Alright.” The human took a large bite of his cinnamon roll and chewed. Then he swallowed and addressed his ghost half. “What about you?”

Phantom’s frown deepened and he spread his arms. “Well, I can’t go to school like this.”

Fenton rolled his eyes. “I know that. I mean, what are you doing today?”

“He can stay here with us.” Dad grinned. “Get in some bonding with your folks.”

“Jack, we need to get started on finding a way to merge them.” Mom put a hand on her chin. “We need to look back over our old data and samples first.” 

“That’s true.” Dad nodded. Then his eyes lit up excitedly. “Do you want to help us, Danny-boy?”

“Help you….look over your data?” Phantom raised a brow skeptically.

“Your father has a point, Danny. You can help us research how to re-fuse you and your counterpart. Anything you can tell us about what you’ve experienced would be helpful.”

“Yeah.” Phantom sighed. They had a point and it sounded like they actually wanted to listen to him now. “I can do that.”

“And I can fill you guys in after school on anything you still have questions about.” Fenton added.

Mom nodded. “Thank you sweetie.” Then she eyed the two Dannys. “And we’ll need new samples as well from both of you.”

At that, the ghost paled while Fenton swallowed nervously. “Samples?”

“Yes. We need information about how your biology differs now, compared to the limited information we have about before the ghost catcher.” Mom tapped her chin thoughtfully. “We can perform some scans and take some samples from Phantom today while the other Danny is at school.”

Somehow Phantom paled farther, the image of needles and scalpels flashing in through his mind. He shook his head. “Do...do I have to?”

Mom’s expression softened, eyes widening in understanding. “Sweetie, there’s no need to be nervous. We’ll go slowly and be gentle.”

“No.” Phantom emphasized, looking at his human half pleadingly. “Not...not if it’s just me.”

Fenton bit his lip. “Phantom maybe you should.” His voice lowered as the boy spoke more quietly. “They’re not going to hurt you.”

“But…” The ghost blushed in shame. He...he was being ridiculous. Fenton was right; Mom and Dad wouldn’t hurt him. They were trying their best to help and he should be cooperative but….he still didn’t know if he could trust them. He wanted to trust them on the one hand, but on the other, he didn’t want to, didn’t want to risk being hurt again. And he was scared, scared of Mom and Dad. He wasn’t supposed to be, he shouldn’t be, and he didn’t want to be scared but….

A cough sounded, light footsteps entering the kitchen. And it was then the rest of the family noticed Jazz’s entrance. “What’s going on here?” The girl asked, not unkindly.

Voices explained the discussion but the words were drifting past the ghost, who was busy staring at his hands in shame. He should trust Mom and Dad, do as they ask as a sigh of good faith but…

“Danny.” Jazz’s soft voice beside Phantom shook him out of his thoughts. “What do you want to do?”

The boy bit his lip. “I...I should help them, give Mom and Dad the samples.”

“What do you want to do?” Jazz repeated.

“I...I don’t...they’ll need my ectoplasm but then means needles and...the lab...it still...I don’t like it.” He shivered at the thought of the cold sterile walls, the metal tables, a cage. He wasn’t an experiment to them, he would never be but...he’d come so close to that reality. And now, it was ridiculous but he was scared.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Phantom suddenly looked up, startled at Mom’s statement. He met her eyes, filled with hurt but deeper….guilt and shame. And most importantly sincerity.

“But...you need samples.” Phantom argued. He wasn’t really scientifically minded, didn’t know much about ectobiology but he knew that if Mom and Dad were to figure out how to merge him and Fenton, they needed data. They needed blood  and ectoplasm samples.

Jazz smiles kindly. “Would you feel better if I was with you?”

“We can wait until after school.” Mom added. “Your sister can sit in so she knows what’s going on too. But I promise you will have nothing to worry about.” The woman finished, conviction in her voice as she looked at Phantom and then Jazz. The boy was unsure who she was promising- Jazz or him or maybe both.

“And Mom and Dad can get samples from me at the same time. You’ll need some of my hair and blood and stuff, right?”

“Yes, we will.” Dad answered Fenton’s question and then grinned. “You can even bring your friends over if you want. More people to hear me blabber on about ghosts!”

The three teens at the table all groaned in annoyance but Phantom smiled, feeling comforted. “I guess we can do that.”

Fenton agreed. “Yeah. Sam and Tucker will want to know how things went. I can probably get them to hang out, for a little while.” The boy emphasized the word ‘little.’

Mom half-smiled. “I’ll be sure to keep your father from becoming too long winded.” 

Dad’s mouth opened in a somewhat mock offended expression. “Me? Long winded? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Phantom couldn’t help but laugh this time. And authentically. His anxiety finally dwindling, the moment actually felt nice.

Beside the ghost, Jazz also laughed. “Speaking of long winded,” she glanced at the clock. “It looks like time got away from us, we need to get going if we’re going to make it to school on time, Danny.”

Fenton also looked at the clock, his eyes widening. “Dang. We do need to get going.” He stood up.

“Make sure you grab everything. Do you both have lunch money?” Mom asked, receiving a nod from both human teens. “Did you finish your homework, Danny”

“Actually, yes we did.” Fenton smiled proudly before looking around for his bookbag. “It must be upstairs.”

He started turning towards the stairs before meeting Phantom’s eyes and subtly moving his head. The ghost raised an eyebrow in question and the human motioned again, towards the stairs more vigorously. Phantom’s eyes widened in understanding and he floated out of his chair and towards the human.

The ghost boy could feel the parents’ eyes on his back, hear their questioning murmurs as he followed Fenton up the stairs. Soon, they were out of eye and ear shoot and walking (or floating) into their bedroom.

Fenton shut the door. He grabbed his bookbag and started putting his papers into it before, turning towards the ghost. A worried expression painted his face. “Are you okay with staying here alone with Mom and Dad, today?”

Phantom raised a brow, not surprised at the question per say but grateful all the same. “Yeah, They’re not going to pressure me into anything.”

“But you still feel awkward and kinda tense around them.” It wasn’t a question but still wasn’t sure.

Phantom rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.” Then he thought about how Mom and Dad listened to his concerns and tried to make breakfast as normal and comforting as possible, like he, as Danny’s ghost half, belonged there. “But it’ll get better, I think.”

“I hope so. Hopefully they can find a way to fix us.” The boy said before muttering. “Because apparently we can’t do it ourselves.” 

The disappointment in the statement gave the ghost pause; Fenton sounded sad as to be expected but there was...something else. Not knowing what to make of it, the ghost asked. “What do you think of Mom’s theory about why the merging didn’t work?”

A trickle of guilt radiated from the human, farther confusing the ghost. Fenton bit his lip. “I guess it made sense and I can get that the residue is what was hurting both of us. But I..I had to push you out. It didn’t just….” He trailed off, doubt coloring his features. He then shook his head. “I don’t know enough about….all this to really argue but….. Mom knows what she's talking about, right?”

He sounded falsely confident, grasping at straws. Phantom lightly crossed his arms, silently challenging Fenton to continue, to voice his doubts but the ghost’s core clenched as his other half remained silent.

“Danny! We need to go!” Jazz’s shout broke through the tense moment, causing Fenton to look up.

“I’ll see you after school.” The human Danny grabbed his bag and headed out the door.

As soon as the human left, Phantom sagged onto the bed, his core twisting sadly. Maybe….he should have voiced his doubts about Mom’s theory before Fenton left, the same doubts Fenton might be sharing. But the words had stayed locked in his throat by the look on his human’s face. It all flashed in his mind, a puzzle coming together. The fear on Fenton’s face last night, the trickling doubts, the surges of guilt. All of the tension before their failed merge and finally Fenton pushing him away. The Antiecto residue wasn’t the only reason fusing didn’t work. 

He’d thought they were past this and things seemed to slowly be getting better with Mom and Dad. They had a real chance to make peace with them, work on rebuilding their hurt relationship. But would he ever be able to make peace with himself? That was the real question.

Note:And that's the update. If you have any comments or questions, let me know. I really appreciate all of the support I've gotten from this story and love hearing from you all.

I don't know when the next chapter will be up since chapter 17 has been giving me a lot of trouble but talking to my sister about what's coming up in this story helped. So hopefully chapter 17 will come sooner than later.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Convince Me To Go {4}

AU Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Mild Cursing, Slow Burn

Words: 2.5k

Summary: When we run away, we’re usually running from something. This time you may have run toward it instead.

Note: Welp. 🤷🏾‍♀️  I hope you enjoy this.

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Oh my god.” Your jaw was dropped and you were spinning around gawking at the two additional stories above you.

 “Yep.”

 “Oh my god. Are you serious, prince puppy?”

 “As serious as bad head.” Your head snapped to him before you kneeled over and laughed your ass off.

 “Oh wait, you found that funny?”

 You couldn’t stop laughing long enough to get an answer out, all you could do was nod your head. He smiled and chuckled along with you.

 “Oh wow, that’s—great. The last woman I told that joke to said I had a crude sense of humor, told me to grow up.”

You laughed louder and tried to catch your breath. He didn’t mind the eyes of the people as they walked around the two of you. After almost two minutes you finally stopped and stood up.

 “Oh my god. Wow. I’ll tell you a secret, I love crude jokes, it’s a naughty habit.”

 “Naughty? That’s what you call naughty? Wow, I think we should part ways here fancy, I think I might taint you.”

 You snorted and playfully rolled your eyes.

 “I can’t tell you the last time I was in a candy store.”

 “This is not just any ol’ candy store. This is three levels of sugary heaven. They have every single candy under one roof,” he boasted.

 “Every candy?”

 “Every candy,” he confidently repeated

 You looked to be contemplating something as you wandered further into the store looking around at the shelves that held different kinds of candy. You looked like a kid in a literal candy store.

 “The best part is you can try every candy here, but you have to try only one piece,” he informed.

 You took up one of the tongs and dipped into a clear container of pink and orange sherbet colored gobs. You placed it into your mouth and moaned.

 “Oh my god, this is good. It tastes like pink lemonade and rainbow sherbet all in one.” You moaned again and he smiled and took one of the sugar balls and chewed. He nodded his agreement; you were right about the taste.

 “Good taste buds.”

 “Not your favorite huh.”

 “Nope.” He walked off leaving you to follow behind.

 “Tell you what, let’s play a game,” he suggested.

 “What kind of game prince puppy?” He smiled again. You knew he must have been tired of the name and it brought you joy.

 “Find my favorite candy and I’ll find your favorite.”

 “Uhh—in a store of thousands of different candy?” He nodded with an even bigger smile.

 “Ummm, well that sounds like torture. Why would I do that? What’s in it for me?”

 “Wow, silly humans and gratification,” he teased. You rolled your eyes but smiled.

 “Three guesses, the winner gets to choose what they want.”

 “So anything I want?”

 “If you win yes, anything within moderation. You can’t say a million dollars because honey I just don’t have that kind of cash.”

 “Eh, money is overrated,” you muttered.

 “Spoken like a woman who’s had too much of it her entire life.”

 Your eyes locked and neither of you dared back down. After almost a minute he was the one to look away.

 “So, do we have a deal?” He held out his hand and you thought about it. looking down to his hand you wanted to touch it even if you didn’t strike the deal. You bit your bottom lip and peered up into his cerulean eyes that held a hint of seductiveness and flirtation. As you stared you took his hand and shook it.

 “You have a deal prince puppy.” You then walked off and carefully assessed the contents of the store. “Meet you on the top floor in thirty,” you called out over your shoulder.

 He smiled warmly, he loved a challenge and you were a challenge, a mysterious challenge. As he roamed aisle after aisle he thought about your tastes all night. You liked coconut rum, a lot and just now you liked that sweet fruity candy. if he were a guessing man he’d guess you preferred things with a fruity flavor, that narrowed things down but not by much when he thought about the fact the store housed thousands of fruity choices. He wasn’t going to give up though or let on that he was a little lost. With fruity in mind, he decided hard candy was probably a good place to start, so that’s where he went.

 You, on the other hand, went right to the soft candy, the chewy stuff. For some reason, you thought this was the right way to go. There was nothing from the night you could use as a good estimated guess. Gin didn’t taste like candy, it tasted like gasoline to you. His breakfast food choices didn’t give anything away either until you stopped and remembered he poured the syrup that was a mixture of two. You didn’t remember what the mixture was though. Without an idea, you perused the shelves and scanned them all thinking of what he may like.

 After fifteen minutes you had two possible choices, sour candy straws otherwise known as Sour Powers, and nerds. Who didn’t like Nerds, you thought? Before you knew it your thirty minutes was almost up, and you still had one more to pick. You nonchalantly took a few pieces of the butterscotch hard candies, paid for your assortment and hurried to the top floor.

 When you got there, you saw him standing there watching you climb the last step. He tapped his wrist and shook his head.

 “Fuckity, fuck.” Everyone around you looked at you as if you were insane.

 He let out a loud laugh that echoed throughout the floor, it was a contagious one and soon you were laughing with him. The two of you laughed as if you had not one care in the world. When you finished you slid to the floor and leaned against the glass encloser for the stair railing. He slid beside you and sighed out. “Wow.”

 “It’s not my fault I’m late, I don’t have a watch and you made me turn off my phone.”

 “Oh whatever, there are clocks posted around this place and you could have easily asked anyone you passed. You’re late. It’s a clear forfeit.”

 Your jaw dropped as you stared at him. his eyes dropped to your mouth and he licked his lips. It was a nice mouth.

 “Not fair prince puppy.” You pouted and crossed your arms like a child and waited for him to change his mind.

 “I’m not going to change my mind. Fair is fair, fancy.”

 You groaned and sighed out.

 “So, I’m the winner by default,” he announced.

 “You’re the winner by bullshit fine print which is technically cheating. You’re the bullshit winner.” You didn’t mean for it to sound salty, but it did, and he picked up on it and laughed again.

 “Wow. You’re a sore loser.”

 When you didn’t respond he caved. “Fine, I am the winner, it’s established and accepted but I do want to see the candy you picked out, go on present.”

 You rolled your eyes and peeked into one of the three white confection bags you held. You decided to go with the Nerds first. He took the bag and took them out and smiled.

 “Nerds, yess. I love Nerds.”

 “So they’re your favorite?”

 “No, not my favorite, but loved all the same.” He opened the box and took a palmful and tossed them into his mouth then moaned. “So good. It’s been a minute since I’ve had these.” He looked at the box and nodded his head before he looked to you. “What’s next?”

 You handed him one of the bags without looking. When he dug in it he produced the package of Sour Power. His eyes lit up.

 “No way. Do you know what these are?” You nodded and smiled at his excited demeanor.

 “Oh my god, I haven’t had these since middle school. I used to bring these to trade on the playground. My dad could always get the good flavors so I’d produce them, and the other kids would give me really cool stuff in exchange. The clincher is my dad is a dentist, so he was giving me candy.” His smile was wide as he played through the nostalgia. You smiled with him and felt some sort of pull to him. Right now, he seemed relatable.

 “So you were the quintessential definition of a drug dealer in middle school.”

 “Drug dealer?”

 “Uh yeah, drugs don’t have to be just the illegal kinds. A drug is a substance that is addictive and can cause maladaptive health concerns. So Sour Powers, diabetes, obesity, cavities, you name it. It’s the best-known gateway drug.”

 He laughed loudly again, and you smiled and leaned your head back against the glass. His laugh drew tens of eyes, but you didn’t care because it was doing other things to you.

 “Wow, yeah. I guess I was a drug dealer. The fluffy white stuff.” More eyes flew to you and you couldn’t help but laugh. They probably thought he was talking about cocaine.

 “Not coke people, the other white stuff.” He laughed again and dropped his head onto your shoulder. The action was unexpected but not unwelcomed.

 “You are a bad influence,” you added. He looked at you and you met his eyes.

 “Are you complaining?” thinking about his question you looked over his face until your eyes landed on his lips. The air between you felt heavy and supercharged, almost electric.

 “No,” you whispered. His eyes fell to your lips also and his head moved half an inch toward yours. It was almost missed but you caught it and the sweet smell of his breath, it smelled like the Nerds he’d just had. you knew his mouth would be sweet.

 “Attention shoppers, we’ll be closing in fifteen minutes.”

 With the start of the announcement the two of you pulled back and looked away until it was finished. He took a straw and held one out to you.

 “Thanks.” You chewed it and savored the sweet and sour taste. You loved Sour Powers as a kid too. “I’m guessing it’s not your favorite.”

 He smiled and shook his head. “No, but again, loved all the same.” you nodded feeling like you’d struck out.

 “Don’t be discouraged, you have one more try. Let’s see it.” you handed him the last bag and he dug out the hard butterscotch candy. a smile tickled his lips but for the most part, he was unreadable.

 “Butterscotch. Interesting choice.” He popped one in his mouth and looked off to the shoppers who walked before you. He didn’t speak again, instead, he held out one of the white bags to you. You took it and pulled out skittles. You smiled warmly.

 “You seem to like fruity flavors; skittles are the epitome of fruity flavors.” You tore open the bag and dropped a few in. they were good.

 “I like skittles.”

 “Ah, like, not love. Okay. Next.” He handed you another bag. This time you took out a blow pop. Your eyes lit up. you loved blow pops. You ripped off the wrapper and smiled as you tasted the cherry goodness.

 “Mmm, I love blow pops. My god, I used to put these in my buns going to school. At the start of the day, I’d have four and by the end, I was left with one. Lots of memories with this thing.” When you looked at him you saw his eyes on your mouth as you twirled the sweet treat between your puckered lips. You had an idea where his mind was, men were easy. Playing up the fetish you pulled the lollipop from your mouth and produced a “pop” then you stuck your tongue out and licked it. his eyebrows shot up and you caught a sultry look hidden in his eyes.

 He cleared his throat and looked away and looked as if he were struggling for a minute.

 “You okay?” Smiling he nodded.

 “So, favorite?”

 “No.” He nodded again and handed you the last bag. You held the lollipop in your mouth at your cheek and the imprint produced a bubble under your skin. When you put your hand in you took a peek and smirked. Pulling it out you held a soft caramel chew. He’d actually found it.

 “Caramels.” You took the lollipop out and put one in your mouth and moaned a little too loudly and heartily. You could feel his smile.

 “Ladies and gentlemen we have a winner!” he stood and did a victory dance that was atrocious. You laughed and shook your head.

 “You’re ridiculous. How did you know?”

 He shrugged and held his hand out for you. Taking it he easily pulled you up. “I don’t know. It—seemed right. Who doesn’t like caramels?” You smiled and sighed.

 “Fine. You got it.”

 “Don’t be a sore loser. You would have won too.”

 Your eyes shot to his, he was smiling again like the Cheshire cat.

 “What? I found it didn’t I?”

 “Butterscotch.”

 You grunted and pushed him. “Oh my god, I would have won anyway.”

 “If only you weren’t late.” He shrugged but didn’t look as if he felt any sympathy for you.

 “All right, I will take this technical lose like a woman. What do you want?”

 He stared at you contemplatively for a few moments then placed another butterscotch into his mouth. “I want a new name.”

 It was your turn to laugh loudly.

 “Of all the things to want and get that is what you wanted the most?”

 A caddish look washed over his face and he took a step to you. “What exactly did you have in mind?” You rolled your eyes.

 “Doesn’t matter. You chose a new name. Okay. What name do you want prince puppy?”

 “You pick it, but I have to like it.” The two of you began walking down the steps as you thought about all the possible choices.

 “Candy ass?”

 He snorted and laughed again. “Definitely not, there is nothing candy about my ass.”

 “Hmm, Candyman?”

 “No, no, no. My god, I was terrified of that movie when I was a kid,” he exclaimed.

 “Oh my god, me too. That and the other one that should never be named.”

 “Which one? The one with pins—”

 “In his face? Yes!” He nodded along with you and you could have hugged him. No one in your circle felt the same. they just laughed and teased you about it. He was you and you were him.

 You walked down the remainder of the steps in silence. When you stepped outside once again you sighed and looked at him.

 “Okay, okay, okay, fine. You win. White prince.”

 His eyes widened and you could have fallen to the ground laughing.

 “Wow.”

 “What? You wanted prince back in the bar, I gave it to you.”

 “And the white part?”

 “Sugar, the other white stuff.” He smiled then rubbed his bearded chin and jaw.

 “Oh man. You’re not going to make this easy for me are ya?”

 You looked him right into his eyes and shook your head. “I’ve never been easy, white prince. If easy is what you want, you’ve got the wrong one.” He slowly licked his bottom lip and gave you a flirtatious smile.

 “Good thing I like torture.” He walked away down the street. “Come on fancy, there’s still hope.”

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TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @firedolphin04 @sonjashuterbugjohnson @caramara3 @vannahvannahhh  @academic-glowup @lorainnebabyy @patzammit @yourwonderbelle @pennywisesmistress @theblulife @kelbabyblue @bugngiz @disneysdarlingdiva  @toniilaney @areubeingserved @thinkxlovexloud @cocothewriter @periodtcevans @southerngracela @bellaamor88 @mack-jay@queenbetter @zaddysqueen7 @ben-wyxtt @dangerouslovefanfic @alyxkbrl @heladoom @angrybirdcr @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @rynabarnesrogers  

[cherriedsin]

           𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻     𝚈𝙾𝚄     𝙳𝙴𝙵𝙴𝙰𝚃     𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼     ,     your     demons     and     all     the     non     -     believers     ?

tw     :     child     abandonment     ,     foster     care     system     ,     death     &.     murder     mention     ,     ferocious      writing      .

and     here     we     are     at     the     final     one     !     this     whole     time     i     have     been     telling     dorian     i’m     ready     to     stop     this     so     i     know     for     a     fact     she’s     as     happy     as     mwuah     .     i     didn’t     proofread     any     of     these     and     i     am     so     sorry     in     advance     for     the     quality     .     last     but     certainly     not     least     i     present     to     you     the     one     muse     i     truly     love     ,     miss     love     locklear     !     she     is     the     embodiment     of     pure     perfection     and     literally     would     die     for     anyone     even     if     they     don’t     know     her     there     i     said     it     .     as     before     and     before     that     ,     a     lil     hearty     heart     on     this     post     and     my     ass     is     urs     !     

╰     𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒     𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒     𝐀𝐓     𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑     𝐎𝐖𝐍     𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄     ;     the     anthem     won't     explain     it     ,     a     world     that     sends     you     reeling     from     decimated     dreams     !

government     name     :    love     chantal     -     marie     locklear     .

nicknames     :    lo     ,     lala     ,     ve     ,     perfect     sweet     baby     (     mine     for     her     get     ur     own     )

physical/actual     age     :      twenty     eight     .

hometown     :   west     monroe     ,     louisiana     .

occupation     :   psychology     teacher     at     watermount     high     school     .

gender     :     cisfemale     ,     female     pronouns     preferred     .

orientation     :     pansexual     .

height     :   162     cm     ,     5′3     .

weight     :     48     kg     ,     108     lbs     .

complexion     :     tan     and     hydrated     ,     skin     is     almost     like     silk     and     smells     of     fresh     lavender     and     waterfalls     ,     crafted     by     gods     to     deliver     sweet     messages     of     hope     and     love     .     no     blemish     or     marking     ,     only     a     butterfly     tattoo     behind     right     ear     that     dares     to     touch     jaw     bone     .

hair     :     thicker     than     both     blood     and     water     ,     cascading     perfectly     down     back     in     mesmerizing     waves     always     well     -     kept     except     for     nights     found     sleeping     at     home     desk     or     gaming     chair     ,     stops     right     before     back     dimples     and     smells     of     sunshine     and     coconut     .

distinguishable     characteristics     :    southern     octaves     twisted     with     sincere     tendencies     ,     attention     -     grabbing     smile     meant     to     make     ice     melt     ,     exuberating     positivity     and     hope     as     if     she     were     being     paid     to     do     so     ,     a     laugh     so     loud     one     with     hearing     loss     could     hear     at     perfect     pitch     followed     with     a     childish     snort     .

favored     :     forms     of     affection     ,     overindulging     in     junk     foods     ,    romcoms     &.     soap     operas     ,     cherry     lip     gloss     ,    hooped     earrings     ,    binge    playing    skyrim    for    days    at    a    time    ,    over    exaggerated    wardrobe    choices    ,   tequila    on    the    rocks    ,    fried    foods    &.    sweets    ,    watermelon    blow    pops    ,    being    the    mom    friend    ,     teaching     her     students     in     various     methods     to     find     out     what     best     helps     their     future     ,     the     idea     of      love     &.     soulmates     with     happy     endings     .

distastes     :     snakes   &.   most   bugs   ,     students     turning     in     assignments     late     ,   complusive    liars    with    no    remorse   ,   not     organizing     school     events    ,    the     bar      being     out     of     cheesed     fries     ,     music     that’s     not     2000′s     hits     or     any     female     pop     icon     ,     meat     that’s    not     burnt     to      a      crisp     ,     someone     being     mean     to     those     she      cares      about     ,     having     to     yell     &.     not      be     from     joy     ,     heavy    partying    but    not    exclusively    liquor    itself   ,   anyone   telling   her   no   ,   being   on   time   for   events   ,   &.    someone   telling   her   what   to   do   .

fears     :    failing     her     students     as     a     teacher     &.     fuckin’     around     too     much     &.    becoming     sinister     .     

aspirations     :     becoming     the     best     educator     for     her     students     &.     havin’     those     cute     thank     you     cards     written     about     her     .

╰     𝐌𝐀𝐘     𝐆𝐎𝐃     𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄     𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘     𝐎𝐍     𝐎𝐍𝐄     𝐒𝐈𝐍     ;     your     misery     and     hate     will     kill     us     all     so     paint     it     black     and     take     it     back     !

it’s     hard     to     pull     the     roots     of     your     origin     when     you’re     just     at     a     lost     for     words     .     the     ladies     at     the     foster     home     back     in     louisiana     would     say     you     were     a     church     baby     ,     found     as     a     newborn     on     the     steps     of     the     chapel     and     taken     into     the     local     foster     care     system     .     apparently     the     pastor     couldn’t     afford     a     youngin     ,     for     he     said     he     would     have     took     you     in     a     heartbeat     .     wasn’t     that     what     they     all     said     after     your     fellow     government     secured     siblings     would     get     picked     for     a     vacation     away     from     that     hell     but     you     ?     some     would     tease     and     say     that     you     were     too     quiet     ,     too     nice     ,     no     one     wanted     a     silent     child     .     but     how     should     you     act     ?     you     knew     nothing     better     .     you     wanted     to     stay     out     of     the     shadows     ,     out     of     the     eyes     of     others     ,     you     wanted     to     be     safe     in     your     own     arms     and     nothing     else     .     as     a     child     ,     being     without     a     real     family     scared     you     .     who     would     you     fall     back     on     once     school     would     let     out     and     you     were     of     age     ?     who     would     you     turn     to     in     dire     need     of     a     helping     hand     ?     look     in     the     mirror     for     that’s     all     you     will     have     .     being     at     the     foster     home     made     you     crave     for     better     ,     didn’t     it     ?     getting     shoved     ,     pushed     ,     sometimes     going     without     meals     .     you     never     interacted     much     with     the     adults     outside     of     coming     and     going     to     school     .     they     would     yell     for     bed     and     howl     for     morning     ,     punishment     would     follow     if     you     did     anything     besides     what     they     said     ,     and     sometimes     the     punishments     never     really     fit     the     crime     .     but     looking     at     you     now     ,     you     could     never     tell     what     childhood     scars     decorate     you     now     .     from     middle     school     until     grave     ,     you     would     be     the     personification     of     light     .     you     would     give     name     to     the     word     love     ,     for     that’s     all     you     ever     wanted     .     to     love     and     to     be     loved     .     to     have     a     family     to     fall     back     on     ;     cousins     ,     aunts     ,     uncles     ,     siblings     all     pestering     you     at     family     gathering     to     tell     them     what’s     what     and     who’s     who     .     but     ,     alas     ,     god     never     wanted     you     to     sip     from     the     chalice     that     is     a     happy     home     life     ,     and     who     are     we     to     question     our     maker     ?     

excellence     in     schooling     showed     as     you     moved     onto     college     ,     securing     your     degree     and     becoming     what     you     wanted     to     be     felt     like     that     last     quest     in     a     game     you     couldn’t     wait     to     beat     and     soon     ,     you     did     .     during     this     time     ,     though     ,     becoming     the     world’s     punchline     seemed     to     be     in     your     deck     of     cards     .     a     phone     call     from     an     unknown     number     sent     you     through     the     ringer     ,     going     back     to     your     hometown     to     demand     answers     from     the     hands     that     still     held     you     in     their     grasp     despite     the     poor     treatment     felt     from     theirs     .     you     had     gotten     violent     ,     something     you     never     desired     to     become     ,     as     you     sat     there     with     the     woman’s     collar     in     hand     while     top     of     her     body     dangled     out     of     the     window     .     she     was     twice     your     size     and     yet     you     lunged     her     out     of     the     opening     without     ease     .     that     was     when     you     first     screamed     .     it     was     almost     too     powerful     for     you     ,     yourself     ,     to     take     .     ears     rang     and     spewed     crimson     like     a     toddler     with     their     hands     in     a     stream     of     paint     .     it     was     an     instinct     that     turned     into     sound     ,     a     gut     feeling     bellowing     out     like     a     high     pitched     holler     for     the     devil’s     aid     .     the     woman     in     your     grasp     collapsed     from     such     sound     ,     it     had     caused     her     to     meet     her     untimely     end     and     since     then     ,     no     matter     how     confused     you     have     been     from     what     happened     ,     you     forbid     to     indulge     .     you     forbid     to     entertain     anything     of     the     nature     or     kind     ,     for     you     still     smell     the     death     on     your     fingers     .     you     still     feel     the     life     of     her     drain     from     contact     with     your     skin     as     sound     waves     bounced     off     earth     in     a     fit     of     fury     .     even     the     most     evil     didn’t     deserve     what     they     dished     out     ,     karma     had     always     been     a     hard     ass     ,     but     sadly     ,     mostly     to     you     .     you     fled     the     town     to     come     to     watermount     and     teach     ,     to     take     your     mind     of     past     events     and     to     create     lasting     memories     with     the     new     .     if     only     you     could     get     that     empty     feeling     in     your     gut     to     silence     the     rumblings     bound     to     find     their     way     out     .

[cant-blink]

Imitation

Summary: San tries to earn Ni’s affections by emulating him, but this goes terribly wrong. While I proofread the first chapter of the requested smut fic, here’s a short story I whipped up, inspired by a previous post. While San trying to mimic Ni is something that’ll probably be canon, this scene in particular is something that I dunno if I wanna make canon or not, because... well... Just prepare for heartbreak. 

-

Ni snarled, pulling away from Ichi’s attempt to groom him. It was night, and they were back at the slave’s volcano, getting ready for sleep. But their nightly routine was bound to meet obstacle, and Ni doesn’t disappoint.

Ichi should’ve known this would happen. He was able to groom Ni the night before, without so much as a growl, but now Ni was even more defiant than usual. He was getting the sense of déjà vu again, that constant reminder of their younger days that’s been so prevalent all day. 

He shook his head. “Your face is filthy, Brother Ni.”

“And I can clean it myself.” his brother growled at him. Ichi narrowed his eyes at him for a moment before huffing a breath through his nose.

“Yourself? How exactly do you plan to do that?”

Ni glared at him for a moment longer, before glancing around their surroundings. Short of dipping his face into the lava, there was nothing here to wash himself. But Ni was nothing if not resourceful and he returned his glare back to the middle head. “Give me a wing.”

Ichi did not like the demand, but he nonetheless humored his brother. He’d rather this didn’t escalate over something so stupid. Maintaining eye-contact with him, Ni began licking the wing and using it to wipe his face before licking it again. Ichi snorted.

“You groom like a hatchling.” he chides. 

“Better than being groomed by a false alpha.”

A tail rattled behind them but Ichi managed not to take the bait. Instead, he hissed dangerously. “Miss a spot, and I will clean it for you.” It came off more as a threat than anything, and Ni growled at him. Ignoring him, Ichi turned to San, who was watching silently.

Despite his odd behavior all day, Ichi was expecting no resistance from the youngest as he starts to groom his face. But to his surprise, San pulled away and started to growl softly.

“Give me a wing.” 

Ichi stared at him. He’s been doing this all day, trying to copy whatever it was Ni was doing. The game was amusing, if a bit perplexing, but Ichi was not playing along this time.

“You are not a hatchling, Brother San. You will be cleaned properly.” He goes to groom San again, who pulled away.

“I can do it myself!” he insisted. “Give me a wing, Ichi!”

Something in the middle head snapped and San couldn’t help but let out a scream as his muzzle was grabbed and he was shoved into the ground. The youngest was terrified, knowing he went too far saying Ichi’s name without a title. But it’s what Ni would’ve done, right...?

Stop whimpering! Ni wouldn’t be so meek! He tried to growl, rather unconvincingly and tried to wriggle, but his neck was pinned under a wing. He felt his brother let go of his snout and snarl in his ear.

“Do not dare disrespect me, Brother San. I have enough of that from Brother Ni and I will not let you do the same. Understand me?”

Don’t whimper, San told himself. He winced as Ichi power-groomed him and snarled when he did. That’s what Ni does when he’s power-groomed. But he holds still; it’s been so long since he’s been power-groomed by Ichi. Ni does it to him all the time, but Ichi? 

Of course, San was always well-behaved when it comes to knowing his place and never had to be dominated like this. 

Ichi continued to power-groom him for the entire session, forcing him to roll over to get at his chin and throat. San continued to be still, trying to sound angry, although he was more frightened than anything. When it was over, Ichi nipped his snout in a final warning before letting him go. San got himself up, trying not to shrink under Ichi’s glare. He glanced over at Ni, to see he wasn’t even looking towards them anymore. He found himself growing desperate for his attention, mind scrambling.

“Do that again and I’ll bite you!” he blurted out. He heard another rattle from their tails and kept himself from averting his eyes from Ichi’s scornful leer. But the eldest doesn’t lash out at him. Yet.

“I grow impatient with your pointless little game, Brother San,” his alpha warns. Ichi didn’t want to have to do any of this to his youngest, but at the same time, he had no choice. San will not get special treatment for his unacceptable behavior and had to be reprimanded. “I suggest you stop acting foolish and do as you are told. Now.” He lifted his snout pointedly, a gesture to be groomed. To go back to their nightly routine without anymore of this nonsense. Normally San would jump at the opportunity every night, he loved grooming his brothers as much as he loved being groomed himself. But tonight, he kept himself back. He glanced again at Ni, who still didn’t give him the time of day. He was ignoring him on purpose.

A soft whimper managed to escape him, and he tried to stifle it in his throat. Before he can think, he reached out to Ni’s neurons.

Brother Ni, watch me!

He saw his older brother glance at him, the contempt in his face obvious. But San knew this was his chance to prove himself worthy of his love. The greatest possible act of emulation. But...

He looked to Ichi, who was glaring down at him with tested patience. He didn’t want to do this. But he had to! He wanted Ni to love him, right? So he had to act like him and that means being mean and nasty to Ichi. Right?

He heard his own heartbeat in his ears, as he slinks closer to Ichi. He can’t do this, he has to do this! It’s the only way. Ni will love him for it! He can’t back down! He always backed down and Ni hated him for it. Ni hated him for whimpering, for purring, for being stupid, for being himself! If he wanted that praise he’s dreamed of getting for so long, then he has to be brave!

He swallowed softly, as if gulping down his fear, and gathering his strength...

He struck unexpectedly, jaws clamping onto Ichi’s exposed throat. He could hear and feel the resulting shriek of startled pain. He tasted blood, their own blood, and it tasted disgusting on his tongue. He can hear their slave, now awake, shout something, but he couldn’t hear what. No, his mind was elsewhere as he was suddenly thrusted hundreds of millions of years into their past, when he was still barely born. How horrified he was to engage in combat but how he would forcefully throw himself into the fray and take a bite. Well, he’s taking that first bite again.

Don’t let go, the thought raced through his head as it had done all those years ago. Don’t let go. Terrible things will happen if you let go.

He remembered how it was Ichi that would keep the enemy from retaliating against him when he bit like this, protecting him from harm and further trauma, like the amazing brother and alpha he was. But now, it was Ichi himself on the receiving end and San felt sick. 

He was betraying the only brother that loved him...

He couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes as Ichi reflexively made a snap for Ni. But Ni was not the one doing this for once and the right head pulled back, snarling as he stared dumbfounded at what was happening. He knew San was being obnoxious in his poor attempt at imitating him, but he never once thought the youngest would go this far.

An impulse within him wanted to tear San off of Ichi, those loyal instincts that became habit over millions of years as Ichi’s second-in-command. He felt Ichi tear control of their right wing back and the eldest brother snarled as he went to tear San off. The little one bit harder, trying to copy Ni’s signature shake. Another poor imitation, as the action was lacking the true raw bloodlust behind it.

The impulse, the habit, was too strong to break, even now when he hated Ichi with every fiber of his being. He lunged and bit into San's scales, driving his fangs deep into flesh.

From that moment, there was no stopping him. He gave San a true taste of his technique and shook viciously, tearing into the scales savagely beneath his teeth. San screamed and in doing so, released his grip on Ichi. Ni does not let up, slamming San into the ground. San flailed desperately, tears falling down his cheeks as he screamed.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! HEEELP!!”

But Ni doesn’t relent and Ichi does nothing to help the youngest. The eldest just glared at him, the bite wounds on his throat stitching back together, leaving only the blood trailing down his neck as the only evidence of the attack. Their slave does make a move to get out of the lava, but Ichi caught sight of him and hissed firmly. There were no words from him, but his eyes communicated enough to the bird.

Interfere and he will share the punishment.

Rodan hesitated, staring at the alpha, his alpha, and his eyes went back to San and Ni. He clearly wanted to help, but knew better than to defy Ichi’s orders. He had to recognize that this conflict was between the brothers and them alone.

Knowing he wasn’t going to be rescued, San felt himself break even more. Now Ichi hated him too, he knows it. San has done many terrible things in his life. He loved torturing other creatures and laughing at their suffering. But this, this was the worst thing he’s ever done. And he had nobody to blame but himself.

He kept struggling though, crying and screaming pleas for mercy as Ni dragged him along the ground, before smashing his face into the rock floor.

“I’m sorr-” He’s cut off as Ni shoved him to expose his throat and bit into it without inhibition, tearing into him. His wounds heal quick from the volcano but the pain was not to be ignored. This pain was made worse as Ni threw him mercilessly into the ground, glaring down at him with bloodied jaws. His voice came out dripping with scornful hatred.

“You want to copy me so badly? Then take your punishment with some damn dignity, you little shit.”

San continued to cry, his brother’s words breaking him further. But in doing so, it ignited a rare emotion in the youngest. Frustration and true anger. He glared at his attacker with tearful eyes. “I don’t wanna be like you anymore!” he snapped. “You’re terrible! You’re a horrible brother! Hurting Brother Ichi is the worst thing ever, and you’re a monster for doing it so much!! How can you...” The rest of his words become incoherent gibberish as his voice snagged in his distress. He was shivering heavily, almost choking on his tears.

Ni’s snarls grew louder, and he tore at San’s scales again, San limp and no longer struggling before he’s dropped back onto the ground. Still crying. But his older brother had no remorse. “When I attack Ichi, I do so with good reason. But you’re too much of an idiot to know that, aren’t you? What reason did you have?”

San hiccuped, feeling his tears join the blood dripping from his mouth. His voice was shaking as much as he was. “I just... just want you to love me...” He sniffled. “I-I thought if I was like you, then... All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me... But... But you never will. Nothing I do will get you to... to love m-me. I can’t do it anymore...” He buried his face into the ground, still shaking. “Why don’t you love me...? I do my best, but why...?”

The silence that came was broken only by the sound of his crying, and the bubbling of the lava. Ni’s snarls have grown quiet as he stared at his crying subordinate. There was something unpleasant inside of him, seeing the youngest break down like this. He was used to seeing San’s fear and hearing his screams, but this level of distress was new. And those words...

San was finally miserable, just like he wanted. But then why did it feel wrong? That unpleasant feeling, was it...

Pity...?

Weakness. 

San was making him feel weakness, as if he didn’t have enough of that already. His automatic response of anger increased tenfold and his glare radiated pure hateful venom to cover it all up. He would bury that stupid unpleasant feeling not with fangs, but with cruel words.

“Because you’re worthless.” 

The world just seemed to shatter around little San, leaving him in a cold dark abyss, far more desolate than even the void of space they called home.

“That is enough, Brother Ni,” Ichi finally spoke up, his voice sounding distant to San’s ears. Ni gave a snort, glaring up at Ichi.

“The little brat has been disrespecting me all damn day. He has it co-”

“Brother San has been punished enough,” Ichi interrupted firmly, meeting his glare with his own. “And I think I speak for all of us when I say we have all had enough. Now finish cleaning yourself up and we are going to sleep.” His tone showed there would be no arguing with his words and Ni growled louder before glaring at the shivering bundle beneath him. With a huff, he backed off and was given the wing back to clean his bloodied muzzle.

San sniffled as he pulled his face from the ground and looked up at his brothers. Ni was back to ignoring him and, although Ichi has spared him further injury, he still glared down at him with angry disapproval. The youngest sibling’s heart shattered even more, and his voice cracked from his tears.

“I’m sorry, Brother Ichi...” he apologized pathetically. “I’m sorry...”

But Ichi’s expression doesn’t soften and he spoke in a toneless voice. “That wing you wanted. Clean yourself up with it.” Ichi said nothing more as he began licking his own neck to clear off the blood. San doesn’t move, closing his eyes as more tears escaped him. He’s thoroughly convinced that Ichi now hated him too. Both his brothers hated him. And without their love, what else did he have? 

He doesn’t care to notice the sound of something shuffling closer to him and he felt a warmth against his scales, nibbling his face in a gentle groom.

He can tell from the scent it was their slave. 

“Leave him,” he heard Ichi demand the bird. “He wanted to clean himself and he will. Instead, make yourself useful here.” He lifted his snout up pointedly, repeating the signal to be groomed. Their slave wouldn’t understand the gesture itself, but knew enough to understand the context of what was desired of him.

Looking back at San uncertainly, Rodan stepped over him carefully, still limping, and began grooming Ichi’s throat, trying to get the blood off of him.

San still doesn’t move, having no intention of cleaning himself up. Instead, he placed the shaky wing over himself as if to shield his shame and heartbreak from the world. 

He spent the rest of the night sobbing.

[vorefluff]

if anyone is curious

This is legit how I come up with new storylines and things. This is just a copy/paste of something I sent my girlfriend when I was in the middle of Figuring A Thing Out.

Featuring a new character, Hue and a drawing of him! Mostly this is about Blaze tho, and some stuff about John too. It sorta goes all over the place - the moment it seems like ‘oh this is what this post is about’ it switches on you.

Warnings: Lots of “so anyway”, no proofreading, completely filled with lowercase sentence starters, fragments, cussing, a couple vague s*xual references. It’s a brain barf. 

[day 1]

This is Hue. He's a werewolf boi-o and one of the shortest characters i've made so far, clocking in at 4'10". you can just barely see his bite scars under the arm hair I decided that John shouldn't be entirely partner-less because Blaze decided to be stubborn and not embrace the gay. Cause that's just unfair to john. Like, Blaze said no, John respects that, so John moves on. 

No matter how much I rlly rlly want the two to be together. 

so anyway is seems that John has a Type. smol grumpy and easy to fluster I mean, in terms of potential romantic partners. in terms of Hotness and potential one-night-stands and such he's more physically attracted to guys in snappy suits and confidence like raknu but also not raknu himself because it'd be weird to bang your boss.

[day 2]

[insert some Spoilery Things about Alchemy Brothers from my World Of Glass And Bone and my character I’m basing Hue off of. This is also a first - usually I don’t base one character off of another. I did it in this case to absolutely make 100% sure that Hue’s personality doesn’t end up being like a Blaze2.0.]

[....] cause like, yeah, I made him with the intent of finding an Actual Partner for John, but I don't want that to be his Entire Personality. I don't want him to just be off-brand discount walmart version of Blaze. I've never done this before k. Like, usually I make characters, and then decide relationships to other people, not the other way around. And now I'm just Worried and low-key Freaking Out that he won't be seen as anything more than a Blaze-wannabe.

[day 3]

so THIS is how love triangles get started, huh - throwing in Hue threw a wrench into things. so like we got John and Blaze, right? they're like. bestest buds. John is like, the only person that Blaze really actually feels completely comfortable around. and like, a big part of the reason why Blaze doesn't want to be in an Actual Official Relationship is a lot of smaller very valid reasons. 

 1) he's in denial that it's even a thing he wants at all. All relationships end in Bad Things - either death as Blaze outlives them, or breakups, or deception and misunderstanding, or other Fun Things like that. So why the fuck would he want to put himself through that again? 

2) he still gets nightmares about Alex and not over that 3) all past relationships have been either abusive or at least a little bit Toxic - including alex (just as the nature of the culture, and the social power difference between people and vampires, toxic masculinity, just straight up assholes with a pretty face, ect) and that's just sorta the standard, normal thing that Blaze expects to happen with relationships in general. So it's showing a little bit of growth on Blazes part by saying no to the perceived toxicity, but still misunderstanding what a normal relationship is. 

 4) he's still not sure he's part gay. Like, he was Trying Out A Thing with Alex and he didn't get enough time to process it or really tell if that's something for him.

5) Blaze is asexual and sex-repulsed, and John is Horny. Not that John would do anything that Blaze is uncomfortable with - just the idea that Blaze is holding John back from something that he really wants to do while simultaneously being really stuck on the idea of monogamy and being uncomfortable with the idea ofo John being with anyone else sexually if they're in a relationship. 

 6) and fear that if he says yes then He's Stuck. can't back out, can't break off, without losing John completely as a friend (which is not something John would do even if they did break off for whatever reason). but it's still intense fear, and strongly supported by the idea of 'history repeats itself'. 

 7) he's also still low-key weirded out by the thought that John was assigned female at birth and while he's Getting Better at that and normalizing it. Being closer than friends before he's finished sorting things out in his head properly only brings up those weirded out feelings more intensely and more frequently until it becomes a potential point of conflict. If they were to ever be a thing, it'd take a lot of time before it started up, for Blaze to be 100% okay and Chill and properly sort through his head around John being trans. Not that Blaze would ever insult or weaponize that against john or anything, just personally working through centuries of stigma/sterotypes/ect and trying to get to a point where that thought isn't weird or bad anymore.

and a few other little reasons here and there but those are the big main ones in the way between a Blaze and John relationship. and I've been trying to keep that in mind when writing stories between them, cause John would totally go out with Blaze, and if Blaze didn't have those blocks, then he'd totally be open to a relationship with John too. 

Like, blaze low-key has a crush on John too. And I ship is so hard. And I want it to be a thing but I feel it's unfair to Blaze's character and all the stuff he has to work through himself before he's mentally stable enough to be able to have a healthy relationship with anyone. 

 and like maybe if no one else existed, yeah, sure, they'd get together at some point but like John isn't going to wait years for the possibility of a relationship with a person who already said 'no'.

So anyway, Hue comes on scene, right? 

John is spending more time with Hue and due to the nature of time being limited and the fact that often John operates seperately in Hero Team Missions (he's a spellcaster where the others aren't - he can do a lot of behind the scenes things that the others can't) 

Blaze finds himself really really wanting John's company more which makes him question why the fuck and therefore come to the realization that yeah okay fuck fine he's part gay but what the fuck ever John's with someone else already so.

so he's trying to shove down those annoyin' fckn feelings of jealousy, and also starting to distance himself from John and also throwing in some self-hate for missing his chance because Everything Blaze Does has to be low-key toxic (bad blaze stop it-) 

and once there's something you Want that's out of reach, suddenly you start forgetting about the reasons why you didn't go for it in the first place when it was available which means at least some of the other barriers are temporarily forgotten - at least, until John is available again, then they'd re-surface with vengeance and more self-hate because now-is-you're-chance-what-are-you-waiting-for - 

so anyway Blaze is a (valid) Dramatic Bitch who can't make up his goddamn mind

And right now I'm trying to figure out the new dynamic, and how things end there. 

 I'm like maybe 20% sure that they might end up turning it into a poly relationship instead of a love triangle 

John would be down for that Hue would be down for that 

it all just depends on Blaze and his dumb stupid (meant lovingly, they're still valid) limitations and quirks and trauma and shit.

there's nothing solid yet but the idea of it being turned into a poly relationship is rlly appealing to me

also 

blaze needs a therapist

I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've said that and I don't know why I haven't said it sooner but Blaze needs a therapist.

vampires getting therapists isn't something that ever happens for lots of stupid and dumb (not valid) reasons but maybe maaaayyyyybeeeeeee Raknu can pull some strings, talk to some people, ya know. Maybe try and find a therapist who's willing to come in and try and talk to a vampire with hundreds of years of Shit.

raknu can claim it's for the good of the team, and teamwork, and shiz. I mean, having a vampire on a hero team at all is a New Thing, Blaze was one of the first. So obviously, there'll the other New Things that arise from this, that can bypass stupid rules

well I guess for Blaze to see a therapist Blaze would have to actually be willing to ya know. 

see the therapist 

that's more unlikely than raknu being able to call one in that's open to it 

Blaze does not have a very good opinion on therapists. Blaze thinks they're all quacks and wishy-washy idiots 

siiiiiiigh 

blaze why why do you have to be this way like, you've got a whole bunch of Good Things that you could've had why do you have to be stubborn 

all of these good things literally just hinge on you.

it's okay though 

blaze is just taking the scenic route the long way around to Good Times.

I think what would be required for Blaze to see a therapist would be for someone he sees as similar to him - not wishy-washy, negativity and toxic central, similar opinion of therapists in general - to go in and see one first, and actually be helped and have their life improved. 

then maybe blaze would give it a try and-  

ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 

heheheheheheh 

AHAHAHAHAHAHA 

this is where it comes full circle!!! 

This is perfect!!!! 

Hue! 

it all comes back to HUE! 

Hue goes to therapy which then convinces Blaze to accept therapy which means Blaze can actually Work Through Some Of His Shit 

and then we can have a valid Poly Relationship with John and Blaze and Hue and it wouldn't have been possible without Hue which low-key starts them off in a positive relationship, which is bolstered by John really liking Hue, and therefor Blaze has someone else he can Really Actually Enjoy And Feel Comfortable Around instead of being stuck on just John 

Bonus Little Story Thing For Making It This Far:

Blaze tentatively kisses the top of Smol John’s head, giving a hesitant little smile. John blushes and grins, leaning against the vampire. 

Glancing up though, Blaze sees Hue with a raised eyebrow and a an amused smirk.

A very intense possessiveness washes over Blaze. Blaze makes direct eye contact with Hue. 

“aAURG!! wHAt the HECK!!!” John exclaims as Blaze’s teeth firmly rest on his back, pressing him into the tongue protecting him from the vampire’s bottom teeth. 

Blaze lifts John up from his hand like that, pulling his tongue in and bringing John with it. John fumbles for an oxygen tank from his pockets. 

Blaze maintains eye contact with Hue the entire time, swallowing the small form. 

Hue is amused, a little disturbed, but mostly confused. 

Finally Hue breaks the silence. “Couldn’t resist such a snacc, huh?”