#since you still can’t fathom the fact he is gone. you will make the world somewhere he can bear again & plead

[rhymaes]

Black Sails // Mysterious Lotus Casebook // Anne Carson // Madeline Miller // Rebecca Makkai // Ryan O’Connel

[pedroscurls]

Title: Broken Souls

Character(s): Joel Miller, Reader (female, second person POV) Summary: What happens when you realize love isn’t enough? And when years later, you meet again that all the pain and heartbreak comes rushing back... Like it never left. Word Count: 2,017 Author's Note: This idea has been brewing in my mind for a while now since I wanted to write a very angsty story. For now, this will remain as a one-shot, but I might come back to it later and delve it into a multi-chaptered story. Anyways, enjoy and thank you for reading!  Warning: Angst. A lot of it. Also mentions of alcoholism/use of drugs.

You knew Joel and Tommy long before the outbreak. Being Joel’s neighbor meant that Sarah was over quite often whenever he was stuck at work, which happened to be most of the time. You didn’t mind though; you had developed a very strong bond with the young girl and a crush on her father. 

It had taken Joel a while before he finally asked you out on a date and it excited Sarah so much to know that her two favorite people were together. She always made it known that she couldn’t wait until you and Joel got married, already looking up to you as a mother figure in her life. Joel always told her it was too early to tell, but he would always spare you a glance as if he was saying…

Not right now, but we’ll get there.

Being with Joel gave you a glimpse of a life you always dreamed of. The fact that his presence always made you feel safe and seeing him with Sarah always made your heart flutter. He was such an amazing dad and despite working so much, he always managed to find a way to make it up to her. 

You and Joel were together for about two years before Outbreak Day. Your lives had changed all in one night and Sarah…

It still hurts to think about that night. Being there with Joel, with Tommy, seeing Sarah take her last breath in her father’s arms… It was never going to be the same anymore. 

But that was twenty years ago. 

And it had been ten years since you last saw Joel. 

No one had ever come close to him. No one had ever made you feel as safe as he did, as loved as he did, and every night, nightmares plagued your dreams. You couldn’t sleep, not after everything you had done to survive. 

Not after your decision to leave Joel ten years ago. 

It was the toughest decision you ever had to make, but it was one where you decided to choose yourself over the man that Joel had become. 

Long gone was the man who was so full of life, of love… He had become a broken shell of a man, putting up walls around himself not even you could break through. And you were tired. Tired of seeing him work himself day in and day out, busying himself of the thoughts you were sure were plaguing him as well. 

But you had enough. You were exhausted, seeing him numb his feelings with alcohol and pills. He hadn’t said he loved you since that night he lost Sarah and while you couldn’t even fathom the pain he felt as a father, it was as if he dismissed your feelings and your pain while numbing his own. 

“I’m tired, Joel,” you said, seeing him seated at the small table with a bottle of alcohol and pills he managed to trade for. While he had done odd jobs in the middle of the day, he was also smuggling every other night, which made his and your life a bit easier than most. 

“Then go to sleep,” he replied, void of any emotion.

“Joel, that’s not what I mean.”

Joel took a deep breath and looked over at you. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, you could still visibly see the pain in his eyes. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me that me being here is enough, that you love me, that you’re hurting… I want you to just be open with me.”

“M’fine,” he replied.

“You aren’t!” You stood over him, hands on your hips and tears stinging your eyes. “Why can’t you just say it?”

“This world is fucked and I’m doin’ my best.” Again, no emotion. No reaction. 

“You’re killing yourself slowly, do you realize that?” You said with a shaky breath. “I am watching you numb your feelings every night and it hurts. I am hurting… I was there that night too and–”

“Don’t,” he replied, his jaw tightening. Finally, a reaction. “Don’t say her name.”

“Joel,” you sighed. “I miss her too. You think I just forgot? That I just stopped thinking about her? You aren’t the only one that lost something!”

“She was my daughter.” Anger laced his voice. He was looking at you in a way he never had before and it terrified you. 

“I know,” you sighed heavily. “But I loved her too…”

Joel shook his head. He grabbed the bottle and took a long swig of it, staring up at you. Then, he set the bottle down and stood from his seat. In this moment, you felt so small, so tiny in comparison to him. You had always felt safe with Joel, but not right now. 

“You want to leave?” Joel said. “Then go. I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

“Joel,” you whispered, tears now trickling down your face. “I want you to tell me that you love me, that our love is enough in this shitty world, that we can heal together!” 

“I can’t!” Joel yelled. “I’m not the man I was and I don’t think I ever will be! I ain’t gonna beg you to stay, so if you wanna leave, then fuckin’ go.”

“When did this all change?” You said quietly, wiping your tears away from your face. “When did we drift apart…?” 

“The day the world ended,” Joel replied. And there it was. A slight quiver of his lip. It was barely there, but you noticed it. He was in so much pain and yet, he didn’t want to admit it. He was fine with the way things were, but you weren’t. As much as you needed him, you didn’t want to continuously watch him waste away. You didn’t want to continue to wait for him every night, watching him go straight for the alcohol and pills to help him sleep. 

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t even blame him for what he was feeling. 

You just wished you were strong enough to stick around. 

“I love you too much,” you whispered. You were staring at him, taking note of every inch of his face because you were sure this was going to be the last time you would see him. Behind his facade was a man who was once happy, filled with so much love. The man you were looking at now… was void of it all. “But I can’t stay here, knowing that one day you might not come home.”

Joel felt his heart breaking. He wanted to give you what you wanted, wanted to be the man you deserved, but he couldn’t. He lost a part of himself when Sarah died and he was sure there was nothing that could help. Not even you. He didn’t want you to leave, but he knew you deserved better. 

Better than him. 

“Then go,” he said quietly, softly, voice trembling just a bit. “Go…”

“After all that we’ve been through?” You replied. You were yearning for him to just say don’t leave. 

But your hope was crushed the moment he replied. 

“Yes.”

That was all it took. You weren’t going to beg anymore. As much as you hated him at that moment, you still leaned up to gently peck his lips. You could feel him kissing you back, but you pulled away as quickly as he tried to continue it. You knew that if you didn’t leave now, you weren’t ever going to. 

“I hope…” you said with a shaky breath, tears now falling continuously down your cheeks. “I hope you find happiness again, Joel, because if anyone deserves it, it’s you…” 

Joel stared at you, his eyes softening for the first time in a long time. But it wasn’t enough to make you stay. 

Your love wasn’t enough and it hurt. It hurt like hell. Love was supposed to conquer everything, but right now, it just wasn’t enough. 

“I love you,” you continued, bringing your hand to cup his cheek, feeling his beard against your fingertips. He leaned against your touch, never breaking eye contact. You knew this was it, so you tried to memorize his face, the way his skin felt against yours, and it just broke you even more. “But I can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry.”

Joel then pulled away, walked back to the small table and looked away. “Me too.” 

—

Ten years later and here you were, at Jackson. You still couldn’t bring yourself up to say his name, but the conversations you had with Tommy about him always left you a crying mess in the comfort of your own home. He even tried to set you up with the many eligible bachelors in Jackson, but they never worked out. 

Because they were never him. 

Since leaving, you had become a recluse, only talking to Tommy and Maria, and sometimes the person you were on patrol with. No one in Jackson fully knew your story, except for Tommy and Maria of course, they just knew that you had known Tommy pre-Outbreak and that you were a good shot. 

Plenty of practice being out on your own, smuggling. Oh, if only he could see you now. 

Time helped, though. It didn’t heal all wounds, but the days got easier, the pain settled, but whenever you thought of him, it came rushing back. Always one step forward, two steps back. 

Today was your day off, but you were helping Tommy with some construction in the main center of Jackson. It was snowing and you were freezing, making sure that Tommy knew of your discomfort. 

“Come on,” he said, chuckling. “You tellin’ me that you’d rather be at home than spend time with me?”

You glared, the tip of your nose red from being out in the cold. Your body always ran cold, so whenever the outside temperature matched, you were ten times colder than most. Luckily, you were wearing a beanie and some gloves. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

Tommy laughed. “And what would you be doin’ at home, hm?”

“I don’t know, maybe be warm.” 

“Alright, alright. You got a point there. But, you’re always at home when you’re not workin’.”

“I don’t see that as a problem,” you replied. 

He gave you a knowing look. “You haven’t made any friends.”

“What? Yes, I have.”

“Who?”

You cleared your throat and lied. “Luke.”

“Who the hell is Luke?”

“Okay, fine. You’re right,” you sighed. You knew Tommy knew everyone in Jackson, so you didn’t see why lying would work. “I just– I’d rather keep my circle small.”

“Jackson is safe,” he sighed. “You’ve been grieving my brother for–”

“Don’t,” you replied. “Just don’t.”

Tommy set down his tools and looked over at you. “It’s been ten years.” 

“Not enough time,” you replied too quickly. 

“He did a number on you, didn’t he?” 

“You’re telling me that if you lost Maria, you wouldn’t act the way I am?” 

He cleared his throat. “Okay, valid point, but you left him.”

You sighed. “You don’t think I regret that decision? You don’t think that I wish I could have been strong enough to just stay? Pretending to be happy is exhausting, Tommy…”

“I’m not sayin’–”

“I’m just gonna go home,” you interrupted. 

Tommy let out a heavy sigh, watching you walk away before he reached out a hand to touch your shoulder. He turned you around, taking note of the tears stinging your eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just–” 

Then, you both heard a voice. 

His voice.

“Tommy!” 

You both turned around, looking at the man who yelled Tommy’s name. He was on one of Jackson’s horses and while he looked older, grayer, he was still the same man you fell in love with all those years ago. 

“Shit,” Tommy whispered. He gave you one glance and ran over to his brother, enveloping him in a tight hug. 

You noticed the younger girl he was with, seeing her glance around the community. 

Then, your eyes met his. 

Joel fucking Miller.

---

Part 2.

@pedrostories​

[tenthdoctorstanbot]

the doctor and the hunter

he met you by chance, chasing the hunt to fill a void within yourself. but its the void in him that you end up filling

tenth doctor x reader

ok this is my first ever writing for doctor who fandom so it could be very shit but here's the crossover spn x dr who crossover that's been living in my brain :) enjoy!

How you ended up in a big blue box flying through space and time is a question that wields a long winded answer about what you thought was a vampire related blood drinking issue and had turned out to be an alien related blood drinking world ending issue instead.

The tall man in a long trench coat, much like one you had years ago become familiar with, and a pinstripe suit seemed extremely (to say the least) confused when he crashed into you tracking these things. He was even more perplexed by your utter lack of surprise upon the knowledge that they were aliens, and your further lack of fear in blindly following him.

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of world ending catastrophes, but we still stand here on earth don’t we?” You’d shrugged, stuffing your handgun full of wooden stake bullets back into your belt. “Strange creature,” he’d mumbled somewhat under his breath, tone carrying remnants of confusion like that on your own face as he shines a light from some little buzzing pen he plucked out of his pocket. “Human. How utterly bizarre, who actually are y-“

He was cut off by you snatching the little thing from his hand, inspecting it between your fingers held up close to your face. He practically squeaked, “Excuse me?” As he tried to rip it back from your grasp. “Careful there, pinstripes.” You warn, making him gape.

That had become usual, the nicknames. You never called him Doctor on that particular adventure. It was pinstripes, brown eyes, alien boy, trench coat, even once called him your lordship completely sarcastically in the heat of a stupid moment. But to be honest, he found it oddly endearing.

He found you oddly endearing.

You are by a country mile the most enigmatic of his companions thus far. It’s odd that anyone should know more about him than he knows about them, especially for his companions. How could it be possible that you draw out of him the most openness he’s ever felt and yet he can’t seem to do the same for you. You’re a closed book, and since travelling with him not once have you spoken of going back to earth when it wasn't required, never breathed a word about family, hadn’t thought twice about joining him or who would miss you. All you had done was take one look over your shoulder, shrug and follow him inside. In fact the only Earthly object you seemed to have any form of attachment to was the cell phone in your utility jacket and the car keys you carried everywhere with you, often found fiddling with the keychains despite not having been seen with a car nor needing one when travelling with him.

Your painstakingly human and yet unimaginable lack of attachment to the human race was dumbfounding even for a man of his calibre with 900 years of world experience under his belt, so to speak.

And then there was those off hand remarks? The one about saving the world when he first met you, then another sticks out particularly in his mind like a sore thumb. He held a door open for you into some kind of danger and he'd prodded a joke. “Chivalry darling, gone from your generation but i’m stuck in the old ways.” Then you'd said, and he could quote exactly, “Park it, pinstripes. I’ve dealt with men plenty older than you.”

Plenty older? He’s 900 years old how could you have possibly ever encountered someone older than you. Upon thought, he doesn’t actually know what age you are but he can’t see you being much farther advanced than 30 at the oldest. The Doctor direly wishes to understand your brilliant mind, the scars of your past and the acceptance of all weird and every wonderful thing he springs on you, but simply cannot fathom how to broach the topic or even make you comfortable enough to bring it up yourself and it’s been nearly six months you’ve spent together.

Passing through the control room of the tardis, you can hear the familiar sound of the Doctor ‘tweaking’. He should learn to do less of that to his blue box space ship, but he’s always changing little things to help her run a little smoother.

“Morning!” He chimes from his place, only popping up his head of statically charged hair to bid you a smile. “Indeed,” you rumble back, perching yourself on a chair sat there, crossing your legs to balance your cereal. “Do i even want to know what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” he beams enthusiastically, way too enthusiastically for this time in the morning if you did say so yourself, but you’ll humour him nonetheless because you had a brother who used to get up go a run in the morning, so nothing could really be worse than that. “I’m fixing her up, few wires crossed up and i’m not sure where to put them. But i’m sure if i just-“

“No.” You cut him off in his ramble, “Wonder what the weather in oblivion is like this time of year.” You snigger, watching that one eyebrow perk up above his square rimmed glasses at your comment. “Well i’m not too sure but i think you could ask- wait? What does that even have to with anything?”

You un cross your legs, setting your bowl down on the floor as you swallow your last mouthful. “Cause that’s where you’ll blow us to if you try putting those two wires together.” You state simply, hopping down into the divet in the floor that he was in. There wasn’t really enough space for two in there, but you made it work anyway as he continued to stare at you in confusion. “Shift.” You instructed, ushering him over a little in the small space so you could crouch to get a better look. “Getting down on your knees is easier,” he murmurs, his tone both littered in confusion and distrust for your TARDIS mechanical skills, but also a hint of worry. He could take an electric shock, he’s superhuman, but your very human body would struggle with such voltage and despite refusing to acknowledge it within himself, he’s grown very found if you very quickly.

You bat your eyelashes teasingly, in a manner that alerts him to an oncoming joke that almost makes him want to preemptively roll his eyes. “Oh doctor if you wanted me down on my knees for you, you didn’t have to fake an electrical fault.” Your voice is full of your sarcasm as you turn around and get down to crawl into the smaller space, but his stomach still flutters a little at the innuendo.

“Very funny.” He snarks, “What’re you doing don’t touch- (y/n)!” He yelps, half expecting you to fry as you start fiddling with the bare wires. “Are you alright?” He rushes, but you just chuckle a dry laugh, “I’m not going to electrocute myself or blow us both up, i know what i’m doing.”

“How could you possibly- what?”

As if on cue, sounds start whirring as you rejoin some wires. “Dad was a mechanic and left us with a very old car.” You offer back in response, now laying on your back in under the machinery. “Pass me my car keys from my pocket please.” You instruct. The Doctor isn’t used to taking instruction, especially not from such an unmovingly stoic and yet secretly so knowledgeable companion.

“Why?” He presses, but clambers out of the hole and strides over to where your coat hangs anyway, digging around until he found the keys. “I need the flick blade on it, why do you ask so many questions? Curiosity killed the cat, you know.” You taunt, still focussing solely on the wiring of the TARDIS, the lighting of which you have already fixed. “Ahhh but satisfaction brought it back, lovely (y/n).” He retorts as he saunters over with your keys, not without pause.

He stops short to look at the keychains added on, a set of house looking keys, car key, an angel halo that doubled as a bottle opener - weird - a few more tidbits but the one that stuck out was a picture keyring. Two men and you, one man on either side. One was tall and soft looking, one was stalky and gruff wearing the same blue utility jacket that you now wear. None of you are smiling, but you're all grimacing. You look knackered, but happy enough to be together.

He hands the keys to you after he climbs back into the space, leaving a moment of silence while you worked.

“Want to make a stop off at your good old home of planet earth, today?” He hums seemingly out of the blue. You do have a family, that’s who they are… surely? Why would you feel the need to keep that from him. “Not really, no.” You reply unbothered. The doctor sighs. “There’s got to be someone missing you down there, desperate to see you eh?” He tries to tease, but you do not jest back.

“Not really, no.” You repeat, echoing your earlier three words exactly with the very very same tone.

“But what about-“

“There's no one. And this is fixed.” You state, tearing off one may piece of electrical tape before you stand up, basically nose to nose with him. “They’re gone.”

His shoulders fall, that sad puppy look on his face telling you he knows exactly what you mean when you say ‘gone’. He knows how that feels, and you know that he knows it because he’s told you all about it. You know about Rose and the pain he felt when he lost her, and by god do you know that pain well. You may be the only person in the world who knows that pain he feels. Only a select few in the world know that level of loss and unfortunately, you are one of them.

There’s been more loss in your life than you could ever have imagined. You’ve actually lost every single person who had ever passed through it. Every, single, solitary, one.

Maybe he would understand that.

“Everyone’s gone, that’s the way it is in life.” You mutter, pulling yourself out of the divet and stalking away to find a rag to wipe your hands. He waits a moment, but he couldn’t leave you like this. Usually, he would let you go, leave you to your own devices because he felt like that was what you wanted, maybe needed. But the doctor has a funny hunch now it’s not want you want and it’s definitely not what you need. You just feel as though that’s how it’s supposed to be because it’s all you’ve ever grown accustomed to knowing.

“(y/n)!” He calls out after you, “If anyone knows loss, it’s me. Please. You can talk to me, you should talk to me. Who are those men in that picture and why do you not have any self preservation. And no fear of any of this. I’ve never known anyone to see this all so normal so quickly?” He presses, following you down the halls until you finally just stop in the library, bracing yourself on a shelf.

“My brothers.” You breathe, “They, we- it’s complicated and long and painful, ten.” You struggle, tears catching in your voice. “I’m no stranger to pain and we have all the time in the universe.”

—

“I knew an angel once.” You hummed out, seemingly deep in thought after yet another wild adventure. This was it, the Doctor thought, this was an opening. His curiosity was firmly piqued for you had actually just said a real life angel and for the fact he really, really wanted to get to know you in the deepest way possible. “A real angel? Is that the ‘plenty older than me’ then?” He asks, voice dripping with intrigue as he leans forward in his chair after directly quoting you from over two months ago. “Yeah,” you breathe a laugh, “Much older than you, unfortunately Doctor, your 900 years isn't quite close.” You tease.

“How old!” He encourages enthusiastically, almost forgetting that you had said “knew” and “once.” He was gone too.

“Very, billions and billions of years, eons old. As old as time, really.” You shrug, “His name was Castiel, met him when he dragged my brother out of hell. Gripped him right and raised him from perdition and all that sort of stuff.”

How could you possibly have said that sentence as casually as you had.

“He was probably my best friend in the world he-" You pause for a moment, “He used to take me places, telling me all about them. Took me all the way back to 1912 once to show me the titanic, you know, before it tragically sunk and took thousands of lives but it was beautiful.” The memory is clearly a good one, a breathtaking one even because you have this glint in your eyes you only ever seem to get when seeing or remembering something of true brilliance and amazement. “He could just magic butterfly’s out of his hands and brought me the most amazing little trinkets from his travels. He was amazing.”

He was amazing.

“He was more than just a friend, wasn’t he?” He presses softly, watching a distinct sadness flicker through your eyes, that very same one actually that appears in is when he speaks of rose.

“Yeah,” you mutter softly, “He was the love of my life, actually.”

—-

“You know when i die?”

“Excuse me?” The doctor all but barks, shooting up from his place by the control panel. Your comment came so out of the blue it completely took him by surprise. “When you what?”

“When i die, because we both know it’s going to happen and in this life? It’s probably sooner rather than later-”

“Not if i have anything to say about it!” He interjects, but you simply roll your eyes to shrug him off. “Yeah yeah, but most of the time, I’ve learned you don’t because nobody does.” You defuse, ignoring his sad puppy face. “But when it happens, i need you to promise me a few things.”

“Okay…” he follows along, trying to ignore the hurt that had settled itself firmly into his now heavy chest.

“We have this thing-”

“We?”

“Hunters- stop asking questions!”

“Fine! Sorry, go on.”

“A hunters funeral, if you just built up some logs, wrap me up, chuck on some salt and burn the body.” You explain, somewhat harshly because it’s so very normal to you. “Your body, that’s you, i couldn’t ever!” He exclaims, brown eyes wide in his utter shock. You grimace, anticipating this reaction. “Well it’s not me anymore though, gotta stay gone.” You try to reason, but he’s raised to his feet closer to you now. “Salt?!”

“Salt and burn, commonplace for hunters. It’s to make sure we can’t come back. No ghosts or gouhles can jump in take my body for a joyride.” You shrug, watching a whole range of emotions flood through those beautiful brown eyes. “It’s really important to me, you have to promise me, Doctor.”

The tall brunette seems to think about it for a few moments before he sighs, drops his head and then nods. “And just…take care of my car too? She’s a little battered but she’s really important to me y’know?” You add, somewhat shyly, averting your eyes from his.

“Well,” he claps suddenly, very excitedly, “You best take me to see this majestic old car then!”

—

Majestic indeed she is, he’s enthralled by the shiny black and it’s overly long American 60’s style. It’s in such good condition and it seems to just leak out every memory it has, full of love and laughter but also agony and breaking hearts. “Oh my god! You can almost feel her energy she’s…” He continues talking, but you can’t hear him anymore. Your ears are ringing potently, your feet rooted to the spot, eyes wide and heart thundering.

If you listen closely enough, you could hear Dean blaring Eye of The Tiger while Sam complains it’s too loud over your eldest brothers booming, awful singing.

“(y/n)? Love? Are you alright?” The Doctor stops short, slowly stepping back to where you are. You try to speak but the words are easily stuck behind the lump in your throat. It’s then that he does something strange, budges the gap of pain between you two.

The Doctor takes your hand.

You're scared to start her. Scared that when you open the door it’ll smell like gunpowder and Dean’s cologne. Scared you’ll turn on the engine and his music will start with the same CD he last had in there before driving to the place where he would ultimately leave you without the man who raised you. You’re scared she’ll break down and without Dean and Sam hovering above you, you’re scared you won’t be able to get her back humming. In the very same breath, you are terrified that you’ll open the door and it won’t smell like home anymore. You are utterly petrified that Dean’s music won’t play through the grainy old speakers and even more she runs smooth and you won’t even get to open her bonnet again and relive those days where your little hands weren’t allowed in there, so you just at by Dean and Sam and watched them work.

"It's just..." You pause to release a shaky breath, "It's his stupid bloody car isn't it?" The time lord doesn't know how to reply really, but your voice is such a difficult thing to read in this moment. It carries this weird mixture of sarcasm, hurt, betrayal, loss and just so so much pain and longing for something that you can never get back.

No one would ever love you like Dean had. Sam was close, but he never had to raise you like Dean did. It was like you had lost your actual father, and then you proceeded to lose the man who was actually your dad. Who raised you and loved you and fed you and clothed you, made sure you were safe and happy, protected and warm at night even if it meant he couldn't be any of those things. If it meant he had to die, go hungry, go cold, suffer through all kinds of literal and figurative kinds of hell to keep you here - alive.

Even if anyone ever loves you again, if you ever find love in this very sick and very twisted world that you had fallen into instead of being like any other normal, 9-5 working human, it still could never be the same. Because you had lost the only parent you'd ever really known, even if he was your brother.

"It is his car." The doctor agrees solemnly, tucking his chin to his chest as he can physically feel the pain emanating off of you. "It's his stupid car that rattles because Sam pushed a toy into the back door, the gears never change properly, it's been destroyed more times than it's been working. It drinks fuel like no tomorrow and it rumbles unhappily when you take it over 40. But it's his car. His car with all the drawings i did under the carpet in the trunk." You walk around it, leading the brown haired lanky time lord behind you, only letting go of his hand when you pull open the driver side door. "And- yep - the 2nd grade letter i wrote for him on fathers day." You pull out the pink piece of paper from tucked under the driver bench seat. "It's where we slept a lot of nights, we spent more nights here than we had hot meals and even they were usually form little dive bars or disgusting high way fast food places driving from one place to another."

You had so much pain in your life, and this car seemed to carry it all under its roof.

"And our initials carved into the inside of this door." You pull open the back seat, tucking your fingers behind the cap in the plastic cladding on the inside so you would pull it back to reveal the three seats on initials scraped into the metal inside. "It's his car and it's...it's just-"

"It's home." His soft voice takes you by surprise because he hadn't seemed to speak in so long, letting you talk about your home the same way he had his. It's a little different, but it was your home. That house you spent a few years in, all those motels, Bobby's house and Jody's house were all just that. Houses, some where you felt safe and some where you didn't. This right here, this battered up old 1969 Chevrolet Impala with all the weapons in the back and an endless load of memories, had been your home all of your life.

You let him sit in the passenger seat with a scrapbook of adventures and tidbits of your writing that you'd added in about what you had fought in accordance to the date and the pictures included. He got to read through the book of your lives really, all those pictures that he can see of your brothers and your angel.

And it's in knowing them, in reading these adventures and getting to know the history and the life of your family, that the Doctor truly feels he has never known you more.

---

"How could you possibly want this one," The alien grumbles, a disturbingly dismissive laugh leaving his disgusting face. "She's so painfully human and sickeningly broken. Look at her, she longs in that meaningless little human mind of hers, all those feelings and pathetic wants for love. They are so amusing, is that why you keep it."

"What?" The Doctor demands incredulously, breathless in his horror that something would speak of you in such a way. He spares a look at you on the floor in some kind of cage behind the alien, curled into foetal position whimpering away in the stupor of whatever they had drugged you with.

How could anyone ever think that of you? You are strong, independent, of course broken hearted because you had experienced loss on a scale unparalleled by most, but you have an unreal determination, you are funny and kind, you still try to see the good in the world and fight to keep the universe safe the way you always had to make your brothers proud.

"My god," the alien scoffs, "Look at her! Look at her whimpering like a child! She was begging for you, begging for you to rescue her like an infant. In fact, we have infants stronger than that here! Somewhere in that filthy little brain of hers she truly believes someone like you could ever feel for her the same thing she feels for you. How pitiful."

Shock and horror wrenches its way through his entire body, rocking him to his very soul. How do you feel about him?

"She's nothing-"

"Enough, now!" He booms, his eyes wild with a rage very rarely seen in the Doctor. "Human's are not yours to take. They are beautiful and each unique and this one...this one is special. You could never fathom the things she has done and the things she had been through to keep this entire universe from being wiped out, erased and completely restarted with creatures like us entirely removed from existence. She is...she... I would do anything for her. I will destroy your entire existence if i have to. Whatever i have to do to get her back from you, I will do." His voice is stoney, strong and protective but filled with an untouched emotion. Filled with something you hadn't heard directed at you in a long time and even in your distressed, half conscious state of extreme discomfort; you feel unbearable relief because he is here for you. He is here to get you and the emotions in his voice are for you, the anger is stewed up within him from the importance of your existence to him.

This all powerful doesn't really need you. He invited you along because he was lonely and he hated to manage by himself. He brought you along for his aching soul and now, he's found that he actually does need you. Maybe not in the most literal of sense. He could travel and fight these evils without your knowledge or your hand to hand combat skills.

But he could not do this without you anymore, not in an emotional sense. It was there that he actually did need you. He needed you like you need air to survive. His brown eyes have to be the ones that see you padding around half asleep looking for a glass of water in the night. His hair has to be the one that you run your hands through when it gets a little to wild and his voice has to be the ones that lulls you back to sleep after nightmares about the live you once lived and the deaths that you have seen or played a hand in.

He would burn this entire planet to dust if that was what it took to get you back from them, because in every sense of possibility, he needs you.

The Doctor needs the hunter.

[o5-blackbird]

Visibility: Visible to all Word count: 786 Tw: arguing & minor misunderstanding

[Audio: a recording lasting about five minutes.]

As soon as the audio connection was established, some noises could be heard nearby. Every few moments, a soft scratching noise accompanied by an occasional chirp would be distinctly picked up in the audio, the birds seeming to be in the midst of playing.

But… As the audio continued, something else could be quietly picked up in the background. It was muffled as if it was coming from behind a closed door. It could only be heard distinctly if one were to listen very carefully.

There were two lightly familiar voices. One was softer and held a slight accent, sounding a balanced mixture of feminine and masculine as the person spoke.

“I did not intend to make you feel as if you were being left out or that I did not have as much respect for you-”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you did leave me out and that you did disrespect me. Whether it was intentional or not, you continuously pulled that shit,” The other person interrupted sharply in a lower feminine tone, the last few words holding a tinge of something harsher then the rest.

A pause of silence followed before the other person began to speak again, barely able to get a few words out before it was cut off once more.

“I-... I am very sorry but-”

“How the fuck was I supposed to respond to that? How was I supposed to respond to you telling me that I was making too much of a fucking deal of this? How am I seemingly the only person taking this seriously while you and Dogwood ran off on your – on our – fucking date night? How do you do that and then look someone in the eyes when they are trying to talk to you and trying to ensure that you’re not some fucking traitor and yet you still have the audacity to continuously excuse their concerns?”

“... I am so sorry… I did not mean to-”

“Stop saying that. You’re repeating yourself.”

“...”

“... Nobody wants to think about this possibility… It still needs to be taken seriously. Dogwood was nearly killed. Nine was killed. Now Mana Charitable is gone – only a few days after we had agreed to settle on more relaxed repercussions – almost as if they had been planning on using that time to make a break for it before we could change our minds. Now Anderson is leaning out of neutrality? You can’t tell me this is all a coincidence?...”

“I just-... I understand your concerns; I really do… But I cannot fathom how any of us would do this…? We have all been loyal since the start… I cannot understand why someone would change so suddenly? To switch loyalty to Mana Charitable out of all groups as well…?"

He paused for a moment before continuing. "I can understand Dogwood being targeted as a method of weakening our defense but–... I do not see any reason for Nine to be targeted…? There were not any other attempted attacks identified, this was not an organized attack on the entire Council – which would certainly make more sense but this–...”

Blackbird trailed off.

The seconds began to pass, slowly trickling by; as if neither were going to make any effort to fill it, as if none of it needed to be filled, as if to admit it were to bring it to truth.

But… As the seconds passed tensely, Blackbird was finally the one to break it.

“I respect you, Maya… God, I respect you. You have been a constant source of stability in every function of our roles, our time, and everything. For that, I admire you beyond reason… Though… I cannot bring myself to accept that any of us – or any of those that we have entrusted to work directly beneath us for so long – would commit such an act…”

He trailed off for another moment before saying a few more quiet words. 

“You mean the world to me. I encourage your efforts and I share the belief that they are noble but… Please do not hang yourself on fruitless efforts.”

Another silence followed. Then quiet distant rustling of fabric as if someone were retrieving something before a few hollow steps could be heard leading further away; Green exiting.

“I-... I am sorry… Green, are you alright?...”

“I am fine. Don’t apologize… I am-..." Someone could be heard sniffling softly in the gap of quiet. A single time, followed by more silence before she continued, her words a bit more stiff. "I feel unwell. I am sending Eight to stay with you for tonight. I do not want company at the moment.”

Blackbird remained quiet for a few moments before answering. “Oh… Of course… I am-... Okay. Please take care of yourself…”

A door could be heard softly opening. “I always do,” she responded gently.

Just as quietly as the words had drifted from her lips, the sounds of another couple of quiet footsteps and a door gently but swiftly closing could be heard.

Soon after, the audio excerpt ended.

[athyathye]

Hello there! I saw your request were open can you do a reader who was in a coma for months because of an car accident? and the reader waked up? sorry if my English is bad

Stay here one more time

Warnings ⚠️: Spoilers! angst, car accidents, violence, profanities, mentions of blood and more

Author's note 📝: Whew, I made it Mikey’s POV KDKSK

“Don’t give up so easily! Toman wouldn’t have gotten this far without you! Don’t decide this alone!!” you threw the books you were holding at Mikey. Not caring about the numerous pairs of observant eyes looking at both of you.

“Oi y/n...Just leave him alone.” Draken grabbed you by your shoulders, gently pushing you out of Mikey’s way. Wanting no more than to stop the scene from escalating.

“Why should I!? Mikey!!! Nobody’s blaming you! Emma’s death wasn’t your fault! I swea-” You shouted desperately, struggling in Draken’s hold as Mikey interrupted you.

“Then who’s was it!?! I couldn’t….protect anyone. It all started with me.” The great Mikey finally snapped, looking at you with eyes filled with rage and anguish.

It was the first time you’ve seen so many emotions on his face.  It was like a damn suddenly bursting without prior notice aside from the small cracks it had.

“What the hell!? Something is seriously wrong with you if you still think I’m not the one to blame!!” He frustratedly said, his legs giving up on him, on all fours as he laid his head on his hands, wanting to cover up the fact that he was crying.

The rest were no better, finally being able to see their leader be vulnerable and able to show his emotions like this, it hurt. Hurt so bad that they couldn’t help but cry along with him, reminiscing about the time they had with the 2 people who had sadly left them.

“....I’m sorry…..If only I was the one who died…” He whimpered, voice as brittle as his sanity, heartbreaking as it was a new fire erupted from his words, others were about to protest when-

Slap!

“You...stupid idiot! You *sshole!” You smacked his head, kicking him by his side before sitting on top of him to continuously rain slaps and hits upon him.

“Emma’s gone! She’s never coming back!” Your words struck something in their core, helplessly watching as you tried to hit Mikey even with tears down your face.

“Get that through your thick skull! It’s alright!” “It’s not alright!!” He shouted at you, but before he could say more, you leaned your upper body towards him. Holding him in your arms as he felt his shoulders getting wet.

“...I’m begging you...I can’t take it anymore…”

“It’ll be alright, I swear….I’ll do something about it”

The uneasiness did not subside. Everybody could feel just how bad this has affected all of you, the atmosphere turning into one of quietness as the only sound heard were your occasional sobs and sniffles.

Mikey came home that day, feeling guilt eating him up. Nothing could really stop him from feeling this way. There was nothing in this world that could make himself more broken than he was right now. At least….that’s what he thought.

He wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, only aware of the self-destructing thoughts that had been eating him away since 3 days ago.

A walk, his grandpa made him take, aware of how much he was going through. Only wanting to make his grandson feel something other than grief. He wanted no more than for someone to save his only surviving grandchild. He couldn’t fathom what would happen to him if yet another one of his children would leave.

But Mikey didn’t know that. Only aware of the fact that this may be his last day alive as Mikey, Manjiro Sano.

The last day he gets to live as he chooses.

*Hoooonk!* He finally noticed it.

“Mikey!!!” He looked towards the voice, that was where he saw his group of friends, coincidentally in the same park as he was, except they were near the entrance, away from him and he was at the middle of the highway.

He slowly lifted up the corners of his lips for a smile, accepting his fate, awaiting for the impact. His eyes went back to the way they looked, lifeless and void. He could see their moving lips and horrified faces, some of them already running towards him. But it was sadly too late.

“Mikey!”

*Bang*

*Screeeeech!*

*Bang!*

“Mh- Agh.” Mikey painfully groaned, trying to sit himself up, watching as the crowd of people turned towards a certain direction.

His vision was hazy, there was nothing he could see clearly but the concerning amount of blood that was beginning to taint the left side of the road.

Then he saw it. His eyes widened, watching as the other members of Toman surround you, calling for help themselves.

Then he slowly stood up, glancing at the chaos he’d caused, not even able to shake himself off from the shock. None of his senses were working properly, it felt like time had stopped. The only thing moving was your lifeless body on the ground, the red substance continuing to flow and that scared him so much he wanted to vomit.

And that he did, on his knees at the side of the road. People didn’t even see him. Only focusing on you.

And Mikey didn’t know whether he was thankful for that or not. The ringing in his ears was the only thing he could focus on besides the endless fluid he felt himself letting out, was it tears? Was it blood? Was it vomit? He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He did not know.

The scene changed, it was now inside the hospital. He didn’t know how he got here, no it was probably some of his friends dragging him to you, knowing that he’d have to force himself to come, otherwise….

But he shouldn’t have come.

He heard the wails of pain your mother had let out, the way your father began sobbing along with your mother on the floor, Toman couldn’t do anything but look down and hold their tears.

There was nothing more hurtful than the sound of parents begging for their child to be saved, there was nothing more hurtful than the fact that he knew he had unconsciously caused this as well.

He said nothing as he felt himself get punched on the left side of his face, making him drop on the ground on his side.

They were at the back of the hospital, nobody around but them and the rest of Toman.

“Why….why!? Why didn’t you protect her?!...Why?” Your best friend Hina had screamed at him, getting in between Mikey and Draken as he held him by the collar, before feeling herself lose strength as she too sat on the ground, bringing her arm up to hide her crying face as nobody dared to say a thing.

This was like the Emma situation all over again, except this time, they were finally blaming him. He wanted that, he desperately did. He wanted them to despise him, to curse at him, beat him to a pulp.

Anything to “.....please….make me forget this pain”

There were no more tears flowing, he didn’t have enough.

“Who do you think you are?....” This time it was Takemitchy who had spoken up.

“Y/n-san always worried about all of us, about you especially. I don’t want you to forget about it. I WANT YOU TO FEEL THE SUFFERING SHE HAD!!!-”

“TAKEMITCHY- what the hell are you saying!?-”

“Don’t you get it!? If only you didn’t hole yourself up we wouldn’t be in this mess!! If only you had actually asked us to help you, we would have!! I don’t f*cking care anymore, Manjiro. You’re an *sshole! You...you couldn’t even talk to us when we were here….all the time...by your side.”

“He’s right. You’re f*cking selfish, Mikey” Draken agreed, his eyes almost identical to Mikey’s.

“You’re constantly doing things by yourself, not wanting others to join you, keeping the pain all to yourself, when we’re here wanting to share the burden. You need to remember, we’re not going anywhere. Even if you try to push us all out, we’ll follow you to hell and back.” Mitsuya had uttered, sitting on the side with his hands above his bowing head.

"...we were all hurt by Emma's death you know....not just you. It may have hurt far more to you, but we were still hurt as well" Baji claimed, looking at his friends who all looked lost before biting his lip and looking down.

“....Should we just change our leader now? Mikey’s a d*mbass and I don’t want to follow an idiot” Chifuyu had said, obviously joking and that was seen from the grin on his face. Going back to his rather cheery demeanor.

“Yeah. Let’s impeach Mikey, I’m sure as hell I can do better.”

“Kazutora, you’d make us strip naked and jump off of a random bridge-”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that-”

Mikey closed his eyes, feeling the dread that had been so violently storming on him subsided. Maybe he could get through this, maybe he should start facing reality once more. Maybe just maybe, time will heal him…

He just hoped you could forgive him.

A few months had gone by, nothing much happened. Toman was still at the top including his friends, they visited you weekly, though not Mikey.

He couldn’t face you. If he did, he was sure he was going to fall into a deep abyss of pain and misery again. He couldn’t let that happen, not when you were here because of that scenario.

He never really did end up healing, at least not in his opinion, he still had Takemitchy and draken along with the rest of the gang keeping him in check. Though he could see just how hard they prevented the possible provocations their enemy gangs made. The way they’d walk on eggshells around him in the first few months.

But then, he didn’t want to be in pain anymore, never again. If he had to cause pain and worry towards his friends, he’d at least want to be part of it. Knowing that either of his choices would ultimately end up in disaster. He picked the route where he knew the gang wanted him to be a part of.

“Mikey!!” He heard one of his friends call, if he had to count how many times his friends called out to him while he was spacing out he would’ve lost his mind trying to count. He was happy people were there for him, He truly was but sometimes...it can get really overbearing.

He glanced towards the person who had called out to him, seeing a face of pure joy and determination. Takemitchy looked nearly ready to cry a damn river. And Mikey only needed that face for confirmation.

He said nothing as he then bursted into a sprint, on the way to a hospital. Sparing nothing at a glance as he almost tripped and fell on his way, not caring about the fact that he looked like a madman running from god knows what.

He bursted through the hospital, ignoring the shouts from bewildered nurses who shouted at him to quiet down.

He stood near your hospital room, hesitating over and over again to open the door. He grabbed the handle, before letting it go once more.

He closed his eyes as he remembered the day vividly, the accident that nearly cost you your life. The way blood pooled from your body and the way the others had flinched and hesitated, in holding you, not wanting to accidentally put you into more of a critical condition that you had already been.

“Is somebody out there? It’s open!” He heard someone inside say.

He let out a low gasp, his eyes widening in joy, but then he cleared his throat, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply. He opened the door.

‘...I- I’m so glad’ he felt himself tearing up, only able to walk a few steps before he fell to his knees.

“Ah- Mikey you ok?” He heard you ask, ‘finally, f*cking finally’ “no. I’m not alright” He dragged his body towards your bed, almost crawling to just hold your hand.

“Sorry, I made you worry didn’t I?” Your voice, just as sweet as he remembered it. He couldn’t believe his eyes, you were finally here, and you were still talking to him.

A sob escaped his mouth, another one following, and another one, and another one. “I- i’m not alright, I thought i’d never be able to see you again….heuk….I'm so glad, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

He had sobbed as he held your hand, to which you smiled brightly at.

“Mikey, you idiot….Promise me you won’t do something stupid like that ever again.”

[achillieus]

we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one. 

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, mentions of depression, angst, bucky is a cocky bitch, but bucky also needs a hug

(other parts)  (masterlist)

part 1/3:

It’s December, his sophomore year of college and Bucky’s watching you again. From afar, always from afar. He’s scared if he goes near, something will give him away and you’ll laugh at him. He doesn’t remember when his fixation started but he’s certain it’ll pass. A load of girls on campus like him. Sometimes he thinks he likes some of them back. But not you. Bucky doesn’t like you. He’s beyond you. (Actually, you’re beyond him. He would never admit that.)  He watches you and notices how your fringe has grown the last few weeks and how a few strands are falling down your eyes. You brush them away and keep writing your essay. He decides it’d be better if he started writing his too. You’re a year younger but he knows you’ll probably get a higher score than him anyway. You’re good with words, he has noticed.

-

It’s March, your freshman year and you breathe out. You’re leaving the library, arms wrapped around books about Hamlet and Shakespeare, when you see him. Lately he seems to be everywhere you are. It’s getting annoying. You promise yourself you won’t stare at him again, but you cheat a few times. He’s wearing one of his overpriced shirts and he smiles at a sophomore girl. You know Bucky Barnes. You’d known him even if you didn’t want to. Because everybody does. Because that’s who he is. Everything you dislike about the world distilled into one label-whoring, conceited, 5′11″ tall boy. And everybody seems to be smitten with him.

He comes to you first.

“It’s destiny, Y/N,” he says, a smug look on his face, “third time I bump into you today.”

You tense. This is new. Usually, you don’t talk to each other if not for arguing in Romance Literature class. It’s one of the two classes you share.

“I must be very lucky.” Bucky chuckles and it’s somewhat engaging because he hasn’t given you a smile since the first day you met him.

“Admission office is on the left, doll”.

You had thought he was nice then. And beautiful. God, he was so beautiful. Please, he’s not. He’s an arrogant smartass. And now he’s standing here and for some seconds he laughs and you can see the dimples in his cheeks. You blink.

His light eyes divert to the books you’re holding.

“Try not to have too much fun.”

He mocks and walks away.

-

It’s July, end of sophomore year and Bucky joins a summer book club. (He doesn’t tell anyone. He enjoys his facade.) Every morning he grabs an iced latte and a butter croissant and he goes to the meetings. He reads a lot. And he loves it. It helps him feel. It’s a getaway. Bucky always stands proud and tall, trying to hide how easily he can be torn.

Running one finger along the starched collar of his shirt, he reads quietly and he considers the ever-changing art of literature; words and metaphors that allow him to imagine entire worlds and fathom his own sensitivities. He almost feels vulnerable. He decides that reading together with another person is an intimate act and he’s thankful he doesn’t really have any interest in anyone in the club.

But then it’s Monday and his teenage dream walks in, hair falling gracefully your shoulders, Gone with The Wind in your left hand. And it could have been the sun gleaming through the windows, but Bucky swears his whole being flickers. In a way or another he always responds to your presence.

You sit two rows behind of him and when he involuntary turns to you, you look surprised and yet you smile.

He tries to avoid you and he’s good at it, until someone decides it’d be fun to present the next book in groups. You’re the only two without a friend there and you end up paired together.

“I don’t like this.” he says.

“Oh, I know.” you whisper.

You spend an evening in his dorm, discussing the author and the plot holes. At first, he talks a lot, trying to impress you. But then he lays on his back, listening to the summer rain outside and you reading out loud. Regardless of what you feel for each other, he thinks it’s a beautiful sound.

Next morning, he buys two butter croissants instead of one.

-

It’s October, your sophomore year and you’re not exactly friends. Or enemies. Bucky has stopped teasing you and you think it’s because of your days in the book club. Actually, it’s because he’s dating Natasha Romanoff now and he promised he’d be kinder.

You realize sooner or later and you say it’s obvious you don’t care. (Who is it obvious to?) The girl is pretty, clever and vibrant and she’s a good person. You like her. You just can’t figure out what she sees in Bucky.

-

It’s January, his junior year and he’s not doing well. He knows it’s his fault (he always loved half-heartedly) and that makes the hurting worse. It’s guilt driven. He tries to get Nat back but she’s not ready. And it’s awful because nobody warned him and he didn’t know; it’s hard to feel lovable after a break up. He desperately needs a distraction. He pushes himself past his breaking point. Carves his grades into the back of his neck. Devours facts and theorems. Almost joins the football team for extra credit. But to be honest he’s never been that much into sports. Debate team, it is.

That’s where he truly learns to despise you. Who do you think you are? The proud jaw, those smart eyes, your feet planted on the ground as if the world’s wisdom belongs to you. You’re at your best while he’s at his lowest point.

He watches you and then he watches himself.

“Your last argument was weak,” you say, raising your eyebrows, “you should concentrate more.”

Bucky bites his lip in frustration.

“You’re not the boss around here.” He says, crossing his arms in his chest, “You may think you are, but you’re not.”

(Technically she is, Bucky. She’s the captain of the team.)

“Don’t start again.” You sigh. “I just want us to win next week.”

He rolls his eyes at you. He would never admit it out loud but a part of him is enjoying this. Feuding with Y/N feels natural. It reminds him of who he is.  And he feeds on that.

He takes a step towards you.

“Of course, so you can take all the credit.”

You just stare at him. Sometimes you don’t understand what Bucky is trying to prove. That he’s better? Or that you’re worse? You hate it. How quickly he can make you lose your temper.

(How quickly he can exhilarate you.)

“If you don’t like the team,” you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze, “you’re free to leave.”

Bucky laughs. This is how you are. This is how you will always be. Both strong, you just, him lost.

“You need me to win, Y/N,” he sets his shoulders back and smirks, “I’m good at this.” He remains close to you and refuses to look away. He can see you parting your lips for a second or two.

(Did he just glance at your lips?)

“I know you are,” you breath out and Bucky is incredulous, “so start acting like it.”

(Did you just compliment him?)

-

It’s the first day of February, your sophomore year and you think you’re losing your sanity. Bucky invites everyone at his dorm to celebrate their victory at the National Debate Championship. And it’s strange because Bucky never really invites anyone he doesn’t like. If you didn’t know him, you would have bet that he’s been feeling lonely.

You don’t want to go at first. But you’re glad you do. Under the green lights he has installed and all the alcohol in his body, he looks different and it’s the first time you genuinely see him. A boy with silky black hair, blue eyes and skin that looks like it’d be cool to touch. There’s something attractive about him, in a rugged way, and you’re seeing it again after a long time.

Your allergies must have gotten in your head.

He doesn’t talk a lot that night. Not to you. Not to anyone. You deduce pretty early that Bucky just wanted company to drink. You wonder if he’s still messed up because of the break up.

Probably. Everyone on campus is talking about how Natasha was hanging out with that boy, Clint.

He tells you, you don’t have to, but you still stay to help him clean up.

“Why are you doing this, Y/N?” His voice is low.

You started taking a new antihistamine, maybe it’s the side effects.

“It’s called being nice,” you say firmly, “you should try it.”

Bucky makes a little humming sound and keeps collecting plastic cups. The room is quiet, but for the sound of trash bags and you count the seconds before you speak again.

“How are you?”

“I’m not that drunk, don’t worry.” He half-answers, half laughs but he pronounces the last word with enough irony.

“No, I meant,” you breath, “Is everything okay with you?”

“Seriously, you make no sense Y/N.” He’s careful not to look at you.

“I just wanted to say,” your voice sways for a second, you’re a novice in talking with him about anything different than books and words and that makes you weak and nervous, “You’ll be back with Natasha, I’m sure.”

Bucky’s face hardens around the edges, his eyes saying more about him than any words could. He comes close to you and it could have been the smell of alcohol but you feel like you want to throw up.

“You and I, we’re not friends.”

You don’t blink. You stare blankly at him, waiting for what follows. But he just leaves the room.

You promise you will never go to any of his parties again.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

[thebigbadbatswife]

I Don’t Wanna Live Forever

Summary - Y/N starts wondering if she dodged a bullet or just lost the love of her life.

Warnings - Please only read if you’re 18+, angst, smut, make up sex. 

[A/N] - Inspired by the song ‘I Don’t Wanna Live Forever’ by Taylor Swift

Word Count - 2.9k

The sky was covered in pitch black clouds, completely blocking out the stars. Lightning danced through the clouds and thunder shook the heavens, as rain poured onto the world below. A bright white flash briefly illuminated the old gothic manor that had weathered storms far worse than this one. Inside, the manor’s owner sat alone in front of a fireplace, a glass of bourbon in one hand, his phone in the other. He was so lost in his own thoughts, he barely heard the storm raging outside.

Bruce scrolled through his contacts and only stopped once he had reached her name. He clicked on her contact and his thumb hovered over the call button. After about a minute, he switched the phone off, set it on the nearby table and downed his drink in one. For the past six months, either when he wasn’t going out on patrol (which was rarely), or he had just gotten back from one, this was his ritual. Ever since she walked out of that door, cursing his name and the day they’d met, he found himself back here.

He wanted to call her. God above did he want to call her and make everything alright again, but she had made it extremely clear she never wanted to hear from him ever again. So Bruce didn’t call. He respected that she didn’t want to talk to him.

He set the empty glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes closed and he imagined that, by some miracle, she walked back in through that front door. That she’d see him standing there and would run into his arms. Bruce would wrap his arms around her, bringing her close to his body. His lips would gently brush against hers before he kissed her passionately. He’d lift her up and carry her to his bedroom. Then he’d lay her on his bed before quickly removing both of their clothes and they would stay there for hours on end.  

An involuntary sigh left him as he imagined her skin against his and his eyes snapped open because, no, that wasn’t going to happen. The logical part of his brain knew that. It reminded him constantly, but the part of his brain that dared to dream the impossible? The part of his brain that only existed because of her? That part was still convinced that somehow, someway, that would happen. Because it had to. It just had to… right?

He leaned back in the armchair he was sitting in and a heavy sigh left him. Bruce felt like he was going crazy. Every other relationship he’d had, he had never gone through this before. Even when he wasn’t the one to end it. What was it about her that made her so different?

A voice in the back of his head, and in his chest, told him exactly what made her so different, but he was quick to silence it. He didn’t want to think about that. Especially when she was no longer his. Bruce was brought out of his thoughts from a knock at the doorway. He looked over to his shoulder to see Alfred standing there.

“Master Bruce, may I suggest you get some rest so that you’re ready for that meeting tomorrow morning?” Alfred asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

Bruce chuckled and shook his head and turned his attention away from the older man. “Sleep? That’s the last thing I need, or want, right now, Alfred.”

His dreams had been all the same since she left. They were always about her. Good or bad, it didn’t matter. She was the main feature in all of them and he always woke up calling her name. It wasn’t bad enough she infected his thoughts during the day, non, she had to infect his subconscious as well. There was a small part of Bruce that wondered if perhaps she had similar dreams, but since she was the one that had left, she couldn’t be. Could she?

You were sitting up late on your windowsill seat, looking out over the city. For reasons you couldn’t fathom, Bruce was on your mind tonight and he refused to leave. You were slowly running through everything that had happened between the two of you and there was a part of you that was wondering if leaving had been the right decision.

When the two of you had finally gone public with your relationship, the paparazzi had constantly invaded your privacy. It had gotten on your nerves, as well as made you a little scared. Not to mention that your life had been threatened by Bruce’s enemies and those threats had increased after you had learnt his secret. It certainly hadn’t helped that every now and then a particularly crazy ex of his would show up out of the blue, nor the fact that you knew that one of them was literally an assassin.

However, even with all of that, yours and Bruce’s relationship had been one of the best things to have ever happened to you. All of your past exes, at some point, had ended up either getting aggressive with you or lost interest and left. Never Bruce though.

When you’d been together he had always made it a point to ask you about your day or how you had slept. If you’d had a bad day or dream or whatever, really, then he would do what he could to try and cheer you up. When he was away on business trips and couldn’t take you along with him, he always made sure to either text or facetime you before you went to bed, no matter what the time it was for him. And if he was ever forced to cancel a date or accidentally missed an anniversary he would always make it up to you in the best possible way.

It was memories like these that had you wondering if you truly had dodged a bullet by leaving Bruce or if you had just caused yourself to lose the love of your life.

You wanted to scream! Why were you thinking about all of this now?! You could understand thinking all this before you had made the decision, but afterwards? After it had all been said and done? It made no sense!

You ran your hands through your hair and let out a frustrated sigh. You eyed your phone sitting on the other side of your windowsill seat. Should you call him? Let him know you had made a mistake? You knew he would probably still be awake at this hour… That’s when you remembered the article you’d seen a couple of days ago where Bruce had been pictured at a gala with a rather beautiful woman on his arm. It could just be for show…

‘Or he’s already moved on,’ you thought sadly. It didn’t matter if you had made a mistake or not, it was far too late to correct it now. With that thought, you got up from where you were sitting and made your way to bed.

A couple of nights later you found yourself in the exclusive nightclub, The Sirens. Your best friend, Tracey, had dragged you here saying it was about time you found someone else. And this club was the perfect place to do exactly that!

You really hadn’t wanted to go, but since she was your best friend, and you didn’t want to disappoint her, you agreed to go.

You were wearing a short low cut black dress, that perfectly highlighted your assets, with matching black heels. As for your makeup, you had gone for a dark smokey eye and a red lipstick. The lipstick had, of course, been Tracey’s idea. As she had applied it, she had enthusiastically claimed that men would not be able to keep their eyes off of you. And she had been right.

All night men had been coming up to you, trying to flirt, bought you a couple of drinks and you had turned them all down. There was only one man that you wanted to be paying attention to you and you were now the last thing on his mind. You inwardly laughed at yourself. Here you were in one of the nicest places in Gotham City (and that was saying something since this was Gotham after all), and you were standing around, turning down perfectly good hotties and looking sad because you couldn’t stop thinking about Bruce fucking Wayne! It was pathetic.

As you turned down yet another perfectly suitable one night stand candidate, Tracey came over to you, annoyance sparkling in her emerald eyes.

“Seriously? What was wrong with that one!” she exclaimed as she gestured in the direction the man had gone. You leant an elbow on the bar's surface and ran your hand through your hair.

“Nothing,” you replied quietly. Nothing had been wrong with the five before him. Well, nothing except for the fact that none of them were him.

“Fuck, you’re really not over him,” Tracey stated when she saw your expression.

“No, Tracey, I’m not. I thought I was, but...” you trailed off as you turned your head to meet her gaze. She shook her head which caused her blonde ringlet curls to bouncy slightly. Tracey then grabbed your hand.

“Come on,” she said as she started to pull you away from the bar and outside the club.

As soon as you were outside, she let go and quickly hailed down a cab. As one pulled up, she tugged you over to it.

“What are you doing?” you asked as she did so. She stopped and turned around and faced you, placing her hands on both of your shoulders.

“You are getting into that cab, you are going to Wayne Manor and you are going to tell that billionaire playboy you ain’t over him. Then you’re going to have a fan-fucking-tastic night, which you’re going to tell every single detail of to me, tomorrow. Understood?”

“But Tracey, what about that picture?” You didn’t need to elaborate as Tracey had been there when you’d come across the article.

“Right, I can’t tell you how I know this, but from what I heard, Brucie boy didn’t say a word to her after that picture was taken. Hell, apparently he just left her there at the end of the night! Which means, he’s probably moping over you like you’re moping over him,” she replied as she continued to drag you over to the cab and basically pushed you inside. “Now go and make sure you have fun!”

Before you were able to protest further, Tracey was already walking away.

“Where to, miss?” the cab driver asked. You couldn’t believe you were doing this.

“Wayne Manor, please.”

The drive to Wayne Manor was far longer than you remembered it being, which meant that you had far too much time to think about what you were doing. Was this really such a good idea?

As the cab started up the driveway and eventually came to a stop right outside the Manor, you knew there was absolutely no turning back. There hadn’t been the second you had told the driver to bring you here. So you paid the cab driver his fair and got out.

As the car drove away you looked up at the Manor before beginning to slowly make your way up the front steps. Nervously, you rung the doorbell. A few minutes past and the door opened, revealing a very confused Alfred.

“Miss Y/N? What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I came to talk to Bruce. Is he home?”

“Of course,” Alfred stood to the side to allow you into the Manor. Once you’d entered and he had shut the door, he began to lead you through the halls to the room Bruce was currently in. “Right this way.”

When you got there, Alfred bid you good luck and then left off to get back to whatever it was he had been doing before your arrival. Taking a deep breath, you entered the room.

Bruce was pouring himself a drink when you walked in. The sound of your heels on the polished wood floor made him stop and he looked over his shoulder at you. His eyes were wide like he had just seen a ghost.

“Y/N…” your name was barely a whisper as it left him.

“Hi,” you replied timidly. You realised that you had no idea what you wanted to say to him.  

He abandoned his drink and approached you slowly, like if he moved too quickly you would sudden evaporate before his eyes. He came to a stop before you and his hands came up and cupped your face. One of your own hands came up and rested over the top of his. His blue eyes swirled with too many emotions for you to make out clearly what they were. One of them, however, you saw just long enough for a warm feeling to start flooding through your chest.

“You came back.” The disbelief was more than evident in his voice as he spoke.

“I did. Bruce I’m so sorry, I…”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” he replied, cutting off your apology. “Just kiss me.”

You leaned up and kissed him, putting all of the passion you could behind it. It wasn’t long before the kiss turned heated, your tongues quickly slipping into each other's mouths and you found yourself pushed up against the wall. To make it easier on the both of you, Bruce hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips and your arms around his neck.

Bruce was soon kissing and biting at your neck as one of his large hands slipped into your dress and began to fondle one of your breasts. A moan left you as he gently tweaked your nipple. He trailed kisses up your neck, along your jawline and back to your lips. As you kissed and he continued to fondle your chest, you decided you’d had enough of the foreplay and that you wanted, no you needed, him inside you.

You pulled away, breathing hard and trying to return some oxygen to your brain. “Bruce, I need you. Now,” you said in between pants. He answered by pulling you away from the wall and carrying you through the Manor, toward his bedroom. As he climbed the stairs and walked through the hallways you resumed kissing and began to unbutton his shirt.

Once you reached his bedroom, you were both quick to remove your clothes and settle on the bed. Bruce hovered over you as he aligned himself with your entrance. Then his blue eyes were meeting yours and he silently asked for your permission. You answered with a small nod and then he was slowly pushing his cock into you.

You let out a pleasure filled cry as your walls stretched around his cock. A low guttural groan left him as well. Fuck, you had forgotten how good he felt. When he was fully in, he stilled and ducked down and captured your lips with his. Once you had adjusted to him, you let him know with a small roll of your hips and he began to move. He started off slow, drawing out each of his movements, before picking up speed.

“Fuck… Bruce!” were the only words you could coherent form as he slammed into you and stole the breath from your lungs. The grip he had on your hips was sure to leave bruises there, not that you cared. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud and obscene in the room and nearly drowned out the moaning mess Bruce had turned you into. As always, other than the occasional grunt or groan, Bruce was mostly silent.

“Y/N, I’m close,” he managed to say as his thrusts were starting to become more erratic.

“Me too…” you managed to reply in between your moans. No sooner had the words left your mouth you suddenly felt his thumb against your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. Suddenly the pleasure was all too much and you came crying his name. Then Bruce was pulling out of you and spilled his seed across your stomach.

After you two had cleaned up, Bruce gathered you up in his arms and maneuvered you under the covers with him, before pulling you in close. You were both silent as you laid there, you both felt as if you had gotten out everything you needed to say through your lovemaking. Well, almost everything. There was the big question of whenever or not this meant you were back together.

“Bruce?” you called out softly as you pulled away just far enough so you could see his face. He brushed an errant strand of hair away from your face.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Does this mean… I mean, are we…?”

“Back together?” Bruce asked as he finished your sentence. You nodded and he smiled. “I fucking hope so.” You chuckled a little at that.

“So, this means you still want me?”

“Darling, of course I still want you. I will always want you,” he replied before kissing you gently. When the kiss ended, you snuggled in close to him. “And I’m sorry about what happened. I’ll never be that reckless again. I promise.”

“I should hope not and, for the record, I’m always going to want you as well.”  

[the-cult-of-russo]

Hi!! So i just read your billy headcanon about him and reader arguing and it was so good! I loved how thorough you were and i liked how the stages are so accurate to his personality! What do you think him and reader would argue about?

Once again, my brain is total chaos. It's my chaos and I understand it but trying to get it down for others to make sense of makes my head hurt lmao

First of all, I'm gonna do two sections. One for things that Billy would start a fight over, and one that you'd pick a fight over. Basically, things you do to upset him enough to cause a fight and then things he'd do that upset you enough to cause a fight.

If you haven't seen my other headcanon about how Billy acts during a fight, find it here. I reference his Stages of Rage in this so it'll make sense if you've read it.

Also remember this is my Billy.

-

Billy:

Billy can be impulsive and he has a temper. That being said, he's learnt really well over the years how to push it down. He's got good at stuffing his anger in a box and dealing with it another time somehow. Sometimes people wouldn't even know just how pissed he is. Yet with you, sometimes you do things that drive him to the brink of insanity and he finds it hard to deal with it.

The thing with Billy is, any negative emotion turns to anger. He doesn't know how to cope with it otherwise. And the things you'd do to cause him to fight with you don't actually make him genuinely angry. They've made him upset, hurt, or scared. All feelings he loathes to feel and they morph into anger instead.

The first thing that would cause him to fight with you is jealousy. Its not that he doesn't trust you because he does. He trusts you explicitly. But for all of his outward bravado and confidence, he has a lot of deep rooted self worth issues stemming from his childhood. Those disgusting feelings of not being good enough, of not being worthy of love or happiness, of not being wanted. All of those have been buried down inside of him yet you seem to bring them out kicking and screaming.

He's terrified of you leaving him. He finally has something special, worth every bit of pain he's suffered. He's finally found happiness. He feels like he's got to cling onto you desperately, fingers bloodied as he clutches you so hard like you might float away the second he let's up.

So when you and Billy are out with friends and you go up to the bar, he watches you with a dopey smile because he can't help it. But it gets wiped off his face the second some asshole approaches you. He knows it's ridiculous when the green eyed monster rears its head, he knows because although you smile at the man, it's tense. It's a polite but awkward smile as you shake your head and clearly tell him you're not interested.

Yet Billy's chest hurts. Because what if you see something in this man you don’t see in him? What if this guy is the one who steals you away from him? What if this is when you open your eyes and realise how worthless he is and you leave him?

He's aware his brain is being overdramatic yet he can't help the anger building inside of him. The defense mechanism of turning his pain and terror and sadness into something he can deal with.

And he doesn't want to cause a scene around all of your friends. So he goes the rest of the night being quiet and a little distant. You know somethings wrong and have a good idea what. But Billy suddenly feels miles away.

As soon as you get home, he let's it loose, unable not to. It sometimes starts with The Snark, passive aggressive comments about the man at the bar and how you should have gone home with him. 

But he gets angrier.

Because you don't get it. You tell him nothing happened and that he's being stupid but you don't fucking get the agonising fear that's crippling him because he's not good enough for you. So The Loudmouth stage begins because if he's wounded, he's gonna wound you right back.

But somewhere along the way you see through the anger. You see the pain in his glossy eyes, hear the tremor in his voice. Suddenly you hear everything he isn't saying. Instead of yelling at him that he's being dramatic or stupid, you switch tactics. You reassure him. You tell him he's the only one for you and you soothe his wounds by trying to get him to see that.

Although he still doesn't believe it, he likely never will, it does bring him back to earth. And of course he says sorry for the remarks he made but you know he was only lashing out because he was hurting.

-

The other thing that will get him to fight with you is also because of fear. If you put yourself in situations where you could possibly get hurt, even if it's something small like walking home in the dark, he flips his shit. He hates it, doesn't understand why you'd be so reckless. And while sometimes he's being overboard with it, too overprotective, he doesn't see it that way.

Billy's been through a lot, seen a lot of shit, done even more. He knows how dark this world gets. So if you ever put yourself in danger, even a small bit by being reckless, you're damn right he's gonna lash out at you. He goes through every stage of rage (except the last) if you try and defend your actions because he can't fathom the fact you aren't seeing his side with this. Why you won't let him just protect you. If he had his way, he'd put you in a bubble to keep you safe.

-

Other than that, there isn't much else you do that causes him to really fight with you. He's not petty. He's not the type to pick a fight over mundane stupid shit like you leaving your clothes all over the bedroom. Even if it does annoy him since he's such a neat freak.

Anything that you do that elicits those awful negative emotions are what gets to him.

-

You:

Billy's flirting is certainly a bone of contention. And while it doesn't happen often and it's never really serious since you two got together, sometimes it slips out of his mouth like it's second nature to him. Because it is. An example of this is at an event. He pays a flirty compliment to a senators daughter thats been eyeing him. He doesn't even know he's done it, doesn't seem phased until he sees your face. But he's at work, important business and schmoozing to do and he doesn't want you to cause a scene.

But waiting until you get home only annoys you more. It was an offhand comment and you know deep down he didn't mean it. But it still hurts you because he's with you. And you knew damn well if you did that to him he'd lose his shit. But you patiently wait until you get home, giving him the cold shoulder the whole way. And he knows what's coming. It's happened before.

But the thing with Billy is that he gets defensive if he feels backed into a corner. So when you whirl on him the second you get home, he pushes right back. He thinks you're blowing it way out of proportion and honestly, if you'd approached him calmly about it, he'd apologise right away and tell you he'd do better. But the fact you’re yelling at him has his back up so he can't seem to find it in himself to see it your way at all.

At first you don't tell him the real reason why it hurt you. You're just pissed. But as the argument unfolds you blurt out why it stung so much and his anger gets sucked right out of him. He watches you, devastation on his face as he realises you don't feel loved enough, that you think he'd go behind your back, that he'd find someone else. That notion is absurd to him, like he'd ever do such a thing when he has everything he ever wanted with you. But knowing he's hasn't shown you enough how much he cares wounds him deeply.

So he comforts you, promises he'll make it up up you and it won't happen again and he makes sure to make time to make you see just how much he loves you and only you.

-

Another thing that tends to get you upset at him is Anvil. Billy works a lot, too much most times. The amount of times he's coming home when you're already asleep or has to cancel plans with you starts to weigh on you. Building up until you explode about it.

But once again, Billy feels backed into a corner. Anvil is way more than just a company to him. It's a physical manifestation of how far he's come in life. It's proof that he's come all this way and he's done it all on his own. Anvil is like his baby.

And if it ever came down to picking Anvil or you, yes he'd pick you. But deep down he might end up resenting you for it. Because Anvil is an extention of him and his work makes up who he is. You knew this when you met him. It starts to feel like you're trying to change him and that gets right under his skin. Because if you want to change him, then you don't love him as he is. And that shit hurts.

He's already tried his best to placate you over Anvil. He works less, only staying late if its imperative he does and he tries his best to make time for you. He knows it's hard and he's away more than you'd like but he's fucking trying. So it feels like a smack in the face when you do this, like you can't see how much he's ready done to try and make a life where he can have both.

He works hard to keep the company the best it can be, he has to. But he also works hard for you. Because one day he wants to buy a big house and possibly fill it with children with you. He wants to show you the world and give you everything you've ever wanted. So it makes him feel unappreciated.

He feels stuck between a rock and a hard place every damn time this argument comes up because he doesn't know what else to do. He's trying his hardest to juggle Anvil and you and sometimes it feels like you're making it hard for him. He can't change who he is and if you can't handle it then it kills him. Because he knows if you can't deal with it then eventually you'll leave and he thinks he might just die if that happens.

These arguments get explosive because of all the emotions it makes him feel and sometimes you don't speak for days after. Both of you miserable as you miss the other. Deep down you know he's trying his best and you feel bad because you know how much these fights upset him. Eventually you apologise. You knew Anvil was his world before you met, knew how hard he worked. You don't want to change him and if you're honest with yourself, he's done a damn good job of making sure there's a place for you in his life. And maybe you never imagined you'd settle down with a workaholic, to miss them all the time, but it's worth it.

-

The last thing is how Billy's past seems to have a way of haunting you both. You were well aware of his nature before you met, he'd been pretty upfront about it. But sometimes it's hard when you're at an event with him and one of his past one night stands are there or you both run into one in the street.

This doesn't cause a full blown argument. If anything it's more one sided and Billy soon learns you've been taking tips from his Stages of Rage handbook when you use The Snark on him. You can't help it. The bitter jealousy that creeps in. But he doesn't fight back because for once he's a little ashamed of his past behaviour. He never wanted to settle down, didn't see the point. But that's because he hadn't met you yet. But now he sees your face everytime he's approached by a past lover and it hurts him. It makes him worry that you'll leave him one day.

So he accepts the anger and passive aggressive comments you throw at him because he feels like he deserves them. But his unwillingness to fight back has you sobering up pretty quickly. Because you know realistically it's not his fault and you can't hold his behaviour from before you even met over his head. It comes from insecurity and its not fair to lash out at him. And you hate how sad he seems when you do this to him. So you say sorry and make it up to him.

-

The last thing I'll touch on is his last Stage of Rage that mentioned in my other post. The Snowstorm. I said how this meant you'd done some really bad. Like maybe even break-up bad. This is where he turns off his emotions because you've hurt him that much. I wanted to give an example of what might cause him to do that.

The biggest one of course would be you cheating on him. It would be a knife right through his heart. He'd want to forgive you for the fact he loves you more than anything but betrayal isn't something he takes lightly. Couple that with him already having self worth issues and feeling not good enough for you and you have a very broken Billy on your hands.

Maybe in time he could move past it after some separation and a lot of thinking. But this would be the worst thing to happen to him.

[cherryblossomtease]

Chapter 12

18 + only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ for explicit sexual content: depictions of sub/dom lifestyle and lead up to m/m sexual relationship. If it’s not your thing please keep scrolling. Thank you!

~

Is there a word for this feeling? The one that happens when you wake up not knowing when or where you are…

Is it day, is it night? Is this my bed? Is this even a bed? Am I home and if not, how far away am I? So many questions go tumbling around in your head so quickly that you just have to shut your eyes against the bizarre sensation. It’s one of the few that’s happened to absolutely everyone at some point. And as you lie there in bed —yes, this is definitely a bed— you think, no way the Germans don’t have a word for this strange phenomenon.

Inhaling slowly, exhaling even slower, you finally feel it come rushing back to you so that by the time you’ve filled your lungs with a nice deep breath of salty ocean air, the smile that raises your cheeks turns into a silent laugh as you roll onto your side, curling up tight, sliding your hand across the empty expanse of the cool bedsheets, lightly perfumed by the fading scent of his cologne which makes you feel warm all over.

You open your eyes, blinking, focusing, letting the view refresh the last of the memories.

You should have known, you think laying your hand on the pillow where he’d been. You stroke the high thread count like you did his hair and his face as he’d looked into your eyes and your racing hearts settled. How many unnecessary tears were shed for him? How much time was spent worrying that you might never see the man again when all you had to do was trust that no prison could keep Helmut Zemo locked away for long, and you laugh because a year must be a record for shortest maximum security prison stays.

Now, while escaping from the supposedly inescapable is impressive, you can’t begin to fathom how he’s done it and you’re more than happy to keep it that way which is probably for the best as Zemo’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want you in possession of said knowledge for your own safety. The less you know at this uncertain stage in the game the better. You’re physically far from government detection or any others lookin to recapture the Baron for that matter, still, nothing is ever fully guaranteed.

Luckily it’s hard to feel anything other than at peace as you smile and lazily roll onto your back, stretching your arms over your head before looking down the length of the king sized bed to find the source of light warming your bare skin.

Oh, you smile That’s right.

The matching circular windows are very large and offer views of wild blue water as far as the eye can see. It is the very definition of tranquility.

And just off to the side is a glass door that opens to a large balcony just calling your name. You'll spend too much time out there soon enough you think, imagining falling asleep with a good book and a drink. After all, you’ve got two weeks before you reach France and then it's a quick flight to you final destination of Villefranche-Sur-Mer, according to Zemo.

Two incredible weeks— and to think you’d nearly dismissed that text this morning as nothing but annoying spam.

Luckily something about it brought you back after you'd poured cereal and milk into your bowl. You’d sat at the kitchen counter unable to look away from that single message sent from an unknown number, your breakfast all but forgotten.

It was short and to the point and it reminded you of the kind Zemo used to send what felt like a lifetime ago when the instructions were no more than a time but now there was the added bonus of a location and you were no longer the sole recipient.

The sound of Bucky charging down the hall of his apartment that had become just as much yours since Zemo went away answered the question before it could be asked.

“You got it too didn’t you?” You’d asked him looking up.

Bucky stood in the doorway, hair wet and slicked back from his shower, gripping the towel he’d quickly tossed around his waist and smelling like your body wash which he liked to snag when he ran out of his own. You didn’t mind so much but it was confusing when you were a tangle of arms and legs and other parts that smelled the same…

“It’s a trick. It’s gotta be.” He’d insisted, to which you’d rolled your eyes and considered throwing your phone at his head for saying something so ridiculous. Why would Zemo play a game so cruel. “He’s in the raft” He said your name with a finality that made you reconsider, but when you looked down at your phone again, you knew it wasn’t true.

This was him. This was Zemo.

“Go get dressed. I really think something’s happened.” You’d told him. He’d stood there for a second longer, his face unreadable. But he did turn and disappear down the hall, wet footprints on the hard wood left behind.

You must have been shaking as you waited. You’d been so anxious and your head a mess of worry and hope and fear and hesitation but so much excitement.

By the time Bucky came back dressed in sweats and a t-shirt which bothered you because you wanted him dressed to go, you were completely convinced you’d hear a knock at the door and find the Baron on the other side, you’d always been good at working yourself up into a frenzy.

Bucky had been the complete opposite. You can still see him; a gloomy hundred year old kill-joy.

You remember thinking he might have been a worried at first. A little jealous or scared maybe? Like he’d gotten too used to your life and the return of the man responsible for what you had together could also be the one to see it come to an end which was just silly. James was and would always will be your best friend, but your friendship had long since proven to be more than late night Netflix binging and ordering takeout.

In fact the night before the text, he’d come in long after you’d gone to bed. He’d been gone for nearly two weeks on some grand mission with Sam —off to save the world no doubt.

You were dreaming when he’d slipped in behind you and pulled you close, waking you with the warmth of those perfect lips so soft and full, the touch of his kiss leaving a trail of heat down your shoulder and back, only to flip you over once you were half awake with the strength of that wonderfully dangerous arm. As he pulled your shorts down and found you in the dark, you happily gave in, welcoming him home as only you could, and never once did either of you expect that your unconventional but comfortable life would come to such an abrupt end.

But no, he wasn’t jealous. You knew it because there was something sort of sweet in the look of shock on his face that gave you pause in asking why he was reacting this way.

That, was the look of man conflicted.

As you’d begun cleaning the apartment —certain you’d be leaving it soon— you’d paused and studied him sitting on the couch, alone with his thoughts, phone held in his hand like he’d never put it down. You knew Bucky well enough to know the basics of what he must have been thinking.

The Winter Soldier had been trapped in the living prison of his own body for a lifetime. Now Bucky was forever free to make his own choices. You certainly wouldn’t be the one to persuade him into doing anything he didn’t truly want to do. But you also knew that you weren’t alone in missing Zemo; not after what the three of you had shared and certainly not after what the two of them had come so close to starting.

But that poor dear, somewhat clueless man. For someone who was still adjusting to life in the present day after such a strange journey you tried to cut him some slack. He was still torn, still stuck between worlds. Having to question what he knew about his sexuality didn’t seem like a very fair thing to have to add to the mix, but that’s life. Unexpected to say the least.

He could no more deny his draw to Zemo than he could his desire to be a good person. These things were solid facts; He didn’t want to kill anymore and he was absolutely attracted to this man and presumably others, but yes particularly this one.

But now he was worried that giving in to his own happiness might cost him his friendship with people like Sam, and almost certainly his freedom when he’d only just gotten it back. Not because of being bi-sexual, but, because of, well— Helmut Zemo.

As much as you didn’t want to, you could easily understand the conflict.

Once you’d finished cleaning and packing your weekend bag you went back into the living room and made him look at you. “I know you’re worried about Sam and the others. All those super heroes you know. But what sort of friends would they be if they stopped you from living your life the way you want to live it?”

“Good ones if It means living with an escaped criminal.” His retort was so logical. You hate it when he’s right.

“One that you helped escape before right?”

“That was for a reason. This is all Zemo.”

“Did he really deserve to be in there?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question.”

You did not, so you’d stepped away and gave in, just letting him be.

It was frustrating to say the least but Bucky was not allowed to steal your joy, no matter how true it all was. Unfortunately, he was very much tied to that joy.

When you’d rushed back down the hall almost forgetting your tooth brush, he’d finally gotten up and gone into the bedroom but you'd ignored him, not out of anger but because It broke your heart to think you’d be leaving him alone to his own misery. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but if you absolutely had to you would.

Zemo was the man you’d loved long before you met Bucky, you would not put the Baron aside for another person's moral dilemmas, even if might crush your heart. You would leave and send word of where you and Zemo were and hope that he could join you in time but you had to see Helmut, you couldn’t ignore the message.

However, Sargent James Buchanan Barnes could be a real man of surprise when he wanted to be.

As you finished cleaning up, tears in your eyes for what you would be leaving behind, he’d come into the kitchen with his own black duffle bag and tossed it down on the floor.You’d spun around at the sound of it hitting the tile and kept it together but you could have screamed you were so happy.

He gave you that “don’t say anything” look so instead you just flashed a brilliant smile and kissed his cheek which he dismissed as if he didn’t love it, but you saw the way his eyes lit up. He could have hidden it from someone else who hadn’t spent the last year living with him but not you.

“It’s not permanent. I can’t stay no matter where he’s taking us. But, for a little while I think it’ll be all right."

“Of course!” You weren't pressed, you'd just talk him into it later because as of that minute you’d been too elated to care about time.

*

“So what the hell are these instructions?” You’d asked Bucky in the cab out of the city

“I have an idea.” He said shaking his head a little. He was clearly thinking ‘what have I gotten myself into’ which made you laugh. You could hear Zemo in your head, his answer simply being ‘Trouble’

“Well where are we going?” You’d asked anxious to know more.

“I don’t think we’re staying in New York if that’s what you’re asking.”

You’d quickly looked back at the city, watching the bridges fade behind you, wondering if you’d see them again. There was a strong possibility that it would be a while before you did.

As expected, Bucky knew his stuff. You were definitely leaving the city. The instructions were a time and location as you’d guessed but you hadn’t understood that the second half were coordinates and not for the cab.

When you got out of the very expensive car ride— which you charged to that handy little black credit card that had magically appeared in your mailbox about a year ago (thanks prison daddy)— the two of you stood in what looked like no more than an old shipping yard.

“Come on, I actually know this place. We need to go this way.” Bucky said with his head down and eyes up, his serious face looking every bit the superhero he was when he wasn’t with you. It always made you laugh a little. This was the same guy who also sat around in his underwear watching reality competition shows with you eating ice cream…

“What’s this way?”

“Room.”

Cryptic. They always love being cryptic you’d grumbled following him, feeling on edge as you’d snaked your way through the maze of shipping containers and storage units.

As you came near the water, the rusted out rectangles did in fact clear and the narrow passages opened up giving enough space, or as Bucky had said, ‘room’ for a blacked out helicopter to rise up. It was the sort of midsized military grade machine made for traveling long distance and sitting inside was a pilot-- the sort who deals in silence and cash only transactions.

“What exactly did you tell Sam?” You’d asked once you were in the air with your headset on. “I’m sure you had to tell him something to keep him and anyone else from asking questions.”

“That I finally decided to take a vacation” Bucky’d said, his voice clear in your ears as he glanced at you. He didn't have to ask for you to see that he really didn't want you to make fun of him for it either.

“Ha! And he bought that?”

“I think so. He said it was— a good look for me.” He mocked Sams tone.

You’d laughed rubbing his warm arm and laying your head on his shoulder agreeing with Sam whole heartedly but for very different reasons.

About an hour or more in you’d fallen asleep only to be startled awake by the sound of Bucky’s humorless laughter just in time to see your destination come into view.

“I knew it.” He’d sneered looking through your window.

“Oh my god” You sat up leaning forward peering down at the white oval in the expanse of blue.

“Of course.” The way Bucky could detest Zemo’s opulence would forever amuse you. He’d sat back refusing to look anymore, as if you weren’t about to land anyway.

“It's perfect,” You’d insisted.

“He’s such an asshole” He'd grumbled but you’d caught the little twitch of a smile.

“Shut up Bucky. It’s amazing”

“Its a god damned yacht!” His voice gone high with the absolute offense of it all.

All you could do was laugh.

*

You lie in bed remembering stepping out of the helicopter, your bags tossed out and the bird in the air so quickly it’s like the pilot was never there.

“Still think this was a good idea?” Bucky’d asked as if anything about this might have changed your mind.

Impressed by the private landing pad on the highest deck but already aware of the delights that were undoubtedly waiting below, you’d just smiled and gave his cheek a pat. “Come on.”

Bucky grabbed both bags and you’d led him down the steps and onto a massive deck of beautiful pale wood lined with low white couches at the far end, blinding in the bold sun. Beneath the overhang was a large wet bar, with glasses already set out and an ice bucket, the neck of a champagne bottle greeting you.

“Please miss. Allow me”

You’d both looked behind you, startled to find the old butler Oeznik coming up from the center stairwell.

Poor thing, you'd nearly toppled him, throwing your arms around his neck but you really did adore that wonderful old man. He’d just laughed and hugged you back welcoming you aboard.

You thanked him but no sooner had he offered had you forgotten all about his hospitality.

Your back had been turned when you heard your name said with the soft accented voice that you had missed, craved and imagined for so many months…

“Helmut.” You will never forget what it felt like to turn and find him.

He stepped from the shadows and into the sun and you can still feel the way you’d bit down on your bottom lip to keep from crying.

Those eyes, that hair, his smile; so subtle and sly. You’d nearly forgotten that you could in fact go to him. He wasn’t just a man made up from your lonely daydreams but flesh and blood and so perfectly made.

It took him drawing his hands from his pants pockets— linen pants of all the casual things— to break the spell.

He’d opened his arms to just the right size for you and there was no holding back then.

What had it felt like? You try to remember now, but it's useless. You can remember him pulling you in as though he couldn’t stand another second without you close. You’d closed your eyes inhaling his scent as he touched your face and hair, his fingers brushing along your neck and shoulders. It’s so lovely and primitive the way touch and smell can become the thing that reunites and reacquaints us. You were like two animals in the wild and you’d gasped at the feel of his face gliding against yours, and his arms so tight around you until he'd pressed his forehead to yours whispering things you couldn’t understand as you held onto his forearms giving in to the thin line of tears that fell from your eyes. It was an unexpected moment of reconnecting. You knew you’d missed him, but this was so much more. You’d felt ready to submit to every command so quickly it honestly surprised you. The warm touch of his face against yours, his breath along your neck and finally his lips meeting your own was and will always be your first experience with what people describe as coming home. And then he’d pulled back, looked you in the eyes and simply said “Hello”

You couldn’t say anything back. You just watched him look past you and saw how his expression changed. You still can’t place it… “James.” The way he said his name. God it was so beautiful. You’d turned in Zemo’s arms and saw the look on Bucky’s face. There were tears in his eyes that you’re not sure he was even aware of.

“Zemo”

“How was the ride?” He’d asked politely.

“Fine.”

The tension was charged. There was unfinished business between them that they would need to work out on their own, but you hoped they could do it quickly.

And then Zemo raised his hand in offering. He had after all sent that text to two people.

Bucky hesitated for longer than he needed to, but when he did come forward and gripped the Baron in what he’d assumed would be no more than a handshake, Zemo smiled and pulled him in. He’d let go to hold Bucky by the back of his head for a moment gazing at his face. “I actually didn't expect you” He said sounding relieved.

Bucky gave in to his own feelings and reached out, gently grabbing Zemo’s waist. “Well Im here.”

“So you are.” He’d said, the pressure of such strong feelings for his soldier bubbling at the surface, desperate to be released. But he just stroked Bucky’s jaw with his thumb and smiled before looking down at you. “And now that you are, let me show you both around.”

Sitting up, you rub your eyes and find your clothes tossed all over the place mixed in with Zemo’s.

As he’d attempted to show you and Bucky the ship and explain your route, his hand would linger on the small of your back. He would find your curves as he talked about the endless amenities the yacht had to offer until neither of you were sure if he was talking about you or the boat. By the time you’d come down to the cabin deck, he’d pulled you close from behind as Bucky went on ahead unaware. Zemo grabbed your hips exhaling against your ear and you’re fairly certain it was the moan you let slip when he ever so gently pulled your hair, tilting your head to the side as he whispered something to you in Sokovian that got Bucky’s attention.

“James, please help yourself to anything at all. There are more comfortable clothes in the room here. If you’d like, Oeznik can help you find whatever you need. But— it has been a year since I’ve seen her.” He’d said his grip on your hair easing a bit as he stroked his fingers down your back. “As I’m sure you understand a year without a woman like this is a year too long.”

There was a tense few seconds between them and you worried you'd been wrong about the jealousy, but Bucky's face relaxed as he looked around Zemo towards the back of the yacht. “Was that a bottle of Longrow scotch I spotted in that other room?”

“Ah.” He seemed impressed with Bucky’s keen eye. “18 years." Zemo smiled.

“Perfect.” Bucky winked and slipped past giving your cheek a quick pinch.

After that you don’t even remember getting into the room. One second you’d been standing in the hall lost in a wash of furious kisses and the next he had you over his shoulder charging down the hall to the master bedroom practically kicking the door in.

He’d sat you down and you’d both gone wild pushing and pulling at your clothes only just breaking away from one another’s lips to actually undress with a few anxious smiles, some excited laughter tossed in until finally you were naked and then….

You hide your face behind your hand now remembering how good it felt, even though it’d been strange to have another man inside of you after so long.

There was no sign of your former lifestyle this time as he’d fucked you so perfectly. This time, desperate as he was, Helmut was gentle. He’d picked you up and held you between the wall and his own body, finding you easily, moaning into the space between you as he watched your face. He seemed so pleased to see you react to his attention as you once had, because yes, he was another man— he was the Baron and no one could ever take his place.

You’d ended up in the bed on your back nearly in tears from the feel of being under him after so long apart. Not until he’d felt you nearing your climax did he slip back into his natural state of dominance and only just enough to make the orgasm stronger as he’d closed his lovely fingers around your throat and looked into your eyes as you came and he’d whispered your name “I love you…"

Thank the stars that man is free, you smile wide now letting the lasting pleasure ripple through your body.

You look up and say it to yourself again letting the truth of him being here and you for that matter ground you. This day has been a whirlwind and until this moment you’ve been flung from one emotional state to the next. This is the first time you’ve been alone to process it and you are thankful, but the moment is short lived because Helmut’s escape was no small feat and you are not the only one ecstatic about his return.

Eyeing the closet across the room you feel a twinge of a different sort. Helmut is a planner, you’re certain there’s nothing but extraordinary outfits just waiting to be worn and you decide very easily that it’s time to get up and celebrate his freedom and address the very sexy, very annoying tension between the two men you love most in all the world before it consumes them both.

[writesowhatnext]

elementary, my dear weasley // fred weasley

Summary: Fred receives an anonymous love letter so he enlists his best friend to help him figure it out

Request: Could you write some fluffy Fred W x Reader? The reader gives Fred an anonymous love letter but since they’re friends, he asks her to help him figure out who it is? You can go anywhere from there! Thank you x

A/N: this is such a super cute prompt so I really hope I can do it justice

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: none actually, I think

As Fred walked towards you with a very serious look on his face, you regretted every decision you’d ever made, simultaneously. Why did you tell your mum that your cat had broken the vase? Why did you snog that boy in first year? Why did you dye Ron’s hair pink and let the twins take the fall? Why did you start your last Charms essay the day it was due? Why did you write Fred that stupid letter? Your mind was in overdrive trying to devise a getaway plan, if you avoided Fred now then he’d definitely come and find you at some point but then, at least you could be more emotionally prepared for rejection. How had he even found out it was you? You’d gone to extreme lengths to throw him off the scent.

In your panic, you’d forgotten to actually try to execute any form of escape plan and so there you sat, a sitting duck, with Fred Weasley charging towards you. You winced as he slammed the familiar paper down in front of you, familiar handwritten peeking out from between his spread fingers. You looked up from his hand to his face very, very reluctantly. And for some reason, he was smiling.

“You will never guess what I’ve just found.”

You frowned, watching him with a fairly healthy level of confusion as he dragged a chair to sit at your table. He ignored the annoyed looks from the Gryffindors at the table he’d stolen from and sat down, pushing your letter towards you.

“Read that.”

Your frown deepened as you slowly pulled the letter toward you. What sort of mind game was he playing?

Your heart beat loudly in your ears with every word you read: from the ‘Dear Fred,’ to the ‘With love.’, you’d reread and checked the letter more times then you could count and you could practically recite it by heart at this point. When you left it for him, it had been a good idea, now it just filled you with regret and a horrible sick feeling in your stomach. You raised your head to look at him and hummed, carefully watching his reaction.

“Hmmm?” he asked incredulously, snatching the letter back and staring at it. “I know it’s not surprising because I mean, come on, but surely someone confessing their love to me via the timeless art of letter-writing deserves more than a ‘hmmm’, don’t you think?”

You stared at him for a moment. All the while, he just looked at you expectantly. And then it clicked; Fred had no idea you sent that letter. Your mouth fell open slightly as you tried to figure out how you would behave in this situation – if it was someone else that’d been hopelessly in love with Fred.

“Let me read it again.” You insisted, pulling it from his hands. You didn’t read it; you just stared down at parchment, trying to figure out what you were going to do about it. He didn’t know it was you; that was perfectly clear. It would be fine. He never needed to know it was you, not really.

“Who do you think wrote it?”

Happy that you were finally asking the right questions, Fred smiled and rested his elbows on the table.

“That’s what I need your help to find out.”

“You want to find out who sent it?” you asked loudly. Perhaps a little too loudly, you discovered; a couple of people in the common room looked up at you.

“Do I-“ Fred shook his head. “Blimey, Y/N, what has got into you today? Of course, I want to find out who sent it.”

“Why?”

Fred could not fathom your behaviour right now – his fish impression proved that. Once he’d stopped opening and closing his mouth, he placed a hand on the paper, pointing at it with his finger.

“Whoever wrote this says that I am the sunshine of their world, Y/N.” he shot you a deadpan look. “The sunshine of their world.”

You made a face, your composure slipping, a horrible cringing sensation coming over you. “And?”

“And…” he stressed, rolling his eyes. “I want to find out who thinks so highly of yours truly.”

“To do what?”

“Bloody hell, Y/N, what’s with all the questions?” Fred huffed, making a face. “I just want to figure out who sent it – I have to talk to them.”

You wanted to know what he meant by that but you couldn’t afford to keep asking questions without raising some sort of suspicion.

“So how are you going to figure out who?”

“Well,” he said, frowning. “That’s why I’m here. George took a look and said that if anyone could help me, it was you. So, dear, dear Y/N, any ideas?”

You paused for a moment, confused. Why would George think you knew who wrote it? Sure, you knew a fair few people but you were hardly Sherlock sodding Holmes. It was probably a coincidence, you thought. Though, the strange nervous feeling in your stomach lingered.

“Well,” you leant your chin on your elbow. “Tell me how you found it.”

The smile that lit up his face at the promise of your help was almost enough to quash your guilt at the fact that this definitely, probably, certainly qualified as lying to him.

You barely listened as he talked you through his morning routine. He’d woken up, late as usual, and thrown on his robes because he thought it was Monday – it was not. When he was rifling through them to find some Helium Toffees that he swore – though you were thoroughly unconvinced - he didn’t plan to use on you, he found a folded-up section of parchment. And, the first thing he did was smell it.

“You what?” you asked, definitely now listening. “What did you do that for?”

“To see where it came from.” He replied as if it were obvious.

You frowned at him, lost for words. Not only had you not disguised any sort of smell when you’d written it, you were also kind of worried about Fred’s mental state that that was his first thought.

“So, what did it smell like then?”

“Nothing, really.”

You stared at him for a moment. You were exasperated, for sure, but you couldn’t help the way your stomach flopped, replacing it with fondness.

“Well given that very promising lead didn’t pan out-“

“Oi!” Fred poked you in this side, earning a hideously loud spout of laughter from you. You grumbled as he smiled proudly.

“What’s next?”

“Well,” he began, leaning forward as if revealing the biggest conspiracy to sweep the wizarding world since, well, Harry Potter. “I figure whoever it is has to be close to me, right? To get it in my robes and all.”

You tried to fault his logic, but you’d forgotten, with how horrible of a student he could be, that Fred was actually a genius when he wanted to be. You just nodded.

“I don’t know where to go from there though: I don’t recognise the handwriting; I don’t know when they put it in there; I can’t write one back-“

“You’d write back?” You tried to hide how breathless the thought made you.

“It’s like you know nothing about letter-writing etiquette.”

If only he knew.

Forgetting that you were trying not to be helpful, lest he discovered that you were his secret admirer, you were accidentally helpful.

“Didn’t you go through your pockets before you changed last night to find that chocolate frog Ron stole?”

“So, Ron stole that frog.” he turned to you, smirking. You remembered in that second that you’d promised Ron that you’d keep that information to yourself.

“What? Who told you that?”

He narrowed his eyes as you painted the most innocent expression you could on your face.

“But yeah, you’re right. So what?”

“So what?” This boy. “So, they must’ve put it in your robes after that.”

His face lit up.

“Okay so, who did you see after that?”

Finding his concentrated frown much cuter than you should’ve, you were almost disappointed when he started talking.

“George, Ron, You-“ you were both sad and happy that he didn’t pause. “Hermione?”

You shook your head, making a face. He nodded in agreement.

“Harry, Lee, Angelina. Do you think it was Angelina?”

You stomach sank at his excitement. “Could be.”

He smiled, leaning back on his chair, pleased with himself.

“So, what are you gonna do?”

He seemed surprised at your question as if he’d forgotten what the point of your detective work was.

“It’s still lunchtime, right?”

You looked at the clock on the wall. “Just about.”

“Come on then, my little detective.”

As you followed him to the Great Hall, you tried to ignore the way your heart jumped at the nickname.

When you reached the Hall, Angelina was sat down, surrounded by her friends. George was also there, probably late from his detention with Snape.

“Alright, George?” Fred said, nudging his shoulder against his brother’s. George looked at you, and then at Fred. Something was strange about his stare.

“Why do you look so happy?” George asked, crossing his arms.

“Y/N and I have cracked the case!”

“Oh, really?” When George looked at you almost pointedly, a lump formed in your throat. He knew.

“And I’m going to go seal the deal – wish me luck, Georgie.”

As Fred walked rather confidently over to Angelina, you and George stood shoulder to shoulder. In silence. It was eating you alive. Your mind swam with things to say: explanations, excuses, ways to make a clean exit.

“I didn’t think you had it in you.” He said, his tone light and a smile on his lips as he watched his brother strike up a conversation. Out of all the things he could’ve said, you hadn’t expected that. You looked up at him and he nodded over to Angelina’s confused face. “Letting him trot over there thinking Angelina wrote that letter? Very wicked.”

You paused before deciding you had nothing left to lose.

“What was I supposed to do? Tell him?”

“Yes.” George said as if it was obvious – his expression a carbon copy of Fred’s.

“He would hate me, George.”

He laughed, throwing his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. You wondered what about your misfortune he found so funny. “My sweet, sweet Y/N,” you both watched as Angelina’s friends burst into laughter. You felt even more guilty at Fred’s discouraged expression. “Fred could never hate you.”

As Fred returned to you, tail between his legs and ego wounded slightly, he didn’t even notice George’s arm around you. He just frowned, nodding.

“At least that narrows down our suspect pool.” Then he turned to George. “Up for helping us figure out the mystery?”

George let go of your shoulder, making apologetic gestures as he backed away.

“Sorry mate, still got detention.”

Fred made a face before turning to you. George winked as he left the Hall in the opposite direction of the dungeon.

“So, who’s left?”

You were worried about how short the list of possible authors was getting and George’s words were echoing in your head.

“Fred,” you started, tilting your head to the side. “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” he asked, frowning and crossing his arms.

“Well, I-“

You cursed yourself.

“So, I-“

“What I’m trying to say is that I…”

You closed your eyes and sighed.

“Basically this is really hard to say and I really don’t know what to do if you hate-”

“You wrote the letter?”

Your head shot up to see Fred, smirking with an eyebrow raised.

“I can’t believe you’d send me off to go ask Angelina whether she wrote it. Blimey, love, you’re more ruthless than I thought; should be a bloody Slytherin. It’s a good job I figured it out before I plundered over there like a right git.”

You blinked. What was happening? Why was Fred smiling? How did he know?

“You knew all along?”

He just smiled.

“Why- Why did-“ you stopped, mouth open. “Why did you make me help you?”

“Bit of fun,” he shrugged, pressing his lips together. “Wanted you to tell me.”

You placed your hand to your forehead, groaning. You must look like a right idiot.

“How did you know?”

“Smelt like you, didn’t it.”

You frowned, moving your head.

“You pay attention to what I smell like?”

“I pay attention to everything about you.”

He placed his hands on your hips. You were sure you’d short-circuited.

“The way you smell… the face you make when you lie… how suspicious you look when you’re messing with my robes.”

It was impossible, you thought, to be more embarrassed than you were in that exact moment.

“You saw me put it in there.”

“I saw you put it in there.” He said, pulling you into him. “Was quite pleased when I read it, actually, I’ve fancied you for years.”

“You’re lying.”

You placed your hands very tentatively on his chest, his soft jumper underneath your palms.

“There’s only one liar here.”

You made a face. He looked over your head, pursing his lips before looking down again.

“The sunshine of your world, ay?”

“Shut up.” You groaned, cringing again. He laughed, his whole body shaking. “What does this mean?”

“Well,” he moved his hand to the small of your back. “I was hoping it meant I could kiss you.”

You nodded, again at a loss for words.

“That alright with you?”

You just nodded.

[snailsnfriends]

This is the second analysis and summary of Tommy’s prison stay with Dream

You can read through the first one here. Dialogue is color-coded: Tommy, Dream.

Streams: Tommy's Trapped In Prison with Dream, Tommy's Final Canon Death on Dream SMP

It has now been a week since TNT started going off in the prison, and Tommy sings Roadtrip and makes noises to annoy and make fun of Dream, which is not new behavior from Tommy. There is a new guest in the cell this time; it is a cat. The cat was Tommy’s and it was originally sitting outside the hotel. We actually see this cat in the prison stream before this one. How or why the cat is here now isn’t known. Tommy thinks he’s annoying, while Dream thinks that it’s the best thing that ever happened to them. Tommy calls the cat Pussboy. Tommy hits the cat, and Dream immediately retaliates. Tommy makes more mouth noises to annoy Dream, and he says that this behavior has gone on since Tommy got stuck. Dream once again says that the cat was the best thing that ever happened to them. Tommy still has no attachment or feels much of anything other than disgust toward the cat. Sam begins to speak after this, which grabs Tommy’s attention. Tommy says that it has been 19 days, but Sam says that he’s wrong. Sam gives them more food but says that Tommy can’t leave yet. Tommy pleads with Sam for a while, but he gets nowhere. Eventually, we get this:

“You remember when you visited me in exile, Sam? Alright? This is worse than that, Sam. Let me out. I don’t like this.”

We, the audience, have not seen all the time Tommy and Dream spent together, however, this is a big hint of what it was like for Tommy. Exile was absolutely horrible, to put it lightly. He was physically, emotionally, and mentally abused so badly that he wanted to commit suicide. For Tommy to say that it was worse means a lot here. After this and some more yelling, Sam leaves. Tommy opens a book and begins to write while Dream explains that this is not that bad. The book just says that Dream is ugly, bad, and has a massive ego. He signs the book and gives it to Dream to read, and Dream throws it in the lava. Dream suggests that he and Tommy should get out together, and Tommy declines. Tommy directs his attention to Pussboy, saying that he’s in the way and hits him repeatedly. Dream gets in front of Pussboy to push Tommy away. Tommy right clicks on Pussboy to make him move. He asks if Dream likes Pussboy, and Dream says yes. Dream says he loves Pussboy after Tommy asks, and eventually, Tommy hits the cat enough for it to die. Right after it dies, Tommy says,

“Yeah, and that’s what happens when you love something, bitch.”

This is a lesson that Dream has taught Tommy before. Whatever he loves will be taken from him in some way, and that the people he loves will die. It is the lesson that attachment is a weakness and a detriment. Tommy proved that the lesson was wrong during the Disc War Finale, but now, Tommy has flipped the script, and Dream is the one receiving this lesson. Dream says that he will get out, and Tommy only motivates him to do so. He says the cat represented hope, and Tommy immediately butted in to say that the hope was now dead.

Dream says that once he gets out, he’ll get his revenge. Tommy believes that Dream will kill Tubbo if he’s let out, which causes Tommy to hit Dream and yell at him. After some more arguing, Dream asks Tommy,

“How am I any more evil than you are?”

Dream believes that he and Tommy are two sides of the same coin. He truly thinks that he and Tommy are on an equal playing field when it comes to morality, which is not true. Dream cannot differentiate himself from Tommy, so whenever Tommy reacts differently from how he does, he is confused and upset by it. He cannot fathom the fact that Tommy is his own person.

Dream rants about how Tommy’s whining has been annoying and how this has not been that bad. He says that he’s been in the prison for much longer, so he does not see why Tommy is complaining. He says they have each other and used to have a cat, so it’s not that bad. He says that he will get out to get revenge, and a favor might have something to do with it. This is more proof that Dream has not grown or changed since entering the prison. He wants revenge, not to make amends. Tommy responds with this:

“You don’t have me. You’ll never have me. We don’t have each other, alright? I am me, and you are this fucking loser that goes around manipulating people… When I am going to leave here, you’re not!”

Again, this is Tommy trying to assert dominance in the situation. He is trying to remove himself from Dream, and he does not want Dream to think that he has anyone to help him, whether it’s in the prison or outside it. Dream says that he has something Techno would want. Later, he says this,

“Even when I’m in here, I’m more powerful than you are when you’re outside.”

This is true when it comes to Tommy. Despite the fact that Dream has been locked up for a while now, Tommy still feels unhappy. There is no immediate danger, but the fact that Dream causes Tommy to be fearful despite not being around him is proof of Dream’s power and Tommy’s victimhood. This also proves that Dream knows exactly how Tommy works, and he knows how to use that to his advantage.

Tommy ignores this statement, however, and explains that Dream is only alive for the revive book. Dream says that he will never use it to help Tommy or his friends. Dream threatens Tommy to kill him over this. Dream explains that the only way he’d use the revive book for Tommy is if he’s let out, using Tubbo as an example. Tommy says that he actually doesn’t believe that this is worse than exile. He acknowledges that he does not like the situation that he’s in, but he believes that he has some power. He does not believe that the revive book is real. He calls Dream a clinical manipulator over past events like the beach party and the destruction of the community house. Dream notes that Tommy is disrespectful, annoying, and overly accusatory while punching him. Tommy responds with,

“... I see a sad, little man who is insecure about the fact that this server has gotten so far ahead of him and his only little glimpse of power in this world is gone.” … “Tommy, your life is literally in my hands… You can’t kill me! I might as well be a god, Tommy! You can’t kill me, but I can kill you! If you can’t kill me, does that make me some kind of god?”

The ability to revive or keep people dead has sent Dream on a huge power trip now that he’s realized how much revival or lack of means to Tommy. He believes that he is god-like and above others. Tommy is unable to have the upper hand in this situation because Dream is so incredibly delusional. It is basically useless to fight with Dream under these circumstances, and Dream physically has the upper hand. Tommy is beaten to death by Dream. This is what causes Tommy’s death: a god complex, delusion, and obsession.

[antebunny]

Part 4 of the Maleficent AU. (Part three here).

Lan Wangji meets Mo Xuanyu almost four years after Wei Ying disappeared. He’s Jin Zixuan’s half-brother. One of his half-brothers, anyway. Jin Zixuan is the peacock spirit, but Mo Xuanyu has no wings.

Neither does Wei Ying. Not anymore.

Mo Xuanyu makes his existence known to Lan Wangji on the very day that the guest disciples arrive at the Cloud Recesses. He peeks out from the rows of Jin disciples, and something about his silver eyes looks unsettling contrasted with the bright Jin gold robes. Or perhaps it is just that Lan Wangji does not like someone who looks so much like Wei Ying to be dressed in Jin gold. 

Somehow, Mo Xuanyu is the highest ranked Jin disciple there. Lan Wangji has no idea how this happened; he didn’t think Jin Guangshan cared about his bastard children other than to use them as props. But Jin Zixuan is now married with a two year old son, and every higher ranking Jin disciples has already attended the lectures, which means that Mo Xuanyu is the de facto leader of this year’s Jin disciples.

“Welcome to the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen says. 

He’s still the one to greet the guest disciples, despite now being the official sect leader, because he knows better than to ask Lan Wangji to do it. He barely managed to get Lan Wangji out here at all. Lan Wangji thought he was antisocial before Wei Ying; after Wei Ying, he isn’t sure he’ll manage to talk to anyone, at all, ever again. 

Mo Xuanyu bows back, followed by his fellow disciples. “It is an honor, Sect Leader Lan.” When he straightens, there’s a smile on his face, a smile that invites Lan Xichen in on an untold joke.

Lan Wangji wants to wipe that smile off his face. It doesn’t belong to him. Neither does the bright, easy cadence he speaks with. Or the way his silver eyes crinkle when he smiles. Or the way the Jin disciples follow him like lost ducklings, asking for his advice on sword forms and talismans. Or the way he sometimes skips so high he stumbles upon landing, like he expected to continue going up. Or the way he undeterringly manages to worm his way into a heart that Lan Wangji had sworn belonged to someone else what feels like a lifetime ago. 

But the thing is, no one knows what happened to the Jiangs all those years ago. The Cloud Recesses were the first, but not the last place the Jiangs vanished from. Within a week there were no more Jiangs out on night hunts in the human realm. The Jiangs visiting other sects all disappear overnight, and no one has heard from them since. Most suspect a heavenly war of some sort, but only Lan Wangji and his family know that Wei Ying was the first Jiang to disappear. He doesn’t know why Wei Ying would be at the center of a heavenly war. He can’t imagine what changed the night of Wei Ying’s Grounding that placed him at the epicenter of a heavenly war. He also doesn’t understand why Wei Ying wouldn’t come to him for help, if that was indeed the case. 

Lan Wangji can’t fathom what occurred to make all the Jiangs disappear, and then for Wei Ying to come back in disguise as his brother-in-law’s half-brother, but all evidence points towards that being the case. 

“Lan Zha–Lan Wangji!” Mo Xuanyu spins around gracefully, back to the cave mouth. “What are you doing here?”

This is the third time in one week that Lan Wangji has caught him snooping around the caves at the top of the Gusu mountains. He’s getting more obvious–in terms of getting caught, and in terms of what he’s looking for. The cave that Wei Ying Mo Xuanyu is looking for is higher still, almost at the very top of the mountain. Lan Wangji knows because he goes there once a week. In fact, he was going there now, when he encountered Mo Xuanyu.

“This area is forbidden,” Lan Wangji says instead. 

“Forbidden? I had no idea!” Mo Xuanyu is the very picture of innocence. “Did the Lans add even more rules since–uh, last year?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says. “Four.”

Mo Xuanyu makes the same face that Wei Ying an exaggerated face of disbelief. “How is anyone supposed to remember so many rules?”

If this were Wei Ying, Lan Wangji would say “practice,” or maybe “discipline,” and Wei Ying would react like he’d told the funniest joke. Lan Wangji dares to hope, but he does not dare to joke. Instead, he says nothing at all.                             

“Well, I, uh,” Mo Xuanyu says, sidling past Lan Wangji, “I’m just going to go now, if the young master doesn’t mind.” 

Mo Xuanyu takes off running down the mountain. He skips over stones, his feet doing a little extra twist in the air like he doesn’t realize they’re going to come down. He jumps down ledges, runs down valleys and through the Gusu pines. He jumps, and he falls.

And he falls.

-

Wei Wuxian spends three terrible months in the Cloud Recesses before he finds the right cave. Every moment until then is a confusing mess, because the more time he spends with Lan Zhan, the less sure he is of everything. 

But the moment he enters the cave, his world narrows in focus. Row after row of wings line the walls. He recognizes most of them; they come in all sizes and shapes, from heron wings to rosefinch wings. Wei Wuxian wants to take all of them with him, return them to Lotus Pier, but he can’t. Lan Zhan’s been onto him, recently. It’s like every time Wei Wuxian even thinks of sneaking out into the mountains, Lan Zhan is there to remind him that he’s not allowed to. Unfortunately for Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian is good at adapting! And their cat and mouse game has led Wei Wuxian here, to the cave at the top of the mountains. 

Wei Wuxian can’t even stop to look at the other pairs of wings, because Lan Zhan is probably stalking through the mountains somewhere, trying to find him. He follows the unseen force calling in further in the cave. Almost absently, he flicks one hand out, burning up a talisman that he’s kept on him ever since he came back to the Cloud Recesses. 

And at the very back of the cave he sees them: his wings. They’re not hung up on the wall like the others, but placed on a cloth on the floor. As he approaches, heart hammering in his chest, he sees that they’ve been well cared for. Later the thought of others touching his wings will fill him with revulsion, but for now he’s overwhelmed with happiness at seeing his wings again. 

Footsteps echo from outside the cave, and Wei Wuxian snaps out of his fugue. He reaches for his wings with trembling hands, and they fuse back into place like they were never gone. An electric jolt shoots up Wei Wuxian spine, straightening his back while his mouth falls open at the sudden, familiar weight. 

Wei Wuxian turns around unsteadily, off-balance for the first time in years.  He flexes the long-unused back muscles, and tears spring to his eyes when his wings flex with them, sending a massive rush of wind through the cave. He takes off in a run, skips once, and flaps his wings once. The massive push sends him skimming across the stone floor all the way to the mouth of the cave. 

He’s brimming with exhilaration as he steps outside the cave, which is exactly when he sees Lan Zhan.

Ah, Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian doesn’t even know where to begin untangling his feelings towards Lan Zhan. He’s had little to do in the past three years but do so, yet all he’s managed to do is confuse himself more. 

Perhaps the worst part of past-Wei Wuxian is that he would’ve given Lan Zhan his wings if only he’d asked. He never had to trick Wei Wuxian into marriage. Wei Wuxian knows what the worst part of present-Wei Wuxian is: he still doesn’t know what Lan Zhan would’ve done after he stole his wings. The question fills him with dread as much as it fills him with hope, and he’s never managed to kill the hope completely. 

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sounds overwrought. His intense gaze drinks Wei Wuxian in like he’s water in the desert.

Wei Wuxian takes a step back. He hates how just the sound of his name makes his boots grind into the ground, like he could just sink away. “Lan Zhan,” he replies, and in the distance he sees flecks of purple in the sky. 

Lan Zhan takes two steps forward. Any closer, and he’ll be within reach of Wei Wuxian, who’s already at the cave entrance. “I do not understand.”

Wei Wuxian draws his wings back until the tips brush against the top of the cave entrance. Then with one powerful thrust, he’s up in the air, one foot above the ground, two feet. The flecks of purple become indistinct blobs. He doesn’t have time to enjoy it, not with the sudden, furious rush of anger. “You don’t understand?”

“Why did you leave?” Lan Zhan asks, so earnestly. 

��Why did I leave?” Wei Wuxian splutters, furious. His feet are at the height of Lan Zhan’s head. “Why did you do this?” One sharp gesture of his hand motions to the wings.

The purple blobs become tiny figures. Then tiny figures with wings.

“I do not understand,” Lan Zhan says again, so plainly that Wei Wuxian wants to cry.

“It’s not that complicated,” Wei Wuxian snarls. “Why did you betray me?”

Lan Zhan’s golden eyes widen. “I would never,” he denies.

“You’d never what?” Wei Wuxian shouts. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Betray your fiance? Mutilate your fiance?”

Behind Lan Zhan, hundreds of Jiang disciples swoop down from the skies, wings flared open, swords drawn. At their head are three of the four members of the main Jiang family.

“Fiance,” Madame Yu scoffs. “What a joke.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t turn around, or acknowledge the Jiangs’ presence in any way. “Wei Ying,” he says again, helplessly. Hopelessly.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. Slowly, he drifts to the ground, until he’s once more eye to eye with Lan Zhan. He takes two steps forward, and the Jiangs stand back, waiting for him to make a decision. “Why?”

[sparring-hyena]

Ok remember Book 2 where Becca auditions for the Role in James play . Well this time she gets the role instead of Kait and MC keeps her role. But there is it the kiss in question. So Becca invites MC to her room to rehearse in private and they get to know each other. Soon the kiss comes and once Becca kisses Mc she nor the Mc pulls back and keeps kissing forgetting about the play. Can turn into something more or Becca says she liked MC from the start.

the cast list gets posted on a snowy Tuesday morning.

Becca pushes her way through the throng of people and vaguely hears James say something about how all casting decisions are final. which is fine. she’s reasonable like that.

when she reaches the bulletin board, Becca skims the list and learns that Alex got the lead. typical. but that’s fine. she’s reasonable, remember? and then she finds her name and she’s playing the role of— oh no. the love interest. Alex’s love interest. well, not Alex’s love interest. it’s her character’s love interest, and the distinction is important, she notes. because she would never be Alex’s love interest. would never want to be Alex’s love interest.

but the fact remains, she’s going to have to pretend to be in love with Alex.

“looks like we’re gonna be stage buddies.”

Becca turns around and finds herself face-to-face with Alex. Alex who is grinning like this isn’t the worst possible thing. Alex who is shaking the snow flurries from her hair. and Alex who is flushed from the cold and manages to have the audacity to still look— whatever. it doesn’t matter how she looks.

Becca takes a step back, searches for James to talk some sense into him about why the fuck would you cast the two of us as the leads? when she spots him, he glances over and has the gall to smile and restate what he said before.

“all casting decisions are final!”

fuck.

“so, do you wanna exchange numbers so we can meet up to practice?”

“why would we do that? we’ll rehearse with everyone else.”

“no, yeah, i know that. i just figured it might be a good idea to get comfortable with each other since we’re, y’know—” Alex gestures to the casting sheet.

“fine. are you free Thursday at one?”

“yes.”

“great. meet me at the sorority and we can run lines or whatever.” she leaves then and pretends that she’s not the tiniest bit excited for Thursday.

-

Thursday arrives and it’s about as pleasant as a root canal. they argue and bicker and Becca cannot fathom why James thought this casting choice was a good idea. she has half a mind to march right over to his apartment and demand answer. demand that he swaps one of them. but that wouldn’t be reasonable. and she is reasonable.

so, she takes a deep breath. collects her thoughts and frustrations and tucks them away for now. she rolls her shoulders and stands up straight, preparing herself to run through this scene again.

“are you ready?” Becca asks, leaving little room for argument.

Alex seems almost surprised by the sudden switch, but she nods and rolls with it.

they run through the scene, and it’s a romantic one. the one where they profess undying love, and it surprises Becca just how easily the words leave her mouth.

there’s a kiss in this scene and she can see it coming, can feel it coming in the way that they speak and move. they’re standing very close together now but are unwilling to go any further.

Alex says her line, something to the effect of i love you and i will always love you and then pauses and waits. because this is where Becca says it back and then, well—

“we don’t have to, uh… i mean, we do have to. eventually. but not now.”

“right,” Becca says, her voice just a smidge bit higher than it usually is. she clears her throat and tries again. “you’re right.”

“that’s a first.” Alex smirks. “you agreeing with me.”

“don’t let it go to your head.” Becca smiles too and is so glad for the shift in conversation. although she wonders why this feels so easy and natural.

Alex’s phone buzzes then, shattering whatever it was between them. Alex checks her phone and curses. “sorry, i’ve gotta run.” she gathers her things and pulls her coat back on. and once she’s ready to leave, she stops in front of Becca and offers a smile that feels genuine. “this was fun. i’ll see you later.”

and then she’s gone and Becca’s alone, wondering when her room suddenly got so cold. and okay, maybe today wasn’t as bad as a root canal. but whatever. that’s hardly the point.

-

the point, Becca realises a few days later at the first official rehearsal for the play, is that Alex is infuriating. infuriating for a few different reasons but the main one right now is how easily she steps in and out of her role. how easily she plays the role of a woman in love.

the touches and the looks all mean so much when she’s Alex pretending to be someone else. and maybe that bugs Becca because how can she just put our feud aside so easily? doesn’t it mean something to her?

“Becca,” James says, and Becca suddenly realises she’d zoned out. everyone’s staring at her now. “it’s your line.”

“oh, right. sorry.” she clears her throat and finds her place on the page again.

the rehearsal carries on and once they finish for the day, Alex finds her outside in the cold and asks if they can meet up to practice again.

Becca surprises herself when she says yes.

-

their meetups become something of a weekly thing. it happens by accident, Becca insists. and maybe that would mean something if she didn’t also insist that Alex’s very presence annoys her. because it hasn’t for a while now, and Becca’s starting to wonder if it ever did. wondering if what she felt was just misplaced frustration. but that’s too big to unpack right now, so Becca focuses on the scene they’re practicing.

it’s the scene. the one with the kiss. and there’s been a knot sitting in her stomach since she first read the cast list all because of this one fucking scene.

Alex is holding her hands in her own, squeezing every so often when she wants her words to impact. and it works. she feels each and every word as though Alex were speaking them to her from the heart. and then Alex goes off-script.

she says things that couldn’t possibly relate to the play and Becca doesn’t care. she allows herself to get sucked in and just forgets that the whole purpose of them being together is to rehearse for a play. so, when Alex leans in to kiss her, Becca meets her halfway, and then the whole entire world just falls away in a snap.

when they pull apart, Becca realises, in horror and elation and everything else in between, that the kiss definitely meant more than two scene partners playing a role. she runs from her room, from the sorority, from Alex, before she can tell herself no, and goes to the one person who can maybe give some insight.

-

Becca is fuming by the time she reaches James’s building. one elevator ride later, she’s standing in front of James’s front door and knocks until it swings open.

“why did you cast us?” Becca says as soon as the door opens.

“excuse me?”

“why did you cast me and Alex as the leads?”

James seems to understand the question for what it is. he steps aside and motions for Becca to come in. she follows him into the kitchen and stands somewhat awkwardly as he makes two cups of coffee.

“i don’t know if you noticed, but the two of you have real chemistry. i’ve seen how to two of you interact with each other, watched how you argue, and there’s so much passion there.”

“there’s not—” Becca laughs. tries to brush it away. “we don’t— i mean, believe me, there’s no chemistry between us.”

James smiles at her, almost sad that she can’t see it. “well, why do you think i cast the two of you as my leads then?”

“to torture us.”

James laughs, the sound deep and full, and pushes a mug across the counter to Becca. “i assure you, that’s not why.”

“then why?”

“i told you why,” James says, firm yet understanding. “deny it if you want, but the two of you work well together. you have a very special type of chemistry that most people spend years searching for but never find.”

Becca sips her coffee, mulls over James’s words, and then says, “i doubt people spend years looking for what we have. we argue and shout and call each other names.”

“i think there’s more to it than that.”

“there isn’t.”

“okay.”

“okay? what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means okay.”

she places the mug down, fixes James with a steely gaze, and says, “we don’t have chemistry. we’re just—” Becca stumbles over her words, doesn’t quite know what she’d been trying to say. “thanks for the coffee.�� and then she leaves.

-

she mulls over James’s words on the way home. realises that maybe, maybe, he has a point. she goes to the quad to clear her head and is surprised to find Alex there too.

“you ran,” Alex says, and her tone conveys just how hurt she actually is.

“i know.”

“why?”

Becca doesn’t answer. doesn’t know how to answer. what answer could she give that would explain running like that?

“i’m sorry that i said those things,” Alex says. “obviously it made you uncomfortable and i didn’t mean to do that. it all just sorta… spilled out.”

there’s a reasonable way to respond, Becca realises. reasonable would be letting whatever flicker of a flame is between them fade out. reasonable would be carrying on with life and never thinking about Alex again. but fuck being reasonable. being reasonable is boring, and that kiss they shared and those words Alex said made her feel more alive than ever before.

“don’t be sorry,” Becca says, taking that leap. she steps closer to Alex and brushes their hands together. “i’m sorry. for running, for being a bitch, for everything.”

Alex smiles and steps closer too, bridging that final distance between them. she loops her arms around Becca’s waist and Becca places her hands on Alex’s shoulder.

“you weren’t a bitch.”

“i dropped my iced coffee on you when we met.”

“every couple has a meet-cute.”

“oh, so now we’re a couple?” Becca says, her tone light and teasing.

“if you want.”

“what i want is for you to kiss me.”

and Alex does.

[beggingwolf]

oooh... 37/53

37. Coming Out Fic and 53. Mutual Pining

so, anon, I was trying to ficjam with the lovely @idontlikeem/@malk1ns on this one, and she, uh, basically did all our exposition for us:

part of why geno was so anxious to get to the us is--he's sick of having to date women for appearances. he is gayyyyyy and while okay he's not super interested in being a poster boy, he's sick of hiding from the people he's close to and living in fear of the law.

so he's out, for a given measure of the word. everyone in the league knows, mostly. and he's spoken often of how incredible it is, to be relatively open about who he is, and he'd never want to go back into the closet full-time again, not for anyone or anything. like, sure, it's not public-public, and maybe it never will be, but...he can exist in his world without hiding. it's pretty good. even if his captain IS gorgeous and straight and totally unobtainable.

meanwhile. sid, who's been under a microscope since age 7, can't even fathom what it might be like to be open with anyone about who he is and what he wants. but he's heard geno say so often, he won't date someone who's fully closeted, he isn't saying anyone has to come out but it wouldn't be good for him, he just can't do it.

so sid, uh. comes out. in the middle of his media availability on getaway day, after they win the 2016 cup, he just. says it. and then gets up and leaves. disappears to canada. geno, who in this world doesn't really go back to russia all that much, because while he's still politely and publicly straight enough to play for the national team, and he's wealthy and important besides, he doesn't really like being there and having to sneak around, is still in pittsburgh when this all happens. he tries to get to sid, but sid basically high-tailed it out of the arena, chartered a private flight, and left.

because after all, sid can't be with geno unless he's out, right? and he's never given less than 100% at anything he's done.

he just. maybe didn't think this one through. and so he panicked. and left before he could actually, like. talk to geno?

(thank you, Lis, for your contribution 😂)

Coming out is hard. It's so hard, and it's sometimes hardest when you know you're going to be treated by others with more kindness than you've treated yourself.

Sid's sexuality was an anomaly at first, and then a secret. He'd been weird, and then he'd been ashamed, and then he'd been willing to do anything for hockey. He liked girls just fine, so it was an easy trade off. He didn't need men in that way, and a few decades of locker room banter and crass language had given him a very comfortable track to ride along in. That part of Sid was strange, fucked up, queer in the oldest sense of the word, and Sid... Sid had already sacrificed a lot for hockey.

What was one more thing?

Then Geno came along, and he'd been uncompromising. Sid had been pulled into a meeting with Mario and ownership—he was going to be the next captain, they'd told him, and Geno was going to come out whether the team liked it or not. It was going to be Sid's job to make sure the team liked it.

"Can you handle that?" Mario had asked Sid seriously, and there was a weight in his eyes, a you need to do this.

Nausea churned in Sid's gut, threatening to come up his throat, but he'd nodded.

Anything for the team. Anything for hockey.

And then he'd had to look at Geno and know, know all by himself until ownership finally came to an agreement with Geno and laid down the facts to the whole team and staff before a practice. Geno was going to be out. Anyone who had a problem with that could take it up with ownership or Sid.

Sid had stood there, his mouth dry, and Geno had given him a small smile.

Panic raced through Sid so quickly it hurt.

The first year had been rough. It had been hard to see Geno looking guys up and down, finding them at bars, slowly becoming comfortable enough in America to start taking them home.

Sid had gone back to Nova Scotia that summer, gotten a girlfriend, and done his best to get over it.

A decade later, Sid doesn't flinch when Geno takes guys home. It hurts in a different way, though. At first it had been a sharp, frantic pain—a no, what is he doing, he can't do that—but over the years it's changed into a dull ache. Sid knows what Geno's fingers look like wrapped around a man's bicep flirtatiously. Sid knows what Geno does when he expresses interest, how he leans in and has a way of making himself seem fair and sweet even if he towers over a guy.

The ache lives in Sid's gut. It feels like want.

Geno'd had a boyfriend for two seasons. He'd been Russian. He'd moved in with Geno four months into the relationship, all the way from Moscow. Geno had brought him to the arena, and Sid had stuck out his hand for a handshake and caught Geno watching him.

Sid had checked the tightness at the corners of his lips, trying to make sure his smile was sincere. He has Geno's back, he... it's his job to make Geno happy and safe here, and—

When they'd broken up, finally, Sid had coaxed Geno out for sushi, with the buffers of Tanger and Flower to sit in the booth with them so Sid couldn't do anything stupid.

He'd been able to delay it but not quench it. The dam breaks after the Cup—finally, they get it again, Sid gets it again, it wasn't a fluke the first time in '09, and after the concussion, after all the trades, they get the Cup again—and Sid remembers the feeling of Geno under his arm as they held the Cup.

Sid is drunk enough on the feeling of it that it suddenly doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter that he'll get kind words from the front office and Mario and his teammates and Geno. It doesn't matter that they'll all love him and he'll still hate a part of himself, and when faced with all their love, it'll be only him who hates himself, he'll be the only reason he—

It trips off of Sid's lips, and he goes on autopilot as he moves to extricate himself from the scrum. He can't look at Jen's face—the horror that will be there, the knowledge that there are no plans nor preparations for this, nothing like the intricate maps drawn up for Geno—so he keeps his gaze on the ground and all but runs away.

He's on a plane back to Halifax within two hours.

He turns his phone off. It's stupid. It's cowardly. Sid is a coward, and he's stupidly brave, and it sort of feels like the world is ending.

He goes out on his boat the next day with Taylor. She'd shown up at his back door while he was making a smoothie, tapping on the glass and frowning at him until he'd let her in.

"I brought cookies," is all she said, which meant his mom had coped by baking.

The lake's still. It's too early for the pleasure boaters to be out with their speedboats and tubing gear. The water laps gently at the hull, and Sid leans back in the driver's seat.

"Geno called," Taylor says.

"Don't," Sid says.

"Sid."

"Stop. Please."

Taylor stops. She picks at the nail polish flaking off of her toenails before reaching for one of the premade protein shakes Sid had tossed into the built-in cooler hidden in the seats. They don't speak again until Taylor asks Sid about his Cup day plans, which is such an olive branch that Sid feels even more ashamed—he's practically a decade older than her and he's acting like this, Christ—and chats with her about a few ideas. She wants to hire a friend to make the cake. He's fine with that. He's fine with anything.

When they land just after noon, Taylor jams her hat back onto her head and turns to look at him.

"Mom wants you over for dinner."

Sid yanks the rope tighter as he fastens the boat to the dock.

He's a coward, but he's his father's son, and if he can't face his family head-on, then he really did come out for nothing, because he'll need even more courage to face Geno.

There are a lot of hard conversations to be had. His mother cries as she asks him how long he's known, and Sid has to sit there and watch the color leech from his father's cheeks.

His dad hugs him so hard before he leaves that night. The quiet I'm sorry almost breaks him, but Sid makes it home and into bed without losing it.

It's the hardest thing he's done since his concussion. It's harder, in some ways. The concussion was something done to him.

He's doing all this to himself, and, well—

His Cup party is alright. It's good, even. It's always better when the Cup's within reach, and no one brings up the media scrum, not until Sid's four beers deep and the sun's only just starting to set and he can just laugh it off.

That's when he sees Geno, just a few feet away, turning away from Taylor with a smile on his face and locking his gaze on Sid.

Sid freezes.

Geno just smiles wider and takes a step closer. Sid's heart... Sid's heart feels like it takes in a deep breath for the first time in a long time. Maybe forever.

"Hi, Geno," Sid says.

[imherongraystairstrash]

Butterflies—Thomas Lightwood and Cecily Herondale

I started and finished this fic in one day, due to recent events in my life, so it may not be a masterpiece, but I write it because I think we need to talk more about grief sometimes. I’ve never lost a sister, but I feel Thomas’ loss is extremely glossed over in Chog. So I wrote this as a way of bringing awareness to the death of loved ones, especially during this pandemic. Stay safe, lovelies <3

...

Thomas was reading in the parlor with the other Lightwoods. Christopher was writing something—most likely some notes on the side-effects of his antidote— Gabriel was sitting with Alex, and Cecily was at a desk, going through some correspondence. Thomas’ gaze drifted from Cecily’s pen to the window beside her. He stared at it and saw a butterfly pass by. His heart seized and he dropped his book with a loud thud. The Lightwoods quickly turned their heads towards him. Thomas quickly peeled his eyes from the window. 

“Is everything alright, Thomas?” Gabriel asked, concerned.

“Yes yes, all is well. I just—I need to fetch something I left upstairs. I shall return shortly.”

Thomas bolted to his feet and left the room before anybody could say anything.

He took the stairs two at a time, as he always did, only now he was praying he wouldn’t trip over his long limbs. He would just go upstairs, get a hold of himself and come back down. Nobody needed to know about the butterfly. They won’t ask either, if he doesn’t give them reason to.

He finally reached Christopher’s room and yanked the door open. He stumbled inside and closed it behind him, before pacing the length of the room.

It’s just a butterfly, he told himself. Just because Barbara was terrified of them—

Thomas slumped down on Kit’s bed. He looked up, hoping the tears would leave before they started. It was so difficult, though, because now memories of Barbara and butterflies were playing in his mind. He could almost hear her shrieking. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t truly be gone, could she?

He heard a light knock at the door. Cecily came in and he gave her a tight smile before looking down at his hands. 

Thomas tried to meet Cecily’s eye as she sat down beside him on the bed, but failed. Instead, he kept looking at his hands fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. 

“Thomas bach,” she said.

The same way Christopher was like his brother, Aunt Cecily had always felt like a second mother to Thomas. She used the same sort of endearments on him as she did with her own children. Thomas had partly learned Welsh for her. He still remembered her look of shock when he spoke to Cecily in her maternal language. The way she smiled and embraced him and told him how he had the purest heart she had ever encountered as she wiped away a single tear. She was far more his aunt than Tatiana was.

Now she sat beside him, in his state of…confusion. He ought it to her to look at her face. The second he did so, however, he blinked and the tears that had welled up spilled down his face. He swiftly wiped them away, but Cecily had already seen. 

“Oh, Thomas darling,” she embraced him like he was a child. He seemed to have lost his composure in her arms. 

“She’s gone.” He hiccuped. “She’s dead, Aunt Cecy, and I’ll never see her again.”

Cecily hugged him tighter, holding him together as he was falling apart. “I know, bach. I know.”

Thomas didn’t want to cry too much. Cecily had other things to do. He sniffed and tried to pull away. His aunt only shook her head. 

“Make it hurt.” she whispered in his ear. “Think about everything you’ve ever loved about her. Cry until you're dry, Thomas, and then cry some more.” 

Thomas felt his bottom lip quiver and he shook his head. He didn’t want to cry. Cecily probably didn’t want to have to hold him while he did so. 

“Thomas.” She spoke sternly. “You must cry. You must let yourself grieve. Please, bach, if not for yourself, do it for me. Tear yourself apart, so that you can begin to put yourself back together again.”

She swept him into a tighter hug, and the barrier Thomas had built, collapsed. He gave a pathetic whimper, and then he tears began to fall down his face and onto Cecily’s shoulder.

Thomas buried his face on his aunt’s shoulder, his second mother, and cried and cried. He choked on his tears, sobs escaped from his throat. He didn’t wail—Thomas had never been a loud crier— but his body seized and contracted, and he took uneasy and harsh breaths. His tears were hot on his face, his throat hurt from crying but he couldn’t fathom stopping, because grief continued to hit him, wave after wave. He was angry, he was confused, but most of all, he was sad. He was so very sad. He was not devastated, nor in distress nor any of those fancy words that tried to explain what he was feeling. No. Thomas was feeling raw and hurt, not feeling some dressed up version of sadness, but sadness itself. 

Cecily was crying with him, though whether she was crying over Barbara or if this was causing her to remember her own dead sister, Thomas didn’t feel it mattered. Grief doesn’t need to be about the same person, so long as you could grieve with somebody.

They might have cried together for hours. Cecily had stopped before Thomas had, but for the first time, he didn’t feel the need to make haste and dry his tears. His tears continued until he had lost his voice and they were falling down his face silently. At some point, he and Cecily must have moved so that they were looking out of the window, Thomas’ head was still on her shoulder, but he couldn’t remember when.

Thomas looked out the window, and watched the world go by, as though everything was perfectly fine. For the first time in the history of the world, the sun was out in London. The sun was out and it was as though Barbara had never died. She would have liked the sun, would have come up with an excuse to drag him outside and go to the park with her. Then, he’d acquiesce and follow her around the park, lost in his own thoughts. She would have loved today so much— Thomas choked. 

Cecily put a hand on his upper back. “This pain, it will never go away. Thomas, grief is not a battle, it’s a constant war. There is never going to be a time when something doesn’t remind you of her, and that’s alright. This may be the first time you grieve this way, but it will not be the last. Just make sure you never bottle up your emotions, because there comes a time when it will be too much to hold, and you explode.” 

He looked at Cecily, but she was blurry and wobbly, like she was underwater. He blinked, and she looked normal again, before water began building up in his eyes again. Tears must have fallen from his eyes, but he seemed to have cried so much that couldn’t feel them anymore.

“I don’t know what to do.” he said, finally.

“Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do but grieve.”

Thomas bit his lip and went back to looking out the window. Only then did he realize that for the first time since her passing, he hadn’t thought that Barbara was going to come bursting through the door and drag him away for a walk. For the first time, it seemed as though he had come to terms with the fact that Barbara was truly dead. 

That thought made him close his eyes tight and his stomach palpitated. He focused on Aunt Cecy’s breathing and made himself do the same. Eventually, it would be alright.

“Thank you, Aunt, for using up your time, to help me.”

“Don’t thank me, Thomas. You’re timeless. If you need it, I will stay with you for hours.” She turned to him and smiled a bittersweet smile. “I love you children so much,” Cecily said, combing his hair to the side. “I wish I could shield you from all of the pain the world has to offer.”

“Even if you can’t,” Thomas said, “you helped make it a bit less unbearable.”

Cecily gave a single, soundless laugh through her nose and when she spoke, Thomas could hear her smile in her voice. “I’m so happy for it, bach.” 

They stared out the window again, mindlessly watching as nothing happened outside, save a couple of squirrels scurrying up trees. Thomas liked nothings, for they cleared his mind. In his head, he thought of a melancholy melody. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him. When he opened them again, he saw a butterfly flapping its wings precariously, and smiled.

...

Tagging: @celias @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @hitheresomeoneusingthus @rinadragomir @youngreckless @aceofjesper @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @fictionally-fantastic @stxr-thxif @niaforjordelia @itsdaughterofthemoon @dustandshadowsworld @livvyheronstairs

[wildlyglittering]

The Ones Before

Happy Sunday everyone!

Thank you again to those liking, re-blogging and commenting on my fic’s, I really do appreciate it. 

I’m loving all the ACOSF inspired fic’s and fanarts that are being produced - and definitely all the critique!!

I hope you enjoy!

***

A hand pressed against his bicep as a low, husky voice murmured in his ear.

“General.”

The owner of that voice, an attractive red-haired female, placed a glass of dark liquid in front of him and squeezed her fingers around his arm.

Cassian’s muscles automatically flexed and the voice turned into a breathless giggle. “On the house,” she whispered, her mouth moving closer to his ear. Perhaps it was his imagination but it seemed that she had pushed her breasts against him so he would feel their firm swell against his shoulder.

He turned to her with a smile so charming that her face lit up like solstice lights. “Thank you,” he said, “but I can’t accept.”

Those ruby red lips of hers turned from a grin into a pout and once upon a time Cassian would have eased her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before asking if there was anything he could do to put a smile back on her face.

Once upon a time. Not now.

Despite his rejection, she was undeterred.

“It’s our finest liquor, General. It’s incredibly silky as it goes down.” It was definitely not in his imagination that he saw the twinkle in her eye.

“I’m sure it is,” he said with a wink, “but let me rephrase myself – I won’t accept.”

The twinkle, much like the smile, disappeared. She frowned before snatching the glass and storming off, Cassian catching her stamp her foot as she left as though she were a petulant child and not a fae of likely over a century old.

Cassian chuckled and turned back to the table, picking up the drink he had. The beverage was sickly sweet and made from fruits that were imported into Night from Spring. It was Elain’s favourite and not at all Cassian’s. There were times when he missed the sharpness of wine or the spice of whisky but he reminded himself of what he gained by no longer drinking.

Early winter had come to Velaris and the city was bustling, its occupants rushing around hard at work or preparing for the solstice. Cassian was doing neither; a rare idle day off had lain ahead of him when he’d woken that morning.

The skies had been a bright, albeit pale, blue to start but had grown steadily gloomier before turning into an ashen grey with fat clouds that poured the rains down. The rain wasn’t the soft kind but the sort that smashed against the stones with such force that drops rebounded from the ground and back into the air.

A misty haze drifted around the footsteps of all the rushing fae, their shrieks filling the street as those without coverings ran for shelter from one building to another.

Cassian had been caught out when it started. The first rumble of thunder occurred when he was crossing the bridge and he looked down to see small droplets on the back of his hand. He stood, watching as the rain lashed into the river, mesmerised by the circles the drops created. His hair was drenched and he shook the strands around his head, laughing.

Storms never bothered him, the only reason he moved indoors was because he took up too much space outside for those who didn’t find getting soaked as delightful as he did. That, and his pending companion wouldn’t be too impressed to be made to hang around in the rain.

The café he settled in gave him a decent view of the streets and a prime view of the bridge ahead. Rainwater dripped from his hair when he tied it into a bun and he’d ordered himself his drink, delivered by an older female who wasn’t remotely interested in Cassian.

Fresh warm bread scented the place as the waitresses carried large slices, liberally buttered and served with thick broths in deep bowls, to surrounding tables. Despite the smell, he was content to drink his cordial and observe the world beyond the windows.

The clinking of plates from the table next to him drew his attention and he looked over to see the red-haired fae clearing crockery for the next customers. Although she was working, she was clearly keeping an eye on Cassian, probably waiting to see if he’d change her mind at her offer.

With her coquettish glances and the angle in which she now exposed her cleavage, it wasn’t only a drink she was offering.

A time existed once, when he would have charmed her and they would have removed themselves into the backroom of the café or even a room in the apartments above. Because he was the General, they would never have been reprimanded even if it left the café one employee down.

Admittedly something about the serving fae had captured his attention. Yes, flirtations from an attractive female were always flattering but he had entertained her smiles a bit more than he should have done in the circumstances.

The thrashing of the rain grew louder when the door to the café opened and a fae couple walked in laughing about their soaking clothes. The red-head walked past Cassian to greet them and as she did, her dress deliberately slipped, leaving a pale freckled shoulder to his view.

A memory flashed through Cassian’s mind and in an instant, he could place why she captured his attention so. It was a memory so dusty on the shelves of his brain that he was surprised it was even in the archives.

He was centuries old and he’d spent that time in a variety of ways. Chasing after attainable and unattainable females and fucking a fair few was very much on the list.

But everyone, even he, the fierce Lord of Bloodshed and General of the Night Court’s armies had to begin somewhere.

He’d lost his virginity not to a fellow Illyrian but a fae. She hadn’t been a female of strength or status and considering as Cassian was a bastard runt at the time, he couldn’t have even fathomed those females would ever be an option.

There had been a war. There was always a war.

The troop of Illyrians were on the outskirts of the Night Court and were setting camp around one of the smaller towns. A tavern with warm lights and a warmer hearth was tucked into one of the streets and he was sick of sleeping in the filth. The mud oozed its way into his fingernails and onto his hair and worryingly close to the fresh, open wounds he’d sustained while fighting.

Cassian had fought an Illyrian, broader and older than him and one that would have been stronger too if Cassian hadn’t been desperate. Cassian had pounded him into the ground, knuckles connecting harshly with bone, until the male had acquiesced, giving up the three gold coins Cassian wanted.

He’d sloped off to the tavern after his win, to bathe his body and tend his wounds in one of their boarding rooms. He wanted a decent night’s sleep someplace clean and comfortable and, if he’d had any coin left over, a hot meal.

The Illyrian’s in the tavern were either already in their own boarding rooms for the night, passed out in front of the drinking room fire or still drinking in darkened corners. If they saw Cassian, they paid him no mind, he was a tall thing with growing muscles but still on the wrong side of scrawny.

The only fae that looked at him was the female behind the bar.

She looked to be his age but where his skin was dark, hers was fair and where his was a mottled collection of yellow and black bruises hers was as smooth as cream. She had a mass of red hair which tumbled past her shoulders.

“What will this get me?” he asked and placed the coins on the counter.

She’d told him about a small room at the back he could take and the rest would pay for some slices of mutton. And that was all, she stressed, nothing else.

Cassian merely grunted at her, too tired and hungry to care about anything else that she may have implied.

They must have been used to Illyrian guests as their smallest lodging was still room enough for him and his wings. The bed took up most of the space and a narrow window gave him a view of the courtyard he didn’t care to see. When the food was ready the same red-haired fae brought it up to him and told him she would collect the plate in an hour.

Cassian tore into the meat and bread like a starved animal and when she came back to collect the plate as promised he nodded his thanks and carried on with his task. She’d paused by the door, hesitating.

His leathers and shirt were off and he sat, bare chested on the bed wrapping gauze around his middle with inexperienced hands, cursing when it slipped away.

“Here,” she said, “let me help.”

Her fingers were soft. It had been so long since he’d been touched by a female in any kind of manner. When he was a boy he longed for the touch of a mother but he was no longer a boy and a mother’s touch wasn’t on his mind anymore.

Her fingertips dipped and tucked around his skin, wrapping and folding the gauze so it held firm. All throughout she kept glancing from her task to see him watching her.

“You’re handsome,” she told him, “it’s in a rough way but you have a gentleness in your eyes.”

Cassian closed his eyes as her fingertips traced down his belly and lower and he shuddered when they dipped inside his leathers. Her lips placed a gentle kiss to the bruise on his cheekbone and then used her free hand to turn his face to hers.

Their kisses were slow, unpractised and wet. Their tongues sliding over each other until somehow, she was on her back on his small bed and he was nestled on top of her. When she guided his hand up her skirts and in between her thighs he discovered something else wet and his body hummed.

He didn’t make love to her but it wasn’t fucking either.

He was unskilled but made up for it with enthusiasm and he watched as the moonlit danced across her bare skin, highlighting the splattering of freckles across her shoulders and chest.

Cassian slept like the dead that night never knowing whether he’d passed out before she left or if she’d crept away in the night. Either way, in the morning she was gone and he was alone.

Despite the fact that he’d taken his pleasure but hadn’t managed to give her hers, she’d placed extra gauze on the wooden table by the bed along with a parcel of food, carefully wrapped up for him to take away.

She’d never asked for his name and hadn’t given hers either.

The continued laughing of the couple brought Cassian back to the café. That red-haired fae from the tavern would now be centuries old, like him, if she were still alive. The town that she lived in had grown to the size of a small city.

Whether the tavern still existed, Cassian didn’t know. Whether she was alive, Cassian wouldn’t know.

He was a nobody back then but it was no surprise that the red-haired fae in this café knew who he was.

Most, if not all, of the city knew who he was. Predominantly he was the esteemed General who had protected and fought for Velaris for centuries and a member of the Inner Circle, one of their High Lord’s most trusted confidantes.

The other facet of his reputation, and likely what the serving fae was interested in, wasn’t so much his prowess in battle as it was in bed. Cassian, and every female since the first, had one Illyrian female to thank for that.

Elvira.

By the time he’d met her he’d grown into a warrior of some esteem. Still a foot soldier and placed in the lowest ranks where Rhys’ father wanted him but the previous High Lord of Night couldn’t crush Cassian’s desire to succeed nor his natural talent at doing so.

He was broader by this point, the burgeoning muscles now in full growth and he ambled into camp with his war wounds now badges of pride.

Cassian was a long way off his nickname of Lord of Bloodshed but whispers spread amongst the camps of an Illyrian warrior, not even a century old, who was feared and revered in equal measure.

His success fed him even if Rhys’ father, nervous at the suggestion that Cassian was the reincarnation of the Illyrian’s first warrior, tried to starve him from his accomplishments.

Elvira had been in that camp, wings clipped and eyes hard. An immediate attraction existed between them and Cassian wanted her.

Luckily, she also wanted him.

After their first time, laying on the camp bed in his tent, he was cocky. You’re blessed, he told her, you’re in the bed of the best Illyrian. Her scoff followed by the comment about him not being the best Illyrian in bed wounded his pride.

He didn’t lick his wounds for long. Elvira was keen to teach and Cassian keen to learn and he liked to prove a quick study.

Cassian learnt the only way he could learn; through trial and error but with not much room for error. Soon he had it so Elvira panted desperately for her release, her fingers slipping on his skin for grip. Then, when they lay on the camp bed, their bodies coated in their mingled sweat, Elvira had no breath for comments.

Elvira didn’t do gentle and she never considered their acts as making love. Neither did Cassian. They were lessons in the art of fucking.

But some lessons were the hardest to learn.

Much like him, she was filled with rage and it exploded in a temper that was as hot as it was quick. Often their arguments were deliberate just so Cassian could fuck her anger out of her but when together they were flame and neither carried enough sweetness for the other to make their time anything close to joyful.

In the end they both fucked others and neither cared. As quickly as they came together, they fell apart and she drifted away to another camp.

Elvira was dead now. A name on a long list of Illyrians who perished in war. There had been so many that Cassian couldn’t remember which one it was.

Cassian let out a quiet sigh. His drink was now cloying, tasting too sweet against the bitter memories and he fought the temptation to have something stronger.

He had numerous encounters over the centuries and not all as sad as Elvira. In the sands of time, he’d had lovers who’d lasted hours and lovers who’d lasted months. There were those he left and those where they left each other.

Sometimes he wasn’t willing to let go first, they were rare, but they happened.

Mor came to mind. The difference was that he’d pocketed her away in a corner of his heart, one that held Az, Rhys and Feyre and even Amren - when he was feeling gracious.

Mor was the only lover who became a friend.

The night they spent together she was at her most beautiful. The bravado she would later have and that he would love was still developing. She lay back on his bed, the flames crackling outside his tent and her golden hair fanned across his pillow, a pale blush bloomed on her creamy skin.

Cassian was a means to an end that night but in truth, so was Mor. They became a tool for each other’s temporary destruction but then they became a tool for each other’s re-birth. He would always love Mor and she him.

There was only one other female from his past that he could say he adored for a time.

High fae were visiting Velaris from Dawn and she was one of the nobles, invited to the House of Wind as a special courtesy. She dressed in soft sunrise pinks and oranges, her hair a soft golden-brown caramel and she had sharp grey eyes.

Her appearance was gentle but she had her own mind and would speak it, although her opinions, even the forthright ones, were always tempered with kindness.

Cassian was older, sharper, more rough-hewn than before. He felt battle scarred and weary on a daily basis but at that moment he was amongst friends, drinking wine that tinted their lips ruby red and throwing back their heads in boisterous laughter.

The reason behind the Dawn Court’s political visit was long forgotten but Cassian would always remember her.

She strode over to him, her beautiful face with cheekbones sharper than any blade but holding a tender smile.

“My name,” she told him, “is Lyla. Yours?”

He’d introduced himself and, like the gentleman he wasn’t, kissed her palm.

“I’d like a drink Cassian and a tour of the balcony if you would.”

His grin was borderline feral.

Lyla smelt like jasmine and roses and every chance Cassian had he pressed his nose into her skin, inhaling as deep as he could to capture it into his lungs forever. That night he showed her the Night Court stars and the next, his scars.

Every night after was spent in his bed.

When the Dawn Court left to continue their tour, Lyla stayed behind for almost a year.

Mor teased Cassian relentlessly. “Is she yours?” she jested. “Is this it for our beloved Cassian? Lost forever in the endless drudgery of matehood?”

He’d laughed it off but secretly hoped it was.

He’d sometimes dream of a figure and the image that passed through his mind was always one with golden-brown hair and grey eyes. In his dreams he always tried to reach her, this female who was permanently one step away. Every time he got close, she seemed to slip down a corridor of a labyrinth she’d built up around her.

At times he would get close enough to touch the strands of her hair and as she turned a corner, he would glimpse a striking cheekbone and chilling glare.

On waking he would reach for Lyla, warm and supple in the bed next to him. “You were running from me again,” he murmured and placed hot kisses down her throat.

“I would never,” she gasped as he drew closer, unlacing the front of her nightgown and bearing her breasts.

“Hmm, but you did,” and a nipple would disappear into his wet mouth as he slid warm fingers up her thigh. She squirmed delightfully and the sun would break over Night, filling the room.

“And you glared at me,” he would continue as his mouth travelled down her body as he lifted the nightgown up. Cassian would nuzzle his face at the juncture between her legs, and languidly lick her as though he were eating cream from a spoon.

“Oh, I would never.”

Cassian waited for the mate bond to snap but it never did. After another half year had passed, he realised that he didn’t want it to.

Lyla was too good for him.

He licked honey from her body and couldn’t distinguish whether the sweetness was that or her skin. Her hands, smooth as butter, caressed his, snagging on the coarseness of his palms. She would talk about her friends and family, eyes drifting to the windows in longing while patiently spending all her time with his.

Cassian watched as Lyla pined for home.

“Perhaps,” she’d asked him, “Dawn would be a home for you too?”

It would never be and they both knew it. Cassian also understood that while it wasn’t love for him, it was for her. Maybe it could have grown in time but he wondered if it was fair for to Lyla to wait while Cassian forced it to root.

It could be years, Cassian told himself. Or decades. Centuries even. Time is nothing when you are immortal.

Eventually the sweetness would have turned to sorrow while Lyla waited for something that may never happen and that’s why Cassian told her to go. No, it wasn’t love but it still hurt.  

Years later, possibly a hundred of them, he was on a visit to Dawn and enquired about her. Thesan had surprised him by making arrangements and there she was, visiting his guest suite one afternoon as beautiful as ever.

She had mated to a Peregryn. She’d smiled at Cassian, her familiar happy smile and said, “I’ve always liked winged males.”

Cassian’s hug lifted her from the ground and no more was to be said.  

Cassian’s reverie was broken by the chime of the door as more and more fae rushed in. The sky outside had now darkened to charcoal and the rain was showing no sign of slowing. Inside the café, the fae lights lit up and flickered around the trailing ivy draped across the walls.

Another couple had entered and chose to sit in the alcove to Cassian’s left, pressed as close as could be decent in public. Cassian observed them for a second and felt his lips twitch into a smile. The years had turned him into a sap.

There had been too many females to count; multiple hair colours, eye colours and skin tones. A variety of accents and scents.

Then her but before her, during the time in which they sized each other up like dogs of war, there was another.

Cassian rubbed his hand over his face. That year held a long, cold winter and an unrelenting hot summer. Both were filled with anger and vile words. It was no wonder Cassian sought comfort in the arms of someone who wanted to comfort him.

He’d been simultaneously dealing with the discontent within the camps that grew from rebellion into civil war and a personal, much smaller scale rebellion at the request of his High Lord and Lady. Nursing a wounded ego, wounded wrist and what appeared to be a wounded heart he fled back to Velaris to find solace in the drinks at Rita’s.

A beautiful blonde had approached him. She recognised him, had knowledge of his reputation and knew what she wanted. It suited him just fine.

He’d fucked her against his bedroom wall in the House of Wind. He’d fucked her on his bed, against the silk sheets that were luxury in comparison to the rough blankets in his Illyrian cabin. He fucked her from behind and she rode him until her knees gave out. Cassian made sure it lasted the entire night and the next morning her voice was hoarse.

It made him feel better. For a moment.

Cassian hadn’t bothered washing the fae’s scent from him when he flew back to the cabin. It was a vindicative move but felt like a victory when he saw the reaction it had.

Was it worth it? It didn’t matter now. It had been so long ago, half a century - perhaps more.  

That blonde, the one whose name he couldn’t remember because ultimately it was never of significance, was the last female who would grace his bed before the one who mattered did.

That female, he’d said once, was the last female I fucked before the last female I would ever fuck. Cassian grinned at that memory and the subsequent reaction from the other fae in the conversation.

You coarse bastard – you refer to what we do in our bedroom as fucking? I’m your mate. Give it a more respectful name. Her eyes had narrowed and her glare was ice, her posture rigid.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Cassian nodded “whatever you say.” He decided to not mention how, on the morning of that conversation, when they were performing the very act that apparently required some reverential anointment, she had begged him to ‘fuck her harder.’

The current colour of the sky reminded him of her, mainly of the dresses she wore; deep grey embroidered with silver thread, but also of her eyes. Those blue-grey eyes would change shade dependent on her mood. Blue when contented and grey went irritated.

Whether it was magic or a trick of the light Cassian didn’t know but they were often bluer than grey most days.

A crack of lighting and rumble of thunder turned into shrieks as fae ran from the bridge to get out of the storm. All the while Cassian sat at his table in front of the window watching,

He once lied that he wasn’t concerned about who she lost her virginity too, he’d taken the virginity of many but there had been a time when he thought he would be involved in hers too. There was a sadness in that train of thought, that he hadn’t been the one to give her an experience worthy of who she was.

Their first time together was filled with resentment and anger so it was the other times that held more meaning. He remembered when they were on the mountain and the rain drops shone in her hair like jewels. He was overwhelmingly consumed with love for her.

There was time after time where they fell into each other, desperate for the feel of each other’s skin that they shredded through clothes. There had been the soft times where he pressed his mouth against hers, looking into her eyes while their bodies joined.

There had been that very morning and the night before. And the night before that one. She was hungry for everything these days and he grinned at the thought.

On the bridge a group of fae scattered, not to escape the weather but to make way for someone approaching. It wasn’t that they moved out of fear although she did still carry a certain reputation, but an element of her presence commanded respect.

Cassian’s grin turned into a chuckle as she moved nearer. She was using her magic as a barrier against the rain and instead of it hitting her, it lashed out at anyone too near. Despite this, the bottom of her dress was soaked and she wore a scowl on her face only Cassian found charming.

He waved the red-haired fae over and her face lit up until she realised who was heading their way.

“A bowl of your best stew please,” he gestured towards the window, “she hungry.” He paused, “And grumpy.”

Colour leeched from the fae’s face and she rushed off quicker than he’d ever seen anyone move. The door chimed again to announce its newest arrival.

Nesta. His Nesta. The only female he would ever lay beside again, the only female he would want to lay beside again.  

He stood to greet her and she glided over to him, an act which was getting more difficult for her each day. “This weather,” she bit out, “ridiculous. It makes everyone ridiculous.”

He cupped her cold face in his palms and leant forward, kissing her forehead. When he pulled away, she gave a little sigh.

His ever so slightly mellowing Nesta.

He got her settled and the serving fae placed a bowl in front of her before making a hasty retreat. “Thank goodness,” Nesta said, “I’m starving.”

Cassian was content to watch as she picked up her spoon and tucked in. Loose strands of hair framed her face and there was the hint of some freckles on her nose, remnants from the summer when she went to visit Elain.

He would be content to watch her forever.

Reaching out with a hand, he pressed his open palm against her growing stomach. Nesta didn’t break stride, one hand spooning stew into her mouth while the other came to rest on his, their fingers curling together.

Cassian knew when they’d conceived.

It had been one of their visits to Illyria, Cassian for routine training and inspection and Nesta to get some space.

It had happened on the third day.

Nothing unusual had occurred, just simple domesticity in the cabin they shared. Nesta looked so lovely by the fire, her hair loose around her shoulders while she read. A thick blanket was tucked around her and her entire pose indicated nothing but pure relaxation aside from when she occasionally quirked an eyebrow.

That, and the dusky blush on her cheeks, was how Cassian recognised she was reading on of her erotic stories.

He’d placed an open-mouthed kiss on her shoulder. Nesta smelt like the smoke from the fire but tasted as fresh as mint. The little gasps she made as he continued down her body gave him all the encouragement he needed and she buried her fingers in his hair, the book falling with a thud.

Whatever the characters in her story were doing, Cassian could do better.

Soon it was nothing but their naked bodies pressed against each other, sweat coated skin slipping against skin. The firelight danced around them, shadows highlighting the curves of Nesta’s body as she writhed beneath him.

He was on her, in her, around her. His winged body taking up space on the rug. Nesta, his proper Nesta, who stood spine straight and unsmiling in public had sucked his thumb into her mouth, tongue flickering against his flesh, her pupils so large her eyes were black.

Cassian fucked her so hard that when her release came, she arched her back wide off the ground. He’d grabbed her thighs and hoisted her upwards, opening her up further so he could drive in deeper.

Afterwards they lay in front of the glowing embers, sweat cooling and he kissed her breathless because he never wanted to not be kissing her.

The rest of their time in Illyria was filled with duties that took Cassian away and it was a few days after their return to Velaris that he noticed a change in them both. A slight alteration of her scent and a distinct primal urge within him to tear apart any male who looked at her.

Cassian felt their baby shift underneath his palm, moving around for space, maybe even stretching its developing wings.

Nesta made a contented noise, food devoured. She rested her other hand against her stomach and leant back in her chair, looking out the window. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to sit further into the café, the alcove looks cosy.”

“I like watching the city.”

Nesta squeezed his fingers as the baby shifted particularly firmly. She sighed and Cassian saw her look out towards the bridge. “There’s not much to see in this spot.”

“I don’t mind,” Cassian said. “All this time, I was waiting for you.”