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drabbles-mc · 7 months

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Turn of the Tide (1/2)

Pirate!Stucky AU

Summary: After years apart thinking that they would never see each other again, Steve and Bucky come face to face under circumstances neither of them ever would have dreamed of.

Warnings: 18+, minor blood/injury, angst (with a happy ending), pining, alcohol

For the Alternate June-iverse prompt: Pirates

Part 2 can be found HERE

Word Count: 9.3k (oops)

A/N: First of all, thank you for @buckybarnesevents and @rookthorne for putting this event together again! Without y'all and your amazing cards/prompts, I never would've tried to tackle something like this and I had SOOO much fun doing it. So thank you so much. Kisses to you both 💕 I'll be posting part 2 sometime within the next week!

MCU Taglist: @artemiseamoon @garbinge (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

They were hardly more than boys when Steve had lost him. No matter how many years went by, no matter how many times people told Steve that what happened wasn’t his fault, he never believed it. He’d long since lost count of the number of times that he had set foot on a ship since then, but it didn’t matter—every time it happened there was a pang of guilt that went through him.

It had been the perfect mess of circumstances. They were young. Strong, but still young and there was a certain type of control that even the strongest boys would only garner with age and they hadn’t yet. That wasn’t something they ever considered, though, their confidence bolstered from knowing the ships like the backs of their hands. Whether it was calm waters or riveting storms, they always moved with the assurance of men who had it all under control. Most of the time they had someone looking over their shoulders to make sure that things didn’t get out of hand. It was usually Steve’s dad—the ships were his after all. The man had a sixth sense for when the two of them were getting out of control or close to it and he always showed up to reel them back in just in time.

He had tried, too, the night that they lost James. The winds were picking up, the waters were getting rougher. He knew that it was spelling out bad news, but he could still hear the chatter and laughter between the two boys out on the deck. He warned them, telling them to get inside, telling them to leave the storm prep to the men who had been doing this with him since before either of them was born.

Steve nodded, immediately ready to follow the direction. More often than not that was how it went. James had nodded as well, but there was also a look in his eyes that betrayed the fact that he wasn’t prepared to just sit back and let everyone else get to have all the fun. He was young enough and inexperienced enough to still consider it fun.

James had always had that little bit of an edge to him. From the moment Steve turned up with him at home one evening when they were small. Steve’s parents didn’t have to ask James many questions to quickly pull together that he was a boy in need of some stability, a place to be that might help keep him out of trouble. They took him in as much as they could, as much as James would let them. It worked—he brought Steve out of his shell as they got older, and Steve kept him from getting too carried away a lot of the time. There were some times, though, like the night of the storm, that Steve’s starry-eyed admiration and love for the boy he’d grown up alongside of got the better of him. James would give him that little smirk, would make a little bit of a coaxing motion with his hand, and Steve would give right into him.

It'd been years and not a day had gone by that Steve didn’t kick himself for giving into it that night. He was just a kid, and there wasn’t anything that he really could’ve done, but he knew that it was always going to haunt him. He could still hear the thunder, feel the intense rocking of the ship. If he shut his eyes for too long when he thought about it, he swore he could feel the rain pelting against his skin, wind beating against his face. He felt the way that he reached for James’s hand, the way their fingertips just barely grazed but it wasn’t enough. He heard the scream that he let out as he fell, hated the way it was the last thing he ever heard of him.

Steve always inevitably thought about the way that if his father had just been a few seconds later, if he hadn’t gotten there in time, Steve would’ve leapt right over the edge in after James. It would’ve been futile in the darkness and the rough waters, but Steve had still been ready to do it. A couple second’s worth of a difference and Steve wouldn’t be standing on the deck of that same ship all those years later, still taking orders from his father, still carrying the guilt on his shoulders along with everything else.

He stood there staring at the edge of the deck, knowing exactly where he’d been standing that night, one rock of the ship away from going over the edge just like James had. There were no prints left behind from his boots but he could still see them plain as day.

He was dragged out of his waking nightmare by the feeling of someone’s hand coming and clamping down on his shoulder. He turned to see who it was, a tight smile coming across his face when he saw it was Sam. Sam had come along a couple years after they lost James, back when Steve still thought there was a possibility of his best friend showing up again. Sam was kind, helpful. He didn’t have that same type of defiant streak that James had had which was a relief to Steve’s father and the rest of the men running the crew. As time went on, he and Sam got along well enough, but he never let anyone in like he had with James. How could he?

Sam knew it all, and never seemed to take anything to heart. He didn’t let the distance faze him. “Think they might be leaving you in charge.”

Confusion flooded Steve’s features. “What?”

Sam nodded towards the ramp that led down to the dock. “Captain Rogers wasn’t feeling well, they said. But we still have to make the run.”

Steve gestured towards the cabin. “What about—”

“They said it was gonna be you.” Sam took his hand from Steve’s shoulder and let it fall back to his side. “Next Captain Rogers. Was always going to happen, wasn’t it?”

Steve chuckled good-naturedly. “It’s one trip my father isn’t well enough to come on himself. Hardly me taking over.”

“Gotta start somewhere. Maybe if this goes well…” he trailed off, knowing that Steve would fill in the blanks.

“You still want to go, Wilson?”

Sam’s smile was bright, genuine. “Gonna need a right hand—of course I still want to come.”

Steve left Sam and the rest of the crew to continue with their preparations for departure while he slipped off to have a conversation with his father, confirm that what Sam had told him was actually the truth and not just a misunderstanding. It didn’t take much, though. The moment that he walked into his father’s bedroom, he could tell by just taking one look at the man that he was too sick to be on the ship for the next trip they had planned, no matter how straight-forward or brief. Steve didn’t stay and talk for very long. He knew the route—it was their usual trade run. Very rarely did they have any issues with the traveling itself, and the crew was steady and consistent. As long as their usual vendors were there when they arrived, everything should go perfectly according to plan even if Steve was the one at the helm instead of his father.

The little pangs of guilt that went through him whenever he went onto the ship went away faster than usual this time around. He had more to preoccupy his mind this time, able to stay busy. He’d been watching his father do this his whole life, could recite it all from memory at any given point if someone asked, but it was different when he was the one who actually had to do it. It felt good.

The first day of sailing had gone by without incident. The waters were calm and it looked like it might even stay that way. The crew hardly batted an eye when Steve was the one who started giving out orders. There were a few jokes made, all in jest with no malice to be found, but other than that everyone went along like it was business as usual. Steve supposed that in a way, it was.

The sun was starting to set on the second night. Steve could see it in the clouds that there was the potential of inclement weather, and possibly rough waters. They had planned ahead enough that anchoring for one night wasn’t going to set them terribly behind. It would be safer to do that rather than trying to sail through a storm and losing everything. Even if he hadn’t been heading things up on his own for the first time, he would’ve suggested airing on the side of caution. It was his default now, and most of the crew knew it. They also knew better than to try and argue or convince him otherwise.

It was late, the sun completely gone. The stars shone overhead but before long the wind would be blowing in clouds that would cover them up. The breeze was already strong enough to begin roughing up the water. It wasn’t terrible yet, but as he felt the ship start to sway, he wondered how bad it was going to get.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard Sam coming up behind him. It wasn’t until Sam’s boots hit the wood of the stair that Steve was sitting on that he realized it all. Steve snapped his head to look at him, and Sam was just staring down at him with a smile on his face. There was no denying the exhaustion in Sam’s expression, and Steve was sure that he looked much the same. It was a good day but even good days were tiring.

Steve wasn’t expecting Sam to plop down on the step next to him, but he did. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Rather than offering a verbal ice breaker, Sam held out the bottle in his hand, offering it to Steve. He accepted it, fingers curling around the neck of it. He brought it up to his lips and took a sip, letting the liquor scorch its way down the column of his throat.

He brought it back to his lips to take a second sip and all he could think about in that moment was James. He thought about the nights the two of them spent up on the neck, thinking that they had been so sneaky pilfering liquor from his father. There was no way that the man hadn’t known, but he hadn’t said anything about it. Part of kids growing up, teenagers stealing from their parents’ liquor cabinets. Steve had hated the taste of it back then, and really didn’t much care for it now either. James had never seemed bothered by it, though. He would take a swig from the bottle and he wouldn’t cough or cringe the way that Steve always seemed to. It went down like water for him. And, while the years that passed made it so Steve didn’t cough with every sip anymore, he still always felt himself wincing at least a little bit each time. All those years had passed and he still wasn’t who James had been.

“Is it strange?” Sam asked.

For a moment Steve irrationally thought that Sam was asking the question in relation to all of the thoughts that had just been flying through Steve’s head. But then the logical part of his brain took over once more. Steve shook his head as he handed the bottle back to Sam. “Not that strange. I’ve watched him do this for years—it’s not new.”

“You guys ever run into problems out here?”

Steve shrugged. “Not on this run, usually. I remember my dad had come home once or twice with stories of fights and pirates. I never knew how much of it was just him trying to scare me into listening to him and my mother.” The comment got a chuckle out of Sam and Steve found himself smiling too. “But I know it’s been getting more dangerous out here.” A strong gust of wind blew and rocked the ship, causing both men to brace themselves to keep from toppling over. “Haven’t heard about anything but that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. If trouble comes,” Steve’s hand subconsciously strayed to the gun at his hip, “we’ll be ready.”

He hoped he would be, at least. He wasn’t worried about the rest of the crew. They were seasoned sailors, most of them doing this since Steve was a baby if not longer, though they were younger men back then. But still, they’d run across thieves and pirates in their time and lived to tell the tale. Steve had never had the misfortune, however, to be on-board a ship with his father when there were unwelcome guests. He’d never had to use his gun on someone, or his sword. All he’d ever used them for was practice. He was hoping to keep it that way for as long as possible.

He turned to Sam. “You should get some sleep. Everything’s battened down out here just in case. We’ll be all set.”

“You gonna get some sleep, Cap?”

Steve chuckled at the moniker. “Yeah, I’m gonna get some sleep.”

He had no real clue how long he had actually been asleep for, but when he was yanked back into consciousness, it felt like he’d just barely shut his eyes. He wasn’t woken by a sound, but rather a feeling. The sensation of cold, sharp steel pressed against his throat. His eyes popped open instantly, and luckily enough his body fought the impulse to shoot upright at the disturbance. If he’d moved much more, he would’ve had yet another pressing issue to deal with on top of everything else that was happening.

He blinked the last of the blurriness out of his eyes. When the room came into focus, a fresh jolt of fear shot down his spine. His eyes traveled up the blade that was pressed against his throat, crawling their way up the arm of the person holding it until they reached the other’s face.

With only one candle in his room still left burning, Steve couldn’t make out the details of the man who was currently one flick of his wrist away from ending his entire life. He had long, dark, shaggy hair. It was covering just as much of his face as the shadows in the room were. With the hand that wasn’t keeping the short blade pressed firmly against Steve’s throat, he brought one finger up and pressed it to his own lips.

“Let’s stay quiet,” the man spoke, his whisper deep and raspy. “Would hate to bring the rest of your crew into this.”

The more that Steve’s eyes adjusted to the dark, the more details he could start to pick out about the person who had allowed himself onto their ship. He saw the myriad of jewelry draped around the man’s neck, around the wrist nearest his throat. The loose shirt left a fair amount of the man’s collarbone exposed, but that was hardly a blip on Steve’s radar when he noticed the way the sleeves of the man’s shirt were pushed up. His left arm, the one not holding the blade to him, was covered in scarring. It was too dark still for Steve to be able to try and guess what the cause of it might’ve been, but he had to assume that it wasn’t unrelated to the fact that this man was sneaking aboard ships in the middle of the night like this.

“I have a feeling,” Steve finally said, gathering his wits about him, “that you already did.”

Even in the dark the man’s smile was impossible to miss. “I’d say no one can get past you but,” he nodded towards the blade currently pressed against Steve’s throat, “apparently they can.”

Steve exhaled harshly through his nose, his patience wearing thin despite not knowing what he wanted his next move to be. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you’ve got.” The man looked around the tiny cabin space that they were currently in. “Merchant ship this size?” He nodded approvingly. “I think you might have a few things my crew could make use of.”

Steve shook his head as much as he was able, feeling the slight pull of the blade against his throat as he did so. “We don’t have—”

“Don’t lie to me,” the man’s whisper was as sharp as the steel in his hand.

He exhaled again, this time the breath came out unsteady. He didn’t want to take his eyes off the man in front of him, but he needed to look and see just how far away his gun was, or even his own blade. Was it close enough to reach for? Would he be able to move quickly enough to grab it before it was too late? If he did get it and manage to stay in one piece in the process, would he be able to take out the man in front of him before he could alert the rest of his own crew? He didn’t hear them moving around the ship but if they weren’t aboard yet, it wouldn’t be long until they were. The longer that Steve kept this man trapped in the room with him, the more likely it was that his men would become restless and come looking for him.

Steve held the man’s gaze for a moment longer before settling on a plan of action. Anything was better than sitting there and doing nothing. Not letting his eye contact waver, Steve swiftly drove his foot into the man’s sternum and pushed him backwards. It didn’t knock him completely down, but it put enough distance between them for Steve to twist and grab his own blade from beside his bed. He felt the burn on his throat where the other man’s blade had broken the skin, but he knew from the feeling of it that it wasn’t enough of an injury to cause a problem right now. There were much more important things at hand anyway.

He leapt out of bed, sword at the ready. In the limited space at their disposal in Steve’s quarters, they paced a circle around each other, sizing each other up. They were quite the pair against each other, Steve in his thin white sleepwear while the man was standing there fully dressed and ready for whatever was coming his way. There was something about the man that felt familiar to Steve, but he couldn’t for the life of him fathom what it was. He didn’t make a point of consorting with pirates, so he didn’t know what the draw was. He could barely make out the features of the man’s face, but there was something. Maybe it was just the panic in his system, looking to make sense out of something that was random and senseless. Wrong place, wrong time. If he lived to tell the tale, he was never going to hear the end of it from his father.

Time for calculation was over. Steve stepped, lunging with his sword. It was a blade that was longer than that of the other man’s, and he was hoping that would prove to be an advantage. The move wasn’t effective, the man blocking it with ease. The edges of the blades glided along each other as they each tried to push through and get closer.

Steve regained control of his blade and created an opportunity for himself to make another attempt. The sweeping gesture he made was mildly more effective than his first move—he felt the difference in pull as the sword cut along the skin of the man’s chest. He hissed in pain, turning away from the blade as best he could. It was surface-level damage, not all that much worse than the nick on Steve’s neck all things being considered. The thin slash was enough to cause blood to start seeping into the loose white fabric of the man’s shirt, making it start to stick to his chest.

Steve did his best to take advantage of the split-second of surprise, that brief moment the man spent recognizing that Steve had made contact. He stepped in and made another short, sharp motion and knocked the sword from the man’s hand. It clattered to the floor, sounding impossibly loud. Steve knew that this was the moment. If he was going to put a stop to this man, this was the time to do it. It would only take him another second, after all, to lunge and sweep his blade back up off the floor. Steve knew that he should send his sword right through the man’s chest, or slash the blade harshly across his throat. It was no better or worse than what they would do to him on-shore—pirates weren’t ever punished with anything less than a public hanging. It wasn’t as though Steve would be changing the outcome for this man. This was the only type of end he was going to meet. He must’ve known that when he decided to become a pirate. It wasn’t a lifestyle that was known for staving off a man’s expiration.

He brought his hand up to do exactly what he had practiced, what countless lessons over the years had trained him to do. One more sweep of his arm and it was all over. But he couldn’t. The blade stopped mere centimeters away from the man’s throat. Instead, he closed his first that wasn’t holding onto his sword, and struck a harsh blow to the man’s jaw, one that did knock him down to the ground.

It didn’t take much after that for Steve to get the man pinned down onto the floor. The man was lying on his stomach, one side of his face flattened against the wood floor beneath them. Steve was wrangling the man’s arms behind his back, ready to tie them into place when he heard a cacophony of footsteps and shouting out on the deck. Even with Steve’s knee digging into the man’s back, he still managed to get a laugh out.

Steve ignored the way that the man’s laugh made his nerves spike. He busied himself with the knot he’s started in the rope around the man’s wrists. The voices were clearer now, and Steve could also hear those of his crew as well. The mess was growing worse by the second and he still wasn’t sure what each step of the plan was going to be yet, he only knew the outcome that he wanted, no, needed.

He heard the man’s crew calling out for him, multiple men shouting out, “Captain!” What caught Steve’s attention, however, was the fact that at least one member of the man’s crew was calling out, “Bucky!”

Steve yanked as hard as he could as he finished the knot, noticing the sharp breath of pain the man let out beneath him. “Bucky, huh? That’s what they call you?”

He chuckled, like the position he was in hardly registered as an inconvenience. “Only my friends.” He turned his head to look at Steve. “That what we are now, Captain?”

Steve pressed his knee harder into the space between the man’s shoulder blades. “Hardly.”

Shifting his weight, Steve brought himself to a crouching position for a moment, feet planted just to the side of the man’s, Bucky apparently, body. Before Bucky could get so much as another snide comment out, Steve wrapped his hand around Bucky’s bicep as much as he could before heaving him up off the floor. Bucky was nearly stumbling to keep up with the force that he had been lifted with. Under different circumstances he would’ve been impressed, as he hadn’t expected the captain to have such an easy time of it. Bucky didn’t put up as much of a fight as he could have, and probably should have, as Steve grabbed hold of his sword again now that they were both upright.

It was impossible to miss, as Steve dragged Bucky towards the door, that the noise outside had reached its crescendo and died down considerably. No more firing guns and clanging swords. There were still the shouts and grumblings of disgruntled men, and all Steve could do was hope that most of the men still able to talk, still up and about, were his own.

He was just about to reach for the doorknob when someone on the other side yanked it open. The surprise that shot through Steve, that made him brandish his sword, quickly melted away into relief when he saw that Sam was the one who had pulled the door open. If Sam was coming to get him, he just had to hope that that meant his men had ended up with the upper hand. A success not unlike what Steve had managed against Bucky.

Sam’s eyes were wide with shock as he looked back and forth between Steve and the man that he had a vice grip on. “C-Captain,” he finally stammered out.

Steve could see, even in the low light, the blood smeared on Sam’s clothing. He hoped that most of it wasn’t his own. Sam was still upright, and aside from the panic and shock he seemed to be doing alright. “Wilson,” Steve said, trying his best to sound reassured, like he wasn’t just as panicked and just as out of breath as the man in front of him, “how’s the crew?”

Sam nodded but the worry was still thick in his expression. “We, they, um.” He couldn’t find it in himself to ignore the glare that Bucky was giving him. “Come and see.”

The confidence that Steve had been starting to garner began to slip away as he followed Sam’s instructions. He watched as Sam turned on his heel and headed back to the deck. Steve shifted his grip on Bucky’s arm, keeping a tight hold on the thick cord of muscle that ran up the back of his bicep, fingers digging as he pushed Bucky forward through the doorway first. The action was rough enough to nearly make the man stumble, but he managed to catch himself.

The deck was a mess, but as Steve took quick stock of the situation at hand, he was relieved to see that all the members of his crew were, more or less, in one piece. Some had injuries that would need more attending to in the daylight, and more still once they reached shore or returned home, but it didn’t seem as though anyone was at risk of slipping away from them just yet.

The same could not be said for all the members of Bucky’s crew. Some of them were bound much like their captain, left incapacitated against the mast. Others weren’t so lucky, their blood staining the wood more and more as each second ticked by. Bucky felt his anger renew, and he struggled against Steve’s grasp knowing it wasn’t going to get him anywhere, wasn’t going to change anything. It was a risk they all ran, living the life that they did, and Bucky knew that as well as any of them. Still, though, he felt responsible for them—he was still their captain after all.

Steve and Bucky’s crews had been matched well in terms of numbers. From the looks of it, Steve might’ve only had two or three men more. But Bucky’s crew was much greener than Steve’s. Most of that was chalked up to age. After all, while there were many benefits to youth, not many things could match experience. A majority of Steve’s crew were still young enough to be able to fight if they had too, but they were also old enough to know a lot of the tricks others had up their sleeves. It was why they were able to come out on top, even if they didn’t come out of it unscathed.

Steve felt Bucky pull against him again and he brought the sword up so that it was pressed against Bucky’s throat. Perhaps it was a bit of an empty threat after how things had played out the first time, but it still made a point.

“If you don’t want this blade to go any deeper,” Steve said as he adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword, “I would stop fighting.”

“Why?” Bucky grit out. “So you can bring us in and hand us off to someone else who will do the same? Hang us in—”

“You knew the risks when you decided to become pirates,” Steve cut him off, confidence back in his voice again.

He pushed Bucky towards where the rest of his crew was tied, impressed with how little pushback there was. He was tempted to make a comment about honor among thieves, but he knew as well as anyone the loyalty between a captain and his crew. There was a little gnawing at the back of his brain knowing that it carried over to pirates as well.

Sam stepped up so that he was beside Steve. “What do you want us to do?”

Steve nodded towards the mast. “Put him with the rest. We’ll keep them there for now.” He let out a deep sigh as he relaxed his arm, his sword lowering until the tip of it just barely touched the paneling of the deck. “We’ll move on now—reach port by the afternoon.”

One of the men tried to speak up, clearly exhausted from everything. “Cap—"

“I’ll take it from here,” Steve reassured, already knowing where the sentence was going. He was as exhausted as any of them, but he knew that there would be no going back to sleep for him now. He wouldn’t be able to rest until they returned back home. Maybe not even then. “One of you can relieve me in the morning.”

There was a tense silence, but no one spoke up to argue. The sense of unease about the plan was outweighed by people’s need to rest and lick their wounds. Steve watched as one of his men finished tying Bucky down. In the daylight he would be able to get a better look at him, at all of them. He wondered if he would feel any different afterwards.

Steve’s men slowly started to head back to their barracks, one by one. The deck slowly started to empty. The ship rocked slightly, and it wasn’t until that moment that Steve realized the storm he had been expecting never came. There had been some wind, a few smatterings of rain, but nothing like what it could’ve been. They could start carrying on right then with no issue, and now that was exactly what Steve was planning to do.

“Captain,” Sam spoke up, trying to sound certain but not quite hitting the correct note.

Steve hadn’t even noticed that Sam didn’t return to his quarters like the rest of the men on board had. Steve tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible as he turned to face Sam. Steve knew that he must’ve been just as rattled as he was, if not more-so. He wondered briefly how Sam had held up when the fight itself was happening. He had some wounds to show for it, so he had at least shown up, hadn’t stowed himself away. Steve had a feeling that Sam would be the type to stick by the crew, but that was one of those things that you never really knew about a man until they were thrown into the thick of it.

“Wilson,” Steve said in response, his tone more convincing than his counterpart’s. “You can head off too. If I need—”

“I’d rather stay,” Sam spit out before he lost the nerve. “If that’s alright. I don’t,” he shook his head, “I don’t think that I’m going to be going back to sleep anytime soon.”

Steve nodded understandingly. “Okay.”

The relief cascaded across Sam’s face. “Okay.” He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure as much for his captain in front of him as for the men who were tied up to the mast behind him. They didn’t need to be seeing any weakness from him. “Besides,” some of his charm returned to his voice, even if it was a little more deflated than usual, “you’ll need a hand getting everything loosed to sail.”

The smile on Steve’s face actually felt like a genuine one, even through the exhaustion and the stress. “That’s true.” He nodded towards the ropes tied off on the side of the ship. “You know what to do, then.”

Sam gave a nod and headed right off, knowing the routine by heart, as close to matching Steve’s knowledge and comfort as he could. He moved with calculated ease, and after watching him for a minute, Steve headed off to handle the rest. Even with just the two of them working, they would be ready to go rather quickly.

Sam was climbing down the netting, calling out to Steve as he did. “Captain Rogers!” he exclaimed. “We’re ready!”

Steve nodded. “Pull anchor!”

Bucky had been watching both of the men intently from where he was strapped down on the deck. The longer he’d been sitting there, the more he had a strange feeling pulling at the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t just the feeling of being captured, the dread of what was going to come next. There was something else, something that he couldn’t quite put a name to.

It all came crashing down the second he heard Sam call the man in charge Captain Rogers. Bucky was sure that more words had been exchanged after the fact but he hadn’t heard them. Everything else fell away, the waves crashing around the ship, the groans and words of anger and discomfort coming from his men around him. The darkness seemed to get thicker as the reality of the situation started to rip through him.

All he could do was look at the man who had put him there. It’d been too dark, too chaotic to see it before. But now? With nothing else left for him to do but look? He could see it. As soon as the words had left Sam’s mouth, Bucky could see it. The years that had passed since they last saw each other had aged them both, Bucky more-so due to the hardships that he’d faced, things that Steve wouldn’t have had to worry about even in his wildest dreams. They were both grown now, and yet they were still just boys messing around on the deck of his father’s ship after dark. The stakes were higher now, but at the core of it, they were the same as they’d ever been. Bucky too far out over the ledge, Steve not quite out on the ledge with him.

Bucky thought that his heart was going to explode, splatter within the confines of his chest as each small thought and realization hit him one after the other after the other. His eyes were wide as he continued to stare at Steve, willing himself to say or do something, anything at all.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Bucky was finally able to force out one word. “Steve?” All the previous anger and snark in his voice was gone. He hadn’t spoken quite in a whisper, but it wasn’t loud enough to carry across the deck, especially not when the man in question was most likely trying to tune him out, along with all of his men. He cleared his throat, trying to say it with a little more force this time. “Steve?”

That time it reached the captain’s ears. Steve’s head snapped in Bucky’s direction, confusion etched so deep into his features that Bucky could see it despite the darkness around them. Steve’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out where he got that information from. None of the men had called him by his first name in front of Bucky. Maybe they’d mentioned something in front of the rest of the crew, in the heat of everything else that was going on maybe that was simply a piece of information that had slipped out. Not the end of the world, really. But if that was the case, why was Bucky saying it like that? Why did he seem surprised? Maybe even a little sad? More than that, why did Steve feel like there was something intimately familiar about the way that Bucky said it?

The longer that they stared at each other from across the deck, the more Bucky could feel his emotions continuing to well in his chest. His limbs felt heavy, and suddenly his physical wounds were the least of his worries—they paled in comparison to the way that the years of hardship and being apart from everything he’d ever known, everyone he’d ever known, were crushing him from the inside out. He wanted to have more to say, but what was there? What was he supposed to say now that they had ended up like this? They hadn’t recognized each other, after all. He didn’t know if it made it more or less heartbreaking that it was mutual.

“Steve,” he repeated himself, this time not as a question.

Steve didn’t want to believe it. His grip tightened on the helm, blunted fingernails digging into the finish of the wood. The longer that he stared down at Bucky, however, the harder it was to try and lie to himself. He couldn’t try and ignore him and pretend all the way until they reached port. His resolve wouldn’t last that long, not if Bucky really was who he was about to claim to be.

He didn’t take his eyes off of the man as he called out to Sam. “Wilson!” In his peripheral he could see the way that Sam was listening, waiting. “Man the helm for me for a moment, will you?”

Sam nodded as he strode over, immediately ready to oblige. He placed his hands right where Steve’s had been, ready to keep the course. He had watched the entire scene unfold and while he couldn’t say that he had a full grip on the situation, he could feel the tension in the air that this was now about much more than a rag-tag group of pirates who had tried and failed to rob and possibly commandeer their ship. He wasn’t sure the depths of what it was about now, but it felt precarious. And precarious was dangerous when they were out in open water in the middle of the night the way that they were.

“Cap, I don’t know what happened with Bucky, but—”

“I’ve got it under control, Sam,” Steve said, his reassurance sounding surprisingly real despite the fact that Steve had no idea what was about to unfold. Maybe that was what it was like to be a captain, just making sure that everyone else felt reassured even if he didn’t feel very certain himself. He gave Sam’s shoulder an affectionate clap. “Stay the course.”

Sam got half a word out but before he could finish, Steve was already descending back towards the main deck, and Sam was left unable to do anything but watch him. There would just have to be time for the questions later.

Bucky had been watching the entire interaction unfold between them. He couldn’t hear for sure what they had been saying, but he could see the way that Steve had hardly taken his eyes off of him even though he had been speaking to Sam the entire time. Bucky hoped that boded well for him, that this wasn’t just some hopeless dream or delusion of his. He hoped that whatever there was between them way back when, that loyalty and whatever else existed unspoken there, had kept after all these years. Even if the stakes had changed drastically.

He watched as Steve made his way closer to him. The last mental image he had of Steve was when they’d been so young. Steve had been shorter, so much skinnier. He’d been strong enough when they were teenagers, but he’d always been slimmer and wirier than Bucky ever had been. It’d been a sore spot for a little while there. Clearly it wasn’t a problem anymore, if the way that Steve had been dragging him around with ease said anything.

Bucky felt like he blinked and suddenly Steve was standing in front of him. He tilted his head back, feeling the way it tapped against the mast when he’d tilted back as far as he could. He couldn’t remember a time before when he had to look up at Steve that way. All of the words he’d ever learned were stuck at the base of his throat as he watched Steve study him more closely, a deeper intent there now that recognition, and acceptance were nipping at his heels.

Steve had grabbed a lantern on his way, wanting to give himself as good of a view as possible of the man who was claiming, without saying it in so many words, to be the friend he’d lost at sea nearly two decades ago at that point. Time was so cruel the way it just kept slipping by.

Ignoring the attempted thrashing and angry commentary of the men who were left of Bucky’s crew, Steve finally lowered himself down so that he was face level with the man tied to the mast. He studied Bucky’s face closely in the lamplight now, the tan and smattering of freckles left behind after years out underneath the sun. He tried to see past the beard he had now, tried to see the boy he remembered, like if he couldn’t peel back the layers and find James somewhere underneath all of the Bucky, he simply just wasn’t going to believe it.

Bucky was helpless to do anything besides sit there and watch him. He saw the way that Steve’s pensive frown pulled his lips downward. Suddenly Bucky could see it clear as day. Even though the circumstances couldn’t be more different, when he looked at the thoughtful downturn of Steve’s lips, the slight pull of his brows towards each other, all he could see was the two of them sitting on the edge of the docks as teenagers, trying to figure out the intricate workings of all the knots that Steve’s father told them they needed to learn. It always took Steve a little longer to learn them, it was harder for him to pick them up and keep them committed to memory. He’d get three-fourths of the way there and then lose track, and he would make that same face that he was making now. Always trying to figure out which pieces of the puzzle he was missing.

Steve was fighting the urge to reach out and touch Bucky’s face. He hadn’t been brave enough to do it back then, and he certainly didn’t feel like he had any right to do so now. But it also felt like it wouldn’t be real until he did. Bucky’s eyes looked up at him, so earnest in comparison to how he’d looked at Steve when he’d first woken him up in his sleeping quarters. Two completely different men wrapped into one. Steve couldn’t help but wonder if either of those men still wanted anything to do with him.

The amount of time that they’d spent in silence, Steve crouched just inches from him, finally sank in. Steve cleared his throat, finally getting himself together enough to speak. “James?”

The relief that Steve felt at Bucky’s reaction was a visual, tangible thing. His shoulders went slack as he exhaled a breath he’d been holding for longer than he should’ve been. The creases across his forehead that had been born of worry instantly smoothed away. He felt himself wanting to smile but he knew that he couldn’t get too far ahead of himself now. They knew each other back then, and there was a brand of comfort in that, but they were different men now, or at least James was. He didn’t even go by the same name any longer. He didn’t know how much that history would hold, if it would be enough to save him.

Regardless of the conflicting feelings rushing through both of them, even though Bucky knew that it was too early on to have any assurance that he was actually safe, he still felt a thought, a feeling blooming at the back of his mind that was telling him that things were going to work out somehow.

He needed to come up with something more, something better to say, but with the shock that was still making its way through the marrow of his bones, all Bucky could do to answer Steve’s single-word question was repeat the same thing that he’d been saying all along. This time, he said it with a tinge of hopefulness that he hadn’t allowed himself to have in a long time. “Steve.”

Steve felt like he had just gotten punched in the chest. There was no more denying any of it. The reality of it all pushed the air clean out of his lungs. The urge to reach forward and pull Bucky into an embrace was immediately fought off by the part of his brain still steeped in reality, the part that recognized the fact that Steve had commanded to have Bucky restrained against the mast. There had to be a first step somewhere. Something between a constant repetition of names and cutting the ropes loose so that Steve could ball his fists in the fabric of Bucky’s shirt as he hugged him.

“How?” Steve finally managed to force out, the light of the lantern throwing shadows that further intensified an already heavy moment between them. “You were dead. I, I saw it…” he trailed off, emotions choking him up as he thought back to that night, to all of the nights since that it had been haunting him. “You went over the edge. Right,” Steve’s eyes darted to the railing where it’d happened, “right there. I tried to go after you but my father—”

“I know,” Bucky stopped him short. There were a million conflicting emotions on his face, behind his eyes, things that he had been shoving as far down inside his chest as possible for as long as he could remember.

That night might have been haunting Steve ever since it happened, but Bucky remembered it just as clearly—no matter how hard he tried to forget. He remembered the sting of the water, the burn of the impact of it. He remembered how with each breath he tried to take in, he also got a mouthful of seawater. But there hadn’t been any use in trying to spit it out, each sputter only allowing more water in. His body got tossed around by waves in a way that he couldn’t ever remember happening before or since. The ocean was cruel and unrelenting, and painfully egalitarian. It didn’t matter that Bucky hadn’t even truly been a man yet—the waves tossed him around like one anyway.

For as chaotic and overloading as it had all been, one other thing about that night was something that Bucky couldn’t forget about no matter how much he tried. All the sensations that popped up uninvited in his nightmares, things that yanked him from his sleep sweating and gasping for air that he no longer had to fight to get, and the one thing that made him awake with tears on his face was the sound. There had been wind, and rain, and waves, but above and through all of that he had heard the sounds of Steve’s screams. The screams, the cries. It was too dark and he was too incapacitated to see Steve trying to jump in after him, but even so he could hear the way that Steve had been screaming at his father, begging in a way that Bucky hadn’t ever heard before. At the time he thought that it was going to be the last thing he ever heard.

All the years that had gone by had Bucky certain that it was the last thing that he was ever going to hear from Steve. There had been points as time went on when he thought about heading off to find him. But when he was young he didn’t have the means. He was pulled in by a crew and he didn’t have the sway to be able to ask them to do such a thing. Why would anyone do something like that? Pirates had enough to contend with without putting themselves in situations like that. And the crew that had taken Bucky in, while they’d kept him alive and shown him the ropes, they were rough. They were brutal in ways that Bucky hadn’t known were possible outside the stories that he heard from sailors back home. He learned it all, too—how to keep himself safe no matter the cost. He tried his hardest to make sure it never came to that. But the more time that went by, the more that he learned, the more senseless it became to think about returning back home. He didn’t even know if he would be wanted there, if anyone would still remember him.

With each venture and every crime, Bucky had also become keenly aware of the fact that he was drifting farther and farther away from being James, from being the person that Steve would remember, the person that Steve would want. He didn’t know how long it took for him to stop letting that be a deterrent. At some point, the thought of seeing Steve again and still wanting to be something like the person his best friend would remember, stopped lingering at the forefront of his mind. He let go of the hope of that, let go of the last few shreds of that boyhood, the innocence that he associated with Steve for so long.

Bucky was pulled from the painful montage in his head by the grumbling of the man who was tied to the mast to the left of him. He didn’t quite catch the words themselves but he didn’t have to, the man’s frustrated tone and the way he was fighting against the binds was an abrupt reminder that Bucky had well and truly made his bed years ago. Now he had to lay in it, him and all of the men that made up his crew. After what had just happened it wasn’t going to be so simple as, “Cut us loose and we’ll just pretend this didn’t happen.” Bucky was the only one who would’ve possibly been capable of that, and even then it wasn’t a sure thing. They’d lost men to this, after all.

He studied Steve’s face for a moment, trying to figure out what the man was planning on doing next. There had been a time when he would’ve been able to tell without having to look—they knew each other that well. Bucky always knew the next three steps that Steve was going to take. It’d been too long now, though.

After another moment, Steve revealed a small knife. He leaned forward, about to make his way to cut the ropes that bound Bucky’s wrists. The child that still ran around the deepest parts of his brain couldn’t simply just let his friend sit there tied to the mast, no matter how long it’d been. It was impulsive, something that if his father, or Sam, or anyone had been there beside him, they would’ve stopped him.

As it stood, the person who tried to get him to stop was the man that he was trying to free. “Steve,” he said, voice quiet and sharp all at once, “don’t.”

He looked like a hurt puppy at the rejection. “But—”

“I stay with my crew,” he said, the sureness of his tone betrayed by the conflict in his eyes.

“James…” Steve was nearly begging, such a swift turning of the tables.

Bucky managed a shrug. “Different world now, Stevie.” He paused, waiting for his long-lost friend to say something more. When he didn’t, Bucky continued, “All of us, or none of us.”

“I can’t just—”

“Then don’t,” Bucky cut him off again. He knew that that was going to be the answer. The same way that Steve knew Bucky wasn’t going to turn his back on his crew, Bucky knew just as well that Steve wasn’t going to just cut them all loose like that.

With a sigh of disappointment, Steve looked one more time at the knife in his hand before tucking it back into its sheath. His hand stayed wrapped around the handle of it for a few moments longer anyway, like he was giving Bucky one last chance to change his mind, but he didn’t. Stubborn as he’d ever been.

“Alright then,” Steve finally said. He braced his hands on his knees so that he could get himself upright again. He hesitated to walk away, staring down at Bucky who was helpless to do anything besides stare back up at him.

Bucky sat and watched as Steve turned and walked away. There were so many things that he wanted so say, but what good would it really do him? Or any of his men, for that matter? Each one of Steve’s receding footsteps rung right through his skull even though the sound of them was softening with the distance.

“Should’ve gotten out,” the man beside him said.

Bucky turned to him. “What?”

“Should’ve gotten out. No point in all of us—”

“Like I said,” Bucky fixed him with a stare, “all of us, or none of us.”

The man let out a deep grumble of a laugh. It wasn’t loud, per se, but Bucky could see that he felt it genuinely regardless. In that moment Bucky was trying to remember just how long the man had been part of his crew. He had at least a decade on Bucky, the oldest member of their crew. He remembered him coming aboard, joining Bucky after his last crew had gotten captured. He’d lost track of how long ago that was exactly. Time tended to blur together, the number of days losing their meaning.

When the man stopped laughing, he said, “You still have that goin’ for you, then.”

Confusion drew Bucky’s brows together. “What?”

“The sea hasn’t beaten the ideals out of you yet.” He shook his head before letting it rest back against the mast once more. “Most men would’ve taken the chance to get out.” He chuckled one more time for good measure. “You probably should have.”

Something about the man’s smile got one out of Bucky as well. If he made it another ten years he wondered if he would be just as amused when faced with these types of situations. “Too late now, huh?”

The man looked over at the helm where Steve was standing, eyes never staying on one target for long. He looked at Sam, who he was talking to, around the ship and the sea surrounding it, but his gaze also kept going back to Bucky. Not any of the men beside him. Bucky might have been willfully ignoring that but his shipmate most definitely wasn’t.

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The knowing look that was on the man’s face got a hint of a smile out of Bucky. He didn’t say anything to confirm or dispute what the man had said to him, though. He just sat and tried to think of how he was supposed to get everyone who was left out of this mess in one piece.

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #stucky fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes x steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #connect 4 au #bucky barnes event #alternate juneiverse #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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duskys-dreams · 1 year

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A huge black canine-draconian beast with tentacles struck down our spaceship. I crash-landed on an alien planet with my crew.

The locals were elegant-looking blue-skinned humanoids who wore expensive, frilly blue clothing. Ivor had a bunch of outfits on hand, which annoyed me because cultural appropriation (they were ancient Egyptian outfits, but still resembled the alien’s), but we put them on to calm the locals.

The Queen was a tall and kind woman. She asked me what time it was, and my phone said 1:10. I said as much, and she smiled and explained that it was simply 10. They didn’t mark hours here.

She showed me the inside of the castle. I noticed that they seemed to have a lot of sugar, and I asked her about it. She said that that’s what her people were known for, and what they prided themselves on.

I caught wind of a gladiator battle, so I hurried to the ring. It was a white circle with a thin glass fence around it. I hopped over it and hung over the edge, holding onto the barrier. Nobody besides my two companions, Kris and Ralsei, were doing this.

Two earthlings, not ones we knew, fought. The rules of the arena stated that you could not kill your opponent, as it was only to see the abilities of the species fighting. After the match, the Queen stepped up and started talking about what she saw in the fight.

I decided to check my phone, and saw with my ship camera that the beast that had struck us down was swimming toward the island we were on. I thought, huh, that’s not good. I should probably tell someone. I went into the arena and showed it to the Queen, but it was too late.

We heard a roar, and a thunderous boom as a tentacle struck the arena where we all stood. Everyone scattered, and I ran with the Queen, asking her why it was attacking. She explained that it did this every few weeks, because it wanted to steal their sugar. I asked her why she didn’t just give it to it, if that’s all it wanted, and she explained that it was tried, but it just humps the bag of sugar it gets. I said, “what does it matter what it does with the sugar it gets, as long as there’s peace?” but she didn’t respond.

We got inside the catacombs, and the Queen said we were safe here. She handed me a peach and asked me to make some peach juice, using a device that invoked pushing a sort of grate through the fruit repeatedly. It would slide easily, but stop when only the seed remained. It was very efficient. She also asked me to talk to a few individuals, but I couldn’t find anyone.

What I did find was a hole that led to a new hallway. Inside were a few new characters, including Susie and Papyrus. Susie turned around and counted to ten, and everyone scattered to hide. Most went down the tunnel straight ahead, but Papyrus went down the one that was to the right. It led to a room that played Asgore’s theme, and had some target-seeking projectiles that Papyrus managed to dodge.

Beyond that tunnel, there was a new room. It asked him whether he would like to choose a scary blue, or a gold. I thought about how Kris had slowly become more partial to gold, but Papyrus picked blue. The room now had an electric blue and black theme.

At the end of the room, there was a marriage altar. Next to it was a person that vaguely resembled a cartoonish camera with a flared lens on a metal stand, facing left with two eyes in the same side. A second character appeared, and the camera started officiating the wedding. Papyrus was confused and started asking questions, and the alleged bride gave silly answers. I skipped through the dialogue, not interested in the wacky hijinks.

I also made sure to record the encounter, as this was a part of Deltarune chapter three and I was the first to play it.

#dusky’s dreams #dream journal #kris dreemurr #ralsei #susie deltarune #papyrus #papyrus deltarune #deltarune #deltarune chapter three #spaceship #alien species #mcsm ivor

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elainsshadows · 3 years

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I want to talk about Elain today and her role in future books. I will also be talking about other ships at the end of this including: Lucien x Vassa, Lucien x Elain, and Azriel x Gwyn. These are merely my opinions and thoughts, this is not me trying to bash anyone else's opinions. I am open to having discussions as long as you are kind and respectful.

This is going to be long as a warning. Let's begin.

Quiet Strength

My friend recently start reading ACOTAR and she came to me one day and said that she had found a quote that she really liked. That quote was:

"She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger" ~ ACOTAR, pg. 259

I know that a lot of antis like to bring up the fact that Elain didn't do anything but plant flowers and such while Feyre was out risking her life to put food on the table. Why hadn't Elain planted food instead? As someone who tried to garden vegetables with her dad one year I can tell you it's not as easy as flowers.

Maybe Elain was trying to bring some color into their drab little existence like Feyre had done with the paints. Maybe she wanted one thing to make her happy.

When Feyre comes to see them in ACOMAF, to ask for their help, it was Elain who said that they should help.

"If... if we do not help Feyre, there won't be a wedding." ~ ACOMAF pg. 247

"Feyre gave and gave - for years. Let us help her. Help... others." ~ ACOMAF pg. 248

Elain was risking a lot by saying they should now help their Fae sister. She was going to be married to someone who's family hated the Fae. If they found out what Elain and Nesta were doing it would probably be the end of her engagement to Graysen. They would become Fae sympathizers and like the Children of the Blessed we see mentioned throughout the books.

Would a coward risk all of this? Not to me they wouldn't.

When Rhys, Az, and Cassian arrive once Elain had cleared out the servants. Elain, while scared, still tries to be a good host to the four of them. I want to come back to this scene when I discuss Elriel because this was the moment that I first started thinking that they would make a good pair.

But while Nesta and Feyre are more bold with their actions like wielding swords, bow and arrows, knives, etc., Elain doesn't necessarily back down from a challenge. When given Truth-Teller she simply states that she doesn't know how to use it. She does not shove it back at Azriel and refuse it, she simply informs him she doesn't know how to use it.

Also when they had been captured by Hybern and all that mess was going down. Tamlin had been gunning for Feyre and it was Elain who did this:

"But Elain's cry - a warning. A warning to- To my right, now exposed, Tamlin ran for me. To grab me at last." ACOMAF pg. 602

Elain, despite being scared in this highly stressful situation, saw her sister in danger and tried her hardest to warn her. If it had not been for Elain, Tamlin might have been able to grab Feyre at that moment in all the confusion and chaos. Despite being in her nightgown and terrified she still tried to protect her younger sister.

Once again when people are in danger once the Wall had been taken down it was Elain who spoke up. She knew that Graysen's family's estate could help protect those closest to the Wall and from any Fae that may come to do them harm.

"Glamour me," Elain said - to Rhys. "Make me look human. Just long enough to convince him to open his gates to those seeking sanctuary." ~ ACOWAR pg. 471

"It's already ended badly. Now it's just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences." ~ ACOWAR pg. 471

She's Fae now. If Graysen or any of his family or those working for them knew this (which we see that they did) then they might kill her on sight. She risked her life to make sure defenseless humans remained as safe as they could with the oncoming war.

When Azriel and Feyre go to Hybern's camp to save Elain they also save another human. They are being pursued and clearly, the human girl is terrified of them, but it is Elain that says this:

"Grab onto him!" Elain ordered to the wide-eyed human girl as Azriel thundered toward her. *skipped ahead* "Elain screamed at her, "If you want to live, do it now!" ~ ACOWAR pg. 577

She also does this when the King of Hybern's beasts are upon them:

"Elain moved. As Azriel battled to keep them airborne, keep his grip on them, my sister sent a fierce kick into the beast's face. Its eye. *Skipped ahead* "Elain slammed her bare, muddy foot into its face again. The blow struck home." ACOWAR pg. 577

Knowing that their lives are in danger and that if this beast does anything to Azriel's wings they are all going to die. She does not hesitate and does not back down as she goes after the beast with her barefoot.

She slays the King of Hybern as well:

"Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the King's neck as she snarled in his ear, "Don't you touch my sister." ~ ACOWAR pg. 652

She has a protective streak in her and she will go down swinging if she has to.

And this I just found interesting. Everyone seems to shy away from Amren, but in ACOFAS this happens when they're all eating together:

"Elain, to my surprise, held Amren's gaze." ~ ACOFAS pg. 108

I just like that she held Amren's gaze.

Being Feminine Isn't Boring

I see a lot of people saying that Elain being feminine is boring, that she isn't an exciting heroine. Yes, Elain isn't one of SJM's typical heroines, but I think that makes her all the more interesting. We've never seen someone who isn't like Aelin, Bryce, Feyre, and Nesta from SJM.

"Elain stood between Nuala and Cerridwen at the long worktable. All three of them covered in flour." ~ ACOWAR pg. 386

"Elain was in the kitchen, helping Nuala and Cerridwen prepare the evening meal." ~ ACOFAS pg. 101

"She'd been toiling in the estate gardens since dawn." ~ ACOSF pg. 28

"Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie's garden." ~ ACOSF pg. 311

Do I think Elain's entire book will be based on her baking and taking care of gardens? No, I don't. I think she is capable of more than that and that is going to lead into my next point.

Elain Archeron, 007

This is not a new theory and it isn't even one that I came up with. Many lovely Elriels have pointed out comparisons to Azriel and Elain and how he may even teach her how to be a spy. I think it is a perfectly lovely idea. Let me show you some quotes from the book that make me think that this could be a possibility.

"Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her, "Using me." ~ ACOSF pg. 230

They were talking about looking for the Dread Trove here and scrying. They were debating who should do it when Elain stepped up. She has done this before and with her seer abilities she is a perfect choice for the job. Obviously several characters aren't thrilled with the idea (Nesta and Azriel being two of the ones that don't like the idea).

"Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, "There is an innate darkness to the Drea Trove that Elain should not be exposed to." ~ ACOSF pg. 311

"Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why." ~ ACOSF pg. 470

"You came," Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. *skipped ahead* "Wondering if she'd been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends." ~ ACOSF pg. 595

We see that even Nesta is questioning whether or not Elain has been having lessons. She very well could have or this could be a hidden talent that Nesta has never gotten to see or never cared to see because she viewed Elain as someone who is innocent and needing protection.

Nesta mothers Elain throughout the series, we constantly see her coming to Elain's defense, stepping in front of her, talking for her. And while Elain used to let that slide we can see now that she is coming into her own and not letting Nesta walk all over her.

"Elain said, "You can't have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater." ~ ACOSF pg. 232

I think Elain has been denied many things in her life because she has been seen as the most beautiful. Her own mother seeing her as nothing more than a pretty face that would be easy to marry off once she was of age. What will she do now that she has more freedom than she did before? Now that she will not become some lord's wife?

I do not see Elain as a warrior who is ready for battle, but I see her being ready for a different kind of battle.

"It took hours for Elain to work her charm on the staff to swiftly pack their bags and leave, each with a purse of money to hasten the process." ~ ACOMAF pg. 250

You know who else is charming? James Bond.

Being another pretty face has something going for Elain. No one would look at her and think "Yeah she's totally a spy." She can charm people, make them feel more at ease, and get them to open up. Maybe even enough that they think nothing of divulging things in front of her that otherwise shouldn't be overheard.

Maybe she can learn to glamour herself so that she is not recognizable to others. Who knows but I'm sure we'll find out when her book happens.

Welcome To Spring

One of my least favorite theories I've seen is that Elain will leave the Night Court and her family to go to Spring. Even going as far as saying that she will wind up with Tamlin. I don't think Feyre would let her sister wind up with her abuser plain and simple. Nor do I think Elain would fall for her sister's abuser just because he lives in a land of eternal spring and has flowers.

In ACOSF Nesta has this thought:

"Elain would love this place. So many flowers, all in bloom, so much green, *skipped ahead* But Elain... The Spring Court had been made for someone like her." ~ ACOSF pg. 454

While I do believe that Elain would love the Spring Court I do not think she would ever leave her family or friends behind.

"Two half-wraiths she called friends." ~ ACOSF pg. 595

"Cassian kissing Elain's cheek in greeting. *skipped ahead* Amren came next, giving my sister a nod. *skipped ahead* The Mor, with a smacking kiss for either cheek." ~ ACOFAS pg. 105

We also know that the sisters tend to consider one of the brothers friends. Feyre with Cassian, Nesta with Azriel, and I believe Rhys and Elain will also be friends. He seems to like Elain (certainly more than he likes Nesta).

Plus now there is Nyx in the mixture and why would she leave and miss out on her nephew growing up? What about if Nesta becomes pregnant and has a child? So no I do not believe that Elain will leave the Night Court.

Shipping Time

Here is where opinions and feelings may vary and people might not like what I have to say. Just know that these are merely my feelings on a ship. Ship what you want to ship, I am not here to gatekeep. These are merely my feelings on the matter. I'm going to start with the two ships I like: Elain x Azriel and Lucien x Vassa.

Elain Archeron x Azriel

I mentioned this earlier but I've been shipping them since ACOMAF. I saw the potential for them from the moment they began to interact.

"Elain rasped, "Nice to meet you," before hustling after her, the silk skirts of her cobalt dress whispering over the parquet floor." ~ ACOMAF pg. 253

I like the symbolism in this line. Cobalt = Azriel's siphons. Whispering = Azriel's shadows. While it might not be that deep as a writer I like the small things like this in my works. Things that later when you come back to them after something important happens that is a callback to something like this you can go "ooooh that makes sense now, yeah." We also do see other mentions of Elain wearing blue, but this post is long enough and it's only a few more times so I don't think it's worth noting. This part just sticks out to me because it's the first time they're meeting and like I said I love symbolism.

"Elain said to Azriel, perhaps the only two civilized ones here, "Can you truly fly?" ~ ACOMAF pg. 256

Elain who has been taught to fear the Fae is talking to him, also probably leaning around Cassian - who she is seated next to and also has wings - and asking if he can fly.

Azriel responds on the same page saying, "We're born hearing the song of the wind." And her response of, "That's very beautiful." This is the same male who famously said he wouldn't need poetry to woo a woman. Maybe he's not trying to woo her here, but he's trying to impress her.

"Elain, noticing Azriel's ease as proof that things weren't indeed about to go badly offered one (a smile) of her own as well." ~ ACOMAF pg. 258

She seems mighty comfortable with a Fae she just met. Which leads my into my two mate theory that I've had for some time now.

We know the tweet where SJM says that someone can have two mates. This was during a time when one of the TOG novels was about to come out and was probably referencing something in there, but I think it would be interesting to see play out in this situation as well.

We've seen several times people questioning Elain and Lucien's mating bond. Feyre and Azriel both do it. Feyre during ACOWAR and Azriel in his bonus chapter from ACOSF.

We also know that not all mates are happy pairings ie. Rhysand's parents and Tamlin's parents. We also know that sometimes it's based on who would have the strongest offspring. We can see this reflected in both Rhysand and Feyre's mating (he's considered the most powerful High Lord and she has abilities from all seven HLs).

But what if Elain and Lucien aren't true mates? True mates to me is a happily mated pair like Feyre and Rhys as well as Nesta and Cassian. Azriel questions why his brothers were mated to two sisters while the third was mated to another. (Pardon me for not using quotes here, I do not have the bonus chapter so I am going from memory.)

Why indeed? And I think it was because he was on the floor dying at the time. We know that the Cauldron loves Elain, so if her true mate was on the floor dying and there was no guarantee for survival it would make sense for the Cauldron to gift Elain another mating bond.

I will talk more about this in the section where I discuss them as a ship, but I wanted to briefly mention it here.

We also know the scene where Azriel hands over Truth-Teller to her, something that shocks all of them. I think of Truth-Teller like Azriel's security blanket. Something that brings him comfort and he never ever wants to part with it. But he gives it to Elain.

After she was taken by the Cauldron and held captive at Hybern's camp. After she says this:

"She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. "You came for me." The shadowsinger only inclined his head." ~ ACOWAR pg. 573

Why did she look only to Azriel? Why did she seem so surprised that he would come for her? Kind of like how a princess might not believe that her prince has come for her. (Love me some Disney princess movies)

To me these two just fit together. And to me they are more like Hades and Persephone than Feyre and Rhysand are. And hear me out: Elain as Persephone, goddess of spring. Azriel as Hades, god of death. (Feyre once calls him Death when thinking of a painting of him and Elain. Death and the lovely fawn she called it). Some might see Azriel and Elain falling in love as stealing her away from her mother (or mate in this case).

Also if you want another mythology reference. Paris (Azriel), Helen (Elain), Menelaus (Lucien). Helen was considered the most beautiful and was stolen away from her husband Menelaus (though I think she went with Paris willingly so there's that.)

I see so many parallels and signs that point toward an Elriel endgame. We know Elain's book is in the works and I'm pretty sure it's next since Sarah has talked about doing research for her book. We also know that Sarah is excited to work with Azriel as well.

Moving on.

Lucien Vanserra x Vassa

I've been shipping them since ACOWAR. So not as long as Elriel, but since a bit. I think this was the line that did it for me:

"Indeed, Vassa still remained inside, chatting with Lucien animatedly. *skipped ahead* Lucien, surprisingly, was chuckling, his shoulders loose and his head angled while he listened." ~ ACOWAR pg. 690

Unlike with Elain, he seems comfortable around Vassa.

"Even with Elain here, he's become close with Jurian and Vassa. He's voluntarily living with them these days, and not just as an emissary. As their friend." ~ ACOSF pg. 57

I'm a sucker for the friends to lovers trope (it only falls after the enemies to lovers trope). And while we do not have a lot on them I can see the two of them being happy. I can see Lucien trying to find a way to make her immortal if that's what she wants. And I just want the two of them finding their HEA together in the final book.

My theory is that Vassa will be the MC of the last book and will deliver the killing blow to Koschei (as she should). I would love to see their journey together and their time together in the mortal lands especially since the mating bond would be severed at this point if Elriel is the book before this one. I want Lucien to be happy and I think that he could be happy with Vassa.

Elain Archeron x Lucien Vanserra

We know that Elain and Lucien are mates. He announced this on page 608 a little bit after Elain had come out of the Cauldron. But these two do not seem to fit together in my opinion. Now please note I have nothing against Elucien, I even like some of the fanart and the theories I have read are wonderful. I'm just personally not a fan of these two because of how they were thrust together.

When comparing Jesiminda and Elain, Lucien says this:

"Elain had been... thrown at him." ACOWAR pg. 249

I know Lucien wants to be happy and I know mates are special, but I don't necessarily think that Elain will be his happiness. I think that the way they met ruined that for them.

"But Elain blinked slowly, "You were in Hybern." *Skipped ahead* "You betrayed us." ACOWAR pg. 250 - 251

Lucien, however willing or unwillingly, did play some part in Elain being turned Fae. He was one of the reasons she could no longer go home or marry Graysen. I don't know if that's something that could be overcome especially since Elain is still dealing with the events of that day.

We also know that Elain tends to avoid him, shrinking in on herself when he's around. Another reason why I can't ship this is because I've been in a similar situation where people were pressuring me to be with someone I had no interest in. I know what it's like to hear "you two are perfect for each other", "you should give him a chance", "just try".

Their relationship is not evolving naturally like Feyre and Rhys's did or Cassian and Nesta's. I don't think Lucien would ever push the mating bond onto Elain, but I do think since it's something special to Fae he may cling to it more than she will.

Another thing about their bond that doesn't sit with me is how it is described.

"It felt... strange," Elain breathed. "Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib." ACOWAR pg. 301

"There's a bond - it's a real thread," he said, more to himself than us." ACOWAR pg. 301

Other bonds have been described as "so much golden thread" or an "unbreakable chain". But Elain and Lucien's is described as a singular thread that feels as though it were attached to a rib. To me mating bonds are like soulmates, why would that bond be attached to a rib and not the heart or her being?

I believe that once again either the Cauldron created this bond between them or maybe they are not what's considered a "perfect match" like Elain's sisters with their mates are.

I will say this: If Elain and Lucien do wind up together I won't be mad. Sure they are not my preferred ship, but they both deserve happiness and can find it together then good for them. We will just have to wait and see where SJM takes them.

Azriel x Gwyn Berdara

I've lowkey been dreading talking about them because of how toxic this fanwar between Elriels and Gwynriels gets. Once again this is just my opinion and my theories. No hate or shade to any of the shippers. I will not be bashing theories. If you don't want to read my thoughts then please just leave now and pretend you never saw this.

I do not like Azriel and Gwyn as a ship for one very big reason: power imbalance. Azriel saved Gwyn from a highly traumatic experience. Now before I go any further let me say that I brought this up to my mom who also reads the series but isn't a shipper, she just reads them to enjoy them. I asked her what she thought of Az x Gwyn as a pairing and if she would like to see that and she said no that she also felt there would be a power imbalance.

Gwyn is a strong character, but I do not think I could get behind her and Az as a couple because of how they met.

I also do not believe that Gwyn will be the MC of any of the last books there are. We still have Elain's book, possibly a Mor book, or even Vassa. There are too many people from the original trilogy that we need to see books for. While I will not rule out a book in the future I don't see her getting one now.

I know the necklace is a hot button issue, but I also don't believe that Clotho gave it to her. We never hear it mentioned in the main portion of the book and I think Clotho knew how troubled Azriel was and thought that she should hold onto it just in case.

"You're the new ribbon, Az," ~ ACOSF pg. 623

Gwyn is a competitive person, to me this line that Nesta says is here merely telling Az that Gwyn's next challenge would be to prove him wrong about the training course. Nesta knows of Azriel's feelings for her sister by this point, so I don't see this line as her teasing Az about Gwyn possibly having a crush on him.

But again these are just how I interpret things between them.

These are all my thoughts at the moment that I'm going to share. If you would like to have a discussion my ask box is open. Hate will not be tolerated though.

#Elain Archeron #Elriel #Azriel #pro Elain Archeron #pro Azriel #pro Elriel #ACOTAR 5 #ACOTAR 5 predictions #ACOTAR theories

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novaiya · 4 years

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Diamonds and Rust - Arthur x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: It’s been six years since you left it all behind; the Van Der Linde gang, the outlaw life and Arthur Morgan. Since then you’ve gone straight, becoming a rancher and a wife. What will happen to all of it when Arthur comes bursting back into your life, bringing with him all the feelings and desires the two of you once shared?

Words: 3,274

Warnings: smut, female reader, pregnancy.

A/N: I’m very, very proud of this fic and I really hope you guys like it as much as I do. I wrote the entire thing in basically one sitting (blame it on excitement and inspiration). The idea came to me after listening to Joan Baez’s song Diamonds and Rust (and that is of course where the title comes from). Give it a listen, it’s a beautiful song! If you prefer, you can read it on AO3 here.

Well, I'll be damned, here comes your ghost again - Diamonds and Rust

You knew he was around as soon as you heard about a big group of people, men, women and children, passing on wagons through your town. The shopkeeper in the general store said that the group looked like bad news, the look with which they eyed everything and everyone belonging only to people who were running from something. On another day, you were at the train station, posting a letter, when you heard one of the postal workers say the name “Tacitus Kilgore” while rummaging through a bin. That sealed the deal for you, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he found you.

For the next few days you couldn't do anything but wait, expecting him to barge back into your life at any moment. Your husband noticed your absent-mindness, and tried to inquire, but you waved him away, blaming your mood on overworking.

Your husband didn’t know your past. You told him that you ran away from home when a group of outlaws attacked your house, killing your parents and stealing anything worth selling. That wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. What you omitted to mention was that later when you had nowhere to go, another group of outlaws found you, took you in and became your new family. You spent the next few years with them, moving from place to place, robbing, killing, and stealing. It was there that you fell in love for the first time.

Shortly after you joined the gang, you and Arthur became a great team, and later on, a strong couple. As the time went on though, you realized that you couldn’t live on the run forever; you wanted a family, a stable life, a house with a kitchen and a bath. You shared your feelings with Arthur, and he promised you that everything would change, that the two of you would run away, to Mexico, or maybe California, and start a new life. The new life was always at the end of “one last score,” which never seemed to come.

After yet another similar conversation, you realized that if you didn’t leave at that moment, you never would. The moonlight casted its light on Arthur’s sleeping face as you looked at him one last time, burning the image of him into your memory. Without turning back, you mounted your horse and left.

Although seeming asleep, Arthur was awake the entire time. He felt you leave the cot, stand next to it for a few minutes and then leave. He heard the hoofbeats in the quiet night, becoming softer and softer until they completely disappeared. He wanted to go after you, bring you back, but he realized it would be selfish. What you wanted, what you deserved, he couldn’t give.

It's been a week since you heard the name “Tacitus Kilgore” in the post office, and Arthur still hasn't shown. You let yourself relax, thinking that maybe it wasn’t him in the first place, or maybe he has forgotten about you. It’s been six years after all.

Few days later, your husband had to go take care of his mother couple of towns over. He asked if you wanted to go with him, but you declined; someone had to stay and take care of the ranch, protect it from cattle rustlers and wild animals.

You helped him load up the wagon, making sure to pack extra clothes and food for the trip. You kissed him, the kiss being longer than what was necessary for a trip that would probably take only three days at most.

The wagon disappeared in the tall trees as you stood at the entrance of your ranch, waving your hand until there was no one to wave to. The cold, fresh morning air filled your lungs as you took a big gulp of it. You turned on your heels, heading back inside and preparing for a day of work.

Your day was mostly spent tending to the cattle and cleaning up. When the sun started to set, painting the sky a mix of purple and red, you went into the main house and prepared dinner. You pushed the food around on the plate. The suffocating emptiness of the house made you once again think about expanding your family. The time was perfect; the ranch was making money and the house was the right size with two extra rooms sitting unoccupied and being used for storage. But, it seemed that it wasn’t for you to decide; you and your husband have been trying for months now, yet nothing was happening.

Trying to muffle the thoughts in your head, you got up from the table and took your plate to the sink, leaving it there to be cleaned tomorrow.

The cotton nightgown felt cool on your skin as you changed into it. The oil lamp on your bedside table was just bright enough to illuminate the clock on the wall, indicating that it was far past your bedtime, and if you wanted to get anything done tomorrow, you should go to bed right away. You sighted, getting ready to go under the covers when you heard a knock on the front door, as sudden as thunder on a sunny day. You froze, your body trying to decide whether to fight or flee. You carefully left your bedroom, mentally cursing when the floorboard creaked under your feet as you inched closer to the front door. Another knock came. Your eyes flew to the shotgun by the door. Your breath came out shaky as you were preparing to grab it, open the door and shoot straight through whoever it was.

And then you heard it, his voice saying your name. You felt like you were drenched in cold water, six years worth of bottled up emotions and feelings flooding straight through you. Without thinking, you opened the door, meeting face to face with his blue eyes.

"Arthur."

The only thing illuminating the living room and the two of you was the fire from the fireplace. You could feel the heat from it kissing your bare arms. You went into the kitchen, bringing back one shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. You poured a glass for Arthur, placed the bottle on the table, and sat down on the couch next to him.

He downed it in one go before silence fell over, nothing but the occasional sound of wind howling outside.

"Beautiful ranch you got."

"Thank you," you said, keeping your answer short and not looking at him.

You could feel the weight of his stare on you; it’s been six years since he last saw you. You've changed so much, and at the same time, haven't changed at all. You still kept your hair the same length, still had the same longing gaze in your eyes, yearning for more in life. He saw that you still had a scar on your hand, the one you got when an O'Driscoll pierced it with his knife. Arthur said it would fade with time when he was bandaging it. Looking at it now, he realized that things don’t fade away so easily.

His eyes lingered on your hand for a moment, noticing a ring on your finger, the gold band shining brightly in the dimly lit room, taunting him.

"So, you got married?" he said, his voice laced with venom as he spoke the last word.

"I have," you replied, casting your eyes down to the golden band. "Couldn't wait for you forever." Your words pierced right through him, leaving yet another wound he would need to tend to later. For the past six years, he held a naive, wishful hope that when the time would come, you’d be there, waiting for him. The idea, as absurd and foolish as it was, kept him hopeful for the past six years.

"What's his name?"

"Don't," you said, turning around to Arthur for the first time since you sat down. "Don't do this."

The two of you fell silent once again, and you used that moment to look over Arthur. You could see the traces of the person you loved six years ago; he still had the same scars scattered across his face. His eyes, although sadder now, still had the same color to them. His arms, the ones that held you on many nights, still had the same muscular shape.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, catching your eyes. "It was my fault the things ended up the way they did."

You didn’t say anything, casting your eyes downwards, so he continued.

“I was awake, you know, the night you left.”

You gulped down, the memories of your departure from the camp filling your mind.

“I should’ve never let you go.”

"I should’ve never left." The words left your mouth before you could process them. You have promised yourself to never vocalize these thoughts, the thoughts that a part of you that never left him, that have been longing for him for the past six years, felt.

The atmosphere in the air shifted. You could feel the change in Arthur's eyes and his demeanor. He reached out and took your hands in his, running his thumb over your knuckles and your golden band. His other hand reached up to you, cradling your head and bringing the two of you closer. You could feel his breath on your lips, smelling of the whiskey you poured him a few minutes ago. Your mind was on fire. For a moment, you felt that you were six years in the past, sitting on a bed in a crummy hotel room in some beatdown town. The law was on your tail, but you didn't care. Nothing mattered when you were with Arthur.

He pressed his lips against yours and in an instant, you forgot where you were. Your hands moved on their own, reaching and waving your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss. He groaned against your mouth, his hand leaving yours and moving up the curve of your body, over your hips and your waist, stopping around your chest. You felt him palm you over your chemise, and for a second, you felt your mind clear. The guilt came in flooding. You felt his tongue lick over your bottom lip and you winced, breaking the kiss and trying to get away from him, pushing yourself deeper into the couch.

"I can't do this," you said, more to yourself than to Arthur.

You felt his hand on your knee, hot against the cool skin. You wanted to move, wanted to slap his hand away, but you didn't. His hand inched higher up your leg, reaching the end of your chemise.

Arthur looked at you, his hand still on your thigh. "You tell me to stop and I will. I will leave and never bother you again."

You hesitated for a moment, battling with yourself till you finally said, “Stay.”

He covered your body with his, pinning you against the couch. His lips moved against yours in a dance that the two of you knew well, having rehearsed it for years and years before. One of his hands was back on your thigh, massaging the skin as he moved dangerously close to your heat. You felt his fingers run over your clothed slit, pressing against your clit and making you push your hips towards him.

His lips left your mouth, moving to your neck, kissing down your throat and to the crook of your neck. You could feel yourself getting wet as he kept kissing you all over, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your clothed clit. He removed himself from you and pulled off his suspenders. You sat up, your fingers reaching out and working on the buttons of his shirt before throwing it on the floor. You ran your hand up his body, through his chest hair and stopping over his heart. You could feel it beat wildly against his rib cage.

You felt hazy as he kissed you once again. In a minute, your chemise was on the floor, joining his shirt in a pile and leaving your top half naked to him. He laid you back down on the couch, sitting on his hinges between your spread legs. He made sure to burn this moment in his memory, the image of you spread under him for what was probably the last time.

He pulled your drawers down, revealing you completely to himself. You felt like you should cover yourself, not let a man that wasn't your husband see you like this, but this wasn't just another man, it was Arthur. Being like this with him felt natural.

He paved his way down your stomach with kisses, finally reaching your glistering cunt. The first touch of his tongue against your slit made you moan, and you instinctively reached out with your hand, waving your fingers into Arthur's hair. He kept going, lapping at you and pushing all the buttons he knew would have you coming apart in minutes. You threw your head back, moaning his name when you feel him push a finger in you, his tongue turning its attention to your clit. You could feel your release approaching when he added a second finger, picking up the pace. The movements of his fingers were deliberate, working in tandem with his tongue. You started to move your hips in time with his fingers, your body giving in to your carnal desires.

Your toes curled and your whole body shuddered as you came. Arthur kept going, heightening your pleasures until it all became too much and he retreated. The sight of his lips, wet with your juices, made a fire ignite in your belly once again. You pulled him down, crashing your lips against his, moaning at the taste of you.

He was grinding his hips against you, the bulge in his pants hard and heavy. You broke the kiss, reaching down with shaking hands towards his pants, popping the button open and taking out his cock. He moaned your name, closing his eyes as you wrapped your fingers around him. You ran your hand up and down, relishing in the sound of his debauched voice moaning your name. After a while, he took your hand away from his length and kissed over your knuckles. Letting it go, he pulled down his pants, the last article of clothing joining the others on the floor.

He sat in his naked glory between your legs. He was just as you remembered him; big, strong and muscular. The air around him was filled with virility. Your primal urges filled your mind as you wanted nothing but to be filled by him. He sensed your longing, seeing it in your eyes, and smiled.

His lips found yours once again, kissing you so much that you couldn't think about anothing but him. You felt the tip at him at your entrance, slowly pushing in. Your hands found his biceps, holding on to him as he pushed deeper, stretching you around his shaft. He stilled when he was all the way in, trying to compose himself. For a moment, all that could be heard where the sounds of your combined breaths, haggard in the quiet living room. The light from the fireplace illuminated your naked bodies.

Finally, he moved, pulling halfway out of you before slamming back in. You clung to each other, your bodies molding into one. Your legs wrapped around his waist, letting him deeper into you as your hands clawed at his back, leaving red marks behind. The feeling of him inside you was intoxicating; he was made for you, hitting all the right spots, the sheer girth and length of him filling you perfectly. His lips were on your neck as he thrusted in and out of you, taking in your scent and the taste of your skin under his lips.

Arthur couldn't get enough of you; his eyes raked over every part of your body, taking it all in. You could feel his hands everywhere, holding on to your hips, massaging your sides, cupping your breasts. He wanted to feel every part of you. His touch was inebriating, heightening your pleasure to an unimaginable level.

You could feel yourself nearing the edge, and so did Arthur. His movements became sloppier and out of rhythm, his desire for peak overwhelming.

He moaned your name, bringing your attention to him.

"I'm gonna cum," he said breathlessly, "where-"

You didn't let him finish, cutting in and saying, "Cum in me", not thinking about the repercussions of your words, your mind high on desire.

He dropped to his elbows, crashing his lips against yours as his movements became slower but rougher. You moved your hips meeting every one of his thrusts. The feeling of your tongue against his, your hands on his back and your warmness tightening against his shaft all became too much, and he came with a moan of your name, spilling his seed inside of you. The feeling of him coating your walls drove you wild, and you came a moment later, your legs shaking.

The weight of Arthur over you felt like a warm blanket, keeping you safe and shielded from the world outside. You could feel his staggering breath on your neck as he tried to bring his breathing down. You held each other like that for a few minutes, not moving. Two sweaty bodies, entangled in each other.

At some point in the night, the two of you moved to the bedroom, soiling the bed that you and your husband shared with your combined moans and desires.

You spent the rest night in Arthur’s arms. He held you tight against him as he told you about his travels and the state of the gang. You told him about the ranch, and how fulfilled you felt by the work. Both of you tried to avoid the subject of marital status.

You fell asleep to the beat of Arthur’s heart, your head on his chest, his in your hair.

In the morning, the two of you had breakfast, and he stayed till the evening, helping you with some of the chores around the ranch, playing family that the two of you never had a chance to become.

You watched him drive away on his horse, following the speck of him with your eyes all the way over the plain till it completely disappeared. You stood by the entrance of your ranch for a few more minutes. Out in the distance the chickens chirped. You still had to milk the cows and go to the general store. Breathing out, you looked up into the sky before turning back towards your house and your life.

Few months later.

You stood at the top of a hill, overlooking your ranch with your husband next to you. Cold wind blew through your hair. Winter was coming. You had to start making preparation for the colder months; make sure the cattle were healthy, create a water plan, add feeders and forage among other things.

Another rush of cold air made you shiver and pull your shawl tightly over your shoulders. Your husband's hand found yours, interlocking your fingers and making you look at him. He smiled at you. his eyes full of love and excitement, before turning back towards the ranch. You held your gaze on him for a moment longer, studying his features, before too turning towards the pasture, one of your hands in his, the other on your growing belly.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x y/n #rdr2 headcanons #arthur morgan headcanons #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan one shot #arthur morgan drabble #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfic

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maddiewritesstucky · 3 years

Text

Snare Me His Shadow

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Rating: Explicit 18+

Words: 4.5k

Tags: Primal Play, Prey/Predator Kink, Fighting As Foreplay, Rough Sex, Biting, Choking, Dom/Sub Undertones, Come Swapping, Anal Sex, Overstimulation, Fucking Outdoors, Storm Sex, Poetry As An Aphrodisiac, R18 Hide And Seek

So a million years ago, @howdoyousleep3 passed on an ask from her inbox that read:

[I dont know if you’re familiar with primal play, but it’s so fucking hot. Yeah, I know, Steve is all muscle and ability, he’s strong he’s fast, he’s smart, he is not prey. Usually. But Bucky - the winter soldier - is a hunter. The best, in fact. He loves a good hunt]

...This one possessed me. Please heed the tags, this is an entirely consensual and agreed-upon game between Steve and Bucky, but it is very much a hunter/prey type situation 😈

It’s electric, like this.

Barefoot on the damp earth, navigating by muscle memory more than sight, because darkness settles that much denser beneath the tree canopy.

Steve could move faster, could take this barely-worn path through the woods behind the compound at a sprint. But fast is loud.

Fast is leaves cracking and branches splintering, and the muted thud of footfalls on the forest floor. It’s eyes fixed only ahead so you don’t stumble, and nothing but the sound of your own exhales in your ears.

‘Fast’ gets you caught.

The in-rolling storm crackles humid in the air, sparking against Steve’s skin as he weaves through the underbrush. He throws his every sense outwards, searching and sifting through those faint currents of movement around him, those quiet signs of life. But it’s all life out here; birds and insects and creatures who can’t bear the light, all just playing the same game he is, and every last one of them pricks at his awareness.

Every last one of them kicks at his pulse and drip-feeds new adrenaline into his bloodstream, because experience echoes a warning way down in his cells - the apex predator comes silent as a spider.

There’s so many eyes on him, the weight of being watched pressing down on him from all sides. He digs the heel of his hand into his arousal and pulls in a lungful of air on the cusp of rain; feels himself splintering between his warring desires to put up a worthy chase, and to drop down belly-up in the dirt.

It’s a choice that will be made for him, eventually.

He might be strength, and speed, and strategy. But out here, he is prey.

Out here, in these weeping woods that stretch endless into the night, Steve is achingly, exquisitely outmatched by the hunter who lies in wait; biding his time, unseen, and slipping ever closer.

Dressed in black from head to toe, or skin bared to the shivering pulses of the forest; empty handed, or palms laden with the urge to grab and pin and possess…

The Winter Soldier is out there, and Steve’s blood runs so much hotter for the knowledge that he won’t see or hear or feel him coming until it’s too late.

He winds his way amongst the weathered trunks, hugging the shadows and pawing at the lines of his own body; stroking his thighs and pulling at his nipples, raking fingernails over the bare skin of his stomach. It’s rough and absent and frantic all at once, a weak precursor to what he’s evading.

The dissonance of it is dizzying, hiding from the thing he wants most. He wants to cry out, to make for the clearing in the middle of the woods and sprawl shameless in the open until he’s found, but he knows the rules - run, hide, don’t make it easy.

Pursuit is the purpose, and capture is a pleasure that must be earned, no matter how raw his skin is screaming for touch. And it is screaming - he’s a copper wire stripped bare, and he shivers for every stinging snap of branch and damp drag of leaf against his body as he picks his way through the darkness.

Hard limits apply, he’d told Bucky, the rest is up to you.

He shudders for it now, those words and the way Bucky’s eyes had darkened for them; the way he’d leaned in to kiss his sugar-laced threat right onto Steve’s waiting lips - I will find you.

It’s only a matter of time. The forest is vast, and countless months have passed since they last played this game, but Bucky is a blade that never dulls.

Bucky is razor-sharp, in wit, beauty, and battle; made up of midnight and silent strides when he so chooses, and he will find Steve.

He might have had eyes on Steve this entire time; ten soundless steps behind, watching Steve’s slow descent into desperation with a smile on his face, and the mere possibility has Steve’s cock weeping through the thin fabric of his shorts.

His fingertips dip beneath his waistband and sweep through the wetness beading at his tip; stroke that sensitive spot just beneath the head. His palm slips to press at the heavy throb in his balls and it makes his breath catch too loud in the confines of his chest, has a moan slipping out past his gritted teeth.

He knows it’s foolish, knows he’s only making himself easier to track. But every step he takes is winding the hunt toward its inevitable climax, and intellect is giving way to instinct.

His consciousness is beginning that steady downward drip, sinking from logic and reason to settle and swim with the dense heat pooling at the base of his spine. Soon, he’ll be nothing more than the urge rippling under his skin, the tight-squeezed air in his lungs and the thrum of blood between his thighs, and every brush of his own hands is permission to slip a little further to it.

So he doesn’t stop.

His feet and his fingers keep moving; his body acting now on his mind’s behalf to draw towards the river's edge, where his desperate sounds will be swept away by the unending rush of water over rock, because this is about preservation now.

It’s about surviving the voracity of his own need until he is found, until Bucky catches him, and then…god, then...

The rest is up to you.

The beginning of rainfall winds its way down through the tree canopy, and it does nothing to quell the heat radiating off Steve. He’s burning so hot for this, so hungry for it; his need only growing sharper as the atmosphere curls in thick and charged with the promise of thunder.

It’s rumbling in the distance already, too faint for non-enhanced ears but creeping closer; a rolling bass beneath the surge of the fast flowing river up ahead. He can see the diluted black of open space through the trees now, can hear the clack of wet-tumbling stones, and it’s nothing short of delusion, the way it feels like he’s headed for sanctuary.

Logic knows it’s a weak veil of auditory cover at best, and an outright plea for ambush at worst.

Steve knows, down in his gut, exactly which one he’s hoping for, and he sprints for it with the last of his tactical thought seeping out through the soles of his feet.

He breaks through the tree line, hitching a gasp as he stumbles out into the full force of the downpour. It’s coming down heavy, sluicing at the fever-sweat clinging to his skin, and he tilts his face up towards it; lets his eyes drift shut and his shoulders drop as he bares his throat to the purple-black sky.

His pulse riots for the sheer abandon of the gesture, of shifting his posture to one of invitation in the midst of evasion. It only spurs him on, makes him want to find out just how shrill that siren in his cells will wail when he refuses to curl in on himself.

He forces his hands open at his sides, turns his palms outwards and walks further out onto the exposed riverbank. He stands ankle deep in the river with his heart in his throat, soaked to the bone and all but shaking with the desire to drop to his knees in submission.

And that’s when he hears it.

The slow-whistled high note, followed by a low; the signal that shivers from the top of Steve’s spine to the cradle of his hips.

Found you.

It’s a question as much as a warning, that signal; a chance for Steve to respond in their shared language of gesture whether he wants the chase, or the fight.

As if he hadn’t made up his mind the moment they agreed to play tonight.

As if he’s not done for either way.

He pulls in a shuddering breath, his skin prickling with the presence he can sense now off to his left. Survival instinct begs him to open his eyes, to scour his surroundings and prepare for what’s coming, but he only shuts them tighter.

He grins up at the pelting rain, curls his quivering right hand into a fist, and beats it against his drenched, heaving chest.

Take me down where I stand.

Thunder rumbles overhead and shakes the stones underfoot. Steve’s blood beats frantic in his ears, one heartbeat stumbling over the next, and he waits, waits for the blow he doesn’t want to see coming.

A foot to the back of his knees, an arm wrapped around his throat, a strike of unyielding metal between his shoulder blades...it’s never the same twice, and it’s always better than the time before, and he can’t stop the desperate whimper that falls from his parted, rain-slick lips.

“Bucky!” he pleads, hurling it into the current of the storm raging around him.

“Steve,” comes the answer from directly behind him; the word falling across his skin in the split second before teeth sink deep into the meat of his shoulder.

It’s nothing short of wanton, the way Steve cries out with it.

Five fingers curl a punishing grip around the column of his throat and a soaking wet body plasters against his back, and Steve doesn’t even try to hold his centre of gravity as he’s wrestled down to the riverbank.

It’s a messy takedown, raw force over skill; dripping all the same desperation that’s been twisting hot in Steve’s gut all night. Bucky pins him belly-down against the stones at the river’s edge, the full weight of his body draped over him, and Steve knows the tremor he can feel humming through Bucky’s muscles has nothing to do with the cold.

“The river,” Bucky growls; metal forearm jammed against the back of Steve's neck, “of course you came to the river.”

Steve squirms giddy beneath Bucky’s mass, beneath that deep-thrumming power crushing down on him.

The storm-swollen current reaches up the bank to wash shallow and frigid beneath Steve’s cheek, his chest; against his nipples and his thighs and his cock inside his drenched shorts. It’s cold enough to draw gooseflesh across the bared expanse of his skin, but fuck if that persistent rush doesn’t feel like getting tongued; like every single time Bucky’s ever slipped an ice cube in his mouth and sucked him off just to see him hit the ceiling.

“Buck...”

It’s the only word that makes sense anymore. Steve gets his elbows under himself and pushes his body up, but only so much as to feel the stifling weight of Bucky on top of him.

Bucky’s hand slips to the front of his throat and grips him tight up under the line of his jaw; tips his head back to get his lips and teeth pressed hard against Steve’s ear.

“Steven...did you even try?”

The rain and the river aren’t enough to sweep away the mockery in his tone. He’s shifting himself on top of Steve, putting scant inches of space between their bodies, and Steve knows this cue; grins bright and breathless for it.

He digs his hands in against the riverbed, plants his knees and shoves upwards. He heaves his weight forward and Bucky’s grip loosens just enough to let it happen, to let Steve crawl and clamber a few meager feet forwards.

Steve knows it’s a false freedom but he laughs half-hysterical for it anyway, and even more so when Bucky’s hands are catching him again, clamping bruising tight at his hips and grappling him onto the flat of his back.

He winces at the battering strike of rain against his face, but it’s just as soon blocked by the cover of Bucky caging him in; replaced by the tepid drips rolling off Bucky’s perpetually warm skin.

Steve’s body reacts the way it thinks it’s supposed to, going through the motions of trying to throw Bucky off - strength funneled into a forearm arm pressing here, a knee striking there. But it’s pointless; sabotaged by the underlying truth that the only place Steve really wants to be is stuck exactly where he finds himself - pinned pliant beneath his predator.

He lets himself look, then; lets his gaze slip down between them to drag over the length of Bucky’s body. He’s bared to the elements just the same as Steve - not a stitch on him save for running shorts that barely hit at mid-thigh. His hair is pulled back, and he’s soaked to the bone, and when lightning splits the darkness in two and catches on the angles of his face, that raw perilous beauty strikes a blow all of its own to the center of Steve’s chest.

“You win,” Steve rasps, dragging his voice up from the pit of his billowing lungs.

Bucky’s answering laugh is darker than the wet-ink midnight pressing in on them, and it shudders all the way to Steve’s bones when Bucky sinks down to purr ominous against the vulnerable stretch of his neck.

“Not yet, I haven’t.”

The ravenous clamp of teeth on his throat sends Steve’s body bowing, writhing for that merciless bite that doesn’t break the skin, but makes purpled ruin of what lies beneath. Fascia and blood vessels and Steve’s sanity, all broken down in the transcendent grind of Bucky’s jaw, the heat of his mouth; all over Steve’s neck and his chest and his belly, and it’s so feral, the way Steve wants it.

He wants the shred of busted stitching and the shock of rain against newly bared skin as his shorts are torn from his body.

He wants the red welts raked down his rib cage, the kiss-split lip and the deep set imprints of Bucky’s teeth all up the insides of his thighs.

Bucky’s touch is heavy and he means it to be; his shifting, squeezing grip claiming handfuls of Steve’s willing flesh wherever he can get it. And he can get it everywhere - every last inch of Steve’s body splayed out for him in tribute to his prowess, and Steve wants him to take it.

He wants Bucky to make sacrilege of it out here under the split-open skies, until it feels like heaven itself is sobbing for it.

“Fuck me,” ruin me, desecrate me, arch-backed and bleeding-lipped in the dirt, “Bucky, fuck me…”

Steve begs with all of himself, legs split and arms thrown above his head; dripping sweat and storm and half-crazed surrender. Like he actually has to plead for this, like Bucky’s not already stuffing searching fingers up between his cheeks to grope for the base-end of silicone that says Steve’s body is primed for the taking.

Bucky bites taunting denial into his skin, over and over. ‘No,’ even as he pulls the plug from Steve’s body and replaces it with his fingers. ‘No’ growled against Steve’s body every time he begs now, and please, and I’m ready, just to fray that tenuous thread of Steve’s resolve.

Steve’s delirious with it, crying out high and sharp for the stretch of cold metal inside him and the drip of remnant lube. He chants Bucky’s name and reaches out with clinging, clawing hands that only get batted away; that get caught at the wrists and pinned down, and Bucky’s laughing at him.

Bucky is toying with him, leaving him empty and climbing back up over his body to graze teeth over Steve’s cheekbones, to whisper sweet mockery against Steve’s lips before he kisses them bruising-hard.

“Tell me you want it,” Bucky coos, clamping his hand over Steve’s mouth and pushing the clothed head of his cock up against Steve’s hole.

Steve sobs against his palm. He forces the words out wet and incomprehensible onto Bucky’s skin; again and again as Bucky tuts and tells him to speak the fuck up.

Tears are streaming free from the corners of his eyes and his legs are hooking desperately around Bucky’s waist, and he knows that Bucky wants this just as bad. He can feel Bucky shaking and shuddering under the strain of holding back and holding out, trying to push Steve closer to his breaking point just because that’s what Steve wants; devotion at its most deranged.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Bucky laps at the tears tracking down Steve’s face, letting up his hand from Steve’s mouth only to settle it heavy on his throat.

He slips his other hand down between them to shove at his shorts, fighting the clinging fabric down far enough to get his cock free, and then they’re both groaning for the rub of naked skin on skin.

“Buck,” Steve chokes out a half-strangled cry as Bucky sinks his whole weight onto him, dragging his stomach over Steve’s weeping cock and rocking his own into the crease of Steve’s hip.

“Tell me you want it?” Bucky says again, a question this time instead of a taunt.

Steve’s rasp of yes, fuck, do it barely makes it past his lips before Bucky’s cock is pushing into him.

There’s no hesitance, no pretense of patience to it. Bucky doesn’t finesse it and Steve doesn’t want him to - he didn’t spend half the night skulking through the woods in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm just to get taken the way he would be in the sanctity of their bed.

Steve came out here to get fucked vicious, and Bucky knows better than to pull his punches.

He shoves brutal and punishing into the tight heat of Steve’s body, knocking the air from Steve’s lungs and the sense from his psyche.

He’s tucking words up against Steve’s ear, something lilting and familiar, and the roar of Steve’s own blood and the groaning sky above don’t drown out Bucky’s voice so much as darken it’s edges; slip a rumbling bass beneath it’s baritone. Steve loses himself in the well-worn rhythm long before the words catch up to sink hooks into his ribcage.

“O Hunter, snare me his shadow,” Bucky hums, “O Nightingale, catch me his strain…else moonstruck with music and madness...I track him in vain.”

Steve would weep, if he had it in him to do anything other than lay there flat on his back and take it.

Bucky grinds in blinding-deep and stays there, rocks there; drips poetry all over the side of Steve’s neck like he’s not fucking him fit to kill.

He squeezes Steve’s throat until his eyes roll back, swats at Steve’s cheek and pulls merciless on his hair. He stuffs fingers into Steve’s gaping mouth deep enough to gag on, and hinges Steve’s jaw open so he has no choice but to set loose every raw, wrecked sound Bucky knocks out of him.

It’s fucking flawless.

“Give me one,” Bucky growls.

Steve needs no clarification beyond the spearing of Bucky’s cock into his prostate, and he reaches down between their bodies to jerk himself frantic and heavy-handed.

It should be pitiful, how little it takes. But it’s been mounting for what feels like hours, and when Bucky wrenches himself abruptly from Steve’s body to slap a hand down square over Steve’s balls and his slick, aching asshole, that orgasm crests with near-painful force.

“Fuck!” Steve’s wracked with it, shuddering and flinching from it like it’s not the makings of his very own flesh and blood.

Bucky doesn’t even wait for it to be over before he’s dipping down to lap at it; rubbing his cheek and his chest and his belly through Steve’s release on his slow crawl back up to spit it into Steve’s mouth.

“Don’t you fuckin’ swallow it,” he warns, pressing his thumb to the seam of Steve’s lips, “I want it back.”

Steve’s body is sparking chaotic, crying too soon and too much just as loud as it’s screaming too good as Bucky grips him by his sodden hair and buries his cock back inside him; falling into rhythm like he never stopped thrusting in the first place.

He wants to moan, wants to cry out for that welcome knifepoint of forced pleasure building within him, but the desperate sounds creeping onto his tongue are every bit as caged as the come he can’t swallow.

Which is the whole point, Steve flushes submissive to realize - Bucky’s got him gagged without even touching him.

He twines his limbs up around Bucky’s body, groping and pulling at him like there’s still an insufferable distance left to close. The guttural moans Bucky’s spilling into the crook of his neck only render Steve’s own noises even more pathetic; huffing high and reedy the longer they remain trapped in his throat.

“Christ, listen to you...”

Bucky pushes up onto his elbows to stare down at Steve, to watch the play of desperation on his face.

He’s no less transparent himself in how affected he is, a lifetime of ceaseless want spelled out in his gaze; hunger and rapture and the kind of adoration Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever fully earn, not really.

But it’s all right there, in the way Bucky’s looking at him; the way he’s bearing the howling force of the storm against his back just to give Steve this, and Steve is sunk.

Steve is nothing more than the sweet ruin of his body and the near painful swell of his heart for the multitudes that Bucky contains. A death sentence if you ask the history books and still the better half of Steve’s soul, Bucky is the boundless shadow and blinding light of Steve’s entire existence; his every reason for being and doing and fucking trying, after all these years.

It would be terrifying, if Steve weren’t bone-deep certain that he’s the axis Bucky’s world spins on, too.

“You found me...”

The words are almost a sob hitching off Steve’s tongue, pitched fuck-drunk and slurred around his mouthful of himself.

He’s breaking the rules and he knows it; half hopes for the crack of an open palm against his cheek for it. But the look Bucky hits him with lands harder than any physical strike could hope to; taking Steve’s face firm between his hands and staring down at him like there’s never been a truth so vital, so dire.

“I will always find you, Steve.”

And that’s just it, isn’t it? The one thing their shared existence will always narrow down to. There’s nowhere either of them could go that the other wouldn’t tear the world apart to get to, and the scant inches of distance between them right now might as well be oceans for all Steve’s burning inside to cross them.

He cups his hands around Bucky’s neck and arches up, pulls him down; pleading with everything but words for Bucky’s mouth on his, and Bucky doesn’t make him wait. He meets Steve right there in the delirium with lips and tongue and moans that rival the swelling thunder; sucking the taste of Steve off his tongue and dripping a starved groan into his mouth in its place.

“I wanna make you come,” he says, like he hasn’t already dragged one out of him, “tell me you’re gonna come.”

“Fuck, I am, I’m gonna come...”

“Say it’s for me, Steve, tell me it’s mine.”

Steve nods so hard, he can feel a bruise bloom at the base of his skull where it grates against the riverstone. Of course it’s for Bucky, everything’s for Bucky; every breath in his lungs and every beat of his stricken, obsessed heart. The sensations within him are mounting too immense, too desperate to be named pleasure, but they’re careening all the same towards the one thing Bucky wants from him, and it will only ever be Bucky’s, this perfect agony of coming undone.

“It’s yours,” he sobs, voice weak and body shaking. "Just—fuckin’ take it from me, Buck.”

He gives up all conscious hold on himself; submits entirely to the relentless drag of Bucky’s dick against his insides and the wet rasp of rock against his back as Bucky drives deep into his surrendered body, chasing that climax for the both of them.

It burns so bright, when it hits Steve; wrenched from his core and rolling sharp through the splay of his trembling frame. He cries out with it, but the storm cries louder, Bucky cries louder; moving ceaselessly through the spasms of Steve’s orgasm and drowning in the give of Steve’s body beneath him.

“Fuck, Steve, I—”

“Do it,” Steve slurs, needing nothing more than the tell-tale shudder of Bucky’s body and the way he gasps Steve’s name like a warning. “In me, Buck. Do it.”

Bucky cusses sharp, pulsing his hips as he lets go inside Steve like he can bury that seed deep enough to stick. And fuck, Steve wants it to. It’s all raw nerve on the inside but Steve never wants this to end; possessed by the slick grind of Bucky’s twitching cock and the heaving half-moans of Bucky’s breath.

“Don’t stop,” he pleads, reaching fingertips down to where their bodies are joined, where Bucky’s stuffed into him and leaking out of him. “Keep fucking me, just—just keep—”

Keep coming.

Be that monstrous entity in the woods who fucks me like it’s a haunting, ’til not even an exorcism would rid me of you.

He prods at the stretch of his swollen rim, drags his fingers through the warmth seeping out around Bucky’s cock. He wants it everywhere; brings those slick fingers up to smear over the pulse point on his neck, down the line of his throat, and Bucky heaves a moan dragged right from the marrow of his bones.

“I won’t stop,” he grits out through clattering teeth, rocking into Steve graceless and starving. “Not gonna stop, Steve.”

It sounds as much like threat as it does promise.

They’re both quaking with it, overstimulated and frigid cold and too achingly, crushingly lost in each other. For all the serum may have made them both to defy science and probability, to withstand war and stall the ravages of aging, it still couldn’t create a vessel vast enough to contain this - this raw, insatiable need for one another.

“Bucky…”

Steve looks up from the flat of his back; tips his head to offer up the stretch of his throat as he offers up a tremulous verse — a challenge — into the space between them.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep...”

Recognition sparks dark and joyous in Bucky’s gaze. He catches Steve’s hands in his and threads their fingers together, palm against palm in a too-tight grip.

“But I have promises to keep,” he grins, “and miles to go before I sleep…”

His lips are turning up wolfish; the roll of his hips turning to something liquid and long-haul, and the rain beats down just as violent as it ever did.

Steve lets his eyes slip closed, lets the final refrain slip from his tongue before he surrenders, smiling, to the slow closing of Bucky’s teeth around his windpipe.

“...And miles to go before I sleep.”

If you’re at all curious, the poems they quote are ‘In The Forest’ by Oscar Wilde, and ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ by Robert Frost 😘

#steve/bucky #stucky #stucky fanfic #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years

Text

Ocean Blue

Pairing: GeorgeNotFound / George x mermaid!gn!reader

Summary: [Mermaid!AU] George loves the ocean and spending his summers at his grandfather’s seaside home. That is until one day, he meets you, and he finds himself falling in love all over again.

Warnings: one scene with a tw// depiction of drowning

Word Count: 11.6k

A/N: i could not get this idea out of my head and just knew that i had to write it. it was somewhat inspired by the little mermaid, but a lot of it also came from my own imagination. i took a bit of a different approach while writing it, but i hope you all like it! <3

George loved the ocean.

He loved the spray of sea salt on his face as he sat on the pier. He loved the crashing of the waves as the rolled up along the shore. He loved the cry of seagulls as they soared overhead, their ivory white wings dotting the sky like tiny clouds.

There wasn’t anywhere else on the planet where the world looked so vibrant, so vivid and bright. Maybe he was biased, as a colourblind man whose favourite colour was blue, but he didn’t care. He loved the ocean, and he loved being surrounded by the great, deep blue.

Every year, he couldn’t wait for summer to roll around so that he could travel down to his grandfather’s house by the seaside. Without fail, George would come running up the steps into his grandfather’s warm, familiar arms as spring turned to summer and the sun’s rays beat down on his back. He didn’t mind that he couldn’t swim—he was more than happy to simply sit on the beach and rock along in his grandfather’s boats, pulled along by the sea’s gentle waves.

Truly, George was positive that there was nothing more perfect than the summers he spent at his grandfather’s.

The seashore town was quaint and friendly, a stark contrast to the bustling city life he typically led. His friends Clay and Sapnap lived nearby too, so he never got lonely, even if he was so far away from home. He would go fishing and boating by his grandfather’s side, a smile plastered to his face as the wind nipped at his skin. Together, the two of them ate every meal on the back porch, gazing out at the vast sea as they quietly ate.

Yet, every time he looked out at the ocean, something in his grandfather’s eyes shifted. Something sorrowful and heavy swam in his eyes as he watched the tide rise and fall along the shore, his mouth set into the smallest of frowns. George remembered asking him about it, once.

“Grandpa, do you love the ocean?”

He blinked, turning to face his grandson with a wide smile. “Of course, I do.” He patted the wall behind him. “Why, I even put my home beside it!”

George furrowed his brows. “Then why do you always seem so sad when you look at it?”

His grandfather paused, his smile slowly waning before disappearing entirely. George blinked, looking at him expectantly for a few moments before he finally sighed. “Love,” he said, “is a dangerous thing, George.”

His gaze turned to the ocean, something familiar and empty flashing in it. “It’s so, so beautiful, but it can also break your heart.”

George didn’t ask him what he meant by that—it didn’t seem right—but he trusted his grandfather. He would have no reason to lie to him, even if he still looked so sad. No matter, every summer, George returned to his grandfather’s home by the seashore, eagerly awaiting the moment he would lay eyes on the sea once more.

George loved the ocean.

But he never knew just how much.

“Clay, you’re rowing too fast.”

Clay scowled, shooting Sapnap a sour look. “You’re the one who’s rowing too slow!”

Sapnap waved an arm over the water on his side on the boat. “Are you seeing how hard the boat is turning in my direction?” He narrowed his eyes as he gritted out, “That’s because you’re speeding up.”

Clay’s glower only intensified. “No, it’s because you’re slowing down, oh my go—”

George let out a long, drawn-out groan, rubbing at his temples. “What are you guys—toddlers? I’ve seen elementary school kids resolve arguments with more rationale than you two.”

Clay sighed, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as he curled his fingers tighter around the paddle handle. “Can you blame me? Sapnap’s dumb as a rock.”

“Clay, I’m going to kill yo—”

“Next time,” George said loudly, quickly shutting Sapnap up, “we’re taking the rowboat instead of the canoe. I cannot deal with you two.”

Sapnap leaned back, wriggling his eyebrows at George. “Don’t act like you don’t spend the rest of the year wishing you were hanging out with us.”

George scoffed. “I’m not—don’t flatter yourselves.”

“Well,” Clay said, his lips quirking into a teasing yet honest smile, “I wish you didn’t only show up in the summertime. The rest of the year is such a drag without you.”

There was a slight pause, then Sapnap nodded, tucking a hand under his chin. “For once, I agree with Clay. You really should come down more often.”

George hummed, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe you guys should come visit me in the city, instead. It might be a nice change of scenery.”

“Maybe,” Clay mused. He gestured to the space around him. “But you’d be missing out on all this.”

George blinked, then turned slightly, his gaze sweeping across his surroundings. Greg, fluffy clouds streaked across the cerulean sky, and a seagull cried out overhead. The sea stretched across the horizon as far as the eye could see, and were it not for the compass sitting in Sapnap’s satchel, he would be certain they were lost.

As the rolling waves rocked the boat from side to side, George couldn’t help but smile, resting his arm against the boat’s ledge. “Yeah,” he muttered, a fond look flitting through his eyes. “You’re right.”

Sapnap opened his mouth, surely to make a snarky remark, when a gust of wind suddenly whipped his hair into his eyes. Clay let out a cackle at the sight, but was cut off when another strong breeze rushed past him. George rubbed at his bare arms, a shiver running down his spine.

Suddenly, he grew very still.

It had been warm just a few minutes ago.

Just then, something cold and wet fell onto his arm. George tilted his head back, squinting up at the sky. The grey clouds from earlier had grown dark and thick, and it had begun to rain. If there was one thing he had learned over the summer, it was how to recognize an incoming storm.

As the rain started to fall quicker and quicker, George turned to his friends, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Guys,” he said, “we need to head back.”

It was at that moment that a burst of crackling thunder rolled across the sky. George gritted his teeth, feeling his shirt start to soak through. “Now.”

Neither of them asked for him to elaborate, far too distracted by the crashing waves that grew tougher and rockier with each passing second. “Clay,” Sapnap said, reaching for his paddle with one hand and pushing his wet hair back with the other, “start rowing.”

Clay didn’t look up from where he was focused on paddling, his gaze set into a serious look as water ran down his cheek. “Already on it, slowpoke.”

Ignoring the urge to snap back at him, Sapnap turned to George, worry soaking into his words. “Life jacket. On. Hurry.”

George nodded, reaching out from under the seat to grab the familiar orange pouch. “Yeah, yeah, I’m—”

A rough wave suddenly crashed into the side of the boat, and George found himself shooting forward, the slippery plastic flying out of his grip and out into the choppy waves. He gasped, lunging for the boat’s ledge, desperately reaching, only to come face to face with the ocean, the life jacket having floated too far for him to reach, now.

The once kind and quiet sea now stared back at him unforgivingly, its murky depths threatening to suck him in and never let him go. He swallowed. He knew without a doubt that he’d never make it out if he fell in without a life jacket—regardless of whether or not he could swim.

“It’s fine!” Clay called out over the howling wind, his golden locks flipping into his face. “We still have three more. Here, let me just...”

He dropped the paddle onto the canoe floor with a clatter, slipping his arm under the bench. Panic suddenly shot through George’s system, and a horrible, sinking feeling settled into the pit of his stomach.

Something awful was about to happen—he just knew it.

The moment the notion registered in his gut, he saw it. Well, he felt it more than saw it. The wave crashing into the boat rocked him so hard that in one moment, he was sitting with his back against the boat ledge, his hand gripping the painted wood. In the next, he was tumbling out of the boat, his lips parted in a silent scream.

I’m too close to the edge, was his only thought.

In an instant, Clay was sitting upright again, his viridian eyes frozen wide with nothing but sheer fear, and the wooden ledge suddenly felt like it was leagues away from him. George felt the cold waves lap at his sopping shirt, and Sapnap let out a bloodcurdling scream.

“George!”

For a split second, time seemed to slow. George could clearly make out the sight of Clay’s wide eyes and Sapnap’s open mouth, could see the waves lapping at his back with a clarity he didn’t know was even possible.

Then he went under with a splash.

The moment his head was submerged, he gasped, feeling his lungs fill with seawater, the salt burning his throat. He felt the raging current wrap around his middle like a noose and yank him back, further and further from the boat. Desperation slammed into him like a truck, and he futilely kicked his legs, his hand reaching for the unforgiving surface.

No! Please!

Clay let out a desperate scream, lunging across to the other side of the boat, but it was already too late. George was already so far from them, sinking faster than an anchor. He could feel his eyes sting—whether it was from the seawater or tears, he didn’t know, and he didn’t think he cared. All he wanted was to get out, but he could already feel his muscles start to grow tired.

I don’t want to die. Not like this.

He thrashed at the waves that only seemed to pull him further and further under. With each second that ticked by and each desperate kick of his arms, he felt fatigue sink its claws in deeper. The blue he had once loved so dearly now held him hostage, like a mouse in a cage. No matter how hard he grasped at the waves, they would not allow him to move upward. It was almost like he was chained to the bottom of the ocean, destined only to fall lower and lower. His chest felt like it was burning, despite being surrounded by a world of water.

This wasn’t happening—this couldn’t be happening. What would his grandfather think? His mother? His father?

His arms fell limp at his side, his legs finally growing still as the freezing water dug into his skin.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

He was vaguely aware of Sapnap’s muffled shouts and could barely make out the shape of Clay’s arms reaching for him, but they all felt so distant, now—their faces looking like nothing more than distorted silhouettes. He could have even sworn he felt something wrap around his wrist, but by then, he was far too gone.

I’m tired, he thought, his eyelids falling shut.

And the cold, murky depths dragged him into darkness.

George awoke to something warm and wet brushing over his cheek.

Slowly, he shifted, inhaling deeply only to feel an incessant itch digging into the back of his throat. Almost immediately, he began to cough, the warmth suddenly leaving his cheek. Above him, a voice gasped.

“You’re alive!”

George froze at that. I am?

He heard something shift beside him. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought that I was almost too late. That would have been really bad.”

His fingers twitched at his sides, and he curled them downward only to pause when his palm met sand. I’m... on the beach?

The last thing he remembered was being pulled under the water, waves cresting over his head and saltwater binding around him like a trap. He could recall the icy chill that ran down his spine like an eel as he kicked fervently, trying to reach the surface only to be tugged deeper and deeper downward.

Just how in the world was he even alive?

With a soft groan, George blinked, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the glaring sun. The sky was clear now, he noticed as the cloudiness of his vision quickly lifted. Carefully pushing forward, he sat upright, wincing at the slight ache in his muscles. How long has it been since, well... everything? He didn’t know.

“How are you feeling?”

He jumped at the sound of a new, unfamiliar voice coming directly beside him. Gulping, his turned, his gaze landing on you. The moment your eyes met, he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

He felt his heart skip a beat in his chest, rattling against his rib cage as his eyes traced over your face. Your eyes almost seemed to glow in the sunlight, dappled with a shimmer he had never seen before. He took in the sight of your dewy skin, dripping with saltwater, and your torso, shimmering in the sunlight.

Your bare torso.

His cheeks flushed bright pink as he swallowed, trying to calm down his racing heart. Were you naked? Where in the world were your clothes? He could feel the wheels in his head turning at breakneck speed, with only one thing in mind. He gulped.

Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down—

He glanced down.

But instead of, well, you know, what he found was a tail. A fish tail.

His jaw dropped, the dots finally connecting in his head. There was no way—

“A mermaid?” he blurted.

You furrowed your brows at him. “Mer-maid?” you repeated, slowly forming the unfamiliar words with your lips. You pointed to yourself. “Are you talking about me?”

George nodded, too dumbfounded to speak.

You blinked at him, tilting your head. “My name isn’t mermaid—it’s [Y/N].” You squinted at him for a moment, then your eyes lit up, your tail flapping against the sand. “Could you possibly be referring to my people? Those of us blessed by the ocean with tails?”

His gaze darted down to your tail, following its movement before returning to your face, nodding once more.

You hummed, your gaze thoughtful as you tapped at your chin. “Well, we call each other friends. And family.” You grinned at him, and something warm burst in his chest. “But I guess you could call us seafolk. We belong to the sea, after all. She is our caretaker. Our mother, if you will.”

He could only gape at you in stunned silence. “I-I don’t understand,” he finally sputtered after a long moment. “How did I get here? Did you—?”

You shyly tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, your cheeks growing hot as you lowered your gaze to the damp sand. “Ah, I, um—yes.” Your tail curled a little closer toward you. “I saw you fall in and dragged you out to shore.”

He blinked at you, his lips parted in awe. “You saved my life,” he whispered, suddenly feeling breathless.

You shot your head up, your face growing even warmer. Waving your hands in front of you, you stammered, “W-Well, I wouldn’t call it that—a”

He shook his head, and you fell silent, only able to watch in wonder as he grinned at you. “No, no. You did. You saved me. I would have drowned if you didn’t.”

You blinked at him once, then a sheepish smile slowly spread across your lips. “Oh, um.”

He felt something in his chest melt a little at how soft your voice was. “Thank you, [Y/N],” he murmured, hoping you could hear his sincerity.

For a moment, you only stared at one another, your eyes scanning each other’s faces. He couldn’t think of a better word to describe you than stunning. Suddenly, you raised your hand, slowly reaching up toward his cheek. George swallowed, feeling his heart flip. Your fingers were only an inch away from his skin when a distant voice called out from behind him.

“Oh my god, Clay. I think I see him.”

George froze, and your arm darted back to your side, your shoulders growing tense as your gaze darted behind him. Turning his head, he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes only widening at the sight of a small speck atop the cliff a few yards away. He was embarrassed to admit that he had been so entranced by you that he had almost forgotten about his friends.

“Are you for real? You’re crazy, let me see—”

A second silhouette joined the first, and in a flash, you were shuffling down the beach, the tide lapping at your tail as your hands pushed against the dark sand. “I have to go,” you mumbled in a hurry, your words coming out frenzied. “They can’t see me.”

Your eyes darted back to his for a split second, and you bit your lip, a pang of guilt shooting across your face. “You weren’t even supposed to see me.”

He leaned forward, the words flying from his mouth before he could stop them. “Wait, um, please!” He hesitated for a second—just one—then he opened his mouth once more. “Will I ever see you, again?”

You paused, your body fully submerged under the water now. Something like fear and curiosity swam in your eyes. “I, um, I don’t even know your na—”

“George,” he said quickly, his gaze trained on yours. “My name is George.”

Your eyes grew wide, and he thought you were going to say something when there came another shout—closer, this time.

“It’s him! It’s really him! Sapnap, go tell gramps!”

Your lips curled into a small smile, sad and longing. “Goodbye, George. I’m glad you’re alive.”

He opened his mouth, desperate to say something to you—anything. But you were gone before he could even make a sound, disappearing into the waves with a splash. He stared at the spot where you had vanished into ocean, entranced by the rippling water.

That was real, right? He hadn’t just had some beautiful daydream, had he?

All of a sudden, something barrelled into his shoulder, and he yelped as he was knocked onto the sand. Coughing, he blinked wildly up at the sight of Clay’s faces hovering over him. His eyes were glossy as they raked over his face, a giddy smile tugging at his lips.

“George?” he breathed, half-laughing as he spoke. “Oh my god, you’re alive.” Leaning back, he grabbed George’s hand and pulled him upright, his grip nearly crushing his hand with how tight he was squeezing. “How? How did you make it? We thought you were a goner, especially with those waves.” His chest shook as he took in a trembling breath, sighing with aching relief. “It must have been a miracle.”

George nodded, but he was only half paying attention. His head was still spinning with dizzying thoughts of your hand brushing against his cheek and the sight of your dazzling smile. He could have sworn he could hear your voice in the crashing waves and the sweet sea breeze.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “A miracle.”

George grunted as he tugged back at the paddles once more, feeling the boat push further back beneath his feet. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and he could feel his shoulders start to ache, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

There was no way he was going home without seeing you, again.

It had been a little over a week since he had been rescued from the seashore, tumbling back into his grandfather’s shaky arms with a sob. He knew they tried to hide it, but he was pretty sure Sapnap and Clay both cried that day after apologizing profusely to his grandfather. Just that once, he kept quiet, but only that one time.

He remembered his grandfather’s trembling hands as he gripped his shoulders, his old, weary eyes searching his face. “Just... how did you come back?”

At the time, George had swallowed, lowering his gaze to the ground. He had an answer—a beautiful, mesmerizing one at that. But as wondrous as it was, it was also one that no one would ever believe.

“I must have been swept back to the shore, or something,” he had said instead, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “I guess I just l got lucky.”

His grandfather had stared at him for a long moment, and his eyes had glinted almost knowingly, but he had only smiled and hugged him a little tighter. “Lucky, indeed.”

For the next few days, George wasn’t allowed out of his grandfather’s sight. While he understood his grandfather’s fears, he quickly grew sick of it. It wasn’t his fault that there was a freak storm, and his grandfather knew it. Storms that appeared that quickly were rare, and George swore up and down that he wouldn’t go out to sea on a bad day ever again. It took hours of begging, but his grandfather finally agreed with a clap to his back and a stern look that George didn’t even have to ask about to know what it meant.

Be careful.

And of course, George wasn’t about to be anything less than careful, if not also the tiniest bit reckless.

After all, he wouldn’t exactly call rowing out to the middle of the sea in search of a mermai—er, seaperson—the most careful thing in the world.

Well, it doesn’t matter much now, does it? he thought, feeling his muscles strain beneath his arm as he pulled back. Letting out another small groan, he lowered his arms and set the paddles down in their holders, rolling his neck with a determined huff. I have to see them, again. I just have to.

He couldn’t explain it, really. On one hand, he thought it just had to be the mystical factor that drew him back in—what other person could say they had met someone like you? But on the other, he knew it was more than just what you were, but also who you were.

You were kind, and selfless, and humble, and curious. You had saved him from what otherwise would have been most certain death, and you did it all while knowing he couldn’t offer you anything in return. He could still see your bashful smile and your cheeks stretched in glee in his head as clear as day, and he didn’t think he would ever be able to forget the way you made his heart flip.

There was no doubt about it—he was smitten.

Just then, he was pulled out of his thoughts by a familiar voice.

“George?”

He froze, his fingers going slack against the paddle handles as he turned.

George would recognize your voice even if it came from a mile away.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, he turned, his chest suddenly feeling a million times tighter than it had a few moments ago. You tilted your head at him from where you were treading in the water.

“[Y/N],” he breathed, your name rolling off his tongue like a secret plea.

He could barely make out the silhouette of your tail beneath the gentle waves, the scales reflecting shards of scattered light across the surface. You swam a bit closer, your eyebrows knitting together as a bright, curious look swirled in your gaze. “You... you came back?”

He nodded without even an inkling of hesitation. “Of course.” He paused, something warm and prickly climbing up in his chest, then hastily added, “I had to.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

He sucked in a deep breath as he set down the paddles, facing you head-on. He could have said anything, really—it wasn’t like you’d know if he was lying. But there was something about the way you looked at him, something about the earnestness of your tone that made him want to tell you the truth.

“I wanted to see you, again,” he said honestly.

You swam even closer, so close that you were touching the boat, now. “Aren’t you afraid of me?” you whispered, your voice coming out almost as if it were a simple breeze on the wind.

His eyes never left yours. “No.”

Your eyes flashed, your cheeks burning ever so slightly. Something like hope danced in his veins, and he found himself speaking once more.

“And—” He gulped. “And what about you? Aren’t you afraid of me?”

You stared at him for a moment longer. Then, your lips curled into a brilliant grin, and he suddenly felt as though you had sucked the air from his lungs with a single look.

“No.”

It was only a matter of time before George found himself drawn to you like the planets to the sun, returning day after day to the ocean just to see you, again. The two of you would meet at your favourite rock, one that just barely stuck out of the water enough for you to sit on and watch the clouds. Clay and Sapnap would whine about it, of course, claiming that he was abandoning them, but he always took the time to hang out with them—he made sure of that.

With each passing day he spent chatting with you atop the rocking waves, the more and more he captivated he became by you. You told him of your love of seeing the sunset above the water, and how much you loved to hear the passing birds sing. He shared with you his passion for games and explained to you what a computer was.

(“It’s like a... metal box?” he had said, gesturing vaguely. “But it lights up and has moving pictures.”

He was almost positive he was already half-in love with the way your eyes swam with curiosity. “I’ve never heard of anything like that! Could I try using one? I would love to bring one home.”

“That, um, won’t exactly work.”)

Not a single day went by where George wasn’t drowning in thoughts of you, always thinking of new things to tell you and ask you about and share with you and—really, he felt like he could talk to you for years, if he wanted to, and he didn’t think he would particularly mind it if that ended up being the case. Despite how much time he with you, George never brought anything home with him. That was, until today.

“I got you a present!”

He blinked at you, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “You did?”

You nodded eagerly, your eyes glimmering with stars. “Yeah!” Slowly, you lifted your arms up from behind your back, raising your palms up until they rested on the edge of the boat. “Here.”

A quiet gasp escaped his thang as he stared down at your hands with a wondrous look, fascination bubbling up between his lungs. “A conch shell?” he murmured.

Reaching over, you took one of his hands in yours. He felt a spark run up his arm at your touch, your fingers gently wrapping around his wrist. Despite how cold the ocean was, your hand was warm against his skin. With a soft hum, you flipped his hand over and slid the shell into his palm before letting go. He found himself missing your touch in an instant, his fingers itching to search for yours once more.

“I picked it out myself,” you said proudly, a triumphant smile gracing your lips. “It’s the prettiest one from my collection.” Your eyes darted to his face, and you bit the inside of your cheek, your grin faltering slightly. “Do you—do you like it?”

He watched as you lowered your gaze to the gentle, lapping waves and the sunlight danced on your tail. Your thumb nervously tapped against the edge of the boat, and he felt something warm and wet slink down and around his rib cage. Smiling, he curled his fingers around the shell, clutching it close to his chest.

“I love it. Really.”

The brightness of your smile was absolutely blinding, but he didn’t think he would mind losing the rest of his sight to you.

That day, George‘s grandfather asked him about the conch shell he had placed on his bedroom windowsill, eyeing it with a coy gleam in his eye. “Who gave that to you?”

George paused at the question, mulling it over for a moment before an image of your laughing face shot through his mind. His lips quirked into a warm smile.

“Someone special.”

A few days later, George found him rowing back out to your rock once more, but this time, his heart was hammering away in his chest. With each row of the paddle, the blood rushing through his ears grew louder. He could only hope you would like it, and only pray that you felt the same way.

“George! You’re back!”

He startled, glancing over his shoulder to see you hauling yourself up onto the rock. The sun framed your head in a glowing halo as you pushed your wet hair away from your face, smiling welcomingly. Chuckling, he ignored the nerves sparking up his backside at the sight.

“Of course I am,” he said, sending you a cheeky look. He set down his paddles, smiling. “Did you miss me?”

Your smile was earnest as you said, “Always.”

He coughed, lifting a fist to cover his mouth and the burning heat shooting you his neck. “T-Thanks,” he managed to choke out with a grateful smile. He glanced down at his fingers, trying to pretend they were shaking as he opened his mouth, again. “Um, [Y/N]?”

Your tail curled a little tighter into itself, and you smiled at him. “Yes?”

His toes curled in his shoes as he willed himself to keep his eyes on yours. “Remember, uh, how you gave me that conch a little while back?”

You nodded, tilting your head at him. “Well,” he continued, flashing you a shaky grin as he under the boat seat, “I also got you something.”

In an instant, you were leaning forward eagerly, your eyes glimmering with curiosity. “You did?” You clasped your hands together, practically shaking with excitement. “Oh, what is it, what is it?”

George swallowed, feeling the gnawing feeling in his gut creep up to squeeze his heart. He sucked in a quiet breath before pushing it down once more, finally lifting up his arm to reveal his gift.

It was a bouquet.

George pretended his face wasn’t on fire as your jaw dropped, half-looking like you were about to throw yourself into the boat. Surely you knew just what he meant by giving you flowers, right...?

“Oh my gosh, George,” you whispered, shuffling a little closer toward him. Your eyes were the size of saucers as you peered over the edge and at the bouquet in his hands, and he nearly melted at the sight. The awestruck look on your face was worth all of his nerves and more.

Suddenly, you raised your head, your eyes locking onto his. “What are they?”

He froze. You... don’t know what flowers are? How can you possibly not know what flowers ar—?

His train of thought came to a screeching halt, and he resisted the urge to slam his forehead straight into his paddle. Right. You lived underwater.

How foolish of him to think you would know.

Trying not to let his shoulders slump too much, his offered you a grin. “They’re called flowers,” he explained. “There are different kinds of flowers, but these ones are called daisies.” He reached his arm out over the ledge to where you sat, angling the bottom of the bouquet toward you. “Here. You hold them here—around the stems.”

You slowly wrapped your fingers around the delicate ends, careful not to crush them under your grip. Once you were holding the bouquet securely, George sat back, watching with a fond look as you turned it over in your hands.

“Flow-ers,” you sounded out slowly. “Flowers. And day... zees?” You wrinkled your nose, shooting George a questioning look. When he nodded, your face brightened. “Daisies! Daisies. Flowers and daisies.”

George could only smile as you examined the flowers this way and that. The disappointment he felt a few minutes ago had completely vanished, now—he was far more enraptured by your fascinated expression and the small sounds of awe you were making.

“They’re so pretty!” you squealed, your tail happily flopping against the rock. Lifting the centers up to your nose, you inhaled, exhaling with a sweet sigh. “And they smell so nice.”

You traced a finger over the flower edge, humming to yourself with a thoughtful look. “We don’t have these below the sea. The closest thing we have is coral, but they’re not nearly as soft as this.”

He leaned his arm on the wooden edge, murmuring, “Yeah, petals are really soft, aren’t they?”

Your gaze flitted to his and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Petals?” you parroted.

He blinked, lifting his head as recognition flickered through his mind. “Oh,” he said, reaching over to gesture to the soft, white parts, “I’m talking about these here.”

You brushed your fingers over the daisy petals, something tender settling across your features. “They’re so... delicate,” you whispered. “They’re not like anything that grows on the ocean floor.”

George stared at you as you leaned back against the wet slab of stone, wistfully gazing out at the horizon. A cool gust of air ruffled your hair, and a whirlwind of thoughts rushed through his head.

I want to to touch you. I want to hold you. I want to understand you. I want to know you. I...

Just like that, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“I want to see your world.”

You turned to face him, blinked wildly. “Huh?”

He jumped, his eyes going wide. Oh, he said that out loud. Oh, no. His fingers tightened into a clenched fist at his side, and he felt his nails dig into the palm of his hand. As you cocked your head, inching down the rock toward him, he felt a tide of acceptance wash over him.

Well, there was no going back now, was there?

“I want to see the world you live in,” he admitted. “I want to see what the sun looks like from the bottom of the ocean. I want to see the rest of your conch shell collection, but down where you keep them all. I want to meet your friends, your family.”

His chest suddenly felt tight, something warm and sweet coiling around his heart. “I want to know what seafolk things make you happy.”

Your lips curled into a smile, but it was sad. “But you can’t,” you said softly.

He sighed, mirroring your expression. “But I can’t.”

A melancholic silence fell over the two of you, and you dipped your head, looking down at the creamy white petals in your hands. For a few moments, all he could hear was the sound of the waves and your soft breathing. All of a sudden, your raised your chin, your fingers squeezing a fraction tighter around the daisy stems.

“I... I want to see your world, too,” you said ardently, making him blink at you in surprise. “I want to walk down a street, and see a dog. Maybe even a cat! I want to meet your friends and your family.”

You smiled again, but this time, it wasn’t nearly as sad. “I want to know what human things make you happy.”

He couldn’t help but return your smile, and another quiet fell over the two of you, but this one was more comfortable—more warm. As you looked at each other, your eyes boring into one another as the sea breeze sang in your ears, George felt something soft and fuzzy wrap around his heart, making his head spin with dizzying thoughts of you.

For once, the two of you weren’t a seaperson and human, destined to be kept apart no matter what.

For once, and even if only for a little while, you were just two hearts connected by the sea.

“Let me teach you how to swim.”

George shot you a bewildered look, his eyebrows knitting together. “What? No.”

You pouted at him, your tail slapping eagerly against the rock. “Please?” you whined. You were practically draping yourself over the boat edge now, and he tried to ignore the way his heart flipped in his chest. “It’ll be so much fun!”

He grimaced, pressing his lips into a thin line. “You don’t have legs like I do,” he reasoned, “and you’ve been swimming all your life. I’m the complete opposite. The learning curve is going to be ridiculously steep.”

Your eyes were full of determination as you lifted your head to meet his gaze, not backing down. “That doesn’t mean you can’t do it and that I can’t teach it! It’ll be super helpful, too!” You squinted at him. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

He swallowed at your closeness, focusing all his energy into keeping the heat from shooting up onto his cheeks. “Well... I mean...”

You inched even closer to him as you begged, your gaze shimmering like the ocean surface. “Please, George? Pretty please?”

He stared down at you for a moment longer, screwing his eyes shut. He was... scared, that was for sure. He may love the sea, but he also knew just how ruthless and unkind it could be. But here you were, looking at him with those pretty, pleading eyes, and he trusted you—he did.

Sucking in a deep breath, he raised his arms in surrender, offering you a sheepish smile. “Okay, okay, you win.”

You dropped back into the water a gleeful look, clapping your hands together in delight. You opened your mouth to speak, but he quickly added on, “But start off slow, okay? I’m nervous.”

You nodded, your gaze growing stern despite your grin. “I will, I swear.”

Feeling his chest unwind the slightest bit at your firmness, his arms trailed down to the hem of his shirt. Grabbing on, he quickly pulled the fabric up and around his head, dropping it onto the damp bench beside him. Turning back to you, he tilted his head, glancing down at the waves anxiously. “Where do we start?”

Your lips were parted, and for a moment you were simply silent, staring at his bare chest. Then, you quickly whipped your head up, blinking as your cheeks grew warm. “Huh? R-Right, um, here!” You shoved your arms out before him, your fingers splayed out as you averted your gaze from his. “Take my hands.”

Lips twitching with amusement, George crouched slightly as he slipped his hands between yours. “Okay,” you said quietly, “now you have to jump in.”

George froze, anxiety pumping through his veins. “Jump... in?” He inhaled a weary breath, his arms shaking. “I...”

You slotted your fingers between his, your expression serious yet earnest. “Yes,” you murmured, just for him to hear. Your eyes bore into his with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine, and he felt his heart skip a beat, but not out of fear. “I’ll be right here, though. I won’t let go. I promise.”

For a few seconds, he simply breathed, staring down at the calm water lying just inches below him. With a shaky breath, he pushed himself to his feet, one hand lifting up to grab his nose and the other still wrapped in yours. Taking one last peek at your reassuring smile, he screwed his eyes shut.

Then he jumped.

The water came rushing up around him with a splash, cold and invigorating. His grip tightened around his nose as his head went under, and he pursed his lips tighter. The last time he had been in the water taught him to hold his breath underwater, and to hold it well. He felt your tail brush against his legs, and in an instant, your arms were wrapped around his, hoisting up him upward. The moment his face broke the surface, he gasped, his hand dropping to his side as you tread water to keep him afloat.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, your tone reassuring and smooth as you brushed the wet hair away from his face, “I’m here. I’ve got you.” Your eyebrows furrowed in concern as you scanned his face, chewing on your lip. “Are you okay?”

He blinked, his chest heaving with a mixture of adrenaline and excitement. Glancing down, he watched as the water parted around your tail as it pushed back and forth, and he quickly found his legs mimicking the motion. A surprised smile tugged at his lips as he felt the bulk ones of his body lift a little. He didn’t realize the water could feel so... refreshing.

“Actually,” he said, turning back to look at you again, “I’m—I’m doing a lot better than I thought.”

An ivory white grin split your lips, and your hold around him tightened the tiniest bit. “That’s amazing. You’re amazing, George.”

His breath hitched in his throat, and he felt warmth shoot across his chest. That was totally just because you were holding him, right?

His heart stumbled.

Oh god—you were holding him.

Your arm was pressed against his and he could smell the salt in your hair and you were so warm and—

George swallowed thickly and offered you a lopsided grin. “Thanks.”

You returned his expression and waded a little further out into the watery depths, your grip around him as secure as ever. “Well,” you began, “now that you’re actually in the water, how about we start with just floating? Everyone should learn how to float.”

When he nodded, you hummed with a determined look. “Just lean back until you’re facing straight up to start...” you instructed, pushing gently on his shoulder.

George sucked in a breath and let himself shift farther and farther into his back. Little by little, he felt his legs float up until his toes stuck out of the water while the back of his head remained submerged. “...and then,” you continued, still holding onto his head, “spread your arms and legs like a starfish.”

A wave of panic shot through him as his eyes met yours. Were you going to let go? Was he going to—?

As if you had read his mind, you smiled and shook your head. “Don’t worry about sinking—I’ll be here to make sure nothing happens to you.”

A loose breath escaped him as the tide of panic pulled back, but it still lapped at the edge of his mind. Pursing his lips, he shut his eyes and slowly unpeeled his arms from his side, stretching them out alongside his legs. He held his breath, his heart feeling more like a trembling leaf than anything as he waited for something horrible to happen...

...and then nothing.

Peeking an eye open, he grinned, turns his head to face you with an excited shout, “I-I think I’m doing it!”

From his sideways view of you, you cheered, lifting your free arm in victory. “You are, you really are!”

All of a sudden, you suddenly flipped onto your back, stretching your own arms out until the two of you were only connected by your intertwined hands. His heart felt like it was about to take flight as he watched the sun ripple across your smiling face. “See?” you said with a cheeky glint in your gaze. “Now we’re floating together.”

Turning your head back to stare up at the sky, a sigh escaped your rosy lips as they curled up into a wistful smile. “You can’t see the sky so clearly like this under the sea,” you murmured. “It’s so much... brighter up here. And then with the sound of the waves...”

You paused, your eyes fluttering shut as you drank in the sound of the seagulls’ cries and the sea’s gentle lullaby. “Gosh,” you said breathlessly, squeezing his hand in yours. “it’s just perfect, isn’t it?”

George nodded, focused on the feeling of your palm pressed against his and his heart swelling in his chest.

“It is.”

He wasn’t looking at the sky.

To say the least, George was more than surprised when he found himself swimming as though he had been doing it his whole life just a little under a week later. He had heard that even grown people could learn to swim quickly, but he never thought that he would be one of them.

Perhaps it had something to do with the joy he felt whenever you praised him, or perhaps he was just always meant to do this. After all, he loved the sea—it was only a matter of time before he learned, right?

Either way, now that he could swim, he knew exactly what he wanted to do, now.

“You are so going to regret this.”

He grinned at you. “Maybe. But I’ll regret it even more if I never do it.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you sent him an amused look, mischief tugging at your lips. “And to think you couldn’t even hold your head underwater a few days ago.”

He feigned a glower at you, but he could tell by the gleam in your eyes that you weren’t buying it. “Hey! I’m just a fast learner.

You rolled your eyes at him, but the way your grin widened showed that you didn’t mean it. “Sure, sure. You act like I’m not the best swimming teacher you’ve ever had.”

He cocked a brow at you. “You’re the only swimming teacher I’ve ever had.”

You suddenly clapped your hands in front of his face, making him jump. “Anyways,” you began as you pulled your arms back with a smile, clearly trying to divert his attention, “are you ready?”

He nodded, returning your smile as excitement flowed through him. You lifted three fingers in the air and began to count down. “Three, two, one...”

George sucked in a deep breath, his lungs filling to the brim with as much air as he could manage before he squeezed his eyes and ducked his head under the waves. The world suddenly went quiet and muffled around him, the faint sound of bubbles rising filling his ears. After a second, he peeked open a single eye, then two.

He wanted to gasp at the sight.

A world of vibrant blue surrounded him, streaks of cerulean engulfing him entirely from every direction. Below him, he could barely make out the shape of a school of fish dart past, colourful branches of coral poking out from the depths. Just above, the fractured and scattered rays of sunlight swirled across the surface like a light show of its own. And just in front of him, there you were, smiling so prettily with your hands in his.

The saltwater stung his eyes, but he didn’t care. The world you lived in was beautiful—you were beautiful.

Just then, something true and warm struck him to the very core of his being, and his eyes grew wide.

Oh, he loved you, didn’t he?

He didn’t think it was even possible to fall so hard for someone so quickly, but you were special. He hadn’t been able to put a name to the sweet, lovely feeling you had stirred in him before. But looking at you now, with your eyes sparkling with mirth and surrounded by the very thing he loved most, he knew.

Love—oh, he loved you.

If only he knew how to tell you.

His chest wound tighter and tighter like a spring that was about to pop, and he quickly signalled to swim back up to you as he fervently kicked his legs. As he surfaced once more, he gasped for breath, feeling the spring deflate as his eyes burned without mercy. You surfaced a split second after him, your mouth already open as your eyes darted to his.

“That,” George gasped in between breaths, “was amazing.” He pressed a hand to his eyes, feeling the saltwater nip at the back of his eyelids like sandpaper. He winced as he did so, and in a flash, you were swimming in front of him, your hand reaching for his cheek.

“Oh gosh, your eyes,” you murmured, concern flooding your face. “Are you okay?” When your fingers brushed against his skin, he shivered, and you immediately pulled your hand back, clutching it to your chest. He didn’t know how to tell you that that shiver was a good thing.

He shook his head, waving his other hand at you. “No, no, I’m good. Just a little—“ He winced, again. “—ow.”

George caught a glimpse of you pursing your lips before his eyes fluttered shut once more, trying to dull the sting. “I told you this was a bad idea,” you said softly, regret singeing your voice. ”I shouldn’t have let you do it.”

He turned toward the direction of your voice, rubbing the base of his palm into his eyelids. “I said I wanted to see your world,” he said, determination soaking into his words, “and I was right—it’s more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.”

He lowered his arms, his eyes opening once more to see you staring back at him. There was a certain awestruck look on your face that made him smile, a certain glimmer in your eyes that made him want to cry. “I don’t regret it one bit.”

You swam an inch closer to him, tilting your head at him as as you simpered. “Even though your eyes look like they got stung by a jellyfish?”

He nodded. “Even then—wait.” He furrowed his brows at you, his hand shooting up to brush against the rim of his eyes as he gaped. “They look like what?”

You snorted at his hanging jaw, laughter bursting from your lips and bubbling out of your throat. “They’re all red and puffy!” you managed between chuckled. He gawked at you as you flipped around, your tail splashing against the water as you giggled.

George slowly felt a smile stretch across his face as you laughed at him, your scales reflecting like tiny mirrors in the sun as your skin shone with tiny droplets of water. Your world may be beautiful, but it paled so much in comparison to you.

He felt his throat tighten as a single, dark claw scratched at the corner of his mind, dragging across the edge of his skull. You know this can’t last forever, right? it whispered into the crevices of his heart.

He chewed on his lip, his smile wavering for just a moment. I know.

He didn’t want to think about how late it was in the season, now. He didn’t want to think about how much he was going to miss your face and the spray of the ocean breeze. He didn’t want to think about how high his heart soared whenever your eyes met his. He couldn’t bring himself to.

Because he knew that once summer ended, so would everything else.

“Hey, dude, what day are you going back home?”

George fiddled with the hem of his shorts, picking at a loose thread. He thought for a moment as he stared out at the sun’s fading light as it finished sinking into the sea. “Um, on... Tuesday?” He nodded to himself. “Yeah, Tuesday.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, Sapnap asked, “Isn’t that, like, literally tomorrow?”

George glanced over to his side, Sapnap peering over at him curiously from where he sat beside him. “Yeah.”

Sapnap sent him a sad smile, reaching over to pat his back. “We’ll miss you, buddy.”

“Yeah,” Clay said from his other side. George looked up, green eyes curved into small crescents meeting his. “Things aren’t quite the same without you here.”

He laughed at that, a quiet fondness trailing over him. “I’ll miss you losers, too.”

A comfortable quiet settled over the trio for a few moments. Then, Sapnap spoke up once more. “By the way,” he said, “aren’t you gonna say something to—” He gestured vaguely, his lips twitching. “—you know who?”

George’s blood ran cold. There was no way Sapnap was talking about who he thought he was talking about.

Lowering his hand to his side, he tried not to pick at his thumb. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said slowly, suddenly taking great interest in the soles of his shoes.

He heard Clay sigh above him, nudging him with his foot. The porch banister creaked from where he leaned against it. “George, c’mon, you don’t need to lie to us. We know you’ve been seeing someone.”

Sheer panic shot through George’s system as he whirled, his eyes darting back and forth between the two. Sapnap snorted, leaning a little closer beside him. “Seriously—it’s so obvious. You are a terrible liar.”

Suddenly, George’s hand shot out, his fingers curling around Sapnap’s wrist. “You can’t tell anyone,” he said in a panicked blur, the wheels in his head spinning out of control. “Seriously, guys, you can’t, I’m not kiddin—”

“Woah,” Sapnap cried, raising his hands in front of his chest defensively, “calm down! We have no idea what this person even looks like, okay? You can chill.” He zipped his lips, sending George a cheeky wink. “Your parents won’t hear a word from us.”

George’s heart came to a screeching halt in his chest as he processed his best friend’s. “Wait,” he said, disbelief clouding his features as his grip on Sapnap’s shirt grew loose, “you haven’t seen them?”

Clay cocked a brow at him. “No? You’re the one who literally rows out to the middle of wherever to see them.” His lips curled up into a crooked smile. “Of course we haven’t.”

George’s hand went limp and it fell to his side, “Oh. Oh.” He nearly slumped over in relief. “That’s good.”

Sapnap shifted beside him, bending over to rest his chin on his hand. “Well?” he continued, prodding once more. “Have you said anything about leaving or...?”

George’s heart dropped again, but for a different reason this time. “N-No,” he admitted quietly.

Clay sent him a quizzical look, his eyebrows knitting together. “Did you never even bring it up?” When George shook his head, he stepped away from the railing, bending down to be at eye level with him. “What? Why not? You should.”

George paused for a second, then let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I know, it’s just...”

Before he could stop himself, he started talking, and talking, and talking. The words just came pouring from his lips, like a free-flowing stream with no end in sight.

He spoke of how your smile would always make his day, how infectious your laugh was. He spoke of your curiosity, and just how he would give anything to see you gaze up at him in awe. He talked about how warm your hands were when you took his into your own and how he wished he could hold them all the time. He spoke of your determination to teach him how to swim, and how you actually did it. He talked about just about anything he could possibly think of when it came to you, you, you.

He spoke of just how much he was going to miss you, and how much it was going to hurt.

By the time he finished rambling, the sun had long disappeared, his face only illuminated by the lamp on his grandfather’s porch and the moon’s pale glow. His heart felt both full and empty all at once, and at his sides, Sapnap and George stared at him in silence, only the sound of chirping crickets filling the air.

“Wow,” Clay finally said after a long moment, his eyes trained on George. “That’s...”

Sapnap nodded beside him, his own eyes wide with awe. “...woah.”

George shifted uncomfortably, clenching his jaw as he tilted his head at then. “Aren’t you guys going to say anything else?”

A voice came from behind him. “I will.”

When Sapnap and Clay glanced up above his head, George whirled, his mouth opening at the figure standing before him. “Grandpa?”

His grandfather leaned against the wall of the house, smiling in that wise, worldly way that all old people always seemed to. “You, George,” he said lowly and surely, “are in love.”

George’s eyes widened, but his expression grew firm, a sense of acceptance settling deep into his bones. “I know.”

His grandfather leaned down until he was face to face with his grandson, his dark eyes meeting George’s. “You must tell them,” he murmured. “Do not just leave without saying goodbye—without being honest with yourself.” Something sad flickered across his face, but it disappeared as soon as it arrived. “That’s the worst thing you could possibly do.”

George swallowed, his hands curling into fists at his side. “Okay,” he murmured, honest and true. “I will.”

His grandfather smiled and stood up straight once more before turning to Clay and Sapnap. “Now, you boys should get going. It’s late, and lord knows just how much packing George hasn’t done yet.”

Clay wheezed as George whipped his head around, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Grandpa!” he hissed.

While his friends stood, his grandfather simply sent him a brazen look and pulled the porch door open with a chuckle. George sighed as he turned back to Sapnap and Clay. “You’re so slow, George,” Sapnap teased as George got onto his feet.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you’re not a last minute packer, either.”

Clay waved his hand at them, instead opening his arms up with a fond grin. “Okay, enough with that—give us your goodbye hug, now.”

George chuckled, sinking into Clay’s arms as Sapnap wrapped around from the other side. They separated just a few moments later, Sapnap and Clay already heading down the steps back to their own homes. “See you around,” George called out after them with a wave.

He could barely make out the shape of Clay’s smile in the darkness as he shouted back. “See you around. Text us when you get home.”

Sapnap’s shout quickly followed. “And stop blocking my number!”

George laughed quietly, still waving away until he was positive they were long gone. Dropping his arm to his side, he cast his gaze up at the twinkling night sky. The moon stared back at him with pale, pleading eyes, its light reflecting off the dark ocean surface just a few yards away. Something heavy sank in his chest.

He wondered if you were looking at the stars, too.

It was barely the crack of dawn when George desperately tugged at the paddles, rowing harder than he ever had in his entire life. The sky had just begun to paint itself with splashes of orange and amethyst, but he could only focus on the knowledge that somewhere out there, you were waiting for him.

He was leaving in just a few hours, now. This was his only chance—his last chance. You needed to know, and he was going to tell you even if every fibre of his being screamed not to.

At that moment, a voice soared over the rolling waves.

“George!”

He whipped his head up, his gaze immediately finding your face in the pale, morning light. Under any other circumstances, he would never even think to leave the boat like this. But in that moment, he simply couldn’t bring himself to think of anything else but you. In a whirlwind, he dropped the paddles with a clang and found himself leaping over the boat into the water with a shout of your name.

“[Y/N]!”

The morning waves were warmer than he thought they were, and he swam through them with ease, watching as your tail flapped behind you as you met him halfway. The moment your hands met, his fingers intertwined with yours, your fitting perfectly in the spaces between his.

“George,” you murmured when you finally looked at him properly. “I missed you.” Your eyebrows knit together in worry as you scanned his face. “Is everything alright? You look... stressed.”

A pang of pure pain and anguish shot through his chest, and he felt the back of his eyes sting as he lowered his gaze. “I... I have to tell you something.”

You nodded without even an inkling of hesitation. “You can tell me anything. I’m here to listen.”

The tight coil in the pit of his stomach only grew at your words. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “It’s—I, um—”

He could feel your eyes on his, concerned and heavy as he struggled to find the right words. His throat felt tight and dry, but you were the last person he wanted to be dishonest with. He had to tell you. With that, he finally let the four words he never wanted to say slip from his lips.

“I have to leave.”

Your brows furrowed, hurt and confusion shooting through your lovely gaze. “Leave?” you repeated. “Why?”

He swallowed, his heart cracking further with each passing second he spent looking at your broken expression. “I only stay here at my grandfather’s for the summer, and today, I have to go back home. I won’t be able to come back until next year.”

Your eyes slowly filled with understanding, but he could still see the layer of sadness lying just beneath. His gut churned with something hot and wet. “God, [Y/N],” he said, his voice cracking as he dipped his head in shame. He felt his eyes grow glossy. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Your hands tightened around his, and you shook your head, offering him a small smile. “No, no, George, don’t say that. It’s okay. I understand.”

The words were suddenly pouring out of his mouth uncontrollably, the regret rising in his chest until he was completely submerged. “I don’t want to leave you—I never want to leave you, [Y/N]. I should have told you sooner, oh, I—”

He stopped. He didn’t think he was ever going to say it, but he let his voice drop to a tiny whisper. If not now, then when?

“I love you. I love you so, so much.”

Your eyes widened, your lips parting while you took in his words. Realization flashed across your face, and almost immediately, anxiety rolled through him as he began to ramble. “I was scared to say it out loud, scared to know what you would say, and you don’t have to feel the same way, but I just wanted you to kno—”

Suddenly, you pressed a finger to his lips, and the words died in his mouth. “George,” you crooned, your warm gaze melting the ball of nerves in his chest, “oh, George.”

You lowered your hand as you smiled at him, looking like everything he could have ever dreamed of and more. “I love you, too.”

His jaw dropped, his mind going blank. You giggled at his expression, swimming even closer to him and the space between you disappearing. “Thank you for telling me. Really.” You glanced down at the waves lapping at his chest as you continued softly. “Even if you have to go, I am so grateful for the time I’ve spent with you.”

Slowly, he slipped his hand out of yours, lifting it up to hold your face. Leaning forward, he asked just for you to hear, “Can I...?”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence for you to nod with a shy smile, your eyelids fluttering shut. Letting out one last small breath, he surged forward, your mouth meeting his in a kiss.

You tasted like sunshine, freedom, and a little bit like salt, he thought. He wasn’t sure if that last one was you or the ocean, but he found himself not caring. He was far too enraptured by the feeling of your lips on his, sweet and soft. It wasn’t like it mattered, anyway. After all, the ocean was a part of you, and he loved you and the ocean.

You parted with a gasp, your lips puffy and rosy. You looked ethereal in the sunrise, your eyes alight with streaks of pink and lavender. His thumb brushed against your cheek, and he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours.

“I know this is selfish of me to ask,” he said quietly, his eyes searching yours, “but, could you... can you—” He gulped. “Will you wait for me?”

You didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes,” you breathed, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. “Oh, yes, yes, yes, George.” Your eyes crinkled at the corners, and a surge of affection ran through him. “I promised you I wouldn’t let go, didn’t I?”

His heart swelled to the size of the ocean and back while his thumb rubbed small circles where your waist met your tail. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he said firmly. “You have my word, my heart, my everything—all of it is yours.”

You only smiled brilliantly in return. His arms snaked around your back as he pulled you close, your own arms wrapping tightly around waist as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. For a few long moments, the two of you simply stayed like that, silent but content with the feeling of your arms around each other. The waves rolled around you soothingly, your tail brushing against his legs as you simply tread in tandem with one another.

“I’ll miss you,” you suddenly whispered, breaking the silence as you tightened your embrace.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “I will miss you far, far more.”

Your gaze softened, and you pressed your palm to his cheek. He leaned into your touch, his eyes squeezing shut as you spoke. “Will you, now?” you murmured.

He lowered his head, his hot breath tickling your cheek as his gaze dropped to your lips. “Yes,” he whispered. “More than you’d know.”

And as the sun rose above the horizon, his lips met yours once more, his heart dissolving into seafoam among the waves.

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, my love.

George slammed the trunk of the car, his shoulders slumping as he let out a sigh. It really was over, wasn’t it?

“You all packed to go?”

He turned at the sound of his grandfather’s voice, his lips curling upwards as he walked up to him with his eyes crinkling at the corners. Patting the back of the car, he bobbed his head. “Yeah,” he said, “I think I’m ready.”

His grandfather stopped just a foot away from him, scanning him up and down. “And,” he added, “did you say all your goodbyes?”

George‘s grin widened. While he had indeed already said goodbye to Sapnap, Clay, and you...

“Almost,” he said, his eyes flashing. “I’m just missing one.”

His grandfather’s eyes furrowed in confusion, and he opened his mouth to ask when George suddenly threw his arms around his neck, pulling him close in a tight embrace. He froze for a moment before wrapping his arms back, chuckling into the hug.

“Thank you, grandpa,” George whispered into his ear, hoping he could hear the sincerity in his voice. Pulling away, a warm, sad look flitted across his face. “I’ll see you next year.”

His grandfather reached over to pat his shoulder, giving him a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Oh, George. You have a safe trip, now.” He cast a knowing glance at the seaside. “You know I’m not the only one waiting for you to come back.”

He blinked, squinting just the tiniest bit before shaking his head, smiling to himself. His grandfather always seemed to know more than he let on, but who was he to question it?

Pulled the driver’s door open and sliding in with a grunt, his grandfather pushed it closed as he buckled the seatbelt. As he turned the key in the ignition, he sent his grandfather one last wave. Goodbye, he thought wistfully before backing up in reverse and pulling out of the driveway. In just a few moments, he was speeding down the long, winding path away from his favourite place in the whole world.

He rolled down the window with one hand as the other gripped the wheel, the ocean lying to the side. The wind whipped at his hair, the familiar sea breeze tickling his nostrils as a seagull cried out above him. Along the horizon, he could have sworn that maybe—just maybe—he caught a glimpse of a tail’s silhouette against the cerulean blue sky. He smiled to himself, his chest growing warm as he pressed down a little harder on the pedal.

George loved the ocean.

He loved the feeling of the sand squishing beneath his toes on the beach. He loved the cold tides wrapping around him like a familiar blanket as he dove into its murky depths. He loved the rocking of the boat where he sat, feeling at peace in the middle of the water.

There wasn’t anywhere else in the world where he felt so loved, so known, so understood. It would be a while until he could return to his beloved beachside. He would have to wait days, weeks, months until he could come back, but he knew he would—he had to. After all, he had given you his word.

George loved the ocean.

But most of all, he loved you.

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misssunflowersandsangria · 3 years

Text

Head in the Clouds

Hello my deers. I had some time, some thoughts and feelings so this was the result. Hope you enjoy it!

Summary: If someone is constantly on your mind then maybe that’s where they’re meant to be.

Head in the Clouds

It was a peaceful and sunny day. The weather was perfect for being outside and Shikamaru gladly took advantage of a rare day off. Against the cool grass, he lazily watched the clouds pass by. It had been a while since he could lay so listlessly about. There was no room for leisure while in the throes of life, death, and war. But he settled into a relaxed state easily.

He drifted in and out as he stared out into the high heavens. He thought about his friends and family. The work that would be inevitably waiting for him the next day. His mind wandered with no destination in mind. Until a curious thing happened.

The clouds above seemed to take various shapes. Unique but familiar, their shapes reminded him of a certain wind-wielding kunoichi. And despite how he tried to convince himself that they were actually different objects they remained as permanent symbols that taunted him from the sky.

Shikamaru reasoned with himself that this was happening because he knew what was to take place tonight.

Temari had mentioned it casually after work on their way to dinner. She’d been asked out on a date by a jounin whose name he’d happily forgotten. The announcement was confusing and surprising so he just nodded and wished her a good time. What else was there to say? Temari was young and attractive. Her brother was the Kazekage, of course, she’d attract attention. This was a good thing. And they were friends. Weren’t you supposed to be happy for your friends?

He tried to forget about that conversation and refocused towards the sky. He would be a liar if he didn’t say that this was the first time that he’d thought about Temari and not just while cloud watching. It seemed that more and more simple things would remind him of her. Certain sights, and sounds, always brought him back to her. Temari was now the center of his dreams and it was becoming much more troublesome. It was becoming some kind of strange vice.

It didn’t matter whether he was sitting in silence or thundering chaos his thoughts would inevitably float towards her. What she was doing, how she might approach a particular situation. This would often influence his decisions and she’d become some sort of muse. The harder he fought against thinking about her the more it seemed that she remained stuck in his mind.

It was becoming worrisome that he’d considered talking to Chouji about it. He knew that if he admitted to what was going on his friend would insist that he should just ask Temari out. That they should finally just become a couple. Everyone was just waiting for them to be together.

It happened more times than he’d like to admit. Those around him asked constantly if they were dating or a couple. Wanting to be proven right. That they’d foreseen the inevitable. Shikamaru would just claim that he didn’t dare think about her that way. That they were just friends and to imagine anything more would be wrong.

It was a claim but not a fact. And to say that he’d never considered her as a romantic partner would be a bald-faced lie.

Shikamaru rubbed a hand over his tired face. His beloved clouds provided him no comfort. He needed a distraction. Knowing that she was out there with someone that wasn’t him was making him anxious.

Barbecue with Ino and Choji was the best form of comfort. They were older now and spending time all together was more challenging but they always found a way. Sitting together eating and drinking made life seem simpler. Maybe just friendships were enough. But he’d already imagined what it might be like if she was sitting right there next to him.

“Wow Chouji, you’re pretty smitten.” The said man grinned with a nod.

He’d just returned home from a diplomatic mission in Kumo and was delighted to share all the details of his trip. One of which was about a fiery, red-headed kunoichi

“Karui’s different. On the outside, she seems cold and hard to approach. She can be loud and mean but there’s a lot more to her. She was…sweet to me. I can’t explain it. We spent a lot of time there together and even though, in the grand scheme of things we haven’t known each other for a long time, we just get one another.”

Ino nodded. “I feel that way with Sai. We’re so different in how we act and think but when we get to it I think a lot of our values and what we think is important are the same. He’s been everything to me since the war ended and through processing all that stuff. I’ve never felt so safe with someone.”

They sat there in silence thinking about how much their conversations had changed over the years. Everything felt more serious now. They knew soon enough their clan responsibilities would only become more intense. Who would share that burden with them was becoming clearer.

“I know Ino and I are new to this but Shikamaru here, well he’s been getting to know Temari for years now. Just gotta cross that bridge right buddy.” Chouji teased his friend.

He was thinking about his friends’ reflections on their new relationships that Chouji’s comment surprised him. “What do you mean? We’re just friends.”

They both rolled their eyes at him. They’d heard this argument far too many times now. “You two aren’t just friends. The three of us are friends. You and Temari, you’re something else entirely.”

“And what is that?”

“Soulmates,” Chouji told him softly.

Shikamaru waited silently for Chouji to elaborate.

“I don’t know. The two of you just seem inevitable. Since we were kids she’s been in your life. You’ve gone through hell and back together. She’s just always been there with you. Sometimes I feel like she knows you even better than we do.”

“If that’s true, why is she on a date with someone else.” They could sense the bitterness in Shikmaru’s voice.

“Because she’s stubborn and you’re lazy.”

He couldn’t argue against Ino’s characterization of them.

“You've never shown any interest in her so she’s probably a little scared that you’re not. She’s not going to make the first move here.” Ino tried to explain.

“How can you be so sure that she feels that way about me?” He didn’t like how this conversation had evolved but he needed their help.

Ino just shrugged her shoulders ignoring her friend’s crisis.

“It’s a hunch and just an observation. When she’s here, you’re together. She’ll seek you out. When I’ve hung out with her, her favorite thing to talk about is you. Temari doesn’t get close to people. But for some reason, a shinobi that she met as a child, who beat her during an exam, who she scolds, criticizes, and trusts is her best friend. But that doesn’t seem like a good enough title for what you two are and how you are when you’re together.”

“That’s fine and all. but it doesn’t mean that she likes me in that way. I’m not even sure how I feel.”

“How can you not be sure?” Ino demanded becoming annoyed at his sheer stubbornness.

Shikamaru tried to find the words to explain.“I mean yes, we’ve been through a lot together. We hang out when she’s here. I trust her with my life. I’ll think about her a lot when she’s gone. It’s kind of annoying. If she was closer then maybe I wouldn’t think about her so much. She’s beautiful, she’s strong and resilient. She’s honest to a fault but I know in her own way that’s how she shows that she cares. It feels like it’s been so long now that I can’t imagine not having her in my life. When I think about my future, I want her there.”

Chouji and Ino let him stew in quiet. “Well, it sounds like you have some decisions to make. You two can carry on how you have been and remain friends. But at some point, either she or you will find someone. Where will that leave you and your relationship?

Shikamaru sat there reflecting on what they’d said. Temari was just on a first date with this guy. It didn’t mean that they were going to get married. But the possibility did remain that it could lead down that path. And if it wasn’t this particular person who’s to say it wouldn’t be the one after him. And if she was the one to move on he knew that he’d have to live still seeing her everywhere.

Shikamaru inevitably found himself waiting for Temari to come home. He remained hidden until he was sure that she was alone then made his presence known. If she was surprised by him being there it didn’t show.

He couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. She looked gorgeous dressed in civilian clothes with her face made up. It was less pleasant when he remembered that she didn’t look this way for him.

“Shikamaru, can I help you with something?”

“Can we go take a walk? Hang out for a little?” He asked hopefully. On any normal day, they would have spent time together. After not seeing her all day he felt off-balance.

Curiosity and concern were fueling Temari and so she agreed. It was obvious something was weighing heavily on his shoulders. He believed that he could suppress his emotions well but he couldn’t hide anything from her.

They walked together in sync. He didn’t even have to guide her steps; she just seemed to know instinctively where to go. Was he really that obvious? Or did she just know him that well?

They spoke with one another freely. The conversation always flowed so easily between them. This was normal and Shikamaru finally felt like he was on solid ground until they settled into their familiar place.

It was a specific spot in the Nara forest. A singular place where the canopy of the trees didn’t block their view of the sky. How many times had they been there together? Either for cloud watching or star gazing. Or sometimes just for no reason at all. They would just sit, comfortable and silent. Together and away from the chaos of the world.

Shikamaru felt the question trapped in his throat. Insecurity and worry got the better of him that he had to ask.

“How was your…uhm date?”

Temari looked at him surprised before shifting her gaze back to the sky. “It went well. He was polite and charming. I can imagine that we’d get along.”

“Good, I’m happy for you.”

Temari peered at him curiously. “Are you really?”

“What do you mean?”

She just shook her head. “I guess that this is to be expected. You said days ago that no matter what happened we’d always remain friends. And I’m thankful for that…”. Her thoughts trailed off and they sat there in heavy silence.

“He asked me if I’d want to go out with him again but I wasn’t sure what to say.” She stopped again before sighing.

“Sorry, I must be tired, I can't think straight. I should go.” Temari began to get up but he settled a warm hand against hers.

“Clouds.”

“What?” She responded confused. Why did everything go back to the clouds with him?

“I see you in them. I try not to but you’re there.”

“Oh.”

His heart and mind were racing. “But it’s not just the clouds. I find you in crowds and during my walks in the forests that I have to do a double-take. Before I sleep and when I dream. You’re there. Even now under these millions of stars, it’s just you. At first, I was confused and a little annoyed but I realized that I like that you’re constantly on my mind. That even when I’m not with you. You’re here.” He moved their joined hands against his heart.

Now that it was out in the open there was no stopping him.

“When I told you that we’d always be friends I meant it but it hurt to believe that perhaps we’d only ever be friends. I tried to hide it, wish it away, and pretend but I can’t do that anymore. Temari, it’s you. And whether you give me a Summer or a lifetime I’ll be happy for it. Do you think maybe you’d like to be with me? That perhaps together we can be something more.”

Temari was worried that when she slipped into his arms he could feel her heart racing. Even worse when she felt him place a kiss against her head.

His admission sat heavily in her heart. The weight behind his words and actions and what this would mean made her stomach flutter.

“So you can finally admit you like me?” She teased him with a grin.

He stared at her in shock, but she had always been more perceptive than him. “You knew?”

Her hand gently ran through the strands of his hair “Not exactly, I just felt something… unusual with you. You treat me differently, it’s nice and it made me feel special that you chose me. I don’t even think you realized it.”

Even though he’d been consciously trying to hide his feelings, subconsciously he’d been making it known.

She rested her head against his shoulder. Her breath fluttering against his neck made him shiver.

“I think about you all the time too. It gets so much worse and harder when I’m in Suna. Sometimes it’s like the sand makes shapes of you and reminds me that you’re far away.” She relished in the way his arms wrapped tighter around her. A strong reminder that he was there with her.

“Growing up the way we did in Suna my brothers and I never really had friends. I’m not even that sure when you and I became friends. But it means so much to me that I never wanted to do anything that could upset that balance. At the end of the day, I can’t stand the idea of losing you. I agreed to go out on that date because I thought it might make things less complicated between us. That we’d remain in this neutral and safe place. I think though that we’re meant for something beyond friendship and it’s worth taking that chance.” The smile that he adored so much crossed her lips.

“And I think the greatest risk that I’ve ever taken was falling for my best friend.” Temari melted when Shikamaru’s lips met hers.

Safe and warm she never wanted to be anywhere else. Shikamaru held her strong and steady against his chest. Noticing how perfectly she seemed to fit against him. He kissed her again and again. He hoped his actions said more than his words ever could as a hundred different emotions raced through him. Just friendship between them would never be enough, not after knowing how it felt to kiss her.

He knew that everything in life had its possibility of troubles. Sure this would inevitably change their relationship and it could lead to some dark places but he also knew that there was hope and possibilities. And that there were many things in life worth fighting for.

This was one of them.

Shikamaru held onto Temari, taking in the moment that had been years in the making. Unspoken promises were shared between them. They’d remain who they were. Their relationship would just be built on the strong foundation they’d made and it would become so much greater.

A sincere smile appeared on his face as he stared at her. He could easily see their life and future reflected in her eyes and it was one that he’d gladly work towards.

“So you and me?” She asked with a grin, hope, and excitement reflected in her vibrant eyes.

He smiled softly at her before kissing her gently. That sounded just fine to him.

“Forever.”

This story was super inspired by the song "double take" by dhruv. I've wanted to write something inspired by it for a while and I love the falling in love with your best friend trope.

Hope you're all doing well, staying healthy and safe. Love you my fawns. Till the next one!

#shikatema #shikatem #shikamaru x temari #shikamaru nara #temari #naruto fanfiction #naruto fanfic #fanfic #friends to lovers #sangriaslips #Sunflowerstalks #stories inspired by a song

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wheezyandchesterwrite · 3 years

Text

"Please don't leave me" ~ Peter Parker

Summary: When you are injured in battle Peter begs you to stay

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Speedster!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence, death, injuries, and blood. Just overall sad. (If we missed something that you feel should be tagged and/or mentioned let us now and we'll include it)

A/N: Hey, so as you can see we are not dead! :) (I don't know why I did that it hurt me too ok?) Since there was no post in March we are going to try our best to post two other one shots this month, but we'll see how that goes. Hope you all enjoy this and have a great morning/afternoon/night! -W&C :)

Also major thanks to @apotatoinabigfield and @too-attached-to-fiction for proofreading and beta-reading this!

*GIF IS NOT OURS* (We got it off of Google, but if anyone knows who the credits for it belong to let us know so we can rightfully tag them)

5 years ago:

“Something’s happening,” said the girl with the antennae, Mantis. At least, that’s what she had said her name was. Suddenly after, she turned to dust. She just disappeared. In shock, you got closer to Peter, looking for some kind of safety or comfort. Everyone was shocked; no one could understand what had just occurred before your very eyes. Before anyone could say something or even gather their thoughts, it happened again.

“Quill?” was the last thing Drax said before suffering the same fate as Mantis. We lost. That was the only explanation you could fathom. The Avengers had lost and Thanos won. You tightened your grip around Peter, fully embracing him now. You were all desperately trying to decipher who would be next, fearing it being yourselves or your loved ones, but it was pointless. Whatever was causing this came and left without a warning.

“Steady, Quill,” said Tony, but it was to no avail.

“Oh, man,” sighed the man who had introduced himself as Starlord, dusting away defeatedly. You looked up at Peter, who had wrapped his arms around you in a protective manner. He was scared, that much you could tell, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes, determined to conceal the unsettling fear of not being able to hold you for much longer. You tried to convince yourself it was done—that no one else would be taken—but it was pointless. Deep down, you knew this was far from over.

“Tony,” the man turned to look at Strange, “there was no other way.” Stephen Strange took a couple more breaths before dusting away like the others had. Although Strange had said he saw over sixty-three billion outcomes, you couldn’t see how this could be the one you won in. It definitely didn’t feel like it.

Suddenly, breathing became hard. You saw dust particles floating from your hand and the reality of what was going to happen hit you. “No,” you whispered anguishly.

“(Y/N)?” Peter brought your attention to him instead of the particles which declared your fate.

“Pete, I—” you started as you reached up to stroke his cheek, but before you could come in contact with his skin or finish your declaration, you faded away in his arms.

“I know,” the boy said softly as he watched the wind carry what was once his lover.

Tony was at loss for words. He felt like the universe was playing a sick, twisted prank on him. As Tony sulked, Peter felt it. He felt his spidey sense warn him that something was going to happen. He could feel his body struggle to keep him in one piece, to keep him together, to keep him alive. No matter how quickly his body fought, it was destined to lose. “Mr. Stark,” the boy called out to the man who was more than his mentor, the man who had become like a father to him.. “I don’t feel so good,” he painfully admitted. Peter started stumbling around, his legs struggling to keep him up.

“You’re alright,” defied Stark. More than an attempt to console the boy, Tony Stark was trying to reassure himself that the universe, as cruel as it had always been to him, wouldn't do this—that it would not take his boy away. But alas, the genius man was to be proven wrong.

“I— I don’t know what’s happening. I— I don’t understand,” countered the Spiderboy hurriedly. His feet gave out, and he would’ve fallen forward if it hadn’t been for Tony catching him and holding him up. More and more particles could be seen emerging from the boy, and in that moment, the only thing Tony could do was hold on to Peter for as long as he had left.

“I don’t wanna go,” Peter pleaded. “I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please.” His voice was cracking and his legs couldn’t support him any longer as more particles escaped him. Peter’s pleas wouldn’t cease much like the cracks in his voice every time he spoke. Tony lowered him to the ground not daring to say a word. Peter, with teary, bloodshot eyes, looked at the man and whispered an apology before finally letting his body dissipate.

Tony couldn’t speak; he couldn’t even think. “He did it,” said Nebula. Yet the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist didn’t respond. He just looked at his hand, which was covered in dirt—dirt that had once been Peter Parker. Tony let himself cry, allowing grief and shock to take over him. After all there was nothing else he could do.

***

Present day:

“Love you—wait, what happened?” You find yourself reaching up, but the person you had been trying to touch no longer stood in front of you. Your body was slowly regaining feeling, but your mind felt as numb as ever. You had so many thoughts running through your brain at such a speed that you couldn’t focus on any of them.

“I love you too, Speedy.” You heard a voice answer from behind you. You felt some of the anxiety subside once you put a name to the voice, which was easy since only one person in the entire world called you Speedy.

“Peter,” you exhaled in relief. Turning around in an instant, you ran into the arms you had chosen to call home. Peter embraced you tightly, not wanting to release the other in fear of permanently losing one another this time. You didn’t know how much time had passed from when you lost your consciousness, but that didn’t matter for Peter. Seeing the person he had deemed to be his soulmate dissipate in front him had been more than enough for him to feel like the amount of time that had passed between then and now had been an eternity. Suddenly, Strange spoke up, answering the question plaguing everyone’s minds.

“It’s been five years. Come on, they need us.” He stated commandingly. You all shared looks of dumbfoundment and bewilderment. Five years? How could that have been possible? The only one on the planet you stood on who looked at ease was Stephen, his calm demeanor never faltering. You looked up at Peter confused, but he simply shrugged, not wanting to believe such time had passed yet knowing better than to contradict Dr. Strange.

“Okay, everyone, this is it. Activate your badass stances!” exclaimed Quill.

“What did you say about my ass, Quill?” Drax started charging towards him, visibly offended. You raced to wedge yourself between the two men, struggling to keep them apart.

“Hey, no time for that. Look!” You called over their attention to the portal Strange was opening in front of you. Peter swung his way to the front, landing elegantly. After making sure Quill and Drax would not try to go at each other's throats, you swiftly made your way to the front and stood beside Peter.

Glancing around what was going to serve as your battlefield for today, you grimly recognized the location. What was once known as the Avenger’s Headquarters was now no more than a field of scattered debris. Clouds of dust littered the air, the remains of mass destruction visible wherever you looked. You gave yourself a chase to take in the sight of Thanos’ army, and as you did so, fear and worry tried to etch their way into your brain as you realized what you were facing. This was an enemy that had already defeated you once, and when you had fought him, he hadn't even had an army backing him up. Your determination and will to fight and live to tell the tale overpowered those negative feelings. The sight of the spaceship filled you with spitefulness instead of dread, and you knew in that moment that you would do whatever it took to win. The Avengers would not lose again; you were going to make sure of that, even if you had to lay down your life for it to become a reality.

“Is that everyone?” Strange asked Wong.

“What, you wanted more?” Wong yelled back in disbelief, and Strange shrugged nonchalantly in response.

As everyone settled into position, Cap’s voice was loudly heard, like thunder rumbling through the field, “AVENGERS.” This was the moment of truth—your last chance to save humanity. You could feel the seconds pass before Steve gave the signal, “Assemble.” And with that, everyone was off.

A beautiful and empowering mess of battle cries could be heard around you. You, on the other hand, were silent as you ran, calculating your every move. Using all the knowledge you’d gained over the years about hand-in-hand combat, you started to hastily assassinate those monsters. You would jump at one, taking them down, and godspeed to your next target, sending each one you came in contact with on a one way trip to meet their maker. Near you, Peter was also taking out some of the Chitauri, at times propelling you onto your next target or eliminating some of them when you got surrounded. After clearing out most of the aliens near you, Peter tapped you on the shoulder and pointed to Tony. Understanding his intentions, you nodded and made your way towards the infamous Iron Man.

As you slid into the crater where Tony lay, Peter landed from his swinging. Tony stared at the two of you in disbelief, doubting whether or not to believe you were actually there. When his expression softened, and tender affection spread across his factions, Peter began rambling, and you shook off some of the concrete dust from your suit. “Hey, holy cow! You will not believe what’s going on,” Peter exclaimed as he helped Tony stand up.

“No?” Tony asked sarcastically, but it only encouraged you.

“Do you remember when we were in space? And we got all dusty? I guess we must’ve passed out because when we woke up, you were gone.” You now stood beside Peter as you spoke, your hands increasing their pace as you rambled on, making them impossible to follow with the human eye.

“But Doctor Strange was there right? He was like ‘It’s been five years. Come on they need us,’” Peter said as he tried to make an impression of Strange, mimicking the way the man had moved his hands when opening the portals.

“Yeah, and then he started doing the yellow sparkly thing he does all the time.” You took over from Pete when he gave you the chance.

“He did? Oh, God!” Tony exclaimed with feigned incredulity. He started walking toward you and grabbed you both by the shoulder, pushing you into him.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, bewildered.

“Huh, what’s this?” You questioned, confused as Tony engulfed you both simultaneously. He held you tightly, and when the shock passed, you and Peter hugged the man back even tighter.

“Oh, this is nice.” Peter sighed, earning a light chuckle from Stark.

“Listen, kids, we don’t have a lot of time right now, but I’ll catch you up on the latest trends once we take this bitch down. Okay?” Tony assured as he released you, holding on to your forearm to look the both of you in the eyes as he spoke.

“Yes, sir.” Peter saluted.

“See you on the other side of the war.” You smirked, knowing Tony and Peter must have caught that reference. Tony shook his head as he took off, the ghost of a grin barely noticeable on his lips.

Peter nudged you. “Be careful, okay?” His eyes showed genuine concern.

“Alright, I solemnly swear—” Peter gave you a warning look. “Okay, fine. I’ll try my best to be as careful as possible in the middle of a battle.” You finished, your tone a weird mixture between sarcasm and affection.

“Good.” He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before taking off.

“Alright, Chitauri, give me your best shot.” You smirked at the unsuspecting figure that was currently fighting off T’challa. Having speed and regeneration to your advantage, you zig-zagged around Thanos’ army, ducking and killing as you went. You moved with precision, only stopping when you were sure to have a clear shot at the enemy you were targeting.

You went on that way until you weren’t able to dodge a body that dropped in front of you, making you trip over it. The collision made you roll down a mountain of debris, hitting your head dangerously hard several times, as well as getting a couple of cuts along the way from the exposed, sharp metal.

“That’s sure to give me a concussion,” you grunted to yourself. The throbbing of your head distracted you from the burn of the cuts that now littered your abdomen, some deeper than others. It wasn’t until you brought a hand to your head, that you noticed the crimson liquid that coated it. “Oh, shit,” you exhaled. The pain was starting to catch up to you as the adrenaline subsided. You tried to use your powers to find yourself a safe spot until you recovered, but your attempts were futile seeing as the pain coursing through your body rendered you immobile.

“Is that Peter falling?” The figure you saw was indeed Peter and the sharp spiderlegs of his suits were still out for blood. You managed to move just enough that you were barely graced, another gash prompting blood out of your system. Peter tumbled in the opposite direction, clutching what you assumed to be the gauntlet you were supposed to keep out of Thanos’ hands. The sudden movements to dodge Peter hadn’t come without consequences. You felt like your surroundings were spiralling around you, dizziness overtaking you as you started to cough up blood. You managed to stubbornly sit up and when you looked to your side, you saw Peter giving the gauntlet to a glowing woman.

“I don’t know how you’re gonna get it through all that,” you heard him admit to her out of breath.

“Don’t worry,” Wanda stepped in.

“She’s got help,” Okoye finished, her hands wrapped tightly around her spear. Soon the rest of the women joined and took off together. It was a powerful moment to witness and one you would’ve loved to be a part of, if it weren’t for your current situation. You closed your eyes in a somewhat successful effort to ease off the pain pulsating in your head.

“Man, those are some badass women,” Peter muttered as he sat down. “Wait—” He quickly looked around, but missed you completely. “Where’s my badass woman?” Peter frantically shuffled to his feet, hoping to see a flash of yellow zoom by, but no such luck. You tried to call out to him, wanting to let him know you were there, but your voice got caught in your throat, replaced by a cough that was followed by blood. The sound caught Peter’s attention, his gaze trying to find where it came from. His heart constricted in his chest when he finally caught sight of you and the state you were in.

In a flash, he was hovering over you, putting your own abilities to shame given the speed at which he got to you. Your eyes were still closed, as you relished the relief it gave you, but you were drifting off at this point and didn’t have the energy nor strength to open them again. That was until Peter started shaking you awake. “(Y/N)? Oh God, come on, please be okay.” You could hear the panic and desperation in his voice. Your eyes felt so heavy, it was almost impossible to open them, but you managed to do so, just enough to see Peter exhale in relief after seeing you respond.

Tucked away behind blood and dryness, you managed to find your voice and you raspily told him, “I’m okay, Peter. It’ll heal. Go help the others.” You took ragged breaths between each sentence, your lungs struggling to keep up. Peter could very much tell you weren’t okay and knew that with the amount of injuries you had suffered it was almost impossible for your regenerative abilities to save you.

“(Y/N), we both know that’s not happening; it’s too much. I mean, it might heal, but there are too many things to heal for you to survive waiting and—” He abruptly stopped his own rambling after he noticed you had closed your eyes again. “(Y/N)? (Y/N), please, stay with me.”

His voice was breaking and his eyes were starting to swell up with tears. It broke your heart to hear him like this. You fought to stay conscious, for his sake, but the blood loss and pain was becoming too great to bear and you felt yourself falling into a deep slumber once more.

Peter was getting desperate, tears freely flowing down his cheeks now. “Please, (Y/N/N), please don’t leave me.” He held your body close to his, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Sobs rocked his body as he kept begging for you to stay. His voice and your tear stained neck was the last thing you registered before you let go and fell into the dark abyss of unconsciousness.

***

“Everybody wants a happy ending, right? But it doesn’t always roll that way. Maybe this time, I’m hoping if you play this back, it’s in celebration. I hope families are reunited, I hope we get it back, and something like a normal version of the planet has been restored. If there was ever such a thing. God, what a world! Universe, now. If you told me ten years ago that we weren’t alone, let alone, you know, to this extent, I mean I wouldn’t have been surprised. But come on, you know? The epic forces of darkness and light that have come into play. And for better or for worse, that’s the reality Morgan’s gonna have to find a way to grow up in. So, I thought I’d probably better record a little greeting... In case of an untimely death on my part. I mean, not that death at any time isn’t untimely. This time travel thing that we’re gonna try and pull off tomorrow, it’s—it's got me scratching my head about the survivability of it all—that’s the thing. Then again, that’s the hero gig. Part of the journey is the end. What am I even trippin’ for? Everything’s gonna work out exactly the way it’s supposed to. I love you 3,000.”

Pepper walked out of the cabin she and Tony had called home, holding a wreath that in its middle held Tony’s first arc reactor. Everyone stood out in front of the lake, waiting as she gently placed it on the water. She took her place beside Peter, who was silently crying as he held your emotionally devastated self in his arms. Having passed out when you did had ultimately saved your life, your body using its remaining energy in healing you rather than keeping you awake, but that meant you missed the events that led up to your victory and were therefore unable to say a proper farewell to the man who served as your mentor for years.

Waking up to the news that the man who had taken better care of you and had looked out for you more than your own parents was dead didn’t settle in easily. It took a while before you were able to accept he was gone.

Peter had been there for you every step of the way, holding you during all the sleepless nights you had spent crying and shaking you awake when your dreams became plagued with nightmares from the battle. Guilt had made a home in your heart, the feeling never leaving as you thought of ways you could have avoided getting injured, ways you could have fought better, ways that could have resulted in being able to say goodbye to Tony Stark, the man who sacrificed himself for the universe.

Everyone stood silently as you all watched the wreath float out of sight, before turning to share your condolences with each other. You held on to Peter tightly, as if he too were to slip from your fingers at any moment. You stood there mindlessly listening in on the nostalgic conversations between the people who cared for Tony. Looking around at everyone gathered, it became clear that the arc reactor which was now floating off in the lake was not the only proof that Tony Stark had a heart. All his friends, colleagues, family and adopted students were walking proof that not only did Tony Stark have a heart, but that he had the biggest heart a human could possibly have.

Taglist: @steveisherdaddy @apotatoinabigfield @xlostinobsessionsx @izjustafaze @yourlocalwhitemanwhore

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vennilavee · 3 years

Text

salt & the sea

pairing: levi x reader (perp universe)

summary: kuchel has passed away, and levi makes a visit to the sea.

warnings: descriptions of death

word count: 1.4k

a/n: hello it has been 3 months good day all, missed u<33

Levi has always had bittersweet memories of the beach. He can remember many, many weekends in his childhood with his mother and with Kenny. He can vividly recall the feeling of comforting sea water and a salty, sea breeze fluttering in his hair.

But the sight of nebulous, grey storm clouds over the sea has always made him nervous. His mother always told them that there was nothing that compared to an angry sky and an upset sea.

Even as a child, he would cling to the skirt of his mother’s dress even if he saw a single storm cloud. But Kuchel always loved the sea, no matter the weather.

Sometimes, when Levi was safe inside with Kenny in the little cottage she had rented for a weekend getaway, she would stay outside on the beach. She would sway with the gentle breeze as if she could fall over with even the slightest push.

She has always loved the sea, the openness and the unknown. The thought of the sea sets Levi on edge- after all, the idea that the ocean was vastly unexplored was enough to set anyone on edge.

But not Kuchel. She loved everything about the sea.

Which is why she had asked that when she passes away, her ashes be scattered into the sea, at her favorite beach. Levi had stilled at the request, his entire body going rigid.

But here he is. Standing at the nearly empty beach with his mother’s ashes in an urn. It’s the middle of the summer, but this beach is tucked away from anyone who doesn’t know that it already exists.

He’s alone on this beach. Except for him and his dead mother’s ashes, he’s alone.

But then there’s you. You, who had held him in the early hours of the morning last week, when the doctors had called him to tell him that Kuchel had passed. After so many months and years of suffering, she was dead.

Some part of him feels relief that she is no longer in pain. No longer feeling the absurd weight of life sucking her dry.

But still. His mother is gone and his heart is torn into insignificant little pieces.

Levi had operated on autopilot the day he found out. To the point that it worried you. The only inclination he gave you that he was struggling was the way he squeezed your hand tightly as you drove to the hospital together. Or the way he would uncharacteristically lose focus.

He insists he’s fine, ignoring your soft, concerned questions to focus on the logistics that come with a loved one passing away. You wish he would stop for just ten minutes. He’s hurting, you know he is.

His steely eyes are still and stormy, and he hardly meets your gaze. Whether on purpose, or because if he meets your eyes, he’ll break apart thread by barren thread… you don’t know.

Levi has always had a level head. This time, you worry that he’s too collected. This is uncharted territory for you, too. You don’t want to push him before he’s ready.

You watch him with careful eyes as the sand beneath your bare toes softens. Levi stares out into the open, neverending sea. His eyes are narrowed, lips pursed into a thin line. You don’t know what he’s thinking.

It makes you nervous. You don’t know how to approach him, how to talk to him. But you think not saying anything at all is worse.

You wrap a steady arm around his bicep and squeeze lightly. “Levi,” you say gently, “It looks like it’s going to rain in a few hours. We should go inside.”

“I need to stay,” Levi says tonelessly, “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course, honey,” you murmur, squeezing his hand gently. He squeezes back. You stand with him in silence for a while, your thoughts straying to the funeral ceremony from only days ago-

Levi’s eyes were blank, his stare hollow. People came and went but he cannot recall who he spoke to. What was said.

All he can remember is his mother’s dead, gaunt face. She looked so peaceful. Like she was only asleep in the hospital bed that had become her home.

He wants her to wake up. He feels so tired.

Is he asleep? Is he awake?

Kenny is somber next to him, looking at the casket warily. He almost can’t bring himself to look at his sister, but he does. He has to.

The cremation is the worst part. Levi managed to hold himself together through it, mostly with his hand in yours.

His mother, his dead mother who was previously so warm and filled with life in the apples of her rosy cheeks, is now reduced to ashes. Levi holds onto the urn tightly.

What else is there to hold onto after all?

You. There’s you. He squeezes your hand, reminding himself that he’s not alone.

“Levi?” you ask quietly. The lines in his face are tense, eyes vulnerable and closed off at the same time.

He hums in acknowledgement, the gentle sea breeze rustling his hair. It’s familiar, the salty taste of the air melting on his tongue.

“What are you thinking?”

Silence rings heavy in the air for a moment, but it feels like much longer. His words struggle to scratch their way out from his throat, somehow still held inside in a tight knot of unspoken sadness.

“I used to hate it when it stormed here,” Levi muses, “Was always so fucking eerie. But… Ma loved it. For whatever reason.”

“Then let’s stay.”

Heavy winds whip through Levi’s hair (you think he needs a haircut, the ends are getting long these days) as it starts to rain. It’s a cold type of rain, the type of rain that you know you both will end up sick from.

A soft headache is already forming in the forefront of your skull, but you stick it out. For Levi.

Who hasn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

The urn containing Kuchel’s ashes sits half buried in the sand, as if Levi doesn’t know what to do with it.

And then somehow, the sky splits open once more with the crack of lightning and rain pours down you.

The glossy sheen of wetness in Levi’s eyes doesn’t surprise you.

Levi doesn’t say more than ten words to you as the onslaught of rain and wind only increases in the next few minutes. You shiver next to him and notice that the apples of his cheeks are reddened from the cold.

You sneeze. He looks at you, as if being ripped out of his trance.

“I’m ready,” he says softly, rubbing your thumb with a featherlight touch.

“Okay,” you nod.

He takes a hesitant step forward, the rain whipping in his face. He tries, he really does. He tries to loosen the lid of the urn off to drop the ashes of his mother into the cold, unforgiving sea.

But he can’t.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, “Let’s go inside. We’ll get sick if we stay out here any longer.”

“I have to do it now. She loved the sea, even when it was shitty like this,” Levi says forlornly.

“If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready. It doesn’t have to be today,” you say over the noise of the wind, “It can be tomorrow. Next week. In eight months. When you’re ready.”

Levi stares at you long and hard for a moment, only pulled away when the sharp crack of thunder startles you. He cradles your wet cheek and takes your hand, leading you into the small cottage.

Once you’re both warm and dry, wrapped in blankets and comfortable clothes, you stand by the window to watch the rain fall against the sea. It’s chaos all concentrated in one place, and you’re mesmerized by it.

You feel Levi’s presence behind you before you see him.

“Ma loved watching all of this,” Levi murmurs into your ear, pulling you into his arms.

“I can see why,” you reply, rubbing his hand, “It’s pretty to watch. When you’re not wet and cold, I mean.”

Levi exhales a laugh into your skin. He holds you close without saying a word, only wanting to feel the softness of your hips and the warmth of your skin against his.

He tilts your jaw towards him to drop a desperate kiss to your lips. He wonders if you know that your presence is a bright light in his life. While he’s always had a level head and had his feet on the ground, you bring comfort along with your light.

He never wants to see you dim yourself.

Levi doesn’t realize that tears are slipping out of his eyes and onto your cheeks until you thumb them away, pulling him in for a long, long hug with only the surrounding storm to keep you both company as evening turns into night.

tags: @simpingmaize @kentobean @captainchrisstan @alrightberries @celestidarling @regalillegal @castellandiangelo @bakuhoesworld

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman

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nerevar-quote-and-star · 3 years

Text

Elmirien's Fic Library✨

Into the Skyrimverse

Series on ao3!

But I Have Promises to Keep (And Miles to Go Before I Sleep)

After the long dark of Miscarcand, the Hero of Kvatch is unnerved and exhausted. But even a respite is clouded by shadows from the past when she stops in Chorrol for the night. Her heart pulls her in two directions, one led by duty, another by compassion. Can they somehow coexist? Or must she abandon old friends to their fate?

At least the apple cider is good.

Bittersweet

Illuminated by what thin streams of moonlight cut through the pine boughs, her ginger hair was spread out in a halo of dead embers intertwined with fallen pine needles. Cold and still like the remains of a burnt out fire. Not even the night wind reached down into the bluff to stir her curls. She was a statue of bone.

Or, Farkas doesn't know what to do when he finds his wife.

Chasing Tails, or Why is the Circle Like This?

"What're you doing?"

"Um, better question: why do your parents' have a closet full of pet care products?"

Warmer in the Winter

Part of her wished they could spend the whole winter like this: bundled up with bowls of hot soup and cracking fires to warm the parts of them that weren't cuddled next to another person.

Bella doesn't handle the cold well.

Long Fic:

I Didn't Know Know You Were Keeping Count

Series on ao3

“Did you miss me?” “Bishop,” she whispered as a storm of turmoil thundered through her veins. He smirked at her. She felt her brain grind to a halt. As the ranger enfolded a statuesque Leara in his arms, she felt unattached from her body. She couldn’t feel her hands or her feet. If Bishop hadn’t been holding her, Leara knew she would’ve crumpled like paper. And when, the next moment, Bishop kissed her, one arm locked around her waist and the other hand tangled in her matted red hair, Leara didn’t fight him. No, she kissed him back. Leara Ormand, the Last Dragonborn, is trying to fulfill her destiny and stop Alduin while battling with her own feelings of self-doubt and anxiety. In walks Bishop, the ranger from the Skyrim Romance Mod, whose obsessioninfatuation only serves to make Leara worse. Along the way, she reencounters Ulfric Stormcloak, who she knew during the Great War — she prays he doesn’t remember her. Add in the Thalmor hunting her and Leara’s got a full plate. Naturally, there’s always a way to make it worse!

The Leara Crackship Collection, or "Why does everyone want in the Dragonborn's pants?"

Series on ao3

The Last Dragonborn is just trying to do her job. Sometimes, she succeeds. Other times . . . well, that can be blamed on whichever crack ship she finds herself trying to rationalize. "Take a look into many different timelines where events either go very right for RoseCloak or very wrong." – @elder-dragon-reposes "From Thalmor extremists to Talos worshippers, from werewolves to vampires, the only thing they all have in common is that they all love the Dragonborn, whether she knows it or not. Everybody loves Leara." – @shivering-isles-cryptid "Leara is the little black dress that everyone needs, but few deserve." – @thelurkershideout “From Markarth to Solitude, to the cistern, or even the dark sanctuary below, there’s no soul in this world (or others, for that matter) that doesn’t want a piece of Leara’s pie!” – @singleteapot A collection of one-shots featuring the Last Dragonborn and the various people to whom she's a little too nice and the consequences.

Crossovers

Under Foreign Stars (BG3 crossover) (ao3)

Ilmarien always knew her mother was odd. Where did Mama come from? Why didn't she know the things other people's mothers knew? Asking questions doesn't always get her answers, but that never stops Ilmarien from asking. But Ilmarien may learn more than she ever expected—or wanted to know—about her mother when she ends up in a land of snow and war. She knows nothing about Skyrim, and yet everywhere she goes, people seem to know about her mother.

What is the Last Dragonborn, and why do people keep calling her mother that? So many questions and not enough time—especially when it seems that even if she makes it home, time itself will stand in her way. How can Ilmarien reckon that in the six months since the Last Dragonborn vanished from Skyrim, Leara Ancunin has spent nearly fifty years being her mother?

In which the LDB and Astarion's daughter has a mishap and ends up in Skyrim. And she thought going away to university was scary.

Other

A Dance of Fire and Darkness (ao3)

Darkness dwells within even the most honorable of people. Whether it is a cold thing, shown through words and looks or a burning fire that dominates every action, darkness can find a place in many - from a king at war, to a peasant fallen on hard times; from a man who has everything but nothing, to the woman who has never belonged but has many homes...darkness dances amongst everyone. Or, Artanis isn't doing too hot and it shows. It really shows. Except when it doesn't.

It Started on a Fredas

A day at the College of Winterhold with Jolinar Aren results in flying toast, visits from dragons, and shenanigans. All because the Arch Mage slept in.

"ONMUND!"

Yep, just another day.

Jolinar Telvanni and the God of Mischief

A short crossover series between Skyrim and the MCU

When Jolinar Telvanni meets the God of Mischief, it sparks what could be the strangest friendship ever between Nirn and the Nine Realms.

Or, Loki meets a dark elf who is weirdly like him, but isn't, and he's not sure he likes it.

Ordering Madness

Dragons are immortal. Dragonborn, however . . . are not. One day Leara Rose-blade will die and pass into legend, as all heroes must, but what will become of her then? Taken from one afterlife to another, Leara Ormand faces eternity in the Shivering Isles with her uncle, Oromis, who also happens to be Sheogorath, and her mom, a woman who doesn't even know her. One-Shot. Originally posted on FanFiction.Net 12/14/2016

The Rosecloak Collection (ao3)

A series of 30 romance drabbles.

In which the Dragonborn and Ulfric Stormcloak are in love, usually. She at least attempts to Shout him apart once. There may also be crossdressing. Because reasons. Lydia invents ice cream. Odahviing's there somewhere, too.

Rosewing (Last Dragonborn/Odahviing)

Series on ao3

Consort

The day the Dragonborn returned was meant to be joyous, so why was Ulfric Stormcloak's world spiraling out of control?

Lakeshore

Odahviing finds the Dragonborn relaxing by a lake. Things progress from there.

Protector

The Dragonborn is worn thin, but Odahviing will protect her.

Stay

The Dragonborn tells Odahviing why she needs to return to Windhelm, but Odahviing doesn't want her to go. And, perhaps, she doesn't want to go either.

The Fallen

He finds her too late.

#master post #tes fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #the elder scrolls #the elder scrolls iii: morrowind #the elder scrolls iv: oblivion #the elder scrolls v: skyrim #Morrowind #Oblivion #Skyrim #tes #not a quote #fanfic #fanfiction

38 notes · View notes

mayrubyy · 3 years

Text

Clouded III

➻ Pairing- Chanyeol x Reader ➻ Genre - Angst + Fwb!

➻ Word Count - 3.7k

➻ Rating - (M) Warning! this contains strong language, fwb, sexual and angst themes that are intended for mature audiences. Please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with the said themes and if you’re under 18!

A/N - hey guys, so.. it is time to say goodbye and i was always full of hope and love for this series. sadly, it won’t see the light of day like i hoped for but in all it’s unfinished, glory, i present to you ~ Chapter III of Clouded.

This is my last post. So, farewell.

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. ･｡ × fragments=͟͟͞͞evanescent-lucid͟͟-transcending × ｡･ .

Wayfaring aimlessly, you were drenched from head to toe and your senses were heavily distorted. The icy pellets of rain were unrelenting, not gentle in the slightest as they slapped against your skin. Streaks of lightning pierced through the forlorn sky in iridescent veins of electric and purple.The wind kept howling around you, the violent rainstorm having no mercy as it obscured your vision. Cars were zooming by at full speed, splashing puddles on to the pavement in their wake and when thunder roared above you, it sparked some kind of urgency in you as if the universe was telling you to take that one step forward, one step closer to starting a new chapter of your life– only you couldn't fathom that by doing so you were inviting trouble.

All you could think of was Chanyeol and you found yourself knocking at his door, in the dead of the night.

Moreover, being completely soaked to the bone and nearly shivering to death wasn't fun. A mild wave of panic coursed through your body when you realized he wasn't answering the door. You rang the bell a few more times, begging, hoping and praying he was home.

But, it was all drearily for nothing.

Just when you were about to give up, you heard him shuffle. His footsteps thundered across the hallway and with a hasty turn of the knob, the door was ineptly flung open. The light fixtures in the foyer did little to illuminate his features, flickering about as they swathed his tall form in subtle hues of orange and gold. Chanyeol stood before you like a tower, silhouetting the buttery glow of his apartment and for a fleeting second, you couldn't decipher anything. Your mind was swirling in a heart stopping haze, his cologne dominating your senses as you stood there, wavering under his gaze. He rubbed his own bleary eyes, looking dazed and spaced out in the soft light, hair a complete mess, perhaps from wearing headphones. His breathing was erratic, chest tight against his shirt as it rose and fell, elucidating he had dashed all the way to get the door. To get to you.

"Y/N?" He faltered, gaping at you with furrowed brows. "Wh-what are you doing here?" He asked you, dipping slightly to look at the expensive watch that adorned his wrist. "It's like one in the morning," ruffling the crimson locks away from his face, he tilted his head to the side like a lost pup and an awkward wave of silence crept between you two. The frigid air was stinging and your damp shirt was unpleasantly clinging to your body, the dewiness itching and nibbling away at your skin. Quivering in your bones, you wrapped your soaked arms around yourself and stuttered through chattering teeth.

"Ch-Chanyeol… I'm c-cold."

"Fuck– my bad." He shuffled from one feet to the other before cautiously leaning towards you. "Here, let me–," then carefully draping his arm over your shoulder, he lead you inside, the warmth of his body effectively engulfing you as he did. The minute you set foot in his apartment, you were taken aback by how huge and spacious it was. And oddly enough, it was welcoming and cozy– just like him.

It wasn't an ordinary apartment at all. It was rather luxurious for an undergrad and you could say you were mildly shook. You caught a whiff of coffee coming from his kitchen and some beats blaring through the headphones that sat tacitly on the counter. He was after all, much to your relief at home and completely immersed in music. That's why he couldn't hear you ring the bell or knock the door. He clumsily hooked his leg around the scaffold of the stool and dragged it closer to the island. Gently squeezing your shoulder, he ushered you to sit and after you quietly perched yourself down on the stool you looked up at him. His gorgeous pair of eyes sparkled as they met yours and deep in your heart, you felt relieved for having someone like him to rely on. A shoulder you could lean and cry on.

"You, alright?" he asked you, concern swirling in his dark orbs. You kept your head low and nodded while he paced towards the coffee-maker and quickly grabbed a mug from the cupboard. He poured the hot liquid into it and scampered back to you. "You might want to have some. It'll help you warm up." He mumbled, voice deep and soothing to your ears. His fingers brushed softly against yours as you took the mug from him. "You probably need a warm bath too. I'll be right back." And with that he hurried away again, disappearing into the bedroom this time. He seemed anxious and quite restless like he didn't want to linger around you.

You began to fret you were bothering him for turning up unannounced and so out of the blue like this. For a good moment you were contemplating whether to leave again. The door was right there, maybe you should...but your limbs had failed you. Your joints were beginning to ache and there was a sharp pain seeping through your nerves from the cold. Feeling defeated and worn out, you winced as you brought the rim of the mug to your lips and sipped quietly. The warmth from the coffee slowly began spreading down your throat and into your empty belly.

Your eyes flickered around the apartment as you placed the mug back down on the counter. A huge shelf made of glass had intrigued you. It was filled with action figures, a collection of sorts, of Chanyeol's favorite manga and anime characters. There was a record player sitting by the same shelf which had a robust and vintage feel to it. And, a glass door beside it leading further into something that looked like a mini studio, with guitars racked neatly in a corner and some dreamcatchers celestially hooked to the wall above them. The other end was adorned with the One Piece flag hanging on the wall which confirmed his addiction to all things Japanese. It was adorable. You squinted through the glass door again and found a desktop– an iMac sitting right in between the space with acoustic diffusers surrounding it. You could tell Chanyeol was very passionate about music. You had once heard him play the guitar at a local club on a weekend but you didn't know he had a whole studio in his exquisite apartment like this.

Your bestfriend Kyungsoo had told you that Chanyeol was from an affluent family. He was in the Basketball team along with your boyfriend Taehyung. Highly competitive and charming to a fault, musically talented and really tall, kinda clumsy with a goofy grin and big fluffy ears– that was all you really knew about him.

It was at a party after a match that Baekhyun had introduced you to each other. And, all you could vaguely remember was playing beer pong and getting drunk out of your mind. Taehyung had abandoned you in the middle of the party and the next day, you found yourself waking up on top of Chanyeol. It sure as hell was fucking awkward, you recall. Although, he had chuckled nonchalantly and assured you that you were just woozy and beyond sloshed. That you held him tightly and wouldn't let him go till you were out cold and passed out on the couch. Chanyeol went as far as calling you cute that day and you felt your face go embarrassingly crimson and returned him with a sharp punch to his gut, making him groan frantically. He did put up a dramatic show that day because he loved attention and took much pride in teasing you.

Quickly enough, your little encounters with him followed. You ran into each other at the games a lot. More mini trips to 7-Eleven at the campus, talking about music and other things that amused you and you came to realize that you both had a lot in common. You were beginning to grow fond of his company everytime Taehyung left you hanging. And whenever you'd get anxious you'd end up texting Chanyeol asking if Tae was at the game.

Chanyeol would facetime you and tell you that guys like to go into their little caves from time to time. That it wasn't anything you should be worrying about. Although, to your shocking revelation, it was far from an ordinary man cave. Your world turned upside down after Chanyeol ran into your boyfriend making out with one of the cheerleaders in the locker room.

He kept it from you for two weeks before fidgeting and stuttering, then finally spilled everything out and suggested you moved on from Taehyung. That it was for the best. At first you thought it was some kind of a pathetic joke but turns out, it wasn't.

You'd never felt so broken and so ditched. You felt ridiculed and helpless. Taehyung never really cared to bring the matter up. And when you asked him if he was seeing anyone, he simply told you not to be ridiculous, persuading you to drop it with all things romantic and velvety later on. You were starting to feel sick of his behavior. Of course it was you who was being delusional and not him shoving his tongue down someone else's throat. It must have been so easy for him, right?

As the weeks flew by, your mind hopelessly drifted back to how your boyfriend would rather spend the weekend with some chic who'd had sugar, spice and everything nice and honestly, it wasn't fun or healthy for you to fret over him anymore. It made you dizzy, made you want to throw up. He was cold blood lying through his teeth. He was cheating on you and you'd had just about enough.

Barely hours ago, you'd stormed out of Taehyung's apartment after having a nerve wracking argument with him. Completely blinded by rage you wandered forcefully in the streets until it had started raining violently. And then it dreadfully occurred to you that you had absolutely nowhere to go. Kyungsoo wasn't in town and the last person to cross your mind was Chanyeol. His apartment was around the corner and of all the people, you never really fathomed you'd end up knocking at his door all doused and a drenched mess like this but here you were.

You balled your fists and sniffled quietly, trying to stop the tears that were welling at the corner of your weary eyes. Chanyeol was still nowhere in sight while the beats continued blaring from his headphones from the other end. You wiped a lone tear that had trickled down your right cheek and returned your attention to the white foam swirling delicately in your mug, trails of steam dancing above it.

"Y/N?"

You heard Chanyeol's voice echo from within the room. You quickly placed your elbows on the counter and ducked your head to conceal your tears away from him.

"The bath is ready. You'll find the clothes on the dresser. And, I– uhm, I have some bath bombs. If you wanna use them. Go ahead." Chanyeol reappeared scratching the back of his head, his lips had curved into a daffy smile.

"You have a...g-girlfriend?" It wasn't that you were curious but you knew you shouldn't have blurted that out so mindlessly. It was obvious. It was so goddamn obvious. He's a young adult, a drop dead gorgeous one for fuck's sake. He plays basketball and guitars, has got a whole studio of his own and must have plenty of girls over. You couldn't have been more nuts to ask him that? You mentally shrug and cuss at yourself.

"What?" Chanyeol looked at you as if you were delirious. "Uhhh, no? I don't." He mumbled, a huge pout adorning his lips. "I'm not.. really.. in a good headspace for love." He crossed his arms and leaned against the door. "Also, love is fucking illusive, you know?"

Illusive? Is that even a word? You both eyed each other intently and the more you looked at him the more you were mystified by his words. You bit your lip quietly and urged him to continue, "tell me more."

"How about you get out of those clothes first." Chanyeol's voice was barely a whisper. He then furrowed his brows but his expression quickly morphed into an awkward one like he was ready to pull his hair out. "I mean, you must be cold –not that– I– fuck–.."

Another wave of awkward silence crept between you two and he began pulling at his hair frantically. "That sounded awful.." He stomped about cursing and letting a string of fucks slip out of his tongue again. He then collapsed to the floor and hid his face dramatically in his hands. You couldn't help but chuckle at his actions and wheezed loudly enough for him to peek from between his fingers to look back at you. He slowly loosened up and smiled quietly to himself. "I'm serious." He walked towards you and sat himself on the stool, "don't want you falling sick, babe."

Chanyeol looked at you adoringly, the apples of his cheeks were glistening, still blushing pink. "You done with that?" he pointed at the mug. You took one last sip and nodded, never taking your eyes off him. "I am." You pushed the mug towards him and his fingers found their way around the porcelain again, brushing softly against yours like they did the first time. You mouthed a soft 'thank you'. He darted his tongue out to wet his lips while you continued gazing back at him, mesmerized by his pink fluffy ears. A hearty smile fluttered on his lips as well as yours. He wrapped his long fingers snugly around yours and whispered back to you, fondness gleaming in his eyes.

"Don't worry about it, baby."

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The lump in your throat was gnawing its way slowly down to your chest as you helped yourself out of your damp clothes. Your head was starting to spin again when you finally caught a glimpse of your disheveled state in the mirror. You mocked yourself cynically and wondered why Chanyeol wasn't mortified, hadn't gasped and shut the door back in your face. You looked ghastly but he was being far too sweet with you. He was gentle as ever, taking your icy hands that had gone numb into his huge ones, rubbing them together to get them warm and whispering sweetly and huskily that it was alright, that you were safe in his hands now.

The more you looked at yourself the more you felt exasperated like you were wallowing away in wades of self pity. Your eyeliner was smudged around your dreary eyes as though someone had beaten the living crap out of you. And, being alone by yourself again only allowed the bitterness to creep back into your heart.

'Love is illusive' Chanyeol had accented and you couldn't help but dwell on the thought as you ensconced yourself into the steaming tub, allowing the lush scent of lavender to cloud your senses. The water soaked and engulfed you in a lukewarm trance, washing away the remnants of the rainstorm that had pierced your fragile skin not merely an hour ago.

"Love's like a game– a game you just can't win."

Chanyeol's words echoed in the back of your mind. He kept citing whilst showing you the way to the bathroom. He can't just be saying that to make you feel better would he? He looked pretty suave and confident saying he didn't have time for romance but then again with a charming aura like that he could get any girl at any shack. It would be his call. You had no hint or clue about his past flings although he'd grown to be so close to you. However, somewhere deep in the pits of your broken heart, you felt like you've known him for years even though you'd only started talking to him merely months ago.

As much as you wanted to drown your thoughts into the night in the tub, you couldn't keep him waiting. If it wasn't embarrassing enough he'd heard your stomach growl to which he had softly grazed your cheek with his thumb and asked you to hurry up, rasping away that he'd cook you something. You were in fact enthusiastic about wanting to give him credence for his witty nuances about love and join him back in the kitchen. If you were a damsel in distress– Chanyeol was your knight in shining armor. You chuckled at the thought and huffed away, blowing and lifting some of the delicate foamy bubbles that were settled on your knees.

Perhaps, it really was time to turn the page to a new chapter in your life. "Fuck you, Tae." You spat bitterly, soapy suds slithering down your dewy, glistening body as you rose to your feet, planting them firmly on the ceramic underneath. "Fuck everything." You crouched again and pulled the stopper out, watching what was left of the effervescent mixture of lavender whirl about and get sucked into the drain, taking along with it parts of you that you no longer wished to carry the burden of.

You felt like you deserve the chance to clear yourself of this mess and you were willing to explore what the universe had to offer you now. If it had so spurred you into risking hypothermia enough to end up at someone's door who could in fact be your saving grace. Someone who believes that love is all but a load of bullshit, then maybe Park Chanyeol might actually be the one for you. And, you could definitely rely on him to help you piece your broken heart together without having to worry about the perpetual matters of love. You wanted to step into the light, without having to look back again.

And you were glad you could seek the light past love and its hazy horizon for once.

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A hoard of concerns were lurking before you. With all your clothes soaked and dirty now, including your garments, you stood in front of the dresser, scratching your head in confusion.

Huffing away, you put Chanyeol's t-shirt on which had engulfed you completely, all the way down to your knees. The most frustrating part however, were the shorts he picked for you. They didn't sit at your hips at all and had drooped down your legs the minute you put them on, instantly piling at your feet. 'How the fuck am I supposed to secure this?' You fretted, shrugging as you picked them back up.

You tried again but failed miserably. It would be fucking awkward walking back into the kitchen, dressed only in his shirt. You had absolutely nothing on underneath. Fuck. It's not like you were going to touch him or anything. You can manage this and maybe he won't notice, right? It was your last resort and you quickly had to make your mind up. Out of nowhere you heard your stomach growl again. It was either do or die now. You had to decide. 'I'll keep my distance from him and he won't bat an eye' were the words you chanted to yourself before leaving the bedroom.

As you walked back into the living room, your ears were invited by the soft music playing from the record player, the one that was by the glass shelf. You stopped by the dining table facing Chanyeol's back who was busy in the kitchen. The aroma of pancakes whiffed through the air and the atmosphere was perfectly cozy. Although, you didn't dare move from the table and decided to keep yourself away and at a distance. Then Chanyeol turned around and his eyes flew wide open in surprise.

"What the fu– ...you startled me." He yelped, placing the pan back on the stove and clutching at his heart. "I thought I already had you stricken with horror when you first opened the door," you snorted, "I looked horrendous, didn't I?" Chanyeol simply shook his head in denial and retorted with a playful smirk. "You looked quite hot. I'm not gonna lie."

"Shut up, Chanyeol." You felt your face flushing an awful shade of pink at his remarks. "It's the truth, babe." He quipped, whirling about and chuckling away as he returned his attention towards cooking the pancakes again. "Come here, you need to eat!" he called out and your limbs immediately went limp.

"Um, can you place it on the counter for me?" you purred, requesting him in your humblest tone. "I'm..kinda.. in a fix here." Your voice wavered and when Chanyeol turned around to look at you again, he grinned sheepishly. "What's wrong?" he asked you as if he had no clue what you were going on about.

"It's an embarrassing...outfit situation." You cleared your throat and Chanyeol quickly mouthed an 'oh'. "It doesn't sound like much of a problem to me." He rasped, dripping maple syrup on pancakes. "Your belly needs some food and that's more important." He then brought the plate with the freshly made pancakes and placed it on the counter and ushered you warmly to join him at the island. His voice suddenly grew a little stern. "Come on now before it gets cold." His sudden strictness made you chuckle. He possibly can't get more adorable than this, can he?

"Fine." You faltered in your steps and met him at the island. Thankfully, the structure blocked a good amount of distance between you two. When you settled down on the stool, he handed you the fork and you started taking measly bites out of the plate. Chanyeol watched you intently, his arms were propped up against the counter, hands cupped around his face as he gaped at you in awe. "Stop looking at me like that. You're making me nervous." You mumbled in between bites. He gave you a squinty eyed grin before snatching the fork away from your hands and making you gasp.

"Geez baby, you're supposed to wolf it down." He cut through the pancake haphazardly and jabbed at a huge chunk, "like this." He then shoved the massive bite into your mouth and a muffled moan left your lips as you swallowed it down. "This will fill you up." He then glanced at your lips coated with the sweet syrup hazily and mumbled huskily in his deep voice. "God, I could fill you up."

Of course you were going to choke upon hearing what he had just said. You wheezed frantically and couldn't pluck enough courage to look him in the eye anymore. Your heart thundered in your chest as you squirmed and scooted anxiously away from him, a faint blush spreading over your cheeks. You could tell he was violently biting down on his bottom lip, shutting his own eyes close, as tightly as he could.

You both were awfully quiet again. Too embarrassed to take the conversation any further. But then Chanyeol interjects, breaking the awkwardness, "I didn't mean to…"

"D-don't.. worry about it," you bite on your own lip and jab at your pancake with your fork. He looks at you cryptically, "are you sure?"

You nod your head and lick your lips and when you do, something triggers Chanyeol and he quickly gets off his stool and much to your relief walks back to the stove with an excuse to make you more pancakes. You try to gobble the rest of the pancake as quickly as you can while trying your best not to dither about what had just happened. As soon as you're done, you pick your plate up and scamper towards the sink but Chanyeol blocks you. "Woah, hold up. You're not done eating until I say so." He looms over you and his voice is yet again, stern and you push him away and boy you wish you didn't.

The second your palm came in contact with his abs through the fabric you knew you fucked up. You could feel the ridges and he was so perfectly packed and built. The girls at uni, they were right. Park Chanyeol was irresistible and you were only inches away from him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N ~

this is it guys. it’s broken and full of errors lol. i lost the doc that had everything written beyond this. i had wiped my drive for work last year and other reasons. anyway, i’m happy you made it this far with me in this clouded journey. if you wish to find out what happens after, feel free to ping me i’ll sum it up for you, sweet & short, only if you really wish to find out how these two end up haha. but yeah. this is it. i haven’t got anything else to say. so yeah, stay safe and most importantly, be happy. love y’all. <3

Taglist ♡ @loeyprivvv @littleflowercrown13 @wifechungha @rashidamesrur @mindofthescattered @zessafg @always-wishing-for-rain @brazilianbasicbitch @kpopfessions-blog @baek-byunies @j-pping @godexosblog @hansolturnt @anyh0w @fire-poppyqueen @smolmel @nanasupremacy @chanyeolparkriswu✧ Note - If I have forgotten to tag anyone! I’m sorry, I lost the doc where I kept track of you guys so, this is all I got.

#chanyeol #chanyeol smut #chanyeol fic #chayeol angst #chayeol fanfic #chanyeol x reader #chayeol scenarios #chanyeol drabble #exo smut #clouded #chanyeol x you #chanyeol fanfiction #park chanyeol #college!au #angst #kpop angst #kpop smut #flkfkl;sfks i forgot how this trashsite works #gg guys. see you in the next dimension.

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krizaland · 3 years

Note

Yandere Zim X Male Reader? There isn't many out there, and I sort of had a song in mind if you would like to listen: Rory by Foxing.

You got it, friend!

Be warned: There are themes of unrequited love, wasps and a graphic depiction of wasp stings ahead!

Here's the song that was used btw

From the moment he met you, Zim found himself captivated by you.

From your gentle eyes to your kind soul, Zim found you utterly fascinating.

You were nothing like any of the other humans! You weren’t ugly, and you didn’t even stink!

You may have been friends with Dib but that didn’t stop you from sticking up for him whenever Dib tried to expose him!

At first, Zim decided to use you as a good source of information as well as a way to keep up appearances without drawing too much attention to himself.

However, the more time he spent with you, Zim started to feel…strange to say the least.

His PAK would spark around you and his squeedilyspooch felt like it was tied up in knots!

“Computer! What are these HORRIBLE feelings inside of me?! What has that Y/N-human done to Zim?!” Zim demanded as he pointed to the ceiling.

“WELL….UM…”

“C’mon spit it out already!”

“WELL IT SEEMS THAT YOU HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE…”

Zim’s jaw hit the ground.

“WHAT?! ME?! IN LOVE?! WITH A HUMAN?! IMPOSSIBLE! Preform a full body bioscan!”

Zim’s computer sighed as a few mechanical tentacles wrapped around Zim.

“SCANNING…SCANNING….”

After a few minutes, the tentacles retracted,

“BIOSCAN COMPLETE. NO ILLNESSES DETECTED.”

“N-No! No! This can’t be! No invader can even experience love! Especially not for the enemy! What am I going to do?! ARGH! Computer! Create an antidote for my love illness!” Zim commanded as he tugged on his antennas.

“UM THERE REALLY ISN’T A CURE…”

“LIES!! Surely there has to be some way to get rid of these HORRIBLE FEELINGS!” Zim wailed dramatically.

“WELL…THERE IS ONE WAY TO GET RID OF THEM..”

“What are you waiting for! Tell me! Tell me the solution!!” Zim demanded as his voice quivered a bit.

“THE ONLY WAY YO GET RID OF YOUR FEELINGS IS TO ASK Y/N OUT..” The computer lied

“WHAT?! YOU WANT ZIM TO DATE THE ENEMY?! ARE YOU INSANE?!”

“Nyeh!”

Zim’s tirade was interrupted by Minimoose.

“Stay out of this, Minimoose! This doesn’t concern you!”

“Nyeh!”

“Aww! It’s sweet that you care about your master but don’t worry, Zim will be fine!”

“Nyeh!”

“Eh?! Ask Y/N out on a date to keep up appearances?! Never! didn’t I already make it clear that was a bad idea?! There’s no way I’d possibly show that kind of weakness to the enemy. But what if…”

Zim hummed for a moment as he stroked his chin.

“I’ve got it! I’ll ask Y/N out on a date to keep up appearances! Yes…I’ll simply use these feelings as a way to appear more normal so I can continue my mission!”

Minimoose was a bit annoyed but happily encouraged his master

“Nyeh!”

“I think you’re cool too, Minimoose! Now then, how to woo Y/N…Maybe one of those love note thingys.” Zim muttered to himself as he begin typing away at his keyboard.

After a few minutes of typing, Zim cracked a wicked smile.

“Excellent! With this loove note there’s no way Y/N could possibly resist my proposal!”

Zim burst into maniacal laughter as he printed the note.

“Now all thats left to do is deliver it!”

“OOOH!! OHHH!!! CAN I BRING THE NOTE TO RACECAR?!!” GIR squealed as he reached for the note.

“No GIR! I’m not going to risk this note getting damaged because of you!” Zim snapped as he snatched away the note.

GIR did like that answer.

He let out a loud shriek and threw himself to the ground.

He begun to kick and cry as loud as his voice chip would let him.

“ENOUGH! You may deliver the note to Y/N!” Zim grumbled as he held out the note.

“YAY!!!!!!!”

And with that, GIR grabbed the note with his mouth and flew off with it.

“Ugh, I better make sure GIR doesn’t ruin all of my hard work.” Zim huffed as he threw on his disguise and followed after GIR.

It wasn’t long before GIR managed to find you.

You were sitting on a bench in the park next to Dib, who seemed nervous about something.

“Dib? Are you ok? You’re acting kinda…twitchy”

“Twitchy? I’m not twitchy! Heh! It’s just um…the air! Yeah the air is really cold today!” Dib lied as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Dib it’s almost June. It’s like 88 degrees out here. What’s really going on?” You pressed as you gave Dib a sympathetic look.

Dib looked down at his feet and took in a deep breath.

“Ok, I’ll tell you but you have to promise you won’t be grossed out by me.”

“Dib, you’re my best friend! Not even hunting the most disgusting cryptid can make me grossed out by you!” You reassured with a chuckle.

Dib took in another deep breath as he turned to face you

“Y/N, I know we’ve been friends for like a really long time now and….well….”

“Well what?”

Dib swallowed thickly as he tugged at his shirt collar

“I think I might want to be more than friends!”

Dib’s words flew out a mile a minute before he clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Wait?! Are you serious?!” Your eyes lit up a bit.

“Gah! I knew this was a bad idea! Just forget I said anything!” Dib whimpered as he buried his face in his hands.

“No no! I’m actually really happy you told me that, Dib! Because…I want to be more than friends too!” You reassured as you put a hand on his shoulder.

Dib looked up at you and blinked in shock.

“Wait? Really?”

“Yes really! I’ve actually been wanting to ask you out for a while but I wasn’t sure if you felt the same.” You admitted sheepishly as you rubbed the back of your head.

“What?! You had feelings for me this whole time?! And you didn’t even- You know what? Who cares? All that matters is that we both feel the same about each other! Right?” Dib still seemed a bit skeptical.

“Exactly! That’s the spirit!” You cheered as you threw your arms in the air, smacking poor GIR out of the sky.

THUMP!

SPLOOSH!

GIR fell face first into a puddle, soaking Zim’s love note.

However it wouldn’t have mattered whether or not the love note was in tact. For Zim had witness the entire exchange between you and Dib and was devastated.

He let out a pained chuckle as he grabbed the soggy note from GIR’s mouth.

Zim was about to confront Dib when-

BONK!

THUMP!

Zim had walked right into s tree, causing a wasp nest to fall right on his head.

Zim let out a blood curdling scream as the wasps begun to attack him from all directions!

Soon he began to run amok, with more wasps trailing behind him!

It wasn’t long before Zim managed to make it back to his base.

Two robotic arms came down from the ceiling,

POP!

They pulled the wasp nest off of Zim’s head and chucked it out into the front yard.

Zim let out a pained groan as his grotesquely swollen face throbbed with wasp venom and glowing green pus.

The robotic arms carefully peeled off Zim’s disguise and another arm carried him down to his lab.

After a refreshing chemical shower, Zim’s face had returned to normal!

However, while his face had healed, his feelings were still in shambles.

He picked up the note and went back up to the kitchen.

Zim sunk to his knees as he shakily held the soggy note in his hands.

“I wrote you a letter, asked my robot to send it but it took to the sea before you could’ve read it…”

Zim’s grip tightened on the note as a few tears trickled down his cheeks.

“Retreated to snow capped waters of the unknown. Extracted my soul straight from my body! but glowing and red…And I swear that sweat would envelop your arms if you broke down and held it!”

“I swear I’m a good man-“ -Zim took in a heavy breath- “-I swear I’m a good man…”

Zim sniffled a bit,

“So why don’t you love me back?”

He looked down at the note in his hands.

“So why don’t you love me back?”

Zim let out a deep growl as he chucked the soggy note into the window.

“Instead of twisting up words you just say there in silence! In wind burnt homes sighing rays from a sunset!”

Zim rose to his feet and stormed towards the window.

As he peeled the soggy note off the window, he couldn’t help but notice that the wasp nest was still in the front yard.

“And all I could hear was the sound of the wasp nest, my head made a home for the hum of the insects!”

Zim took another glance down at the soggy note he had peeled off the window.

“But my hands shake and shudder at the mention of half written reasons we’ll only be friends!”

Zim’s fist curled around the note and punched the window.

“I swear I’m a good man…. I swear I’m a good man…”

Zim squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sob

“So why don’t you love me back?”

His hand slid down the window.

“So why don’t you love me back?!”

Zim threw the soggy note to the ground and stomped on it

“So why don’t you love me back?!”

He threw his head to the ceiling and shrieked

“So why don’t you love me back?!”

He clutched the sides of his head and wailed his plea once again,

“So why don’t you love me back?!”

Zim melted back down to his knees.

“So why don’t you love me back….”

A louder sob racked his body as Zim felt his world crash down around him.

How humiliating.

He was Irk’s finest invader! How could he be so wounded by one pitiful human?!

No, pitiful wasn’t the right word to describe you. In truth, Zim felt that handsome was a better fit.

Despite how devastated he was, Zim still couldn’t stop wanting you.

The need for your love sparked a fire deep within him.

The fire burned violently throughout Zim’s body! Pulling him out of his depression and making him more confident than ever!

Zim wanted you for some much more than appearances!

He wanted you to be his and his alone!

By taking you away from him, Dib had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Zim let out a thunderous maniacal laugh as he raised his hands to the ceiling!

He put his disguise back on, grabbed a blaster, and hopped into his Voot.

“Prepare yourself, foolish Dib-monkey! I am coming to reclaim what’s rightfully mine! You shall rue the day you took Y/N away from Zim!”

#invader zim #invader zim x male!reader #invader zim x reader #dib x reader

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soyforramen · 3 years

Note

If I'm not too late, for the writing prompts: 9 and/or 47, dealer's choice

· “Just tell why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

· You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you

Angst below, in an AU timeline...ish

It felt like a fire had lit up her lungs, the smoke crawling up her throat and choking her until her breath rasped out into the cold night air. Behind her, Jughead stumbled, his breathing coming like tidal waves. Betty spared a quick glance at him as she yanked at his arm and pointed to the ridge beyond.

“Just over there,” she lied.

It was becoming easier and easier to lie to him.

On their way up the ridge her feet slipped in the muddy wet leaves. Her knees hit the ground and her teeth rattled hard enough to see stars. Jughead slipped an arm around her waist and dragged her up the rest of the hill, his breath erratic.

It was another ten minutes until they finally reached Archie’s car, the only one in the Sweetwater parking lot. Not many people went hiking at 4 a.m., let alone to go chase down a kidnapped ex.

Thunder rolled above them, the vibrations lingering deep in her bones, and they leaned around the car. Jughead’s hand were on his knees, his breath gasping and desperate. His wiped at the water trickling down his face and coughed hard. Betty kneeled on the ground, hands grasping at the loose asphalt as she forced herself to focus on counting rather than what she’d encountered tonight.

“What the hell was that for?” Jughead wheezed.

Betty shook her head, still unable to talk through her sore throat. She let out a slow breath – 1, 2, 3, 4 – and breathed in again.

“Why’d you try and save me?” he yelled over the thunder. A crack of lightening illuminated them and she was startled by the intensity in his eyes.

“Did you want me to leave you back in there?” she shot back. Stars colored her eyes as she tried to stand, and she listed to one side, grasping for the car to keep her balance.

Jughead snarled and paced towards the far end of the parking lot, ignoring the pouring rain around them. From his limp, Betty assumed he had a Charlie Horse. Betty wanted to chide him about not taking care of his body, about his inability to treat it as something better than a dumpster for all his repressed feelings. It wasn’t her place, though. Not anymore.

Besides, it seemed cruel to point out, especially after he’d been on the verge of being tortured –

“I don’t need your help,” he said when he returned, his words still punctured by small gasps. “I had everything covered.”

She snorted and stood up to face him. A chill ran through her as the wind picked up, but she diverted the movement into massaging at her damaged wrist. Jughead, still as perceptive as ever, didn’t miss her wince. He reached towards her, his eyes fixed on her wrist. Realizing what he was about to do, he stopped short and bent over to retie his shoe.

Even from this angle Betty could see how thin he was.

“I’m sure you did,” she said. Even as the adrenaline seeped out of her body she still couldn’t keep the acid from her voice. “That great, big escape plan of yours was going swell, though I’m curious as to what you were planning after you got chained up in the basement and held to the wall with duct tape. Or did I miss something when I broke in?”

Half her words were covered up by an angry burst of thunder. Perhaps it was for the best; they’d both been through a lot. Or, perhaps it would have been better to put it all out there, fight out their anger until there was nothing left remaining.

Jughead’s lip curled, and Betty knew he’d caught enough.

Betty narrowed her eyes. Despite everything, she still didn’t know whether to trust him. There had been too much time between them, too much space and anger and - Not to mention his aliens and her serial killer.

“You can’t drive stick with a broken wrist.”

“It’s not broken,” she said petulantly, her lip pursed like Juniper’s when she didn’t get the last cookie.

Knowing that he was right, she dug into her coat pocket, angry with Jughead and herself. Another gust of wind blew through their wet cloths, and they huddled into the cab of the truck. As the engine turned over, Jughead scrubbed at the window with his damp shirtsleeves, trying to break through the fog that had followed them. The water streaked across, unable to change, and he gave up on the idea. With a grunt, he shifted into drive and turned towards town.

“Stupid,” he muttered, and Betty side-eyed him.

Her first instinct was that he was talking about her, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping. After everything she’d done tonight, and he still couldn’t think anyone could care for him. Betty stared out of the window, her fingers pushing and prodding against the delicate skin on her wrist, revealing in the sharp jolts of pain and irritation. Eventually the pain cleared through her fog of anger and she realized he was likely talking to himself.

“Just –“

Jughead stopped, cursing under his breath. They came to a blind curve, halfway under water, and he shifted to first gear. As they crept along Betty’s eyes began to shut. She could feel her muscles relaxing as the adrenaline wore off, and the only thing that kept her awake was the potholes in the road. In the flashes of lightening above them, she could see Jughead’s jaw clenching as he worked to keep something in check.

Fine, she thought idly as darkness consumed her. Let him be mad. It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t want to be near her.

She was startled awake when the engine stopped. In front of them was the Andrews’ home, normally bright and cheery, but in this light it was eerily still in the pouring rain.

“He’s not home tonight,” Jughead said flatly. “You can stay in his room. Unless you want to go home.”

Betty shook her head, trying not to let her fear overtake her. The house was empty and would be for the next week. They still hadn’t heard anything about Polly, and Alice had taken the twins upstate to try and get their mind off of it. After tonight (any night, every night, ever since – she cut off that particular voice, struggling to keep that terrible week out of her head), the last thing she wanted to do was to be alone.

The thought sent a shudder through her and she wrapped her arms around herself to try and keep the chill from sprinting down her back.

Jughead nodded, still staring straight ahead. He’d pulled the keys from the ignition and was now jangling them in his hand. He opened the car door and stepped out into the rain, not seeming to care whether Betty followed him or not. She scrambled out of the car, towards the front door and slipped in after him.

She held her breath, waiting in the long stretch of dark, for the lights to turn on. When they did, it was nothing more than Archie’s living room, still messy and smelling slightly of old clothing and pizza.

Jughead stalked towards the kitchen, his face set in an emotion she couldn’t discern anymore. A gut feeling told her it was because she was a stranger here, one who was encroaching not only on his ‘investigation’ but also on his personal space.

“I’ll make coffee,” Jughead said gruffly. “Take a shower or you’ll catch a cold.”

The way he’d said it, matter-of-factly and without any emotion behind it, contrasted so sharply with the fact that he’d remembered. He remembered, and wanted to let her know he’d remembered that she was prone to get colds when it rained. These little things twisted the knife deeper into her back and she tried not to think about her last foray into this home.

“Thanks,” Betty said softly.

She barely glanced at the mirror when she stepped into the bathroom. A thick cover of mud coated her lower half, while leaves had taken up residence in her hair. Her wrist, still throbbing and sore, was a swollen bright red. As bad as she might have looked, Betty revealed in the metaphorical duality of it all. Long ago, she might have said she was a good person, untouched by the corruption of life. Now, though, she felt as dirty and broken as she looked.

Pity about the boots though. Real suede apparently didn’t mix well with the more wild side of life. Betty didn’t dare think about what it would cost to buy Veronica a new pair.

The pipes groaned as the water warmed up. Peeling off her clothes was a chore, the damp, clinging clothes didn’t want to cooperate. The wet slap of them on the floor was a loud echo as she stepped into the shower.

The warm water was practically sinful after tonight. She let it cascade down her skin and shut her eyes to the world around her. Every inch of her body felt sore and bruised. She dreaded even thinking about how she’d feel tomorrow.

A draft of cold air sent goosebumps along her skin and Betty stilled. She trusted Jughead, of course, and yet…

The door shut again, and she peered around the curtain to find a set of clothing on the counter. Her heart stopped when she recognized a grey S from so long ago. Reluctant to let it out of her sight, Betty pulled the shower curtain to. He’d always had a bad habit of forming sentimental attachments to things, to items that had no right to such kindness.

But to have kept that shirt all these years? To have kept her shirt? Surely not. Surely her eyes, tired and sore from lack of sleep, had deceived her.

The ghost of her guilt churned again, deeper this time. A sharp pain went through her stomach – of guilt? regret? hope?

Betty picked up the bar of soap in her uninjured hand and scrubbed at her skin, hot tears running cold against her cheeks. Careless. She was always so careless with everything worth while. Archie’s hands ghosted across her skin, his lips, his whispers they both knew were lies. She was only looking for an escape, not another well to get trapped in. This time, though, she couldn’t think of a single way to escape.

A sob broke from her lips, and then another, and another. She shoved her fist against her mouth and curled up at the bottom of the tub. It was all she could do to keep from breaking up. A part of her, the one that saw reason, was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier tonight when she’d seen Jughead half-conscious with a red welt on his forehead. His head lolled absently against a support beam. His hands tightly bound with duct tape. Tight enough they were turning purple. Those stupid glasses lay at his feet only to reflect the beam of her flashlight onto the chains that bound him.

Images, real and imagined, flashed before her eyes. The well. TBK laughing above her. Polly, bound and gagged in the back of a cab. The twins, facedown in Sweetwater. Squeeky Fromme’s dead eyes staring up at the night sky, milky and flat. Jughead’s hands –

Betty shook her head, trying to shake the images away. No, that hadn’t happened, she chanted internally. It’s not real.

Not this time.

Long after the water had run cold, Betty finally came back to herself. Her movements were slow and forced; her head felt uselessly full of cotton. With a groan, she stood up and gasped as pins and needles threw her back to the ground. Unable to do anything, Betty turned off the water, gritting her teeth as she waited for the feeling to come back into her legs.

Into her life, even.

Now, with only the steady drip of a leaky faucet to keep her company, Betty heard just how quiet it was in the house. The wind blew outside, stronger than ever, but it seemed as if the house itself had gone into hibernation. Jughead had likely gone to bed, she realized. Or maybe he’d been smart enough to know he should see a doctor after all.

Perhaps that would be best. Then they could both pretend tonight had never happened and go back to the chilly detente they’d found themselves living in.

With an anticipatory wince, Betty hauled herself up and out of the tub. As she reached for the towel, she realized that the shirt loudly proclaimed ‘El Royale Gym’ in bright red letters. She scowled at the dancing rooster, ordering it to be something other than it was. Clearly, though, she’d been wrong.

Roughly, she pulled the shirt over her head, her damp hair catching at the collar, and stepped into the gym shorts. Why she put herself through this, why she tortured herself with something so impossible –

“Coffee’s on the counter,” Jughead said when she stepped out. His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the screen.

At least some things never changed, she supposed. Even that, though, rang hollow after what they’d been through tonight.

Betty wrapped her hands around the mug, grateful for something to occupy herself with. She sipped at it a moment, giving him the chance to say something. Do something. When he didn’t, she didn’t know whether she felt relief, or disappointment.

It wasn’t until she reached the stairs that he finally spoke.

“Just tell me why you did it,” he said.

She hesitated, knowing that this was her own personal Maginot line. Crossing this would mean the end of one life, and the beginning of another strange reality, one where she would have no control.

“Why did you come after me? Why didn’t you call Sheriff Keller, or Archie, or –“

“Because I’m still in love with you,” Betty said. Her voice was no more than a soft sigh, but it was enough to bring about a sudden calmness.

The calm before the storm, she thought morbidly. Whatever would happen now, whatever was said…

She waited, counting to a hundred. When he didn’t say anything, she set the coffee down on a side table and went to Archie’s room, shutting the door softly behind her.

(Part 2 here)

#bughead fanfic #prompt #riverdale #but instead of saying art i'm saying angst (with the long a like ahngst)#pretend i'm posing like that art dude from the iron giant

93 notes · View notes

deaththesyd · 3 years

Text

More Than Enough

Ah! Finally, I have managed to finish something! I hope this one doesn't disappoint. I really do feel proud of this one.

Summary: Standing here, watching the storm envelope this small space of theirs, a home that was just for them, being held and loved by the man who had forced himself into her heart was a dream come true. She could sip her tea as he littered her exposed skin in hickeys, bruises, and the faintest of bitemarks.

"Kisame!" Startled by his sudden presence behind her, the feeling of his large hands on her waist caused her to jump back into him, only to be met with the firm muscle of his chest, and his amused chuckles. "You could have said something! I could have dropped my damn mug!" She chastised him, still clutching the ceramic of freshly brewed tea so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She had been standing in their living room, watching as the grey clouds moved swiftly with the wind, threatening to unload the rain they carried down upon the land. He must have snuck up on her, mischievous as always, or maybe her thoughts had her so occupied she hadn't been able to notice his approach. Did it matter which it was? Not really, not when his chin rested on her head, and his large form engulfed her from behind, wrapping her somewhat chilled body in his comforting presence. Sipping her tea sweetened with honey, the warmth of the liquid was just enough to hurt going down, but the taste of faint spices was worth it. And if she didn't drink it now, it would surely be too cold later.

Outside, the clouds made well on their threat, and the first teasing droplets of rain fell. It started so gradually, but she seemed to blink and then the sheets of water were replacing the cute drops that had run down their window. The steam from her tea tickled her chin, as the man behind her moved to press sweet kisses starting from her scalp and down the back of her neck, sweeping the hair that blocked his access out of the way.

Smiling pleased to herself, she indulged in another long sip from her mug, as the rain pounded against their shelter, and Kisame's hand returned to her waist, his thumb teasing at the bottom of her shirt, tracing circles onto her skin. The heat from the tea wasn't the only thing that had her feeling warm, as his gentle trail of kisses turned more sensual against the side of her throat, and his heated breath accentuated the lingering buzz for each new mark he gave.

"I'm glad you're home with me, and not out there," she said, leaning her head to the side to give him better access, relaxing as his lips drew closer with each press to what they both knew was her sweet spot.

Another low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the movement shaking her along with him. "Hm, me too," he agreed, his voice low and gravelly below her ear. Despite how warm she felt now, his voice sent a shiver up her spine. Just when his mouth circled around a spot that had been bruised by hickeys so many times prior, a flash outside startled her, making her flinch, and causing his sharp teeth to scrape at the sensitive skin. Hissing at the unexpected pain, she stood tense, allowing him to pull away to survey the damage. A loud rumble of thunder nearly drowned out the low apology he whispered into her ear. “Wasn’t expectin’ you to move there, Squirt,” he uttered gently, before he lapped at the small scrape along her collar bone, easing a sigh from her lips in response. Now that she was expecting it, the next flash before her eyes didn’t catch her so off guard, and by the time the next clash of thunder bellowed out, his apologetic kisses and the rough calluses of his hand finally reaching up to her bare chest had drawn more than a few whimpering sighs. Apology more than accepted.

He was taking his time, making sure to find everywhere he could get a reaction, whether it was a hitch of her breath, or her simply adjusting to better allow his mouth to work. It had only been a short while since he had returned to his village and reclaimed his house, only a couple of months since the war, since the Akatsuki were officially disbanded. It didn’t feel real yet, that she didn’t have to worry about him being an outlaw anymore, that he didn’t have to slink around in the shadows completing illegal missions just to support a group whose goals had never truly made sense to her. Though he was often run ragged by the tasks given to him by the Mizukage, and his mood was often soured by the lack of freedom he had now, this was stable, and they could adjust. Standing here, watching the storm envelope this small space of theirs, a home that was just for them, being held and loved by the man who had forced himself into her heart was a dream come true. She could sip her tea as he littered her exposed skin in hickeys, bruises, and the faintest of bitemarks.

This was nice, but she wanted to put her mug down so she could return some of his affections. Looking towards the shelf just beside the window, she was calculating if she could reach it without having to move, when she noticed a problem. “Hun,” she gasped out, just as he pinched at her sensitive nipple, her urgency misunderstood as lust.

“You like that?” He teased, before nipping at another hickey, causing her to jolt at the stimulation.

“No! No, yes I mean, just-ah!”

“No? How about this?” His rumbling laugh blending with the almost constant thunder, while he teased at the delicate flesh, his rough fingers always so good against her skin.

“You feel good, but the roof is leaking!” She managed to get out, even as she could feel every bit of friction against her bud sending pulses of pleasure down to her clit. Abruptly, he stopped and released his hold of her to inspect where she motioned.

“Damn it,” He muttered under his breath before leaving the room to search for a fix. Sighing, she followed suit, placing her mug on the shelf and heading towards the bathroom for a towel to soak up the growing puddle. On her way, she passed a bucket that had been placed the day before as a short-term fix for another weak spot in the roof. For now, that was handling its job well enough. Returning, she found Kisame knelt down, placing a large pot under the steady drops of water that had managed to sneak its way in. “Looks like next I’m gonna have to do some roofing repair,” he grumbled, fed up with the neverending list of home maintenance they had to take care of.

Stooping down to join him, she lifted the pot and replaced it after laying the towel down, watching as the puddle of water seeped into the cloth. ”Ah, the joys of homeownership,” she sighed, standing up and placing a soothing hand on his broad shoulder. “We can tackle that task together tomorrow, no need to stress about it until then,” she said reassuringly, “I’m very much fine having to deal with a leaky roof if that means we officially have a place of our own,” she said sweetly.

Sighing, his large hand engulfed hers and took a hold of it, he stood, winding around to face her. The lack of frustration she had with the situation seemed to help him shake off the bad mood he had been put in, as he smiled lovingly down at her, bowing his head enough to kiss the back of her hand, before grabbing her by the waist with his other hand to pull her to his chest. Turning her head, she looked at their clasped hands, smiling contentedly. “I Don’t have a clue what I’ve done to deserve ya, but I sure am glad you’re here with me, Sweetheart,” Kisame said, the smile she couldn’t see audible in his words. Giggling, she gave his hand a squeeze as her free hand traveled to his ass.

“Since I make you so happy, you should probably get back to what you were doing before,” she suggested playfully. Laughing at that, he let go of her hand, and grasped her ass in return, picking her up without warning, forcing her to frantically clasp her hands behind his neck and lock her legs around him with a surprised squeak.

“If that’s what my woman wants, that’s what she’ll get,” he said with a devilish smirk, Normally, she would be upset at being picked up like that, but his hungry lips were upon hers before she could think up anything to say, and the feel of his tongue gliding upon her bottom lip was enough to melt any anger she had felt. Clinging onto his lips and his body, her eyes were closed, but she felt each step he made blindly towards their bedroom, and it wasn’t until her back hit the mattress that her eyes shot open.

Shoving him away frantically, Kisame was confused, but only for a second, as a cold droplet of water landed on his neck and trailed down his neck under his collar. The wet spot on the bed was small, but that didn’t matter, they had a leak directly above their bed!

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” He growled in frustration, the mood thoroughly spoiled now. His hand went to the back of his neck, and she rolled off of the damp spot, both for her comfort, and to give her enraged partner his space. The pelting rain was as loud as the thunder, but the sound of a single splat on his skin once again was deafening. He was up off the bed in a flash of lightning, and by the time the thunder roared again, he was coming back into the room with another pot. Without warning, he shoved the bed with her still on it, scraping wood against wood paired with a surprised shriek. Harshly, he placed the pot down and turned again to leave the room. Scurrying off the bed, she removed the dampened bedding while he thundered around the house, just finishing collecting the material in a bundle when he returned and threw the fresh replacements on top of the mattress. They landed with a less than satisfying ‘fwump’. Leaving the room with the soiled laundry, she took her time putting it into the washing machine, and when she was finished she returned to the living room, remembering her abandoned tea. The mug was cold now, and the liquid inside was surely the same, so she took it to the kitchen. After dumping the contents of the mug and placing it by the sink for later, the lights above shuddered and suddenly, they went out. She groaned as a loud yell of frustration sounded from the direction of their room.

Standing in the pitch black, she waited a moment, hoping the lights would come back on the same way someone would say ‘sike!’ but the longer she stood there, the clearer it was that the power was out. Sighing in resignation, she stumbled around, using the wall, and Kisame’s mutterings as guides back to the bedroom. As much as she hated his bad mood, it certainly was helpful in giving her direction in a place she hadn’t yet memorized. Feeling her way into their shared room, she lingered at the doorway, just able to make out the outline of a shadowed man rummaging around, most likely searching for a light source. Kisame had the better eyesight between the two, especially in the dark, but her memory wasn’t clouded with frustration and rage, and she could remember exactly where they had put away the lighter last time it was used and managed to walk over to where it had been placed without tripping or stubbing a toe. Flicking it on, she caught the attention of the helplessly searching giant, and let the flame go out with the slightest smell of burning oil, as she tossed it to him, knowing that he could catch it with ease.

With a grumbled “thanks,” he lit the wick of a sweetly fragrant candle that was settled upon the nightstand that hadn’t been moved in his little temper tantrum before, bringing a soft flickering glow to the room, and making the location of another candle of the same scent easier to locate. Still standing where she had retrieved the lighter, arms crossed, hip jutted out, she watched as the man tiredly flopped down upon the half-made bed with a defeated sigh. The storm outside wasn’t letting up, but the flared energy he once had was quickly doused as there was nothing left to do anymore. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, as she waited from across the room. “Minnow,” he called the pet name quietly, her signal that his temperament had truly settled and that he no longer required space. Without hesitation, she joined him, sitting beside his head and bringing a soothing hand to stroke his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, quieter than normal, “this is all such a mess and I owe you so much better than a leaky roof and a damp bed and a disappointing lead-up.” A large hand reached for the one stroking his head and brought her palm to his lips. He didn’t speak aloud, but the movement felt like he was making vows to himself and to her, she could easily guess what they were. Since the beginning of their relationship he had been making promises, ones that she knew he would always keep to the best of his power, and yet he never seemed to feel what he did was enough for her. He was so wrong.

Gently tugging her hand away, she felt for just the lightest moment his grip tighten anxiously, before releasing her. In moments like this, it was always so evident just how fragile his belief could be. Their trust in one another was strong, but he never seemed to be able to let go of the doubts that her love for him was only dependent on what he could provide. Part of her couldn’t stand it, how a man like him could cling to someone like her, that even after all of the fighting, the Akatsuki, the war, he didn’t believe he was enough as he was. That part of her was the one that brought her fingers to flick his forehead. She was gentle and soft, and of course, that was a surprise to him, so when he looked up at her confused and hurt only to find her stern gaze, he didn’t seem to know how to react.

The other part, the one that knew just how he felt, that knew that the hurt she felt watching him like that wasn’t something she could lash out with, returned her hand to his head. “You’re enough for me, and I’ll remind you of that for as long as we’re together,” she promised, allowing her gaze to soften only when the look of defiance on his face gave out. Kisame lay there for a moment, before shifting awkwardly, and crawling his way into her lap, burying his face in the softness of her stomach and wrapping his arms around her. Reaching for a pillow, she propped it behind her, settling into a more supported position, before tangling her fingers into his hair and rubbing his shoulders, giggling at the hum of content she felt buzz into her tummy.

“Remind me,” she heard his muffled plea come, and she couldn’t help the fond smile that spread across her lips.

“You’re more than enough for me, Kisame,” she said with a slight giggle, but the words were not a joke. “You always give me everything you can, and even right now I”m spoiled.” He gripped the fabric of her shirt, and she knew he wanted to protest, so she kept going. “You’ve been so busy dealing with the aftermath of everything, that you haven’t had the time for anything else, but still you make sure I have my favourite tea, and you treat me with a candlelit bedroom, and even though you’re tired and stressed you always make time for me,” she said, dragging her nails against his neck gently, earning a pleased shiver from him. “Yes, the house is leaking, and yes, I was very much looking forward to a bit more than a few kisses, but both of those can be fixed. We can figure out roof repair, and maybe not tonight, but hopefully for the rest of our lives we can have plenty more ‘fun’,” she reasoned, shaking along with the laugh he made at that last bit. When his short laugh ended, she continued. “You’re not a failure of a partner simply because we didn’t get our way tonight and you threw a bit of a fit, and you never will be because all you do is care for me and make sure I know just how loved I am. You’re so good to me, Love, you’re enough.”

It was then that she noticed how much quieter it was. No longer was there thunder, and whistling wind and the pounding rain had turned into a gentle pattering. The smell of pears and honey wafted from the melting wax, and the cold of the house seemed unable to penetrate the space around them for the meantime. Kisame’s breathing was steady and gentle, and despite the way the night had turned out to be, she felt quite content. This was their home. And it was more than enough.

#kisame #kisame x reader #Akatsuki Invaders #Kisame x OC

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