#SOMETHING IN HIM SEES A KINDRED SOUL IN HER. WAKE UP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

i-bring-crack · 1 year

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So first exam of like 20 others have just been finished, and oh boy did i have some creative writtings after ive been released from the constant studying, for now at least. Tomorrow and the next 3 weeks until Wednesday will be work work work! so have a treat as i dissapear again!

Cha Hae in Recovered memories AU

Having the full love of the Shadow Monarch had its opportunities as well as its decadence, Hae-In found out about it soon after waking up to her young self 10 years into the past. None of her memories had been altered but her powers had been fully gone, faster than the flicker of light. She guessed that this sudden back in time was due to none other than Jin-Woo himself, after all, he would be the only one strong enough to change time and space itself, and considering the fact that a flashing light had absorbed her world in the past moments, all coming from Japan where he was, she didn't expect anyone else to be the cause of this.

However the result of her keeping her memories was something... unusual, it wouldn't be so far fetched for her had other people also kept their memories, but when she tried to call Choi Jong-In or her only friend in the B strike squad team, Gina, she was greeted with phone calls from very stressed out students who thought she was pulling a prank on them. Apart from that she had no one else to go to, who to talk to, her orphanage seemed as usual and calm as the day she had left it 4 years ago... well 6 years in the future actually. Her home and parents were still missing from her life, her teacher, should she call Song Chi Yul? She had his number but the man was probably going to think the same as Jong-In and Gina. Someone like Bora Lee who could see very clearly the personalities of people throughher glasses, or maybe Min Byung Gyu could have understood her problem as he too was once under the command of Jin-Woo, but she never interacted with them as much, she was alone.

Alone, is that why the Shadow Monarch took a liking to her? because he seemed so much like him? I guess kindred souls do attract.

Right now though, right now she didnt didnt want to be alone in this world, the only one to know what was about to happen for the next ten years. She needed to find a way to spread the news about the incoming attacks, she needed to find a way to stop most of the future events that would kill innocents during those attacks.

So the instant she got out of her house, she immediately got up and went to look for the only person who had all the answers.

Sung Jin-Woo, he is a kid now, a very small kid compared to the man that she met at the caves of that A rank gate. She is also small, a lot more weak than she was as an S rank hunter 10 years in the future, and that's what differentiates them, Hae-In has lost every single one of her powers whereas Jin-Woo has become something unrecognizable, she remembers his death at the hands of the three beasts, then his resurrection and power boost that he gained all of the sudden. She remembers how he fought dragons. Dragons. She remembers the amounts of mana that two forces emitted, powerful enough to destroy the world with a single flicker of their powers, fighting in the outskirts of a deserted Japan. It was... eldritch. That's what Hae-In sees in him now. That is no longer a human, but a god (monster) inside a child's body.

He smells just the same as before, the same as he always did, a sweet alluring smell. And she begins to wonder if he had always been an eldritch god.

Still, its no longer useful to think about what Jin-Woo has become, but rather what he will become next, what he will do next. So she waits until her comes to look at her, she waits until he admits her presence because she knows that Jin-Woo has already spotted her, the 12 year old self sitting on the bench next to his apartments, noticing how Jin Ah has ben playing with a father (one that looks almost like the hooded man that fought the 3 beasts in South Korea. She takes a mental note of that.) and how he too has been overly happy talking to his mother as they both walked through the park. She stays waiting and looks at him from afar as he does the daily training ( no god has a use for that anymore, but he still does it like it's engraved on him for some reason. ) and then when she waits until Jin-Woo finished his classes so that they both ca walk home, one a few blocks down, but she still knows very well that he notices her.

She doesn't want to initiate the contact out of fear of what he will do to her once he finds out his reason for being there, although he might have a pretty good grasp of it seeing that she always smiles a bit when the shadows on her soles move. Still, she even when she dealt with high S rank hunters she had to be careful on her tongue, on her manners, anything that could threaten her life, and despite Jin-Woo's carefree attitude to the world that made relax at these points in her life, her gut told her to still wait, that he will come and explain everything, that she still has time.

2 weeks pass, she has no time, she doesn't wait for a single answer anymore, she can already remember the first cracks that appeared in the Us and Europe, only for the next month to appear at the first gate in Seoul. She runs as fast as he always had, almost tripping by her ankle but somehow still running until she reaches his home. Exhausted, her beating heart ringing in her ears, more than when she was an S rank, more than when she was a third ranked athlete, but it's the thrill of running, of fighting, (of dancing with her sword) that makes her go even faster than she had ever done so before. It doesn't matter if she had just woken up in the middle of the night to run away from her orphanage, or the fact that she had been running barefoot through the streets, rather she wanted -- needed to talk to him now, because something in the back of her mind told her she wouldn't be able to do so otherwise.

And Hae-In was right, Jin-Woo was already waiting for her, there wasn't a single surprise in his face when she arrived at the dark alley where he was planning to escape through the gate. She also didn't seem surprised to find a gate behind Jin-Woo, rather, a bit more pleased, more delighted, something in her eyes burning as she saw the sparkles of purple mana dancing around it.

"You are planning to leave."

He simply stared back at her.

"Without telling me."

Then tilted it head back a bit. " Why should I tell you?"

"Because I know about the gates, the hunters, the people,-- because I know what's coming."

"That's all in a future that will never come to happen."

"How do you know that? Are you going to fight it all by yourself?"

He has his shadows, his army, the weapons of the rulers, and yet something compelled him to leave all of that out and simply say- "Yes."

A thousand emotions resurfaced through her mind, some were praising him for his bravery, to take on such a task by himself, others pitied the state he was in now, and others felt almost clouded her mind with hints of anger at the sudden foolishness of it all. Does he know what it feels like to be truly alone and desperate? He knows right? if he does then why isn't he reaching out, why is he still trying to part ways and deal with everything by himself when... when I'm right here.

Hae-In kept her face cooled until the end, her eyes not parting away with those if Jin-Woo even as the mana cracked and the shadows of a grandiose army all started to look back at her, stare at her, an army of death waiting for a second more until Jin-Woo decided to disturb the silence with his leave.

"Take me with you." But she wasn't going to let him.

"No."

Fear covered all of her bones in her body, it was a fear more gut wrenching then the one she had upon meeting Andre, Liu or Reed at the annual conference alliance, but this time it came with a strong smell of mana, such an intoxicating scent that covered around her, combined with the darkness that started to crack the sky and cover the moon around them, completely. But she didn't move, she swore not to move, she swore to keep on looking, to face the abyss despite all odds, she had done it so before during her first raid, and she will keep doing t again until he understands that her words are not a joke, that she took consideration of this choice, that she wanted to go forth with this since the beginning, that she too is willing to battle against thousands of monsters all alone, or with jinWoo, in order to save this world.

Because she is an S rank, a hunter, and a guardian. She has been those three things ever since she was awakened. Doesn't matter if she never knew how to use a sword, she will learn it, master it, and use it to protect everyone she loves here, even when they don't know it yet.

And Jin-Woo is one of them.

The atmosphere does not calm again, but Hae-In can hear Jin-Woo's voice soften, a bit.

"You can have a normal life, you don't need to battle against them, instead just live however you want."

"I've already forgotten what it is to have a world without monsters for 10 years."

"Let me take away your memories then, you can live peacefully without them."

Hae-In suddenly backs away. "No!" She is the one to put preassure this time, and Jin-Woo closes the fingers that were trying to reach out for her. "I don't want to. I can live with--" She looks at the ground for a while, trying to recollect her words. " It's who I am. Those memories, I don't want to lose them."

And that is all it takes for him to accept that.

"And I don't want to... I want to help you. I want to fight too, I promise not to get in the way. Please, just let me help you."

Before they knew it, the distance had been closed. there was nowhere to look except in front.

The shadows dissipated, the night cleared away. The next morning people disappeared to the ends of the universe itself.

#solo leveling manwha #sung jin woo #solo leveling spoilers #cha hae in #solo leveling #spoilers #manhwa #au #fanfic #prompt #cha hae in x sung jin woo

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

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wildest dreams

witch!wanda x reincarnated!reader

summary: wanda had walked around the earth for centuries with no magic and hardly any soul left after losing her soulmate. she thought that her lover would never return and that the only reunion they would have would be in the afterlife, but a run-in with bucky changes everything after he insists that he met the long gone y/n at a fountain in the park.

yet another au by me...

word count: around 6.5k?

imma tag one person bc she gets upset when she isn’t tagged- and idk if anyone else would actually be interested?

@teenwonder

also this picture is not mine, and the dividers are by @firefly-graphics !!

without further ado, it’s almost 6 in the morning but i give you this!!

She held you tight, fingers digging into your skin as she trembled above you. The rose bushes were rustling in the wind next to you both, the sweet smell of the flowers contrasting with the moment. You were halfway gone already, eyes far off but trying to swim back to the surface, wanting to look at her one last time before the inevitable happened.

“S…” you tried to say, but she hushed you immediately, tears falling down on your face and mixing with your own. You shook her head at her as hard as you could, begging for her to let you continue. “Say you’ll remember me,” you ground out, fingers tightening around her hand.

“What?” Wanda asked, voice already thick with grief as she tried to decide whether or not it was better to keep the knife lodged between your ribs inside of you.

“When I come back-” you cut yourself off by coughing up blood, and Wanda didn’t even wince when it splattered on her cheek. “Back for you, promise that you’ll remember me.”

“Darling,” Wanda whispered back, her voice cracking as she bent over and rested her head on your stomach for a moment, hiding her sob. She could feel her magic tingling inside of her; under her skin, in her bones, dancing on her fingertips. “I wish I knew- I wish I just knew how-”

“Please.” You said, a desperate look in your eyes as you halted her words, already knowing what Wanda wanted. But natural magic was nothing to mess with. She sobbed again with her lips pressed together, no sound escaping her. You squeezed her hand tighter as the sun started on its routine descent, basking the two of you in an orange glow that you would have stopped to admire in any other moment in time. But Wanda would grow to hate that shade of orange with every breath in her. “Please.” It would always remind her of the sound of your begging, voice reaching for something that she couldn’t see.

Maybe it was the desperation in your voice, or the way that she just knew that you were well within your last moments, because she looked up at you one last time. “Of course I’ll remember you, darling. I couldn’t even dream of forgetting you.” There was a wheezing sound that came from your chest as you cracked a bloody smile, and then you gave one last squeeze before you looked away from her, your soul settling in the afterlife.

Wanda Maximoff would never forget it. Suddenly, her previously irrational fear of losing her magic became real, but that feeling didn’t even come close to the one she got when you grew lifeless in her arms.

Ever since you knew what a normal person was supposed to be like, you had identified that you, in fact, were not the normal person that you were probably supposed to be. Normal people didn’t daydream to the point where it felt like their bodies weren’t in the present anymore. Normal people didn’t have birthmarks under their ribs that aced and burned. Normal people didn’t feel out of touch with their world, like they weren’t even meant to be in the century they were in. Normal people didn’t feel like they were searching for something tirelessly, something just under their noses. And normal people surely didn’t dream of the same set of hands, same pair of eyes, or the same voice over and over again, a new setting every time, but always the same, faceless person. You either drew the same faceless person or rose bushes, and every sketch book you ever had was full of them.

At first, you were sure that you were going insane. Every time you closed your eyes, you would see a flash of reddish brown hair, or the same set of eyes, or the same pair of pale hands. You kept seeing this person without ever seeing a face for nights at a time before you went to see a therapist, who just ended up telling you that worrying about it was only going to make it worse, whatever it even was. But eventually, you learned to get used to it.

Acceptance turned into expectancy. You went to sleep knowing that there was going to be a pair of hands accompanied by the same slender fingers as always before you, sometimes intertwined with your own. You knew that there was going to be a set of eyes on you, watching you intently with no ace to go with them. You knew that you would hear whispers of the same voice, speaking so clearly in a language you didn’t even come close to understanding, and soon, you were craving to see and hear those things. And wanting to see them led to something that you never told your therapist; drawings.

You drew nearly every day under the sky, trying to find different park benches to see the sun rise and set at different angles for inspiration. You loved the sky, moon and stars alike, but there was something special about sunrises and sunsets. Sunrises and sets both meant new beginnings to you, out with the old and in with the new, and each rise and fall filled you with a strange feeling of nostalgia. You were watching the sunset on a park bench by yourself, a sketchbook sitting on your lap as you held an idle pencil, still thinking about the way you wanted to draw the hands. The birthmark between your ribs started to tingle, letting you know that it was about to burn again. That damn birthmark. You dropped the pencil and scratched at it, trying to beat the annoying feeling at its own game. You cursed the mark, but your eyes didn’t leave the sky, and you noticed your heart swelling in your chest, faint despair in the pits of it, churning around like the middle of the deep sea.

You shook your head and put your pencil in your hand again, brain not even having to work hard at all to see the features of the faceless person who was in your every dream.

Even before she ever met you, Wanda didn’t sleep well. She would toss and turn for at least an hour before she finally found some temporary, flimsy form of peace. Her sleep was always light and she hardly ever had dreams, which was customary for a woman like her at the time- an un-blossomed witch.

It was hard for her to remember the time where she didn’t have magic, but that time certainly existed. It lasted nearly thirty years. She never aged a day past twenty one, time moving past her without a care in the world. She was stuck right there, no magic except for the little bit in her bones that was keeping her young. And then she met you.

You were the person that kicked her magic into gear. You were her kindred soul, her other half and the power to her magic. Meeting you had flung her right into the world of magic and spells, things that she only watched others do, but even as she was introduced to an entirely different world, she could remember only really wanting you. Her heart and soul called to you far louder and stronger than spells called to her eager mind. When she met you, it all fell into place. It was an easy love, one that was never going to be disputed or questioned, and loved it. She was prepared to move heaven, earth, and the gods for you, if she had to. Your arrival into her life had caused her to finally blossom.

But now, she had bloomed and flourished and wilted all the same, and she was just waiting to decompose.

“Have hope,” was all that Bucky, a warlock who had been tortured enough in his own way, would tell her. “Have hope that something good will come to you, and it will.”

She never had the heart to tell him that good things hardly came to those who waited. He himself was a product of waiting, and it had served him well. Before he met his other half, he was taken by a rival clan and experimented on with spells that were so far past illegal that they made the casual witch shudder. Eventually, he was broken out and the rival clan was defeated, but he returned to them as an empty shell of a man. But then, Steve came, and then the man was nothing but a ball of light. His magic grew to be strong and so did Steve’s, and together they became known as some of the strongest practitioners of magic in the world.

But what did Wanda have to hope for when you were gone? What did she have to wake up for and smile at when she knew that she had buried you hundreds of years ago? It wasn’t even about the magic. She couldn’t care less about the way she felt the energy leave her- and it was dramatic- leaving in a singular burst of light the second you left. She only knew that you were gone, and that was the only thing that mattered, and it seemed to be the only thing that she even really felt.

Well, she did feel one other thing. Exhaustion. Exhaustion caused by the lack of you by her side. And exhaustion was exactly why she assumed that she was hallucinating when she felt a small tug at her heart, in a part of her brain that had been dormant for years and years. She shook her head and tried to take her thoughts away from you and the nagging feeling in her gut.

“Oh, no…” you exclaimed, voice tapering out into a whine as you watched the ruined paper sink deeper and deeper into the fountain, a fist clenching at your side in disappointment when you realized how many hours were lost, just like that, and then even tighter when you realized that part of you wasn’t even truly upset about the time spent on the ruined art. You were mostly upset that you lost the only vision of the hands that you had during the daytime.

You were on your knees, sleeves still all the way down as you reached into the water frantically, causing the paper to move even further away. You weren’t even worried about your sketchbook that had fallen open onto the pavement, more focused on the rapidly deteriorating piece of paper. You hardly even noticed the man who knocked into you talking, trying his hardest to make the situation better. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do?”

“I mean,” you breathed out, taking the nearly disintegrated paper from the water and grimacing. When you realized that the man was fumbling to say something from behind you, celery apprehensive over the fact that you were upset, you took a short breath and turned around, giving him a small smile. He had dark brown hair that was cut short and crystal blue eyes that were striking, but you knew that they held thousands of stories by looking just once. He was holding your sketchbook, and by the way he was gripping it tightly, you could tell that he had flipped through it for a second. “It’s just a drawing. I guess I can make another one.”

His eyes widened. You saw his jaw slacken and his neck stretch out, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He blinked three times, and his parted lips trembled for a second before he slammed them shut. You cocked a brow at him, your sadness about losing the drawing being replaced by a weak feeling of uneasiness. “Sir?”

“Knew it.” His face was clear from any type of emotion as he watched yours, and when you opened your mouth to ask him if he was okay, a grin spread across his face. “I’m Bucky, what’s your name?” You furrowed your brows at him, asking what the hell had just occurred without saying a single word. “I’m sorry, you just looked really familiar.”

Just like that, you smiled. You knew that feeling, you felt like you got deja vu far too often to be normal. You hated when people made you feel strange for it, you always had, so you tried your best to ignore it with him. “You’re fine, don’t worry. I’m Y/N.” You extended your dry hand for him to shake it. He stared at it for a moment, and then with an eagerness that made you smile, he shook your hand.

“‘I’m Bucky.”

For a moment, you could have sworn that you had done more tha just seen him before. Could have sworn that you had shaken his hand, met him before, been at the receiving end of his blinding yet somewhat shy smile. It flashed through you warm and bright, and you cleared your throat before pulling your hand away and realizing you had held it for too long. You cleared it again when you saw something flash in his eyes, a weak smile lifting on your lips.

“It’s not her.”

Wanda was furious. She was insulted more than anything, really, angry that Bucky could even mistake the light of you for someone else. She knew that you would never grace the earth with your presence again, and she was so used to the fact that she was going to have to die before seeing you again. And for one of her closest friends to try to convince her that you were back?

“She would have already found me.” And Wanda believed that with her whole heart. You had asked her so long ago that you remember her, like she could ever forget. Your scent was so flowery that whenever she walked past a growing garden that she smelled you, your smile was so bright that she saw it in the way the rays of sun came down on the earth. She heard your laugh in the chirping of the birds every morning, and she saw your playfulness in the running waters of the stream by the cabin. She could never forget you, because everything was traced back to you. And you would never return without finding her.

“I don’t think she even knows it yet, but she is looking for you.” Bucky insisted, stepping forward and receiving Wanda’s burning glare while Steve stepped to the side and let it happen. “I bumped into her and she dropped her sketchbook. I saw her drawings- she drew your eyes.”

Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“She dropped the drawing of hands in the water, but I saw she had drawn eyes that looked just like yours, hair the same shade as yours, even drawn the necklace you used to wear. She draws roses, too. I swear to everything above, it’s her.”

She could feel herself getting warm, the sort of emotions stirring inside of her that had the potential to turn into a singular weapon. The thought of a rose bush made her sick to her stomach. “It’s not her.”

“You forget that I knew her, too,” Bucky stated, and Wanda’s desolation was replaced by some ancient feeling of possessiveness. “I could never forget her face, and that was it right there. That was her face, without a shadow of a doubt, And her voice-”

Wanda’s face curled into a snarl. “Stop talking about her.”

“Hey, Wanda, take a deep breath,” Steve cut in, ever the mediator, but Bucky was hardheaded. If he thought something needed to happen, he was the one to push for it to happen, and he needed her to see.

“She looks the same as she did the day she left.” Wanda let out a choked noise. For a second, all she could picture was her lover dying by the blooming rose bushes in the sunset, ruining two of the most beautiful things in life at once. The third (but first) was you, but not even your horrible death could taint Wanda’s memory of you. You would forever be the brightest and most beautiful thing to grace the earth. “I got her number, we’re meeting at a coffee shop a few blocks away.”

“Leave her alone.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, tears welling up in her eyes. When she saw the brunet’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open, she spoke before he could get a word in. “Just stay away from her, Bucky.”

All she could think about was your death. The way you choked on your own blood. The way you cried and looked up at her, but still managed to smile. And as she was consumed by rage and memories, the only other thought in her mind was that she was yours and you were here, and that she couldn’t save you then. But she was surely going to preserve your memory from Bucky’s mouth.

“I know you feel it coming back. You haven’t felt it in so long, but it’s warm, right? It’s powerful. You always were the strongest, and you’re not dormant any longer. Stop lying to yourself and depriving yourself of love, Wanda. You know Y/N-”

She saw red. Red as red as the fires that burned in the magma underneath the ground, as red as embers in a fire. “You don’t get to say her name.” She saw so much red, so much hot anger that hardly covered her sadness, that she didn��t even see the way that she had her hand out red coming from her palm as she lifted Bucky right off of the wooden floor of their shared home. “You don’t get to talk about her.” There was a warbling noise in her ears, whispers that sounded like her name, getting louder and louder until she finally realized it was Steve trying to get her attention.

“Wanda.”

Instantly, she dropped her arm and watched Bucky fall to the ground, landing in a crouched position. She watched him catch his breath on the ground. She opened her mouth to apologize, to say that she felt terrible and that she had no idea what happened, what took over her, but she was stopped by the brilliant smile that came onto Bucky’s face.

“You used magic.” He said, slowly and steadily, not a hint of hesitance or animosity in his eyes or voice. Instead, he seemed more proud than anything. “You can’t deny this now, Wanda.”

She was hyperventilating, the pain in her chest intensifying as she tried without any results to get the right amount of air in her lungs. She felt her knees hit the ground before she knew that she did, her hands covering her face as she sobbed into herself. Her heart ached, tugging in so many different directions as her brain fought to rationalize what everything meant. She had used magic, and that meant that you were back, in one way or another. She was in disbelief. She was in despair. She was in shock.

“I know you do, I know you do,” It was Steve’s arms around her, and Steve’s voice in her ear, and she realized that she had been saying I miss her, I miss her, over and over again until the words jumbled. “We know you do, Wanda. We miss her too.”

But he didn’t understand. He hadn’t lost Bucky since he had found him. He hadn’t walked the earth for centuries after losing the only thing that mattered to him as an empty shell of the person he used to be. He would never understand, but that wasn’t his fault. In fact, she prayed that he would never understand.

“I’m sorry I approached you like that,” Bucky said, crouching down and hugging her just as Steve was, enclosing her into a hugging circle. They were coven, related by magic, and just being around them made her tears subside. “But you know that I would have never said anything like that unless I was one thousand percent sure. I would never do anything to hurt you, Wanda. All I want is for you to be happy. And I know that I found her.”

And how could he want anything but the best for her? He knew her just as much as Steve did. Just as much as she probably knew herself. He and Steve were the ones who stormed the coven that took you from her by her side, and they were the ones that helped her send them to their graves. They supported her through thick and thin, through revenge and peace, and mostly, they loved you almost as much as she did. Why would Bucky lie?

Wanda blinked, staring down at her hands in fear and wonder as her heart beat started to get away from her. Steve’s warm hand landed on her shoulder, and she flinched from the sudden touch after such a rush of power.

“I think you should go with him, Wanda.” Her heavy breathing was all that filled the air for a moment. “Just take a look at her from outside so you can leave if he was wrong without anyone knowing, but you should at least try. I think Buck’s right.”

Wanda’s breaths were still labored. Her hands trembled as she moved hair from her eyes, and her lip quivered before she found the strength to mutter a few words. “Will she- will she remember?”

“I think she will,” Steve said softly. “But she’s probably just a human. It may take more than just seeing you for her to remember everything.”

Her eyes were wet with tears, and her heart was so big with warmth and need that she was scared that it would burst open at the seams. But she was even more terrified to lose the idea of you. Slowly and shakily, she nodded, her head bobbing up and down as she sealed her own fate. “I’ll go.” She saw Steve give her his fatherly and supportive smile, small yet full. “I’ll see her.”

You didn’t know how you were gently swindled into giving Bucky your number. You knew that it was nothing but friendly, but he was so charming that you felt like you could never not know him. In fact, it felt like you already did know him. He said something about maybe commissioning an artwork of yours, and of course that excited you. You were going to meet him at a coffee shop, in a public place even though you weren’t the slightest bit afraid of him. But something felt different.

It started once you got into your car. You were driving to get to the shop when tingles came down your spine, and bumps raised on your arms, like someone was whispering against your skin. You started to feel warmth come and go in waves, brushing against your mind and then retreating again. You shook off all of the strong feelings as you turned your car off, parked in front of the coffee shop while the music from your speakers filled the silence, soft piano music that was perfect for the weather.

It was drizzling, the kind of weather that you liked to call a “lover’s drizzle” because of how often it was seen in romantic scenes. Scenes of confession, of reunion, of desperation between two lovers- more often than not, they had the mild rain to stand in. You turned the music down before shutting your car off and then stepping out, closing the door and locking it immediately before walking briskly to the entrance of the coffee shop with your recent drawings in hand.

Bucky wasn’t there when you arrived. In fact, hardly anyone was there besides the few employees, who smiled at you when you entered but otherwise fell back into conversation amongst themselves, which was fine with you. There was one beefy blonde man who was sitting with a laptop and a ball cap on. He glanced up for a moment and then took a double take, blinking hard at you with a star struck look on his face, and then he shot his gaze back down and went back to typing.

You sat down at a table for two, the only type of table that was there besides the long, awkward study tables that they had set up in the center of the room. You would much rather take the intimate setting of a two-seater than to sit in the middle of the shop, so you did just that. You flipped through your work, looking at it closely now that you had the time. He had mentioned something about possible portrait work for a friend of his, so you naturally brought most of the drawings that you had done with hands, arms, eyes, hair, nearly everything that was the closest to your heart. You rested your palm on top of them and watched your fingers trace the slender ones that you had drawn in what felt like by memory at the time, like you were just remembering the way an old friend’s hands used to look. You peeled that one back and looked into the eyes, the strangest and prettiest light green color that made your heart pound every time you looked at it. You took a deep breath in.

“That’s gorgeous.” You jumped in your seat as the chair in front of you pulled out from under the table, and there was the charming brunet that you had met by the fountain, giving you the same welcoming smile that he first granted you. You smiled back without hesitation, your heart warming at the sight. “You sure can draw.”

“I try,” you joked, your grin nearly splitting your face. “Do you drink coffee?”

“Nah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I like tea, though.” You gave him a thoughtful look.

“Are you into herbal healing?”

You could have sworn that there was some sort of excitement in his eyes, but you weren’t sure enough by the time he opened his mouth again. “Yes, actually! What, does it look like I’m into it?”

“No,” you answered, and it was true. Bucky was huge. He had the kind of build that intimidated other guys at the gym, the kind that made athletes jealous. He looked like the typical meathead, but he was sweeter than you could have imagined. But he looked nothing like a man who would be into herbal healing. “Just a guess.”

“Pretty good guess,” he mused, and you grinned back. Your head was in the clouds of some strange deja vu when he asked you if you wanted something, and the entire exchange of whether or not you were going to pay was on the back burner as you sifted through your thoughts. By the time he came back, you noticed that you must have told him that you liked hot chocolate, and that he must have paid. You scolded him before he sat back down, waving you off. It was silent for a few moments as you looked out of the window, the rain still steadily working through the atmosphere. The cup was comfortingly warm.

“Can I ask you something?”

With any other man, you would have immediately told him no, or at least have your guard up. But there was just something deep down, so buried that it was faint, but it was there, that told you that he was nowhere even close to being a threat. “Yes.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his tea and then putting his cup down gently before giving you an intense look. “Who’s the girl?”

You frowned. “What girl?”

He raised a singular brow. “The one you draw.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You blinked twice, and then tilted your head to the side. “I don’t draw just one person,” you said slowly, the lie dragging its way out of your mouth and through your teeth. “They’re different people.”

“Oh,” he said, but the smirk on his face told you that he knew you were lying to him and to yourself. You sipped your drink and something tugged at you, telling you to look out of the window and into the rain again, just one more time before you spilled your guts about seeing things- and then something caught your eye. A flash of a familiar reddish-brown. You turned your full body to look that way, and once you did, you nearly dropped your cup.

There was a woman staring back at you, eyes wide and full of so much emotion that the artist in you wanted to rush to make an unworthy attempt at capturing it. Her lips were parted in pure shock, but you were watching them tremble even from far away. She was getting slightly damp in the rain, but she stood there like it didn’t even matter, just locking eyes with you and sending your heart rate through the roof. When your eyes finally came back to hers after looking at her for what felt like the quickest eternity, you gasped. You knew those eyes.

If you weren’t so deep into gazing at the woman stuck behind the glass, you would have noticed the pleased and content look on Bucky’s face, and the look that he gave the big blond sitting with a ball cap on all by himself. You would have noticed the way that the blond man was turning his body towards your table, watching with the same amount of anticipation as Bucky was. You tried to understand why she looked so familiar, why she was scratching the part of your brain that always tried to convince you that you were much older than twenty something- and then it hit you.

You had been drawing this woman. And you had been thinking about her ever since you knew how to think. It was just the first time you were ever seeing the full picture. “I-” you muttered, eyes stuck on her and the way she looked like she was about to topple over from emotions. The words got stuck in your own throat as you weakly tried to get your mind to take you back to the conversation. “I- excuse me. I have to- I’ll be back- excuse me.” Your chair made a loud noise as you stood from the table in a haste, pushing the door open and walking towards the woman who was still standing on the sidewalk, dumbstruck.

Before you even knew you were outside and into the rain, you were standing not even four steps away from the woman, who was now looking at you with an incomprehensible look on her face. You couldn’t even feel the rain on you. All you could feel was her gaze and the warmth that was settling in your stomach and chest, and the same intense familiarity that was hitting you when you looked at Bucky. But it was so much stronger.

“I-” you frowned, taking a step closer and resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. “Do I know you? Have we met?” You had to have met. You had seen her in your sleep, in your daydreams, in your sketchbook. And still, you never could have imagined how beautiful she was.

She was silent.

“I know this is random and that I just bum rushed you, but, did we go to school together or something?” You were embarrassed. You had never begged someone to remember you before, but this woman was different. She hadn’t said a word to you, and you didn’t even know her name, but you were enraptured. You swore you knew her. You swore you saw her eyes glaze over for a second.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Her voice struck something familiar in your chest, something warm and comforting. It was so familiar, so far back in your memory that it felt like home. Her accent, her inflection, the way she spoke slowly yet deliberately. It was all there in your mind, but you just couldn’t figure out how you knew it so well. “You don’t remember who I am?”

That had you closing your mouth. You tilted your head to the side at what could have been a hostile question, but her tone made it sad. Did you forget a high school friend? “Oh, um, I know you from somewhere, but I can’t really-”

“Think.” The desperation in her voice made your knees shake. If she were anyone else, you would have told her to go away, but you couldn’t. You didn’t want her to go away. But you couldn’t quite place her either, even though your own heart was screaming at you to remember.

“I’m sorry,” you said, a hurt expression on your face. You braved yourself to leave, taking a deep breath and giving her a weak smile that embarrassed you even further. “This was weird of me. I’ll just-”

She was reaching for you. Time started to run slower as her pale arm extended towards you, long fingers that you had committed to memory and to paper a thousand times outstretched. Your mouth dropped open ever so slightly as you stood in place for a second, body still until you subconsciously leaned forward, your nerves buzzing under your skin.

For a second, the only thing you could do was look at the point where her skin touched yours.

You had seen magic before. You had seen it in movies and at theme parks and when miracles happened, but nothing ever like when her skin touched yours. You swore that the warmth that your body had been feeling kicked in even stronger, surrounding you in comfort. Her hand was wrapped around your arm, gentle yet begging, firm yet wishing all the same for something you couldn’t quite see yet. You looked up and into her eyes, the eyes you had drawn and seen so many times, and then you saw it.

You saw it in more than flashes. They were coming in at the speed of light, but somehow you were able to catch every moment and every feeling that came along. You heard her voice as clear as day, ringing with laughter. You saw the two of you attempting to skip stones. You saw her enchanting your stones behind your back to make you think you had actually done it. You saw her mouth brushing over your cheeks, your mouth, your forehead. You could feel her hands on you, holding you, protecting you, cherishing you all the same. You could remember the way that you felt when you saw her standing in traditional witch’s clothing, being inducted into her coven as a blossomed witch. You saw everything and nothing, and you remembered it all.

Wanda.

A strangled sound escaped your body, so feral that it scared you, but you didn’t care. You pulled her forward, your head clashing against her chest. You could feel her shaking, like she wanted nothing more than to hold you just as tightly, but she was hesitating. “Wanda,” you called out, hugging her tighter, and then, like something in the universe stretched too far and then snapped right back into place, she was returning the embrace.

“I thought I had lost you forever,” she said, her voice hollow yet so full, so expressive. “I lost you, darling.”

The memories were all there, like all it took was a touch, but you were still coping with the knowledge. You had been murdered. Murdered by witch hunters, way back when witches were known and feared. That had to have been hundreds of years ago, you knew it. But still, your focus was on Wanda. It always would be on Wanda, forever and always. Just like hers was on you.

“You didn’t,” you managed to say, your own voice thick with emotion as you buried your face into her neck, finally feeling the texture of the hair that you tried so hard to get right. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere ever again.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly sobbing in your arms. You had no idea how you weren’t being interrupted in the crowded streets, but when you took a look back inside of the cafe to see the men who you so clearly remembered as Steve and Bucky, you knew it had something to do with them and their fulfilled smiles. “I wasn’t able to save you. I let you die, and I’m so sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.”

Her words brought you back to the present. “Wanda, no. No, no, no.” You wanted to pull away and look at her face, but the second you started to, she held onto you even tighter. You leaned your head back onto her chest. “It wasn’t your fault. There was no way any of us could have known, and no way that you could have saved me. It was beyond us.”

“Nothing should have ever been beyond us.” She argued softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“But it was,” you said. “And now it’s behind us. Don’t apologize, Wanda.” You wiggled around and got free enough to look up at her teary face. “I may not have recognized you, but now that I do, I can’t believe that I ever forgot you.”

“A new life will do that to you.”

“Is it really a new life if I remember everything?” You said softly, the rain long gone as you stood with each other, bodies nearly molded together with how close you were.

She pulled away to look down at you, her eyes and overall expression tense, and then there was a look that you recognized from a long time ago. It was a look of sweet desire. You closed the cap between the two of you, pressing your lips to hers in a way that proved that you were both two lost souls who had wandered their way back to their other halves.

“It can be whatever you want it to be, darling.” Her lips brushed your again, soft and tender and eager for more touch. “As long as you let me be in it.”

#wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #my fics #witch!wanda #marvel au #witch!au #scarlet witch #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #no idea what to tag this-#wanda x you #lgbt marvel #lgbt

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

First times reader x Caleb widogast?

Here you go I hope you like these ☺️

The first time you met Caleb you were making some coin on the side as a temporary barkeep at the Lavish Chateau gathering funds to book passage on a ship when they entered. You paid little mind to this curious bunch but couldn’t help keep staring at the redheaded man in fine clothes. There was something… different about him. He caught you staring and you hoped the earth would swallow you whole then and there to spare you the embarrassment. Carlos, your boss didn’t help and even made you serve them. The redheaded man kept his eyes on you probably put off by the weirdo that couldn’t keep their eyes off him. You’d never hear the end of this. And though you were soon to see through his illusions it did not change your opinion. Little did you know meeting this intriguing man, Caleb Widogast would bring trouble to your life to the point you were on the run from the law. Should you be upset? Angry? Maybe but perhaps you should have worded it more carefully when you said you needed passage on a ship…

The first time you spend time alone together the Mighty Nein dragged you in pirate trouble a plenty finding yourselves on a true pirate ship as a guests… More like prisoners and you knew better than to not be on guard. You slept with one eye open and a dagger under your pillow. Caleb seemed to feel the same, well save for the dagger part which left you both awake at the same time more often than not. You had some heart to hearts or at least as much as you both could muster. Speaking the truth without revealing anything of worth seemed to be a talent you both possessed but over time you grew more comfortable around each other. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you. Kindred souls destined for each other as Jester called it gushing over how you two would be perfect for each other but neither of you were ready for something beyond friendship. It was that first open and unfiltered conversation that kicked all of this off.

You tagged along with the Nein after their return to the mainland having grown accustomed to their company. You wouldn’t call yourself part of their group but you liked their company so you’ll stay until they grow sick of you or until your path takes you a in a different direction. On the road it was time to take watch. You were usually on duty with either Yasha when she was present or Caduceus but that night the Firbolg really deserved a full night of uninterrupted sleep so you and Caleb took watch together. It was cold and you were freezing. Even Caleb had trouble keeping warm so you suggested what you were taught; sticking close together wrapped up in your blankets and sleeping bag with a Frumpkin spread out over both your laps. You had to admit that this arrangement worked quite favourable for all parties involved so it became a more frequent occurrence.

The first time you danced together came as a surprise to you. You were celebrating in a tavern after successfully completing a job for the Bright Queen and Caleb may have had a little bit too much of that Xhorhassian ale. A band was playing an upbeat tone and before you knew it Caleb had pulled you off your seat and began spinning you around. You were caught off guard but apparently a drunk Caleb was a more open Caleb and you were all having fun so what’s the harm? He was quite a good dance partner even when intoxicated. You could only imagine what waltzes he could dance when sober.

The first time you shared a bed together came as the aftermath of the drunken dances. With the Nein save for Jester, Caduceus and yourself were quite a few bottles in resulting in you three having to practically carry them to their beds and Caleb had already been sticking to your side like glue so you were hardly going to hand him over to the others. Besides, you were able to convince him that last glass was enough and maybe it would be best for him to switch to water instead so maybe you could convince him to sleep too. You helped him up the stairs his arm over your shoulder to support him as he kept humming the tune of the band whispering sweet nothings in your ear making comments about your eyes, your personality, your skills in battle but you took it as the words of a drunken man and just happily agreed with him. You didn’t mind after all. Eventually you got him to his room but getting him in his bed proved more difficult than expected to the point where he lost his balance and you fell with him and before you knew it you were stuck in his embrace with him leaning on you like you were his pillow. Telling him he’d probably sleep more comfortable on his own was met with disagreements. You apparently were much more comfortable than any pillow and blanket and he wanted you to stay. So you stayed making yourself more comfortable.

The hangover morning got Caleb all flustered. Hundreds of apologies, him scrambling up awkwardly but eventually he did catch on you didn’t mind and he couldn’t deny he probably hadn’t slept so comfortable in a long time even if he did wake up with a killer headache. The rest of the day was spent in with a breakfast in bed and a hangover cure brew from your Firbolg Cleric friend. Though that didn’t take it away in its entirety so the two of you spent the rest of the morning and afternoon cuddled up together.

Cuddles are comfy and even though Caleb might be somewhat touch repulsed he loved your hugs and spending time in your embrace whenever he felt down, conflicted, was simply yearning for physical touch or no reason at all. You were happy to provide these cuddles whenever he needed them and he happily provided you whenever you needed them.

Over time Caleb grew more comfortable with your touch and you with his resulting in the two of you sitting closer together and holding hands when no one noticed. You’d grown quite fond of each other and eventually had a conversation to figure out what this thing you have going exactly is and where you would place boundaries. Together you adjusted these boundaries many times to better fit your dynamic as it kept evolving but it took some comments from Beau about how the two of you were acting like ‘that couple’ and to ‘bone each other already’ that made you realise you were very much behaving like you were in a relationship so you thought why not? You were both comfortable with this so why couldn't you be? You had nothing to lose.

Your first kiss wasn’t the most romantic by Jester’s standards that is at least. No fireworks overhead or grand confessions of love. You were sitting together at the Xhorhaus looking over the city from the ostentatious tree on top of the house arms wrapped around each other in a comfortable embrace. You were the one to ask him not wanting to cross any boundaries as you both decided moving things slow was the way to go but he said yes. Your first kiss with Caleb was soft and sweet and everything you had hoped to be. It wasn’t grand and soppy like the kisses described in Tusk Love but romantic in your own way as neither of you were for the over the top expressions of love and affection.

You’d been helping Caleb figure out a particularly difficult spell. Your eye for detail being exactly what he needed after weeks of trying and just not getting it right but you managed to crack the code, find the mistake and help him fix it. He lifted you and spun you around giving you a deep kiss. “I love you.” The sentence seemed to have slipped out but was genuine nonetheless so you kissed him back with an ‘I love you too’. From then on you both grew more accustomed to saying the words out loud and eventually even in the company of others which for the first couple times was met with gagging noises from Beau.

The first time you finally addressed the elephant in the room about the two of you officially being in a relationship left Jester gushing over the two of you already halfway through writing an epic romance about the two of you. ‘The Barkeep and the Scholar’. ‘Drinks and Disasters’. She kept sputtering ridiculous names. Caduceus was happy the two of you finally opened up about your relationship as there was no hiding from him. Fjord and Yasha were happy for the both of you. Beau of course congratulated Caleb and bluntly told you she wouldn’t be afraid to make you disappear should you ever hurt Caleb but it was Veth who’s promised you bodily harm and worse if you ever hurt her boy because not even the gods could stop her if that happened. You had to assure her, vow upon your life that that day would never come and you loved Caleb too much to ever hurt him let alone to the point were you’d provoke Veth’s wrath.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb widogast x reader #caleb widogast #caleb-widogast-x-reader

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uchihashisuii · 3 years

Text

in silence. - Itachi/OFC

Summary: It's nearly a month after Shisui's death that Akari answers a knock at her door. | Itachi/Akari + Shisui/Akari (Past)

Word Count: 2491

Author’s Note: I’ve no idea where this idea came from initially it was supposed to be soft and tender grieving but then the ending happened and I like drama

Content warning for angst, sexual situations, mentions of blood and death

-----

It's the middle of the night, and even a ninja village is quiet and still in the early hours of morning. But Akari does not sleep, cannot sleep, not when her bed is too empty and her heart is split into pieces she doesn't know how to gather up. She curls up alone on the couch, staring unseeing into the wide expanse of sky through the window, and wonders if she will ever be whole again.

The sharp pain of a knife in her chest had dulled to a cold ache, weighing heavy on her battered soul. Shisui had been gone nearly a month, and still she feels him in every breath. Sees him in every shadow of a bird flying overhead, hears him in the early mornings when she wakes from an exhausted doze and thinks he might still be beside her. Each time she moves, and breathes, he is there with her; haunting her heart and dogging her heels - Akari cannot decide if it is torment or salvation, each time she accidentally pours two cups of coffee on instinct or buys more groceries than she alone can eat.

He had promised never to leave her alone, and in an elaborate sort of way she supposes he's keeping that promise. Even if it is all in her head, lost to her grief as she is.

When a knock sounds at her door Akari almost refuses to answer, fear clogging her veins on instinct alone as she remembers what had happened the last time she'd opened that door in the middle of the night. Her own screams echo in her ears, the pinpricks of cold water pouring down her bruised body forever etched into her memories. Akari twists her fingers around the hem of her sleeves, Shisui's shirt too long and hanging freely past her hands. She takes one deep, steadying breath, and finds her bravery. Pushing herself to standing, she drags her feet across the carpet and scrubs the tears from her cheek with the heel of her palm.

She pushes a loose lock of hair behind her ear and tugs down Shisui's shirt to cover more of her naked thighs, swallowing down any remaining unshed tears before pulling open the door.

When her eyes meet Itachi's she blinks in surprise, lips softly parted as she takes in his haggard appearance. His hair is mussed and his cheeks hollow, making the tear troughs that run down his face look deeper. Akari can see plain the way his hands finely tremble, and she knows that a stiff breeze count knock him over. He looks like what she thinks she might, and Akari wastes no time, wordlessly stepping to the side and gesturing Itachi to come inside. He does so without hesitation, inclining his head lowly in thanks as he slips past her.

When she closes the door all is silent, and for the first time in years she finds she has no idea what to say to him. He had been as close to her heart as Shisui, had always looked at her and saw, truly saw her for who and what she was. A kindred spirit, a best friend, a savior, someone to sit silently beside and find calm in the tender affections they shared behind closed doors. She wants to speak - aches to ask what he feels, behind the shutters around his heart. Wants to ask after his family, the investigation, if he's returned to active duty. She thinks she might know the answers already, but there is a startling wall around him that makes her almost afraid. He'd always been private and evasive but - but not with her.

Their grief is mirrored, and shared. Almost palpable, in the unspoken pressure that builds between them. They stand silently in the shadowed hall, Itachi staring down at his feet with hands clenched into fists at his sides, and Akari studying his profile. He had come to her, in search of - something. Respite. Understanding. Love.

For a moment the clouds part, and with a gentle inhalation Akari realizes that perhaps - there don't need to be any words. They see one another, intrinsically; he knows her and she knows him and even if there are a million things unsaid between them, not having shared a single conversation since the night both their lives darkened - right now, right here, it simply doesn't matter. Despite sharing many quiet conversations and confessions and admittances, perhaps right now all that's necessary is gentle hands, and healing hearts.

Akari reaches out to take Itachi's hand, twining their fingers together. She doesn't look at him as Itachi finally looks at her, something almost confused in his dark eyes. He doesn't know why he showed up to her door in the middle of the night and she doesn't ask, simply pulls him towards her bedroom. Akari shoulders open the door and leads him to the bed, Itachi's gaze once more dropped to the floor as he sits at her urging. They continue not to speak as he allows her to pull off his shoes and jacket, tossing them to the floor.

They are grieving, they are broken; and they had been doing it separately, had been breaking apart in silence and alone. The bed dips beneath Akari's weight as she sits beside him, her thigh warm against his, and wordlessly opens her arms. Itachi's breath leaves him in a swift gust as he turns towards her, instantly and instinctively, to wind his arms around her shoulders. Nose buried in her hair, he feels something warm begin to unfurl beneath his ribs as he realizes - they don't have to continue to grieve alone.

Akari's breath wavers as she squeezes her eyes shut, arms around Itachi's middle and her palms pressed flat to his back. She has no more tears to shed, not here, not now - she simply wants to bathe in the sensation of home that surrounds her with Itachi's embrace, to fall into his chest and hold and be held and perhaps, just maybe, begin to stitch together their broken hearts.

His hand is gentle where it cradles the back of her neck, holding her tight to his chest as he matches his breathing with hers. She can hear the pound of his heart, feeling something almost like relief unfurl within her. His pulse is hurried but it is there, and he is alive and well and in her arms, and that is all she can ask for. Her palms move a steady and slow rhythm up and down his back, fingertips tracing the bumps of his spine and if she closes her eyes, and pretends, then maybe this is just like any other night, any other time when he'd held her without asking. Maybe there isn't anything wrong, maybe they can breathe and touch and fall asleep entwined and wake up to soft smiles and his hair in her mouth, just as they'd done a hundred times before.

-----

The minutes pass in silence, in solidarity, in shared and wordless grief. There is an underlying tension that rises between them the longer they go without speaking, without acknowledging the reason why Itachi had afforded himself enough vulnerability and swallowed pride to knock at her door. Akari feels the anticipation stretch and grow between them, and waits, almost fearfully, for the other shoe to drop.

Will he cry, break apart in her arms and ask without words for her to bundle up his pieces? Will she ask questions she never wants the answers to, when she knows already they would only serve to drive more blades into her heart? She doesn't know, and the unknown brings with it a certain underlying fear.

The tether snaps, just as Akari pulls herself back enough to catch Itachi's eye. He watches her with those impossibly dark eyes, warm with exposed affection and vulnerability, so much that it makes her breath catch. And before she can think it through she's moving, angling her neck as her nails dig against his back. She pushes herself closer to him, close enough to feel Itachi's breath fan against her face.

And then Itachi whispers her name, a warning and a plea both, the first thing he has said to her in a month, and it makes her heart feel oddly unburdened. Akari only shakes her head, pulling an arm back to reach and press her palm gently against his neck, his pulse jumping at her touch. She looks at him with pupils blown, eyes shooting down to glance at his mouth before -

Itachi pulls her in before he can stop himself, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. Akari moans against him, fingers moving to tangle in his hair. Her mouth opens, tongue tentatively teasing at his, very nearly smiling as he accepts her immediately. He tastes exactly as she remembers, from by-gone years of giggling teenagers and exploratory hands, and she swallows down the sweet sounds he makes.

She feels no guilt, no regret, as Itachi kisses her with a fervor she'd not have expected from such a man. There is only a sense of familiarity, of a missing piece sliding right into place. An impression of oh, is this what has been missing all these years? How could I have forgotten. It had been the three of them, together always, and even now if it's only the two of them, still they belong together.

There is a fire licking its way through her veins, and Akari is nearly overwhelmed by it, as she tugs on Itachi's hair until it falls loose from its tie. She hadn't felt anything but pain, but heartache, in what feels like a lifetime; and now Itachi's touch sparks something warm and pleasant and good, and eagerly she continues to chase it. One kiss leads to another, and another, until they are breathing hard and Itachi is groaning against her mouth as she runs her fingers through his hair. A shiver runs down her spine as she shoves any thought out the window, allowing herself to love and be loved, to sigh and breathe and feel.

Akari moves to straddle his waist, her hands in his hair as she grinds down against him. Itachi moans at the friction, hands going to her hips on instinct. Her weight on him feels like heaven, and he digs his fingers into her curves as he nips at her bottom lip. He is rewarded with Akari shuddering above him, pushing her hair over her shoulder as she pulls away from their kiss, breathing heavily. Her cheeks are red and her lips swollen, and Itachi cant help but reach to run his thumb across the sweep of her cheekbone. Her eyes slip shut at the touch and she smiles - wide and radiant and beautiful.

He is blinded, momentarily, at the sight of it. And there is the smallest jolt of hope through his heart, companion to the insurmountable guilt he feels. He loves her, and selfishly wants to heal beside her - but they each have one hand empty of their third piece, of the man who brought them together in the first place. Is he allowed to be so selfish, as to desire and want such things from her? He deserves nothing, especially not her.

His vision goes white and his thoughts come to a halt as Akari moves her mouth to the side of his throat, teeth grazing along his neck as she fits a hand between their tightly pressed bodies to press her palm against his hardened cock, the friction enough to have him throwing his head back with a gasp. Her soft laughter puffs against the heated skin of his throat, and Itachi cannot help but mirror her as he bucks his hips up against her, chasing her touch.

When she pulls off her shirt Itachi pauses, his eyes drawn to the silver chain that hangs low. Right between her breasts is the shine of a simple ring, one he is intimately familiar with. Shisui had shown it to him weeks ago, running a hand through his curls and laughing nervously as he asked Itachi if he thought Akari would like it. And Itachi had told him she would, because it was from him, and it was a symbol of his dedication. And then Itachi had been the one to give it to her, left to be found by her in the early morning, the sunlight glinting off the silver making tears spill from her eyes anew.

They both know what this ring means, what its intended purpose was. Itachi hooks his finger through the chain, and uses it to pull Akari down until he can kiss her with teeth.

There is love, there is pain, there is no regret. And when at last she sinks slowly down on his length, foreheads pressed together and his hands bruising her hips, he kisses the spot where the ring hangs, wordlessly assuring her that Shisui is with them, always, even in this. Akari's hands tighten in Itachi's hair, tears finally spilling down her cheeks even as Itachi's name stutters from between her lips amidst moans and gasps. She rides his lap, holding his hand and cradling his face and finding her pleasure as she looks right into his eyes, Itachi watching her with something approaching reverence as he grieves, and loves, and finds a way to pick up their pieces.

-----

They join together more and more as the weeks pass. It is their own private way of grieving, of holding tight to Shisui and what he meant to both of them. They hardly speak, nor do they put a name to what they have become. There is no dictionary definition for the connection they share, for the way they seek one another out to kiss and fuck and cry and remind each other that they are alive, and they have each other.

And then she finds Sasuke, a lone Uchiha and in unfathomable agony, and wonders with tears spilling down her face if she will ever love someone who will not leave.

-----

Itachi had given her the gifts of remembrance on Shisui's behalf - a blade and a ring, and an endless pool of precious memories. And when he had disappeared in the night, leaving behind immeasurable pain in her heart all over again, and hundreds of bodies soaked in blood - he had left her another gift, weighing her down with a greater burden than any heartache could compare to.

She remembers Shisui, and will carry him in her heart. She remembers Itachi, and despite everything will carry him, too, in her heart. Whether he deserves such soft-handed affection she does not agonize over, simply chooses to remember all the days spent in quiet and in laughter, the nights of shared grief and heat. And when she stands at the blocked-off Uchiha compound, palm pressed protectively to her swollen belly, she does not shed a tear.

#itachi x oc #itachi uchiha #naruto #naruto oc #uchiha itachi #uchiha shisui #he's here too. sort of #akari #itakari #shikari #jules writes

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lihikainanea · 3 years

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I love the idea of Bill getting laser focused on work and being in a bit of a grumpy mood, but something just sends her into a small space. She just wakes up, alone, making home on the couch and watching tv to try to distract herself. Maybe the night before they had a small fight that ruminated in her head. Bill finally notices when he comes out for lunch and he tells right away, but she lowkey freaks out when he tries to get near her cause there’s just so much tension and anger around him.

Oh how I love this tonight, when I'm in the slight mood for it to hurt so good.

Look, these two--they are kindred souls but they're also human. They're bound to get into petty arguments. Bill likes to keep his place immaculate, nothing is ever hanging around, but tiger has had a tiring week and her shit is just...everywhere. once or twice when she gets in and just throws her jacket on the couch, kicks her shoes off in the hallway--Bill lets it slide. He picks it up quietly, puts it where it belongs, but he keeps his mouth shut. But then it's like, EVERY DAY and e snaps at her to pick up after herself and she snaps at him that she WILL if he just gives her five fucking minutes to pour a glass of wine instead of nagging her the minute she gets in the door.

Bill is admittedly, also a little short tempered because it's a press week and god he hates those. He was hoping that maybe this whole virtual thing would make it easier but it just...doesn't. He's in front of his computer for hours, often starting at 4AM to accommodate for time zones, he's tired and snippy, he's fed up. His place is messier than he would like and that's stressing him the fuck out, tiger isn't holding up her end of the chores because she's busy and tired so that pisses him off, and it all just kind of exploded the night before.

He was tired from a 16 hour day of interviews that all had the same questions. She was tired form her work day which was total bullshit. They both snapped at each other, it escalated, and while they didn't yell at each other, there were definitely harsh and some awful words were exchanged. Bill had to go take a walk to calm down, and tiger just slammed the door to the bedroom shut and went to bed even though it was only the early evening. Bill usually wouldn't let her sleep alone after a big blow out, but his temper was still flaring and he was just so fucking exhausted that he showered, went out for his last smoke, and then slept on the couch.

His start time was 5AM the next day, so by the time tiger got up he was already in his back office with the door closed.

And like everything in hindsight, she started to feel fucking awful about it. She barely slept a wink, kept waiting for the door to creak open and for him to crawl into bed. He never lets her sleep alone, no matter how angry he is--but he did last night. Tiger wakes up totally fucked up, not even mad anymore just...sad. Remorseful. Small. She said some hurtful things last night that she didn't mean but so did he, and she just wants a little reassurance, a little affection.

She gets her coffee herself and tries not to cry. Makes some toast--and she washes the dish right away, dries it, puts it back in its place. She goes to the front entrance and places her shoes where they should go, hangs up her coat, tidies up the place. She pours her second cup of coffee and puts her ear to his office door, tries to hear if maybe he has a break coming up, but the interviews seem endless. She heads to the couch, wrapping up in the blanket that he slept with last night, and she can't stop a few tears from rolling down her cheeks.

And Bill, for his part, is feeling equally as fucking awful. He hates what he said to her last night. He hates that he let her sleep alone. He hates that he wasn't there when she woke up, telling her he was sorry, giving her a cup of coffee. He hates that he's heard her putter about the apartment for five hours now and he hasn't been able to see her, to go to her.

His schedule that day is insane and he plans on having a word with his manager about it--5 hours straight with not even 2 minutes between interviews to piss. A reprieve finally comes, he has 20 minutes before the next call, and god he can't get out of that room fast enough. He throws open the door with just a bit too much enthusiasm and tiger mistakes it for something else, some residual anger, and she shrinks down a little in her blanket.

He all but runs into the living room to find her but like...he's so hurried and so frantic that tiger mistakes a lot of his harsh movements for him still being upset, and she burrows in more. Bill finds her like that, crying softly, huddled in the blanket he slept with last night, shrinking away from him--and god, he feels like shit. Like absolute shit. He never should have let it go this far.

"Tiger," he says softly, keeping his movements slow as he makes his way over to her, "Tiger, I'm sorry. About everything. I'm sorry sweet girl."

He kneels in front of her, puts his hands on her thighs and ducks his head to catch her gaze. She sniffles and he leans forward, kissing her lips softly.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, weaving his hands into her hair, "God I'm so, so sorry kid."

She pulls at him and he stands, sitting down on the couch and pulling her into his lap She tucks her head under his chin, burrow in there, and just breathes him in.

"I'm sorry too," she mumbles, "For everything I said."

"I'm sorry for what I said," he places a soft kiss on her head, "I'm sorry for not coming to bed last night," another soft kiss, this one on her nose, "I'm sorry for not being there when you woke up this morning," another soft kiss, this one right above her mouth, "I'm sorry I let it get this far."

"We let it get this far bud," she said, craning up to kiss him again, "And I'm sorry too."

"My day isn't done kid, far from it, but can you stay with me awhile? Set up on the couch back there? I want to be close to you."

"I want that too," she mumbles.

And that's what he does. He picks her up, moves the couch in the back room a bit so she's out of view. He refills her coffee, sets her up with a plate of snacks and a warm blanket. And at least this way he can see her out the corner of his eye, and even if he only has 10 seconds between interviews--he can still glance back, give her a small smile, check in with her.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill

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iam93percentstardust · 4 years

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hi! i really like your writing and was wondering if you’d recommend other authors that you enjoy or even specific fanfics you like? i’ve only just started getting into the steve/tony fandom and want to follow more people! thank you!

Hi there and welcome! We’re glad to have you here!! 💙

I’m more of an MCU kind of gal myself but if you’re interested in the comics, I highly recommend checking out the below authors and fics:

Living in the Future by Closer: Eighteen-year-old Tony Stark is the boy genius who woke Captain America, and now he's stuck with him. That's not a bad thing, but between Steve's wide-eyed wonder at the new world and Tony's little fanboy crush, the awkwardness just keeps happening.

@blossomsinthemist: seriously one of the best smut authors I’ve ever read with lots of feelings, trust me, you won’t regret getting into their works

@sineala: been writing Marvel since approximately 2014 (though if you like their works, it’s worth reading their other stuff as well even if you’re not familiar with the fandom, it’s all that good) and has written a lot of the classics including Like a Comet Streaming On and Slipping off the Page into Your Hands

Stars Fading, but I Linger On, Dear by Chibisquirt: A Soulmate AU where people meet their soulmate in their dreams. Of course, not even that solves all the world's problems, especially if one or more of the soulmates has a secret identity...

MCU and Ambiguous Fandom:

@festiveferret: has written so much and I can pretty much guarantee that you’ve stumbled across something that they’ve written at least once, writes both on tumblr and on ao3 but everything they post on tumblr is also cross-posted to ao3 so you don’t have to go digging through their blog to find ficlets

@no-gorms: has literally the most interesting AUs, I always read whatever is new pretty much the moment it comes out, can promise lots of feelings and happy endings

A Series of Learning Experiences by @riotfalling: In which Tony finds out that his tiny artist boyfriend is not a nice boy. In the best possible way. (Riot doesn’t write much Stevetony but what she does write is amazing)

Heart in Hand by janonny: Or the story where Tony, an Omega, holds a much belated Courting Ceremony. Steve joins up and loses his mind a little.

@maguna-stxrk: writes lots of fluff here on tumblr

@omg-just-peachy: widely acknowledged as the inventor of fluff

@itsallavengers: no longer as active but writes the most heartbreaking angst with a happy ending, you will feel so many things, has written classics like Versions of Reality and Nobody Panic, Everything’s Fine

@aurumacadicus: I’ve said before (I think on the stuckony reclist) that her version of Tony is my favorite but I’m going to say it again: seriously, fantastic Tony

Finding Pack by @naferty: In a world where pack means everything from status to fame to survival and to family, newly pack-less Tony Stark is trying to survive after those he once trusted betrayed him, and starting over by searching for a new pack to take him in, but with his age and status weighing heavily on his shoulders finding someone to take a chance on him might be easier said than done.What pack wanted an old infertile omega in their ranks? Certainly not the famous Avengers pack led by the equally famous Captain. (one day this fic will be finished and when that happens, I will scream for three days straight)

@sabrecmc: hmmm yes, especially check out Celestial Navigation and The Prize (also has an incredibly comprehensive rec blog, @sabrecmcstonyficrecs)

Sunrise by NotEvenCloseToStraight: Nomad is a soldier forced to do Hydra's bidding. When his mission takes him to the castle and to the bed chambers of Prince Antony Stark, Nomad is faced with a choice-- to finish his mission and finally earn his freedom or to save the last piece of his scarred soul and let the beautiful Prince live.Antony is trapped in the Palace, his life controlled by his Uncle, the Sovereign Stane. He yearns for a life beyond the palace walls but when the Nomad breaks into his rooms with blade held at the ready, Antony thinks all is lost--and then the assassin hesitates.Steven and Antony are two souls together in the moonlight, two lives on the cusp of ruin and as the sun rises over the palace, perhaps they will be two kindred spirits, finding freedom in each other's arms.

take my heart clean apart by mistymountainking: Tony comes home exhausted after an SI event. Steve acts as welcoming committee. It's an old, careworn routine they've perfected over the years, but tonight ends up going in a very different direction.

Dear Mr. Fantasy by @pineapplebread: Tony writes letters to his past loves to get over them. They’re all but meaningless by this point, but he keeps them hidden anyways, never to be seen or read by anyone else. Until one day they all mysteriously get sent out.His deepest secrets are revealed and he scrambles to do damage control, striking a deal to enter a fake relationship with Steve Rogers who just wants his ex back. Tony conveniently forgets to mention that the only love letter he still means is the one he wrote to his fake boyfriend.

slipping through the years by often_adamanta: The plane crash and subsequent ice might have killed him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still around, haunting those he cares about. And since the only person who can see him is Tony Stark, death sure isn’t going to be boring.

Insomnia by Scavenge4Dreams: Its 3am. Do you know where your Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist is?

rough enough for love by silkspectred: The first time they had sex was right after their first kiss. Steve dropped to his knees and then Tony reciprocated after making Steve lie down on the bed. The second time it was Steve that initiated it, slow handjobs under the hot spray of the shower, and Tony looked surprised by it. Like it was weird that Steve wanted it. Wanted him.

I’m a Grown-Ass Man by not_applicable: or, 5 Times Steve Carried Tony and 1 Time Tony Didn't Mind. At all.

Containment by D: After Tony ends up severely injured from a surprise attack, triggering a flashback and putting him in the hospital for emergency surgery, the Avengers come together in worry for their friend and teammate and are disquieted by the intensity of Tony’s reaction. Between the flashback and the sedatives, Tony’s mind revisits key moments in his life while the team bands together in support of each other and their injured friend, letting SHIELD handle Tony’s attacker, they remain where they are needed, even if Tony isn’t awake to truly realize this. And through it all, Steve makes a decision that will change things with Tony.

His Fate Will Be Unlearned by scifigrl47: Tony Stark spent his childhood making weapons, filling the hole his father left in the world when he succumbed to alcohol, grief, and his own demons. At the age of fifteen, he ran away from home, and made it as far as MIT before all of his responsibilities caught up to him. Now seventeen, he just wants to finish his degree and escape from everything connected to the Stark name. Steve Rogers crashed into the icy North Atlantic in the 1940's, sacrificing himself to save the world. He never expected to wake up, and now that he has, he's not sure he's glad. The US Army has other plans for him, but for now, Steve is slowly learning to live life in the 21st century, and taking classes at Boston College. He's beginning to suspect that there is no escape. Boston College is on the T's Green Line. MIT is on the Red. The two lines meet at the Park Street Station, and so will Steve and Tony.

The Twice-Told Tale by arysteia: For someone he'd hero-worshipped for so long, Steve Rogers in the flesh is a pretty big disappointment. For one thing, he keeps looking at Tony as though he reminds him of someone else, and even if he never says anything, Tony's pretty sure it's his father. A lifetime of not measuring up to Howard's expectations is more than enough, thank you very much, and he's certainly not going to make an effort to live up to any of Steve's. Steve's pretty clearly failed to live up to his expectations, in any case, and that's not hypocritical at all.

Like Gene Kelly in the Movies by lyra_wing: Everything Tony Stark does is a dance. And it's super confusing for Steve.

bedrock and brick by lyra_wing: Immediate sequel to the movie, wherein Tony builds Avengers Tower. Or plays interior designer, take your pick.

#stevetony #fic recs #long post #alle answers #Anonymous

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rouiyan · 3 years

Text

𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the first volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: prince jeno is willing to trade his heart and soul for the throne. but lee jeno is also willing to trade his heart and soul for you.

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : fluff, angst ✧ word count : 7.0k ✧ disclaimers : brief descriptions of nudity (nothing sexual), allusions to sex (nothing explicit), malintent

✧ author’s note — i have a bad case of 'lee jeno will forever sit atop my bias list, unmoved,' but i guess this is just my way of coping. happy reading, loves.

back to series masterpost: till death do us part.

prince jeno will never be king. he will never sit atop the throne and his plates will always be silver, not gold. he shall be addressed with 'prince' prior to his name, always and perpetually, and until he's wrinkly, gray and even through the eons after he passes, he will only ever be 'prince jeno.' and this is only because of his stoic-faced brother, crown prince doyoung, who is always a step out of reach. born a little more studious, a little more driven, a little more empathetic, and born a little earlier. jeno knows this, his parents know this, even the kingdom is fully aware, that jeno is an example of what a future king should look like, but also that doyoung is the epitome.

but if there's one thing that jeno excels at, in greater lengths than his brother, it'd be his sense of independence. at the ripe age of one, jeno was already on his own two feet, quick and adept. at three, he could eat solid foods and put on his clothes without aid. at six, he'd gone out of his parent's willingness to learn professional swordsmanship. and at ten, he'd sworn, one sudden night in a fit of angry tears, that he would never marry. he was ten, just touching on double digits, yet he'd never felt such fervent ardor for any one thing. lee jeno was convinced, by none but himself, that he was better off alone, in marriage, in friendships, in brotherhood, in family. he needn't no one but himself for he knew more than anyone, his own capabilities. but he also knew that no matter how ardent he was in his endeavors, he would never be king, at least, not of the southern kingdom.

as he draws himself straight, emerging from the black marbled carriage drawn by horses of black mane, he sets his sights on the scene that unfolds before him. the northern castle is fortified in pristine white; white footbridges, posterns, battlements, towers and pinnacles, and all that meets the eye upon first glance. in the moment, the sunlight is cascading down between passing clouds, reflecting across the rounds of the turrets like thick coils of luminescence. the castle itself, though, serves as a halo of radiance that rests above a breathing orchard which is then, set behind a pathed meadow of gently mowed lawns. there's a noticeable wind that courses through the splaying fields, gurgling the water of the moat he'd just passed and ruffling the wildflowers. jeno's spirits lift as clusters of petals lift from their stems, undulating with the chorus of the wind and wafting a delicate scent.

the prince is accompanied, on either side, by his guards dressed in black and gold accents, he himself, wearing an ensemble of a similar but more explored palette. he's guided by a man of the recipient kingdom, dressed contrastingly in white, that strides a few paces ahead of the arriving group through the orchard of dew-laden trees, their boughs offering bundles of green apples low enough to be grasped by the hand.

it's easy for jeno to momentarily forget the reason he is here in the first place.

he stands, that night, under a flurry of blinding crystal chandeliers and in line with others, kindred to his age and stature, first as a guest and foremost as a suitor. a man enters from the archway on the left, stout but tall in posture, and he announces, "arrival of crown princess y/n of the northern kingdom, followed by the king and the queen of the northern kingdom."

jeno fails to notice how his own breath hitches, but notices the man next to him stir at the sight of you. for good reason, he thinks. your dress is nothing short of seraphic, a layered piece of cream silk upon silk, built up into a fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline. a pearled bodkin swirls back the upper half of your hair, allowing the supple skin of your face to spangle in the light. it's from this he understands that the rumors of your beauty are not half moonshine. he disregards the soft features of your face and focuses on the way you curtsy, gentle but profound, for each member of the line, a bow sent in return for each adjacent man. jeno is careful in his observations but he cannot seem to find a fault in your movements, each tailored to the exact second. your eyes, your attention, your pleasant countenance, spends no more time on himself than the others. this is one of the two things he notes during the feast, the second being your father, the king, taking a blatant liking to whom he knows to be the crown prince of the western kingdom, na jaemin.

an alliance as solid as marriage between the western and northern kingdoms would perhaps be the turnover of the century, a threat to be reckoned with. the aqueducts of the western kingdom, the pure water it provides for the region and its people, paired with the flourishing arts and wealthy merchants of the northern kingdom would yield tremendous power over the agriculture of the eastern and the coal mines of the southern. jeno is sharp in calculations, his resolve shifting and with this, the arranged trip becomes a lot clearer in purpose. he stares ahead, knowing that he has little charm to offer to the miss, but imagining himself on the throne of the northern kingdom for a change. albeit, next to you, but he'll find it in him to deal with that in the long run and for the time being, divert his attention to the young highness.

dinner clears out and the party moves into the nearest drawing room in the west wing of the palace. the princess and her parents are escorted earliest and jeno utilizes the opportunity to make his objective clear with whom he sees as his primary source of competition, the prince of the western kingdom. prince jaemin has a smile gracing his face at all times, a habit that jeno has come to despise the more time he spends looking at. "how do you fair with the princess' impression, mind i ask?" jeno is taken off guard when the boy speaks first, now standing beside him, both gazes held up front instead of at each other. he rights his expression before replying curtly, "a sight to behold, no doubt, but i find her to provide amusing company withal."

"and is that all you see her for? an eyeful and merriment?" jaemin's tone gives way to how he's condescendingly sneering at the prince, in distaste by means of long forgotten familiarity.

jeno doesn't bother to answer for it is now within his knowledge, and the other's, that his intentions are unearthed. jaemin continues, his voice light but carrying heavy weight, "i'd hope that she chooses wisely. the princess deserves her throne."

they are ushered from the vicinities of the dining parlor into the drawing room. the space is lit with candles that glint and flit across the pale green plaster, lined with golden leaf molding and wainscotting. the walls encasing the room are at least a bountiful twenty feet high, the echoes of thirty or so people colliding off the ceilings and upon the polished floor. nothing remarkable can be said besides the fact that the churnings in the pits jeno's stomach become painfully acute with each step you take towards him, and that he, in turn, can't help but take further steps back.

jeno returns to his assigned quarters without a word spoken to or from you. he does not feel belittled by the others, in fact, he knows his royal blood gives him a hefty advantage over the sons of advisors, distant cousins, older merchants, and others of far off importance. he retires into the crisp white sheets after he blows out the already billowing candle by the bedside. prince jeno only dreams of the throne, the only visions he has ever come to see behind the veil of his eyelids, but it's tonight that he's met with you. smile wide in response to something he's said, an act of jest maybe. he smiles along and towel dries your hair lovingly, brushes through it with tender fingers, lays you upon the bed in fluid motions. it's the morning after that he wakes up with no recollection.

the following day is open to any and every pastime the palace has to offer, the only program being the ball in the evening, a gathering of formal introductions by footwork and intense stares. jeno doubts the princess will have enough stamina to follow through with thirty or so consecutive dances, each with different men, but he's adamant to be one of the few. he's ambling directionless in the castle, unaware of which halls leads to what and in the forefront of his mind, he's looking for you, as he is sure many others are as well. he stumbles upon a dusty balcony, evidently unused, by the landing of the fourth level that opens up to an expanse of flowers, rows and rows of varying genera, each blooming in full vigor. it's here that he finds you, frolicking among the reposeful blossoms, mirrors of your countenance that rise to your waist. from what he can see, you're walking alongside the small dirt paths with a brown haired boy of sun kissed skin. hand in hand you walk, and he can almost see the pleasant smile the boy adorns and the vibrancy you radiate.

jeno learns from a maid with a adoring smile, that the boy is prince donghyuck of the eastern kingdom, the youngest son of four and therefore the most unfit match for a crown princess, a spiteful thought that jeno can't help but think. he also learns that he is the one boy, the one person, you've been the closest with since birth and that, out of anger and disapproval, your mother had invited the suitors for the purpose of serving you a more worthy husband and future king. the maid now sports a frightful expression, knowing that she had crossed her bounds by oversharing. jeno is glad though, and reassures her that the secret is safe with him.

he dresses accordingly for the ball, and while many of the fellow suitors donned garments of white to match your family's signature, jeno cannot find a single piece of his that holds the same hue. the color black oozes from the lapels of his pressed suit jacket, from the tie and shirt underneath. the color is second nature to him, one of his own family, and he gives it no thought.

perhaps it's the color, though, that catches your eye that night because you prance over to him not a half hour after the ball commences. kind eyes that feel so welcome on his skin, and though the churns and froths have resurfaced in his gut, he offers his hand in the first and last dance of the night. you say yes to both but the last is when he starts to chip off the guise of royalty to reveal the ramblings of a young girl.

"i'm not in love with him, most certainly not, but i feel strongly that if i were ever granted a say in marriage, it would not be of anyone in this room, no, i would marry my dearest companion." jeno fails to admit that the smooth vibrations of your voice are enough to set fire to his resolve, the purpose behind your hand on his shoulder and his around your waist.

he draws you in, "and why not marry for love?" though he's sure he doesn't mean to.

"and why not should my love for a close confidante count? is it not love all the same?" you pull from him and jeno follows in step of the music to twirl you back into his embrace, just the way a prince should.

"i believe the love you speak is of the head," jeno counters. the ball is in his court, but he pays it no attention, sincere in obtaining an answer, "i am asking why you should not marry for love of the heart?"

"of the heart," you repeat to yourself, an utterance that jeno finds so endearing but cannot bring himself to immerse in. "i've yet to encounter such an emotion. may i ask, has the prince himself ever held such affection towards another?"

he chuckles, "i only know of once where another held my gaze captive. i know little of her, yet i can speak quite arduously on her behalf."

"what a sight she must be," you muse, partially uninterested now that your partner has declared the purpose of his attendance entirely political by speaking of his one true love whilst in your presence.

prince jeno stops, the hand of his on your back slots for more support and he lowers your figure down by the waist, hie eyes never leaving yours and your noses touch, "yes, you are quite the sight."

prince jeno's passed the golfing greens, the rose gardens, the hiking trails, and the fencing grounds, but he has yet to find something that catches his eye, something he has never seen. as a southern kingdom native and royal, the northern kingdom is easily foreign territory. the air is clear here, there's no soot to brush off when you head inside, and a step outside the walls of the palace, he knows he'll find artisan markets that run for miles instead of coal sites. the artisan markets, he thinks, is where he wants to go.

he's just tipping into the edge of the thick forest that lines the southeastern bounds of the estate when his ears pick up on the babble of a creek. jeno's quick to brush through the creepers and ramblers until the trees give into an expanse of open air. the creek he'd thought he heard is in actuality a wide bathing pool, the water a clear green. he spots a level bronzed rock on which you lay, bare-skinned, the direct sunlight engulfing your figure in glorification. quickly, he diverts his eyes and clears his throat to announce his presence. you're also quick to your feet at the sound, scrambling to grasp at your robes strewn about.

to your surprise, the man, whom you've now identified as the second prince of the coal mines, has not left and is simply standing still, his back turned to you. it's now you that clears your throat and he understands well enough by turning back around to face a clothed you, the flames of his cheeks withstanding.

"it's quite alright, you know, nothing to be embarrassed about." he hums in response and you proceed with your thoughts, "but i'd like to affirm it was by chance, was it not?"

jeno clasps his hands behind his back, willing his eyes to yours, "surely by chance, i would no- never- not dare, such intentions are not-" he's cut off by your chuckles, light and airy, like bouts melancholy chords to his ears. the prince, a boy who had been schooled by only the finest etiquette scholars of the region, finds himself blundering for words. jeno is undeniably embarrassed by now, but his eyes soften as you take steps towards him, fingers fumbling to tie your robes shut.

the heat in his cheeks is still very noticeable but his shortness of breath is not. the prince even goes so far as to close the distance between the two of you himself, hands coming to your aid in lacing the strands of ribboned satin together, gently tugging it into a looped butterfly. you think his favored form of communication is the clearing of his throat for he does it once again, "will you allow me hold account for my mishaps?"

"you hardly did much wrong, your highness." his nose scrunches at the formality.

"then may i repay you for your forgiveness?"

your expression isn't shy to conceal your incredulity at his persistence, "my, now i cannot help but be a tad bit intrigued. what can you offer than i cannot already find on my own land?"

"allow me," he pauses, a smile forming before he can even let you in on his gracious idea, "to give you a tour of the artisan marts, what do you suppose?" the smile is contagious, infectious even, spreading onto your face as well, "a mineral boy to guide me through fine arts? i think i ought to say yes."

your peals of laughter are imminent in the air of sundown. he thinks the painted coasters are plates, he sees the tapestries as scarves, the delicate ribbons as horse whips. but when the two of you come across an array of jeweled accessories, he has the gall to sneak a sapphired hair pin from the display and slot it between your locks, the hood shielding your identity from passerbyers falling back. you're eyes are blown wide at this but jeno simply smiles, fingers coursing through two entangled tresses, courtesy of the abrasion on the rough commoner's fabric.

"a pretty face like yours should never have to hide," he chides. jeno's eyes form soft crescents and he's subtle when he takes your hand in his, "wouldn't want to lose you, princess." you see him slip a gold coin for the dear madam selling the goods before he's off, jogging lightly and pulling you close to his back. the destination is unknown to you but the man seems to lead with an air of awareness. he slows a few blocks down, allowing you to catch your breath as you note that his hood has also been brushed back. returning the favor, you go on your toes to ruffle the strands into place, not missing the surprised flinch his composure gives way to. people left and right are starting to notice, it just so happens that the two of you are stood right in the middle of all the commotion that comes with the afternoon wave of customers. "over here."

jeno's hand is in yours again and you wonder if it's the cause of the heavy hammering in your heart. you wonder, because though it is certainly not an unwelcome feeling, you doubt you've ever felt it beat so hard. his hand gives your own a squeeze and it's as if your heartstrings have been strummed like a guitar, his ragged breaths music to your ears, a remedy for your aches. the narrow alleyway he's entered hosts a light at the end and it opens up into a view of the town, the terracotta-tiled roofings, bronzed candle streetlamps, public works funded by your mother, and all the townspeople going about their days, now in miniscule movements. the sun is just about setting but from the looks of it, it might as well be seen as rising. afterall, who is to say that only sunrises bring new days? new times, new beginnings, new understandings, new loves are all brought about just as much from sunsets as sunrises. and if there's one thing to prove that, it's the way jeno's hand never leaves yours, not for the rest of the night.

"and they'd asked if i should want to extend the stay for anyone."

prince jeno crosses his room and leans upon the footboard of his bed. a week certainly isn't enough to develop a bond of marriage but he is glad to acknowledge that it doesn't get any better than this. "and did you?" he knows where you're going with this, you know that he knows, the whole palace knows that you know that he knows. why else would crown princess y/n head down to the guest quarters, to ask for the room number of a specific boy, if not to tell said boy, whom she had spent almost every second of the week with, that she would like it if he stayed?

"yes, i did, i requested your stay. late yesterday, in fact, but i didn't have it in me to inform you until now." you're blushing and he's thrust into the awareness that the feelings you subject him to aren't customary. "will you be staying?" his eyes are unwavering on yours as if to tell you exactly what he means to say before he eventually does, "it'd be my pleasure."

a knock on the door breaks the moment, but jeno is quick to call the maid in. a letter is tucked between her fingers and upon delivery, the prince recognizes his name printed in the neat scrawl of his mother. an absentminded, "thanks" is followed up by the zealous unsheathing of the letter, a ill-minded idea of the content already forming in the forefront of his mind.

our dearest jeno,

it has come to our attention that you plan on extending your stay until a month's time. officials of the northern kingdom are already working in conjunction with our advisors to plan a date. of most excitement did it certainly incite within your family. had i known you'd be married off to a lass of such prestigious blood, i would have sent you much earlier. your father would love to hear of your methods of courting, perhaps your brother could do well with it no doubt. i've no time to spare, the schematics of your succession are coming fast in the drawing room. expect no less than the best and send my warmest regards to the young highness.

all the best, your dearest mother.

"she'd like to welcome you to the family, that's what's said." jeno's thankful that you decided to teeter over to him now, after he finished skimming through the damned article. he has time to fold it closed before you're by his side, fingers reaching for his. he's rubbing smooth lines into the ridges of your palms. "i suppose they are all thinking the same thing, marriage."

you speak, "do you suggest that it's wrong of them?" but jeno wishes you'd get to the point so he can tell you just what he means.

"not wrong, but natural. if i was my father i doubt i'd think any different."

"then, if not your father, how would you think?"

"i think," he's drawn to the way your teeth bite down on your lips. "i think i'd like it." his thoughts block out everything except the image of your lips and he ponders following through with the ideas plaguing his mind. jeno goes in when you draw back, turning to hide your flushed state. you're retreating even further now, taking an exit all together but not before clearing the air. "breakfast tomorrow at seven, east wing. ask a maid if you are unsure."

next time, he thinks.

breakfast is silent sans the clattering of cutlery on plates but jeno finds baseline joy in the shy glances that you sneak at him across the table. he does not, however, particularly like the prolonged stares your father blatantly spends on him. jeno thinks he's about to look away, for the sixth time at that, when the elder decides upon the moment to speak, "a striking young man, i'll let that. y/n, dear, pray tell me your decision was not built on his good looks." your father is rather speaking to you.

your face burns up in tinged mortification, "father, that is hardly an appropriate question to bring up over the course of a family meal-"

much to your chagrin, the king pays no heed to your interjections and resumes, "preposterous as it may seem, i would despise if our ranks were to be infiltrated by those of the miner's kingdom. our liberal arts are not so often mixed with a line of lowly traitors, an observation may i add-"

"father! oh, how lowly it is of you to be restricting a kind young sir of royal blood to the bounds of his heritage!" your mother has halted in her tracks, setting a golden spoon aside and retreating her hands to her lap.

"must you forget that the blood in him courses silver not gold?" your father's voice never raises, never lowers. you fail at maintaining the same composure, distress budding between outbursts.

"color does not render the propriety of one for better or worse. i believe that was what you'd taught me to rule by but for laughs or for naught, a king you so-call yourself!"

breakfast is silent once again, but this time, not even the aid of cutlery against plates is around to sheath the tension in the air. jeno's enlightened to learn of this side of you. your eyes are hardened, your jaw left slightly unhinged, and deep breaths are taken to retain any sort of semblance. he sees determination in your eyes, lined with a raw and unearthed air of conviction, and there's no other way to describe the look on your face except to say that you are solely driven by a vehement passion for righteousness. but drawing back from the you who has captivated him, he's left with the realization that he hasn't given a second thought to his original resolve since setting foot in the palace. and while the four of you sit in silence, glares and glowers being thrown about, prince jeno is daunted by the fact that more than ever, he feels the fervent ardor that in order to be a king, deserving of accolade and reverence, he needs you by his side to be his queen.

"what my father thinks is beyond me, really. i'd only hope what he said doesn't deter you all that much." you pop a cherry into your mouth, fingers clasping the stem and tugging it off with a pop. jeno looks down at you in adoration, the events of this morning a figment of the past. "not much at all for me, if it doesn't bother you." the soft smile that fills his countenance is given as if to say, 'as you wish, my love.'

you sit up abruptly, the thin cotton cloth scrunching under your thighs. the grass is still dewy from the morning showers but you slip off your sandals in favor of the bare grit of soil beneath your feet. the sun is beginning to stutter from its position overhead but not so fast, you think, the day has just begun. with one last look spared for the bewildered boy, you mouth a 'catch me if you can,' before bundling up the folds of your linen dress into your hands and taking off into the open fields. native flowers of poppies and calendula, orange and white, are trampled in your wake but you don't mind because prince jeno is hot on your heels. he is hot on your heels with a grin of mirth gracing his expression and strides that are long and fast. so fast that you are caught within a matter of seconds, encased in his arms before you even know it, feet lifting off the ground and squeals of protest in response. the adrenaline in your system is slow to subside as you land on your feet once again, eyes lit up like a child's in front of santa claus. the verdant grass looks a murky brown behind your rose-tinted glasses but prince jeno continues to look ethereal. grasping his dark locks in a fistful, you tug him down so that your lips meet and in no time, his lips are working fast against your own. the sensations are nothing short of paradisiacal, as opposite ends of the planet meet, the sun and the moon, the sky and the earth, summer and winter, water and fire, and silver and gold.

wet and slippery, you laugh at the strand of saliva that spreads thinner as you part from his lips. jeno repositions so that you are situated on his back and he allows you to catch your breath before strolling aimlessly across the grounds, as if what happened seconds beforehand didn't just mark the beginning of time. he takes you back inside once the sun has set and your eyelids are half closed. he waits outside in your chamber as you bathe and he stands behind you as your sit in front of your vanity, hair dripping wet and a towel in hand. jeno is gathering your hair in his hands, smoothing over your wet locks with the cloth when he remembers. he remembers the dream he had just over a fortnight ago. the one where he stood in this exact spot. he remembers it just as he sees you give a small chortle in the reflection of the mirror in response to him playfully pulling your hair a little too hard, an act of jest. the trickling feeling of déjà vu hits him so terribly hard but he can only live out the dream in real time, his fingers gently raking your now dried hair. he spins you in his seat and decides that whatever vision he was granted hadn't been revealed to him until now for the very reason being that he simply wasn't ready. the jeno of two weeks ago wasn't ready to love another, to accept another, to cherish another as he does now. now, for you.

prince jeno's eyes are glazed over in awe and revelation as he feels the way your hands draw him closer to you by his waist, entwining your bodies. he's overcome with the need to be the one to make you feel the same way you do unto him. gingerly he lifts you from your spot, hands hooking under the crevice beneath your knees with your arms riding up to his shoulders while effectively removing his shirt in one fluid motion. he's glad that you share the same idea.

that night is the first of many where he shows you the sheer magnitude of which he loves you. he lives for the look of your star-studded eyes, rolling back into your head and the way your toes curl as you call out his name and his name only. he breathes for the way your fingers are in a world of their own as they scour every inch of his hair, pushing and pulling the same way the moon teases its waters. his mere existence is reliant on the shine of his arousal on the bare skin of your stomach. with each time, jeno is reborn.

it's the crack of dawn when he hears your voice, barely scathing the absolute threshold, "i am still very much awake."

"as am i," jeno lifts his head to look across the room, past the dirtied sheets, the swathes of clothes on the ground, to the doors of the balcony that are swung wide open. the sky is of a distilled blue, not yet bright, but still illuminated by the crown of the sun.

"would it be deemed a waste to simply lay here for the duration of the night?" you question, but move to sit up in decisiveness. jeno answers offhandedly once again, even now revelling in the feeling of your skin on his, "i would feel so, yes."

"shall we take a trip to the study? i recall you mentioning a desire to visit." the prince smiles at this. curt again, "if you'd like."

"yes, a warm cup of tea and agreeable literature is an ancient remedy for sleeplessness. my, morning it is already. i don't suppose a morning nap has ever been heard of, though i'd think i'd like just that at this moment." you mumble out the last half, partially rambling to yourself.

"light a candle, my dear, my eyes aren't half as sharp in the dim light." you chuckle at that and reach for the brass pricket set on your bedside table. upon lighting it, you are met with the boy's face irradiated in such a way that accentuates everything from his sharp jawline to the apples of his cheeks. he smiles as takes the instrument from you to allow you to don some clothes. the same is done for him and the two of you make quick time in rushing across the stale floors of the palace to the opposite wing.

the main library, situated on the third floor but occupying large parts of both the third and fourth, is certainly the pride and treasure of the palace, the crown jewel of the northern kingdom even. the separate floors are each sixteen feet in height, filled wall-to-wall with encased book upon book. the collection dates back to the romans and as far forward as your most recent journal entry. jeno pads upon the floors that boast a parqueted mahogany, the same that runs along the integrated shelving and the carvings that crown the skylight above. the windows are made of giant panels of stained glass, mosaics that depict the landscapes just beyond, and as a result, the little light the sun has to offer is cast in shades of blue, green, and red. an assemblage of the masterpieces of ettore forti, genuine, he suspects, are hung in individual alcoves and molded with golden embellishments. jeno thinks the northern kingdom simply cannot have anything better to offer than this. except for you, he thinks.

a maid delivers your tea promptly, a gentle brew of loose leaf herbs, ginger and rooibos by the taste of it and you settle into the plush velvet of the segmented lounge. the work you're reading aloud is enough to keep you awake for the better half of an hour before you begin dozing off. your soft and even breaths are enough for jeno to be shaken from his attention on a few select poems, and he's careful when he moves to replace the leather-bound diary in your hands, with a hand of his own. jeno uses his other hand to cradle the side of your face, as any besotted boy would do, caressing by the means of docile strokes. he feels a mellow calm when you're persistent by his side, even in your sleep. tucking a strand of hair behind your ears, he's leaning in for a quick kiss to the temple when the door of the study is propped ajar, a boy of briefer height emerging from the unlit halls.

jeno recognizes the boy almost instantly, the image of you walking hand in hand with him still as unrelenting in his mind as it was on day one. lee donghyuck, of similar surname but a long-diverging lineage, the fourth prince of the eastern kingdom of agriculture. jeno isn't hit with jealousy, per se, but rather annoyance.

donghyuck's steps halt the moment he sees the still figure on the juniper-stained chaise. his brows draw in suspicion but he's prudent of the expression he lets on. a dialogue of whispers ensues.

"prince jeno, is it?" donghyuck's face darkens when the other nods. "ah, i've heard of the tidings, may i pass on sincere felicitations to you and your betrothed."

"much obliged, prince donghyuck, i presume." obverse, the aforementioned boy nods.

despite all his efforts, donghyuck can't help but let loose a sliver of his composure, "i have little credit i can give to your word, but i'd like to hear what you have to say in regards to the arrangement."

prince jeno is ticked off now, to say the least, he hides his vexation by keeping his reply as formally insincere as he can muster, "elated, the arrangement could not have been better dealt with."

"and you are a man that deals in the prospects of union?" donghyuck does not mean to nitpick but there's no way around it when the prince in front of him is so obviously indignated by his presence. you could say that he's been provoked.

voice held level, jeno proceeds, "i am a man of virtue and i come in good faith, i assure you."

"i must inquire, a man of virtue and good faith? i'd like to know of you and your families' conspiracies, falsities, machinations." a snide and low-shot remark, no doubt, but it riles up the taller of the two fair enough.

jeno sussurates, raspy voice and all, "and who are you, brave enough to speak in such a fashion to a second prince."

"gold by marriage is synonymous to silver by birth. why count the numbers when we are one and the same?" donghyuck's voice is still a bare undertone, but harsh and course in resonance.

"a pity you weren't raised to tell the difference." neither of the princes bother to conceal their malignity for the other. if you were awake, neither would know, too caught up in the heat of their frustration.

donghyuck is fed up with years of spite and built-up distaste. in between all the blundering he has found a point, a target to aim for. he may not see jeno as a harm to you but he knows there's an unspoken wedge that revolves around his family. donghyuck glows in his opportune moment, then he strikes, "and you were raised upon your father's supremacy. do tell, do you believe your father to be an honest man?"

he is met with jeno's silence, compliance, submission.

the leisure sport of swordsmanship is what prince jeno sets out for first thing after ensuring you had woken and eaten something fulfilling. he is in the need to exert his energy on something, or someone, that isn't an acquaintance of yours, for fear that he has done more damage than good by manifesting himself as an enemy in the eyes of your closest companion. he requests your court's highest ranking knight and is surprised and slightly jarred that the man before him is of a smaller stature, a few inches shorter with narrow shoulders and lean muscles. renjun is the name he goes by and he dominates without the need of force. jeno tells the boy to display his best effort, that a scuff here and there is fine, but he severely misconstrues his opponent's abilities.

renjun, as it turns out, finds amusement in jeno's stances, flaws evident in ways that only he can see. undermining the prince's pride is what he aims for and he does exactly that, successful with three strokes, two that flit like sparks in the air and the last that scathes the skin of the prince's left wrist. it's small in area and deep in puncture, the raw film underneath unfurling within itself, but it's enough for him to call the session off. jeno's hand withdraws from the new wound and he's met with the sight of red.

the prince is drawn, in many ways more than one, to the red as it seeps between the clasp of his fingers. as it begins its descent towards the fast-approaching floor, the floor of white limestone. he's drawn by the depth he sees within the color, the solidarity he feels towards the hue. in the silver ichor that pools by his feet, he's drawn to his blood red reflection.

jeno finds you retired in your room that night, in exhaustion of formal meetings and other circumstances that required a princess' supervision. despite this, your visage still lights with joy upon seeing the prince. "would you prefer if i let you rest?"

"depends, what will you propose if i refuse?" the lilt to your voice has him almost coddling, his thumbs running circles on the skin behind your ears down to your neck to release the tensions. "i'd propose a midnight adventure, stargazing maybe."

you give a modest snigger, "a bit of a romanticist, aren't you?"

"only for you i must admit." his tone is humorless. "are you up for it, dear?"

your face returns taut, "yes, needless to say, only for you."

prince jeno takes you by the hand, he leads and you follow. he makes rounds about the same halls, you think he's unsure of where he is heading, but he comes to a stop at the precipice of the fourth landing. the balcony that leans off to the side is one that you have never stood atop of before though you're unsure why. the outlook it bestows upon you is breathtaking, even in the dead of night. just barely are the outlines of the flowers oscillating in the drafts shown, even fainter are the hills that overlap in the distance, but oh-so-clear is the moon.

it's quartered today, the slope of the curve is round and prominent. all of a sudden, jeno is quoting ray bradbury, a classic text he knows you'll know a little too much about. "and if you look," he nods to the sky, "there's a man in the moon." as he conjectured, you're quick to catch on the act before the moment dissipates, "he hadn't looked for a long time."

"do you believe in the man in the moon?"

"i believe in the man and the moon, but the man in the moon is very much apparent as well." your eyes are set in the stars. "he is astray and far from the ground, from earth. he does not seek what we all should seek, but rather he dives headfirst into the superficial."

"and what is it that we all should seek?"

"the one thing in the world that carries any significance at all: happiness."

it is now that prince jeno sees himself as the man in the moon, chasing after mirages of aspirations when in truth, he does not find solace in power, he does not revel in the destruction of others, he does not take lightly when the lonely are forsaken and he shall never partake in the atrocities his father subjects him to. but the man in the moon is a conscious past of his, a living memory of growth, for jeno finds happiness in you; you who grounds him to the earth.

lee jeno thinks the world of you and, as the greatest russian poet ever wrote, "she is a beauty. yes, a marble nymph; angelic eyes, unearthly lips…" (Alexander Pushkin, The Collected Works; "A Suite of Lighted Rooms")

read volume two here: overcast skies and those who die.

#nct ff #nct fics #nct scenarios #nct jeno #jeno x reader #jeno x you #jeno angst #jeno fluff #jeno ff #jeno fanfic #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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bonafidehero · 3 years

Note

You've mentioned some fics recently but haven't made a fic rec list in a long time. Could you give us one... please?

Hey! I sure can! Though I gotta warn you. I’ve mostly been reading daredevil fics recently, but I’m sure I can find some Twilight fics I’ve read since reccing last if that’s why you’re here—I also have some Twilight fics that are WIPS that I’m reading when they’re updated of course.

If anyone is interested in any HMC fics I can rec those in the future, but I don’t have time to go looking for those today.

And up first are two that blew me away most recently.

What They Wouldn’t Do by Ashevillain

“Sarah is a secretary at Orion, a shady company previously owned by Wilson Fisk. When Daredevil begins investigation Orion, Sarah accidentally discovers his true identity, and he’s not pleased. Despite her best efforts to avoid him after figuring out who he is, she quickly finds herself on the receiving end of a Daredevil interrogation in a dark Alley. Post S1, slow burn, Matt/OC.”

Fiction T, Romance/Hurt/Comfort, 42 Ch, 492,295 words, WIP.

(Matt’s pretty horrible in the beginning, a little OOC in my opinion but it’s important to the growth of their characters so just stick with it and I promise they get better. Lol)

The Red Thread by Pastafossa

“It's said that every soul is connected to another by a red thread, and that these two souls are destined to meet. The thread, though it may tangle or stretch, will never break. That's not your experience, lucky or unlucky enough as you are to see the strings that bind people together. A red thread is developed and grown, not born, and you've worked hard to weed out any semblance of crimson that might cling to you. You pay your bills, you keep your head down, and you find whatever lost people or items you're hired to sniff out.

Then the Devil of Hell's Kitchen tags along on a job, and your plan falls apart.

Starts prior to Into the Ring, and loosely follows the canon timeline. There will eventually be smut, so enter at your peril.”

Explicit, Matt/OC/Reader, 49 Ch, 353,019 words, WIP.

(I was pretty hesitant to start this one, since insert/reader fics aren’t usually my cup of tea but I promise it’s worth it. Reader has an amazing backstory and power. There is a hide and seek scene that alone makes this fic worth reading. It was equally exciting and hot. LOL)

Undertow by Edwardskhakipants

“Edward Masen has just been adopted by a young couple with a heart for orphaned teens. When he discovers life as the shiny new toy to the even shiner Cullen family may be worse than life as a faceless nobody, he finds comfort in the oddest place: in the dark eyes of a stranger, as deep and mysterious as the ocean itself. Will he find the solace he had been always searching for in this strange, quiet girl, or will he find something greater than he could ever imagine?”

Gen, romance, Edward/Bella, 13 Ch, 51,667 words, WIP.

(Super sweet story! Bella has a fun secret.)

Murdocks Never Quit by Lluvia185 & Pikkulef

“Instead of being killed, Jack Murdock ends up in a coma and he wakes up almost 20 years later.”

Gen, what-if/angst/family drama, 16 ch, 35,900 words, WIP.

(Really love this concept. Fun to watch Jack get to know his son.)

Devils Kindred by Moonlitdaze

“Iris Murdock is finally returning to Hell's Kitchen, her childhood home, after years away. Unfortunately, the city she left behind is home to memories of her father's murder and a brother who thinks she abandoned him. As she struggles to reconcile past, present, and future, her beloved little brother's own inner devils threaten to steer her life on a new, terrifying course.”

Fiction T, Family/Crime, 91,648 words.

(A really fun idea. I love Iris and Matts relationship. I read this a while ago so I can’t really remember any specifics I really liked… I just know I liked it. Lol There are more fics in the series: Devil’s Penance and Devil’s Alliance, that ones still a WIP. )

Vagary Hop by Brandywine421

"Is it true you show your face to kids so they don't get scared?" Sister Maggie asked, conversationally, but not really. Matt knew her well enough by now to tell the difference.

"Oh. A few times, yeah. If they're really scared already, I don't like making it worse. Why?"

"No reason," she lied, steering him for another circuit around the block. Longer coffee break initiated. "Just curious."

(Read this a while ago, can’t remember anything specific but I always love a Maggie and Matt fic)

A Body of Water and Bones by Littlest Cactus

‘"It was a good distinction to make. I wasn't Bella, but for the time being, I could be Isabella." Because time marches on and waking up as Bella Swan is unfortunate, but it's not the end of the world. Only the end of her's. [SI-OC]’

Romance/Drama, Edward/OC, 92,700 words, WIP.

(One of those “OC wakes up in the Twilight universes.” I always get excited when this is updated.)

Some one shots:

Lazarus Open His Eyes by BrownieFox

“Jack Murdocks wakes up in a coffin, six-feet under, very much alive.”

(Do you like torture? Read this! It’s a super fun idea and great start to what could be a fun multi-chap story but it looks like this is all the author plans to do for it. Can you tell this is a trope I love?)

Penny and Dime by Gremlinny

“"You take down druglords and do parkour, Red, but you're tellin me you can't cook?"

"Jeez, why don't you find me a measuring cup that's ADA compliant?"

Frank is helpful and Matt is kinda drunk”

(God, I just really loved this one because I love soft!frank, okay?)

Carry You, Sustain You, Rescue You by Beguile

“Matt's in the hospital; Jessica is called in to babysit.”

(It’s got Jess in it… what more could you want?)

These are just some honorable mentions—authors who I generally like all of their fics and can’t rec all the ones I like because then we’d be here all day. Lol

ScreechTheMighty

Tryptorphan

Pixelbypixel

That’s all I have time for today, friend, hopefully there was something in there to tickle your fancy!

#long post #sorry 🥺#ask #fic recs #fanfiction #fics #daredevil #twilight #the twilight saga

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thedeathdeelers · 3 years

Note

Do you think Luke kinda knew he liked Julie from the beginning and finally free was the moment he confirmed it? Or do you think he was too in denial to admit it until they were performing finally free? - 🌙

hmm, i don’t know how in tune he is with his feelings most of the time unless they’re right there in his face and he can’t avoid them

the thing about finally free is that those lines are so powerful in that moment - she’s singing them to him, and he’s singing back- and it’s the closest they’ve ever been to each other on-screen. like sure they shared the mic in bright, but they’d just met, and it’s the excitement of their first gig and the boys are visible etc etc

but here? it’s just them being them. singing these significant lines that luke wrote nearly 3 decades ago, and her eyes are shining up at him and that grin and nose scrunch that he loves so much. how can he ignore anything anymore?? it’s glaringly in his face, the overwhelming love he has for this girl and it makes sense

music was always the way he figured out and sorted out his emotions, tried to make sense of them (see unsaid emily) this time it’s no different

but uh. wait. going back to your question lmao: i think he started a tiny bit falling for her the moment he had that conversation with her outside the studio where she finally lets them stay. they connected in that moment, just them talking honestly. and he must’ve sensed something about her that stayed with him (he looked back towards her when she left and the boys were celebrating. maybe it’s because he somehow knew he met a kindred spirit. something about a musical soul or just. ✨soulmates✨ i could track every progression but ya. like in wake up? when he heard her sing and play the piano? a little more in love. the scene in the kitchen? encouraging her and then hearing her sing his lyrics, his song for the first time? more love. it was gradual, and he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to emotional maturity, so this doofus didn’t realise it. he only did when it hit him on the head right in the middle of a performance the few rare times where people can actually see him smdh)

(also you know. the whole. walking through each other- can’t forget that)

GO BIG OR GO HOME I GUESS

#ok sorry this is so long lmao #DOES THIS ANSWER UR QUESTION AT ALL OR #jatp #juke #ask #anon #anon🌙#hi moonon

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cyraclove · 4 years

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noceur - one who stays up late (maybe pre-calamity zelink but if inspiration strikes you for another incarnation then go for that) I love your work!!

noceur - one who stays up late _ _ _

Zelda had always favored the night. She found solace in the silence, the contented emptiness left behind after everyone else had gone to sleep. It was then that she could finally think, the din of the day put away to be dealt with some other time. In the pitch of night is when she could crack the spine of any book she pleased and read by candlelight until dawn crested over the horizon, reality following close behind it.

Lately, however, she had come to crave nighttime for an entirely different reason. It was the only time that he was not constantly watching, his eyes trained on her like a hawk on its prey. Privacy had become a myth since Link had been appointed as her knight attendant, only stoking the embers of her ire for him.

Perhaps the reason for her otherwise inexplicable dislike of the young man was because he had come into his power effortlessly, his purpose finding him with ease. The very moment Link had curled his fingers around the hilt of the Master Sword, he was proclaimed champion in the name of The Goddess herself. The very same Goddess, Zelda thought, whose blood supposedly flowed through her veins, whose power lie dormant in the depths of her soul.

Her skin prickled hot with agitation as she recalled the day that he pulled that damned sword and became a permanent fixture of Zelda’s life. Every waking hour he was there, mouth pressed into a tight, silent line. It made sense that she would be plagued by a man whose only purpose was his duty when she had been unable to fulfill hers. His very presence was a nagging reminder of her incompetence; her inevitable failure.

And yet, as she sat on the edge of the landing overlooking Lake Totori, she failed to keep her mind from wandering to his eyes. Always deep and pensive, she often wondered what they had seen. The moon’s glow on the snow tipped mountains reminiscent of their color, Zelda thought of how intently they focused on her as she spoke, like Link wanted nothing more than to memorize each word.

Sometimes, he looked at her like it was the last time.

Maybe it soon would be.

“Well, now. I was under the impression that royalty required beauty sleep.”

Zelda’s head whipped around, the sudden voice startling her from her thoughts. Standing behind her was Revali, looking just as incredulous as ever.

“Oh,” she said, voice tinged with a nervous chuckle, “you frightened me.”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up here,” he drawled. His eyes swept over the platform. “Where’s your shadow?”

Zelda scoffed. “Looking for me, I’m sure. He’s likely noticed that I’m gone by now.” She rolled her eyes to the point of pain. “In fact, I’m fairly certain that he only feigns sleep. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen him close his eyes.”

His handsome, sea-like eyes.

Wait. Wait, no—

Revali let out a laugh.

“It would seem as though we share the same attitude towards your attendant, princess. We may be kindred spirits, after all.”

She grinned in spite of herself. Not the kindest thing to have in common, perhaps, but she had to admit that someone who didn’t fawn over anything that Link had ever done was a nice change of pace.

“Would you like to join me?”

The Rito cocked a feathered brow. “And do what?”

“I don’t know,” Zelda shrugged, “Talk? Enjoy one another’s company?”

He was quiet for a moment as he considered the proposal, eyeing her as though trying to decide whether or not she had some sort of ulterior motive. He sighed.

“I don’t have much experience with the latter,” he conceded, “but I suppose I have no reason to decline.”

He nearly fluttered down beside her, seating himself in a cross-legged position. They sat in silence for a moment, watching the wind send tufts of fresh, powdery snow swirling across the mountain range. Zelda inhaled deeply, relishing in the pleasant sting of the pine-scented air.

“So. Snuck off, did you?” Revali asked, tilting his gaze just slightly in her direction.

She nodded. “It’s rather humiliating that it can even be called that, but, yes. I suppose I did.”

“In need of a respite,” he mused. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. Very much so.”

“I can’t blame you. I know that I’d certainly need one. Being around that kind of unwarranted pomp and pride all of the time must be exhausting.”

Realizing that he spoke without a shred of irony, Zelda said nothing in response, focusing instead on stifling the grin that tugged at her lips. Revali and Link were almost matched in skill, but the fact that Link had just the slightest edge over him was undeniable. It was evident that Revali was more than aware and that it drove him perfectly insane—something else that she could relate to. However, for all of Link’s skill, he did not boast.

Admirable, albeit irritating.

“He’s really rather humble, actually, though I can see how—”

“You’re defending him now?”

“What? Well…no, what I mean to say is—”

Revali nodded knowingly, softly chuckling to himself as he shook his head disconcertedly. He regarded Zelda with sly eyes, an impish expression on his face.

“I should have known,” he tsked. “An unspoken attraction.”

Zelda bristled immediately, turning to stare at him in disbelief. She felt her hands involuntarily clench into fists as she stammered an attempt at a response.

“Attraction? Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m merely making an astute observation.”

“Attraction. Ridiculous.”

“Tell me, then…why are you so flushed?”

Zelda’s hands flew to her cheeks, cursing under her breath when she found them hot to the touch. Revali cackled, the shrill sound echoing throughout the night. Zelda could do nothing but bury her face further into her hands and wish desperately to disappear. The Rito champion extended a wing, placing it lightly on her shoulder. She couldn’t decide if it the gesture was one of comfort or pity.

“Don’t fret, your highness. Your secret is safe with me,” he said. Shrugging, he added, “Well, relatively, anyhow.” Before Zelda could register any sort of response, Revali stood, adjusting his scarf. His attention was diverted by the sound of footsteps from behind; someone was bounding up the spiral steps, nearing swiftly.

“It seems as though you’ve been found out, princess. A shame, really. I was just starting to enjoy our conversation.”

Zelda damned her heart for leaping the way it did when Link inevitably appeared on the landing, brow furrowed and chest heaving. She saw him visibly relax the moment he had her in his sight, only to watch him tense again as soon as he glanced at Revali. Link’s eyes darted between the two of them, consternation morphing into confusion. The Rito chortled again, leaving Link with a smack on the back as he passed by and made for the stairs.

“Oh, you needn’t worry, hero. She’s all yours.”

“Revali!” Zelda hissed, eliciting even more laughter from him.

“Goodnight, your highness,” he purred, sending a wink in her direction, “and do have a pleasant rest of your evening, won’t you?”

First of all, @fatefulfaerie I am SO sorry that this took me so long!! Second, this prompt sort of ran away from me and became something else entirely? I apologize, though I hope you enjoy it anyhow.

You are always so kind and supportive and I would be more than happy to write for you anytime! Thank you so much for your request!! <3

#zelink #if you squint #this turned out cute though #anastasia reference???#in my fanfiction??#it's more likely than you think #writing prompt #ask #fatefulfaerie #loz botw #botw fanfiction #revali

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widowsofchaos · 4 years

Note

98,101,66 please. 👉👈

❝Kindred Spirits

98. “Can you just…hold me? Just for tonight.”

101. “(Name), please…you’re scaring me.”

66. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x black!reader

soulmate au // requested from this prompt list

A/N: angst and smut, what else is new? After this one, there would be a mix bag of light and dark fics of the 200 ways to say masterlist will be filled with dark fics, for dark fics is why I created this blog in the first place. I’m just trying to get my lighter ones out first. Requested from this prompt.

Oof anon, you one angsty bitch, aren’t you?

Do Not Repost My Works!

It’s okay, I’m here for you.

That’s how it started. Sweet whispers, warm on his clammy skin -- a balm rash. On his flesh forearm, words of adoration carving, itching, and burning -- kismet.

A moment’s breath of happiness reared its head a 180, unveiling a twisted putrid beast; foaming at the fangs shouting “You don’t deserve her.”

Legend has been told for generations that if you reject your destined soulmate, physical illness overwhelms the body. An heart-wrenching pain injects itself into the soul — as if death itself manifests within you.

Those sadden eyes when Bucky shifted away from you that night made him want to bite down on his fist, and scream till his throat went raw. You slightly flinched when he curled in himself, snagging his flesh arm away from you.

It was another restless night for Bucky, waking up screaming bloody murder from an intense nightmare -- images of Hydra murdering you sent him into a spiraling panic attack.

Shouts of your name laced in despair echoed throughout the floor, fists clenching the bed sheets. Knuckles ghosted white, nearly ripping the fabric at the stitched seams. Hot tears stream down his red cheeks like waterfalls. Like a guardian angel, you flew to his aid.

Trembling hands seek a tender soul -- a better soul. Aching bones, and aching heart grasping for your touch, despite the gnawing guilt of how undeserving he felt of your presence.

To breathe the same air as you, there’s nothing tender in his jagged edges, or in his filthy hands. Bitter clouds brew and storm above him -- not fit to feel your pure flesh.

The light in your eyes, the feathery pads of your fingers soothing him -- it reminds him of his mother. Lately, he’s been missing her even more these days; the more deeper he wallows within him, serene memories of himself being dumb and fourteen.

The sly slip of ale on the tip of his tongue, fumbling apologies, she just shushed him, and tucked him into bed. Told him he was a good boy, and that he could never do anything bad. Taught him how to be tough, and yet connected with his sensitivity -- how to be a man.

He clung onto his mother’s sweet words, wise advice -- even a century later.

“Did I do something wrong?” Those words burned in his brain, how your chin wobbles a bit. Shifting on his side, his back facing you, he mumbled, “No. Just leave.” Bucky bit back a sob, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His face contorting in a pitiful display.

A hiss escaped through his teeth, “Bucky, what’s wrong?” You whimpered. That tug -- all too familiar in your heart to scoop him up, and tend to his wounds. On instinct, you hugged him, your chest squeezed onto the muscular planes of his slick back.

Shivers crawled through the crevices of his spine at the feel of your skin.

Bucky wiggled in your grasp, the heat of your engraved words began throbbing as Bucky refused to accept the tie between you two.

Bucky slithered out of your hands as if it pained him to be near you. Tears brimmed at your eyes -- never once -- has he ever refused a hug from you.

The closest of the Avengers; Bucky was timid in your presence. You didn’t force yourself in his bubble, a comfortable distance. Friendly approach of kind greetings, inviting him to movie nights of just you two or suggesting reading material to him.

Helping Bucky adjust to modern culture through advanced technology. Spoiling him with your cooking -- no longer does tube-fed mush, or boiled food lingers on his palate.

It was easy to trust you, it was -- second nature to ingrain yourselves in each other’s bubbles.

Eventually -- Bucky sought out your company, and kind words. Old language of affection -- fluttering lashes, and tiny grazes of her knuckles. Soft hugs at night, his ear laid against your beating heart to tame his late-night terrors.

Now a year later, finally the acknowledgement of deeper layers of love that were sunk in each other now surfaces from the soul to the skin -- a permanent tattoo.

“Bucky, what’s wrong with your arm?” You asked, terrified that he might be in unbearable pain, your strong hands grab his forearm. Tumbling to see what’s eating at him, Bucky jolted with a pained yelp, eyes shut; tears now soaking his face, clutching his arm.

A burning rash simmers on your chest, like a hot blade. A hidden promise prickling above your heart.

A quick graze of your fingers against his skin, sore skin incised. The carving sent electric zaps, the tug in your chest pulling harder and harder; breathless.

You gasped, “Bucky, let me see.” Your words hushed, uncertain.

Hopeful, if it’s finally time. The universe has connected you two together. It’s meant to be.

“No.” Stern, and hardened. “Now leave.” Watery eyes cloud his vision, the taste of anger lingers on his tongue -- rage at himself. His chest cavity felt as if it shattered, “Don’t do this.” You pleaded, it felt as if God himself stabbed your soul.

“Don’t push me away. Not after this.” Your voice trailed into silence, and a sniffle; wiping your wet nose with the back of your hand. “Please, show me your arm.” You begged again.

Fresh tears trail down your cheeks, Bucky remained silent -- the only cadence was his heavy breathing, curling into a fetal position at near the edge of the bed. “Bucky, please don’t do this. Don’t you know what this means? Don’t deny your -- our fate.”

A beat of silence, Bucky refusing to meet your eyes. Your weak fists pounded on Bucky’s back. A few seconds past, even at the brink of offense, and rejection bubbling, you just couldn't bear to physically hurt him. You love that steel-eyed bastard too much.

“Is this what you want?! To end this?!” You shrill, hiding your face against his bicep, softly weeping on his arm, but with every contact -- the words itched even more. Eventually, you stopped, slumping on his body, full bodily sobbing; Bucky kept his metal hand on his arm.

Dying, and yearning to cradle you as droplets flood his eyes, nose scrunching. Losing you will surely kill him.

His words, void of any emotion, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Gingerly, his teeth sinking into his lip, gripping onto the metal tray in both his hands. On the tray, was a bowl of tomato soup, crackers, and a bottle of water. It’s been three days since Bucky sent you away, rejecting you -- despite the universe’s revelation.

Standing at your door, sighing as he peers at Bucky’s door -- shut closed away. Steve dropped off a platter of food, but he doubts Bucky even acknowledged it. Three days, fearing that it would tip into a week of radio silence, and festering ill in your own respective rooms.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you please open Y/n’s door?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.”

The lock clicked, a faint groan can be heard. A humorless laugh exhaled through his nose, maneuvering the tray on his hand, the other twisting the handle. Steve entered the room, the stuffy atmosphere almost made him cough.

The blinds and windows were shut -- pitch black darkness shrouding, causing Steve to nearly squint. The lightning emitting from the hallway, revealing the thrashed living space.

Furniture throttled across the room, the sofa up-turned, the glass table nearly shattered; no doubt, your fist colliding against the coffee table, visible blood splatter are still drying on the cracks. Steve shakes his head, sighing.

Strolling quietly towards your bedroom, Steve’s chest tightens at the sight of you crumbling into a ball, surrounded by wrinkled sheets.

“Please, Steve … I’m tired.” You mumbled, too exhausted, too sick to open your eyes -- too lethargic to send a glare in Steve’s direction.

“This needs to end.” Steve murmured under his breath, hesitant to ask the question that it is just edging at the tip of his tongue, but how else is he going to address the rabid elephant in the room?

“Have you talked to Bucky?” Steve whispered, his words dying into silence. Brows pinched sorrowfully, hurt that not only is he witnessing the deterioration of a close friendship -- the only person Bucky fully heatedly trusts besides Steve -- along with the distress in not only you, but Bucky as well.

“No -- he doesn’t want me. So why should I?” You weakly snarled, but it was a pitiful attempt to mask your heart-ache, and yearning for him.

Barely glancing at Steve, as you sat solemnly on the edge of your bed; staring out at the window. Limbs aching deeply, muscles tensing as you clung onto the blanket. Slowly, your body is going to give out.

“This can’t keep going on. You’re getting sick and so is he.” Steve walked to the dresser, placing the tray down.

“And who’s fault is that?” You choked back a sob,

“I’ve been sick my whole life. Sick and fucking tired. All my years, everyone rejected me. My parents, being bullied as a kid -- and now the very soul that the universe connected me with doesn’t even fucking want me! My existence is a fucking joke.” Your arms failing, sloppily crawling under your bed sheets to hide away once again, and pray to finally die.

“You’re not a joke. We all were born for a reason, and destined for the right one.” Steve sat beside your sniffling form, balled into an infant position. His palm cups your shoulder, rubbing it through the stitched cloth.

Pity swells in his cavity. “Oh Stevie --”, you sighed. What a romantic he was, still the old soul of the hopeful bird-boned boy under the shield of a praised golden god; ever so the gentleman clinging onto fantasies of true love.

“--Bless your heart. With your sweet soul, I hope you find the one meant for you.” You croaked, a bit hesitant at first, mixture of regret -- Steve stills hold onto the mourning of Peggy.

Muffled in the back of his mind, insistent that she was the one; but never got the chance to find out if his skin would be graced with her serene words.

Steve silently clung onto your hand through the blanket, squeezing a bit tightly. Grounding himself so he won’t slip into the painful nostalgic haze once again.

“You both need to address this. I’m worried about yours and Bucky’s health. I’m scared.” Steve whimpered, shell-shocked to hear him crumble -- you peer over the blanket.

Steve’s face is pinched, pruning into a pitiful kicked puppy, his chin leaning against his chest -- eyes shut, failing to prevent tears from falling.

Caving in you crawl out of the sheets, hugging onto his muscular back -- a picture worthy of a laugh, how much you resemble a koala bear clinging onto a teddy bear.

“Please -- just talk. Please.” Steve’s stuttering over water-logged words, sniffling as his eyes leveled with yours; never once have you thought ever in your life-time that you would see the mighty Captain America shrivel into a shaking boy.

Petrified that Steve can lose two great friends -- due to years deep of insecurities, and lack of communication.

“Okay --” Defeated, you sink your chin on his shoulder, “--I’ll talk to him.”

Your knuckles grazed his cheek, “Don’t cry, Stevie.” Wiping his fallen tears gently, Steve twisted his body to engulf you in his arms.

Steve’s rubs your back soothingly, “Now, please eat.” You huffed a chuckle, you mumbled a low sweet okay.

- Guts churning, as if the devil himself was playing jump-rope with your intestines. Nausea bile rising at the back of your esophagus.

Why will I say to him? What if he turns me away again?

The possibility of once more rejection will kill you. Trapping your lip between the cages of your teeth, the hesitant fist hovering over the door finally rains down.

Unanswered knocks engulfed in silence rings in your ears. It’s well past midnight, the entire compound is fast asleep, but you know Bucky -- like the back of your hand. Insomnia is a tricky bastard that haunts Bucky, you sighed.

Thankfully, Steve permitted you access in FRIDAY’s system to unlock his door despite Bucky’s request to remain locked in.

Timid steps waltz inside, the air thick, and stuffy -- like your room, barren, and shut out from the outside world. Hovering fingers mindlessly fiddle in the air, trying to grasp any solid surface; cautious from bumping, and falling.

Gliding open-palms against the wall pavements, walking in the correct direction in darkness due to muscle memory; your chest heaving slightly from unbridled anxiety.

Shaky fingers clutch the knob, twisting it carefully -- although, you have a hunch, Bucky is aware of your presence.

“I thought I told you to stay away.” A hoarse, harsh disembodied voice looms from the beyond the door, simmering rage now rises in fiery flames at the pit of your stomach. You push the hinges of the door wide open, your eyes swirl from soft brown to carmine fury.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, chestnut tresses cling against his cheeks -- tear soaked strands sticky against his stubble cheeks.

Hunched over, eyes stuck on the carpeting -- as if the blue rug was so damn fucking interesting. He doesn’t have the nerve to look you in the eyes -- how could he?

“Look at me.” You demanded, tone hardened; despite your congestive throat. “I said fucking look at me.” You stomped your foot on the floor, emphasizing your hurt.

Watery blues peek through brown strands, wincing at your nose flaring, fists coiled, “Stay away?!” You shouted.

Bucky grimaced, shutting his eyes, his face pruning -- resembling a pitiful baby. “Stay away? Like I don’t mean anything to you! Like I’m trash?!” Your voice cracked, tears pooling in your eyes.

“I’m not like everybody else -- it’s you and me. I -- I don’t understand -- these past days, I’ve been having these dreams -- whenever I do get some sleep!” Your eyes zero on him, daggers into his soul; your arms flailing.

Your heart is beating wildly against your chest, tight fists weakly beating onto your cavity. Twirling like an unhinged rag-doll, Bucky crying slightly, his body shaking a bit, from small tremors of sobs.

“Y/n, please … you’re scaring me.” Bucky scared you’re going to hurt yourself, itching to cease your hands hitting yourself. Fingers clinging onto the sewed fabric, “Dreams of you --” breathless, eyes hazy. Bucky gasped a bit, dreams of him?

You quietened down, glaring at him, “I’ve never got to show you.”

You quickly unbutton your blouse, frustrated fingers fumbling over the stitched buttons, “Y/n, what are you doing?” A pained whimper laced with curiosity, Bucky’s hands reached out to halt you. “No!” You shouted -- a watery bite -- he flinched.

Gripping the flap of your shirt, you tugged it down -- a soft gasp left Bucky, harshly swallowing back a sob. Imprinted above your heart is his own words, “I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.” Cerulean lettering gleaming against scarred sepia.

You scoffed, then a sniffle, “Funny, when it’s you who ended up hurting me, instead.” Irkingly you released your snag, hugging your torso with your arms, a weak attempt to distance yourself -- succumb into your shell.

‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.’ Those words weigh so heavily, creamy bronze snicked on brown skin back three months past.

It was a mission gone hay-wire, five Hydra agents bombarding you -- Bucky heard your screams in his comms; screams that would haunt him forever.

As a speeding bullet, Bucky ran like a mad-man for you -- slaughtering agents, snarling as his knife punctured clean through the necks; gliding his blades slicing down the spines. No mercy. If you ever get hurt, it would be the end of him.

Drenched in blood, ichor coating his strands -- sticking against his maw, and neck. Sitting on the floor, crazed eyes, black cat-suit shines with splotches of red, curls now limp with plasma, plump brown cheeks now covered in a blood mask.

Big doe eyes beam underneath coated heavy droplets -- Bucky sweet strawberry kiss upon your hairline, his lips printing against the red sheen-- his blood-splattered angel.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.” Forehead pinned against forehead, Bucky’s palm gripping the nape of your neck. Passive eyes with a small smile masking a burning hot-white sensation right above your heart plate.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky mumbled under his breath, tiny droplets of tears falling down his bearded cheeks. “You deserve the world.” His chin fell to his chest, little sobs huffing.

“You need someone who isn’t broken.” Bucky cried, sniveling — staring at his trembling hands in his lap.

“Not someone who’s going to wake up screaming in the middle of the night from fucking night terrors!” His hands harshly gripping his sweatpants.

“Who’s clingy, and needy cause doll –” Bucky lifted his wet gaze to you, “I miss you when you leave to the next room. I need you all the time.” He croaked. You cautiously stepped to him, cupping his puffy face.

Bucky instinctively leaned into your touch, tranquility washing over him. A calm sigh slipped from him, “Bucky, I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

Bucky’s eyes opened, “I’ve needed you before I was born.” You bent forward, the tip of your nose flick against his, he solemnly chuckled.

His timid smile fell just a tad bit, “For so many years, I thought the universe was playing a cruel joke on me. For decades I saw you in my dreams – I thought maybe it was a hallucination.” Bucky’s released the bundled fabric, his hands finding its home on your body. Bucky pulled you to his lap, grasping onto your thighs like a life-line.

“I thought you were a figment of my imagination—it gave me peace knowing that you didn’t leave me even when I was getting my brains fried.” You choked back a sob, kissing his forehead. A lingering kiss; you lips were so soft— soft soft soft— like a feather grazing him.

“You see, I was always there with you.” You mumbled against his hairline, nimble kisses in your wake.

Littering kisses on his tear-soaked face: on his fluttering eye-lids, between his brows, the creases on the edge of his eyes, and his chin.

Bucky reciprocated, emotional sloppy kisses. Limbs entangled like a pretzel. On your temples, a trail of pecks on the slope of your nose, your eye-lids, and your chin too. A little nibble like a sappy puppy.

“For decades, I’ve dreamt of you. Didn’t know if you were real or not — soulmates are destined, right? Everything happens for a reason.” You tearfully nodded at his words.

“If I have to go through years of brain-washing to be with you again, I would do it in a heartbeat.” You cried, furiously smashing your lips on his, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“I love you in a place, where there is no space or time.” At that moment, you felt like your heart would stop at Bucky’s words, glassy eyes meet each other.

Foreheads connect, Bucky’s hands slowly graze your smooth skin, glossy oceanic hues never waver from yours, his calloused fingers slither underneath your shirt, rubbing circles at the nape of your back.

Keening leisure desperate touches, your fingers intertwining, and soft tugs of his tresses. Lips hairs-away from each other, a bit hesitant at first, hitched breaths fanning; a quick flick of your upper lip against his.

“Can you just ...hold me? Just for tonight.” Bucky asked, his voice on the cusp of shy, still paranoia hovers in his mind that you may be gone tomorrow.

“I want to hold you every night.” You mewl, a feather-light kiss. Open palms travel the muscular planes of blood, bone, and metal -- nails lightly scrape his skin. Bucky’s lips smashes against yours.

Decades ago -- what feels like a distant lifetime ago -- dim mere of his own past, Bucky would’ve cupped your face in the warm curve of his hands; once soft, now calloused with bitter memories.

He would press his lips to yours, tenderly. Like a poem, simple but yet passionate.

Taste of smeared lipstick, sticky like honey, and faint mint -- now, it’s fumbling. Sloppy, desperate. But it’s all the same; he’s no longer the fresh baby-face of his past. Eyes sparkle with wonder, he’s older -- wise beyond his years.

Years of hurtful baggage weighs on his heart, but -- you. You remind him how to feel alive again, he feels like the care-free pubescent misfit he once was running around Brooklyn, saving Stevie from another fight, and chasing skirts, being a heartbreaker.

But the only skirt he wants to chase is yours only; and keep your heart in his safe grasp.

His heart unfettered, you came to him bare -- as if you peeled your skin inch by inch, no secrets barricading your love.

Soaking in your essence, unfiltered groans against molding mouths -- coveting pink lips slip from your swollen lips to your jaw to your weak-spot; you squeal as Bucky suckles on your pulse-point.

Marking what is his -- the gift that the universe personally bestowed for him, and him only. From an outside party, you’re younger than him, but not in flesh and not in soul.

A vision that followed him everywhere in his mind, even in the darkest years, you were the light.

Kindred spirits before birth.

Bucky grunts, his palm tenderly clutches the nape of your neck -- steadying your shakiness, eyes blissfully closed as he devoured you.

“I love you. God -- I love you.” Mumbling against your flushed skin, his warm tongue licks against his love-bites, parted lips fanning tantalizing pants.

Your eyelids fluttered, pupils rolling in the back of your skull, “I love you too.” A declaration, the truth. Spidery brown fingers rubbing against his scalp, he gasps, it’s a cooling sensation soothing his senses.

“Make love to me.” You coo, you relish the way Bucky squirms underneath you.

Desperate, inpatient -- Bucky grabs your waist, lifts you off his lap momentarily. Seated with Bucky nestled between your legs, thick tone thighs ripple a bit underneath your soft plush.

Choppy pants exuding from both of you, Bucky tugs the hem of your shirt upward -- braless, breasts heave free, ready to be explored with his mouth.

His teeth caging your nipple, nibbling, and pulling -- you hiss, ensnaring Bucky’s head in your arms. Cradling his dome against your chest, as he suckled upon your breasts.

Muffled groans, and moans -- grinding your clothed pussy against his bulging crotch. Leisure thrusts, dry-humping -- your lavender panties turning into a wet silky grape.

“I need to feel you.” You mumble lowly, a whining lover. Bucky’s hands glide down the slope of your spine, sweetly rubbing the nape of your back to then cupping your soft globes.

Squeezing, molding into his palms, you lean into his neck, and lick a long stride. He mewls, his fingers sneak beneath the hem of your panties, calloused against smooth flesh.

Sneaky fingers travel between your cheeks, as if it’s muscle memory, toying with your gaping asshole to your clenching cunt. A raw groan vibrates in your throat, “Bucky --” He shushes you, lips trailing your jaw. “You’re so fucking wet.” Back and forth glides in your velvet folds, to your supple cheeks.

“Nhhh -- uh--” Stunned stuttering, your entire body vibrating in shivers as the cooling metal infiltrates your blazing heat. “Hmm … needs a little bit more.” Bucky removed his fingers ever so slowly, a quick spat on his fingers; diving right back in.

His thumb plunging and curving inside your glistening ass, and his two fingers pistoning in your moist pussy.

“I need you dripping … so I can slide nice and deep.” Like a feline, you mewl and your back arches in his grasp, manhandling you by the clutch of your holes.

Untying his sweatpants strings, in a frenzy as your ass jiggles in his unrelenting metal appendage. With his flesh hand, with ease and precision, Bucky snaps your underwear off.

Your thighs shake as if an earthquake was erupting within your body. Harsh tugs at his pants -- God, you can tap-dance if you could -- he goes commando. Slapping against his abs, his cock swollen -- gleeful fingers wrap around his cock like a vice. Tight, and ruthless.

“Fuck doll --” Bucky’s voice is cracked, he growls lowly, “Don’t stop. Never fucking stop.” Swiveling fist from the base to the tip, twirling around his tip -- Bucky’s swallows thickly, “You fucking minx.”

It’s all too much yet liberating. Cheekily you twirl the tip of his cock against your throbbing clit, you shudder against his lips, “You’re mine.” You spoke in a hush, maneuvering his dick upward, skidding against your humming labia.

Bucky releases your holes, “Enough! I need you.” Bruising grip on your waist, lifting you upward, hovering over his dick, and swift fall of grace -- you scream, so thick, so full.

“Shit, you’re so big. So damn big.” Eyes shut close, “Wait Bucky --” A frail hand lays flat on his abdomen, “Wait nothing!” A guttural noise leaves his throat, like a beast. And fucks you like one.

Your head leaning backwards, curls bouncing and yourself jolting up and down in his hold as he snaps his hips against. A menace.

Time ceases to exist, gravity crushing, bones aching yet it’s a pleasure burn -- no longer pains of despair, but delicious pain as Bucky thrusts in you.

He’s selfish -- and with every right, his heart thumping against his cavity, he thinks it would stop. Can you hear it? How it beats like a hummingbird for you?

Fast, and snarling, “No -- no -- no.” Latching on your jaw with his thick fingers, “Look at us.” Aiding your head downward, you groaned at the sight of his cock hurtling like a mad man. How perfectly you clench him -- a perfect fit.

“So perfect, like a warm wet hug.” A hoist of his hips off the bed, a curve of his dick, you shriek, “Ah -- there it is. The sweet spot.” Your fingernails create craters in his bicep, and scrape against metal.

Squelching skin on skin pounds in your ears, abrupt jerk down on him, balls deep -- it was brutal. Swirling his hips, along with you following his teasing motions, muffled sticky cadence of your juices coating him.

Slow fall, asterning with your hands on his knees. Skull hanging, raspy small fucks, and yes Bucky leave your lips.

With the support of his hand on your back, short but hard thrusts, and his flesh hand slapping your tits. Bent forward, Bucky sucks on your breast, his hair tickling your bare breasts -- the one with his imprintment. Gawking at it as he sucks, it brings tears to his eyes.

“I’m --- uggnh -- I’m gonna cum.” A broken whisper, Bucky pulls back to him, nearly his bare back colliding to the bed, “Do it, doll. Soak me. Cum with me.” Possessively, you wanna coat his flushed pink skin with your cum, have your scent on him -- like an omega for her Alpha.

It’s divine will. A burst of an eruption of the milky way in his eyes. Unwavering brown meets cosmic blue. Space dust clouding your visions, satellites whirling -- Bucky and yourself nourishing your needs’; crawling in each other's fibers, and sinews, make-shifting into a womb.

As one.

The horizon of the galaxy is painted in glittering pinks, neon green, and blues. Stars shine like uncut diamonds, the hand of God commemorates the two soulmates.

Time and space disoriented, shouts of the other’s name bounce against the walls, but speaking each other’s names is like a prayer, salvation. Hot waves of fluid paint your wet walls, spurts of your essence sprays his flexing abs, and groin. Droplets falling from his happy trail.

It's blinding -- cumming so hard has Bucky and yourself levitating at the toes, then begin collapsing and twisting in each other’s limbs, clinging onto each other, shattered breaths, chests heaving. Loss for words.

Bucky came hard, yet gentle and sweet deep inside of you, his words dying in a slurring breathy whisper. It’s so much -- suffocating, but both of you don’t mind drowning. To lose only a sense of the world; just feel each other. In body, and soul.

The smell of him -- hot musk, flushed warm skin, sweaty skin on skin. Love-bites litter his neck like on yours. Bucky’s ego flares, you smell of him. Branded by every sense of the word.

Lust still lingering in the air, on yours and his flesh. Sepia melanin coated in a sheen, candied with saliva and sweat. He smells like a natural aroma of lavender. How Bucky internally gushes at how your baby hairs cling on your forehead, your kind hands sway the chestnut ringlets that curtain your favorite burning blues.

Shy lips dance a bashful tango. Barely touching, but sensual. Tempering with aching pining, ever-lasting yearning that can be only satiated with touch. Always, always, always, always starving, and everlasting.

“I want more.” A crooked grin forms at Bucky’s face, so insatiable he mutters under his breath. His smirk falters a bit, “All of me?” Depth to a simple question with a complicated meaning. A double-edged sword wielding in the distance, but you know both ends are worth it.

So you’ll take it straight to the heart -- the journey will be sweet -- dear God, yes sweet sweet agony. “All of you. For all eternity. Even in the after-life.”

A kiss soft, and slow. Not sure to rush in, can feel his heart. Bucky grips your curls to look you in the eye, a quick glare, his eyes glistening, Are you sure?

You smirk, grabbing the nape of his neck, smashing your lips, forehead to forehead. Nose to nose, face closer, searching for any shadow of doubt but he only saw a twinkle of pouring affection.

A short chuckle, Bucky leans in for a kiss but you tease him with only a second of it, pulling your face away. A huff of a laugh at his darkening eyes. Grumbling, by the power of his metal fingers, forces you on his lips.

The echo of the smooch is wet, and enticing. Flinging you on the bed , trapping you under his weight -- a giggle, and a low timbre of a raspy snicker.

“I want those legs high on my shoulders, doll.”

Smack.

“Hmph --” Biting down on your lip, reveling in his dominance. “-- And you call me insatiable.” You jabbed, a shit-eating grin.

Crack.

And another brisk one, heat blooming on your cheeks.

A high-pitched moan is Bucky’s only answer.

- Pungent fragrance of coitus thickens the air. It’s delicious. Hours of non-stop love making. The sunset is sneaking from the distance, a soft tangerine hue illuminating the room.

Bucky’s fingers rubbing circles on your shoulders, lulling you to a blissful freshly fucked state.

Hazy eye-lids, you want him -- he’s still in disbelief, how can someone like you -- a goddess incarnate -- love someone like him. Is the universe really forgiving him for his sins?

Your small frame engulfed in his massive frame, legs entangled, his arms hugging you tightly. His fingers finding refuge in your hair, his water-logged eyes trail to your chest.

It’s okay, I’m here for you.

A beautiful reminder of your dying commitment. The pads of his fingers trace his marking above your breast, ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.’

Savoring your small sleepy pout that edges into a smile. A smile curls at the corner of his mouth, leaning forward to peck the letters -- and he’ll always be there for you too.

Forever and always.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader smut

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aitarose · 3 years

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ANGST EVENT | PROMPTS

PROMPT: 3—What would you do if I didn’t come back?

WARNINGS: angst, mentions of suicide

WORD COUNT: 1.0k

A/N: this was experimental for me since i never write anything quite this upsetting. it was a confusing work but i think it turned out alright

MY MASTERLIST

As Sokka came face to face with his withering reflection, bloodshot eyes were all that stared back. Sockets rimmed with dried tears and battle scars, the waterworks dripping down his cheeks and into the pond.

He scowled at the sight before him, hating the way he showed pain. If there was one thing that Sokka despised most in the world, it was the feeling of sadness—and before now, he had never felt a feeling so immense.

The small rock in his hand dropped, free falling through the air. It rippled in the water as he forcefully threw it to the ground, watching his appearance become distorted and unrecognizable.

His eyes clenched tightly whilst he recalled the words that had been haunting him. The memory that played over and over again on repeat whenever he closed his eyes.

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?”

It was a curious question that Y/N had asked him while at Agna Qel’a for a tribal arrangement. They’d been standing by the shoreline, holding hands under Yue’s moonlight and conversing in a peaceful manner.

Their usual bickering and playful comments had subsided, leaving a calming mood in its wake. After the war, Sokka had struggled to find peace. Struggled to find a single constant in his ever-changing life.

But then he’d met her. Y/N, the stunningly beautiful Fire Nation girl who’s laugh was contagious. The girl that could brighten his day and connect with his humor unlike anyone else.

Sokka had known that she was perfect for him from the first time they’d spoken. It was an instantaneous connection, one that couldn’t even be explained by the spirits themselves.

He and Y/N were kindred souls, there was no denying it. Their lives were always meant to intertwine—just as they were destined to be ripped apart by the cold hands of death.

His brain still couldn’t wrap around the fact that she was gone. Her familiarity gone from his life. The soft feeling of her touch absent from anyone she’d ever come in contact with.

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?”

Over and over again, those words whispered to his fears—forcing him into an even smaller corner of agony. Regret being the only thing on his mind as he thought back to how he’d responded to her question.

Sokka had laughed. Amusement was all he’d found in her anxiety and stress. Just the thought of her disappearing had seemed like a simple joke to him, something that they’d laugh about later.

Little did he know that Y/N would leave for her mission earlier than they’d expected, leaving no time to say a goodbye, let alone to exchange a quick “I love you”.

All that she’d left him with was a faint kiss on the head and the indent of her frame in the bed. Sokka had fallen asleep with his entire world wrapped in his arms, only to wake up with absolutely nothing.

That ‘nothing’ being even more despairing when he received the news that his beloved had become the victim of an Ozai sympathizer. That Y/N had sacrificed her own future to protect another innocent.

The past days had been the worst in his life.

Although Y/N’s death had given a reason for the old Gaang to visit, happiness was an unknown feeling to Sokka as the person who’d sparked his joy was forever lost to the void.

Katara had been his rock through the whole experience, mothering him like she’d always done when they were children. Sokka couldn’t describe how grateful he was for his sister.

He couldn’t describe how grateful he was for her kindness or her occasional patience. How she knew what he was feeling even before he opened his mouth to say the words—but most of all, he was grateful for her constant support.

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?”

Sokka was ashamed to say that he’d asked Katara Y/N’s same wandering question. The one that his love had asked innocently, with no other intentions in mind had been selfish and bitter coming from his lips.

The question had posed more of a lonesome sense than Y/N had originally proposed. Sokka had taken its meaning to a new level, being reunited with the love of his life was the only wish he wanted granted.

His dreams turned nightmares consisted of the feeling of her kisses, the sound of her beautiful voice, and the serendipitous aura that followed her uplifting personality.

At that point in time, Sokka hadn’t even been able to look at his own reflection—constantly envisioning her standing beside him, taunting him with the vibrancy of her irises, mocking his empty eyes.

He’d come to hate his own appearance, avoiding reflective surfaces at all costs. It was a strange sight to see. The usual confident Sokka had been replaced with this shell of a man that was nothing but vacant.

While most of his friends and allies had failed to notice the drastic change in Sokka’s personality, Katara had been at her brother’s side in an instant. She noticed him. She always noticed him.

Katara had convinced Sokka to carry on, to keep working through the pain no matter how hard it would be. He was lucky to have a sister like her and Sokka knew that, he’d never taken Katara for granted before.

And as she held his shaking hands whilst they walked side by side towards the open casket, there was no way he’d ever even think of taking her for granted now.

Sokka would just have to look to the bright side of the future. He’d have to familiarize himself with his life again, learn to love his lonesome reflection in the mirror.

After all, he knew that there’d always be a part of Y/N with him. She was his soulmate, the very reason he was created to live the life he had—and although she was gone, she’d still made an impact.

While sadness was all he felt now, there was a chance of happiness in his future. Katara had promised Sokka that everything would turn out alright. He’d be okay.

TAGS: @practicallylivesonline @cherryskyies @shell-bells-ringding @xapham @mochminnie @bombardia @xxspqcebunsxx @missmorosis @mysticpeacecrusade @akiris @lammello @simpinforsukka

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 4 years

Text

Not Another Mummy!

Chapter One

First Chapter will be on Tumblr only until more can be written. Story originated thanks to this thread. One hundred percent @magellan-88 ‘s fault.

Pairing: Stucky | Word Count: 2001

Warnings: Language, mild angst, takes place after CA:TWS

Rick O'Connell was a mummy hunter.

It hadn't always been his job, but he fell into it rather naturally. Well, Evie fell into it by way of raising Imhotep from the dead, damn near dying as the sacrifice to return his dead lover Anck-su-namun to the living, and then banishing him to the underworld.

Twice.

As he was the (often) put upon hothead Yank to her more stoic (stiff upper lip, Chaps) British ways, her colleagues rolled their eyes at her but always out of Rick's line of sight. Still, there was no one better when it came to weird, ancient woo-woo crap.

So when a telegram came from a woman named Pegs, Evie had dropped everything to run to her side.

It didn't matter they were crossing warzones or dragging their seventeen-year-old son with them to occupied France, Evie was going.

That was how Rick O'Connell met Steve Rogers, the Captain America, and his best friend, Bucky Barnes, and learned there was such a thing as kindred spirits.

Because Steven Grant Rogers was a punk with balls the size of Texas and no sense of self-preservation, and while Rick would never comment on the size of Evie's metaphorical brass bangers, the first time Bucky Barnes groaned with all the dramatics of a putout housewife and screamed, "Steven Grant Rogers! What the hell are you doing? Get down from there; you shit little punk!" Rick knew he'd finally met someone with his own Evie.

For Barnes, Rogers was a bit like watching Evie, Alex, and Jonathan all rolled into one, but he at least had Peggy and the Howling Commandos as backup. Rick only had himself - and occasionally Ardeth Bay - to keep his troop of walking disasters from falling into pits, and waking the undead.

In France, the Howlies helped them clear out the spookables in the castle where Pegs had found the books she knew Evie would want to preserve, and the O'Connells and Howling Commandos had parted ways.

Over the next few years, they occasionally crossed paths, and Rick developed a lasting friendship with Bucky Barnes built on saving their idiots and loving them with their whole hearts.

So when the news came that Barnes had died, Rick took it hard. He tried to find Steve, but the war was too hot, and any commiseration of grief would have to wait.

Still, he drowned himself in liquor for a week straight, and Evie, lovely, wonderful Evie, his very own Steve Rogers, poured him repeatedly into bed, where if Rick cried out his grief against her, she never told a soul.

Then, with the news about Steve, Rick was both saddened and a little at peace. At least they were together. They could spend their afterlife as they had their life. Together. Best friends and, if Rick wasn't mistaken, something a little closer to what he had with Evie than either man shared publicly.

Rick didn't mind. He'd seen them together. Love like that, what did gender matter?

Decades later, when the news splashed across the screen that Steve Rogers was alive, Rick again cried for Bucky Barnes. Seventy years apart. How cruel was this world?

Things had changed by then, some for the better, some worse, but when Steve Rogers once again took up his shield and defeated the enemy falling out of the sky, Rick knew the world hadn't lost both heroes. Steve was still there, still fighting, still a symbol of hope to a nation desperately in need of it.

When the giant of a man showed up at Rick's door, after the Battle for New York, Rick was one hundred and ten years old. The look of surprise on Steve's face made Rick chuckle, even as he welcomed him inside and shuffled back to his recliner.

They didn't talk about Bucky, though they did chat about Peggy, and Steve asked after Evie, gone now almost thirty years. A long time to be without his soulmate. They'd lost Jonathon before Evie, surprisingly to something as benign as a heart attack, not the loan sharks Rick always figured would do him in. Alex was eighty-six, but that hadn't stopped him from continuing the family business, hunting down artifacts and saving them and humanity when such was required.

Steve smiled softly before saying, "Thank you. People always know what I do or what I've done. They see me as a hero, but you and Evelyn, Alex and Jonathon? You saved the world a couple of times yourselves, but no one knows."

Rick shrugged. "I didn't do it for the world."

Two years later, though Steve didn't visit much, he kept in touch via email or text, which both surprised and touched Rick. He'd moved back to the States after Evie's death, mostly because he couldn't stand to be where she wasn't and had made a life there with Alex hovering.

Then one night, Steve showed up on his doorstep in the pouring rain, still healing from the bruises and broken ribs.

"He's alive."

Rick didn't need to ask who. Just led Steve into the house where the man fell to his knees beside Rick's chair and cried against his thigh like his soul had broken.

Or maybe it was like the broken bits were slowly forging back together, a beautiful work of Kintsugi, his fractured soul now filling with golden lines of hope.

When Steve left, it was with determination and purpose Rick hadn't seen on him since the forties. It was like he became a man possessed, determined to find what he'd lost, and Rick wished him every bit of luck. If Rick had the chance to get Evie back, there would be no stopping him.

Two more years passed, Rick aged a little more, and finally, a knock came at his door. He was one hundred and fourteen when he saw Bucky again. One hundred and fourteen, when he opened the door to a man haunted by trauma Rick couldn't even fathom.

Still, he opened the door to a grinning Steve, but it was the scowling Barnes he looked at.

"Jesus fuck you got old," Barnes muttered.

"Bucky!" Steve gasped.

Rick laughed so hard he made himself wheeze and waved them in. They joined him in his living room, where he sat, unable to stop smiling. "Good to see you haven't lost your sense of humour."

"Lost some good chunks of memory, but some nice people helped stuff them back in."

The harsh, cold blue eyes weren't the ones he remembered, but Rick could see him in there. He knew the stories, had heard all the reports. Longest living POW. Assassin. Killed JFK. Some said, war hero. Others cried, villain.

Rick knew it was likely a little of both in Barnes' mind.

But Steve still looked at Bucky like he hung the moon, and Bucky occasionally linked his pinky finger through Steve's when he thought Rick wouldn't notice.

"It's nice to see you boys back together." He jerked his chin at Steve. "That one mopes around something fierce."

"We're figuring it out," Steve said, enough force in the sentence to make it clear he was tired of Bucky running. It had taken two years to get the man to stop. "We've worked things out with Stark. Tony's a hothead, he's angry, but he gets Bucky wasn't in control as the soldier."

Rick watched Barnes' flinch. "No, but it was still your hands, right, Buck?"

Blue eyes darted to his and then away. "How the hell are you still alive?"

"Jeez, Buck!" Steve growled.

Rick chuckled, enjoying the role reversal. "Clean living."

They both snorted.

"Clean my ass. I've never seen anyone out drink Dum Dum before. What gives, O'Connell?" Barnes muttered.

Rick glanced at Steve. There was a pink flush to the man's cheeks, a clear indication this was something they'd talked about, but Steve had never asked. Rick had always wondered if it was out of self-preservation. Maybe he thought asking would jinx whatever link Steve had left to his past.

"Alex?" he called out. "Could you come in here?"

"You sure, Dad?"

Steve and Bucky both stiffened and exchanged a look, likely surprised they hadn't known Alex was there.

"I thought you said Alex was still in London?" Steve frowned.

"I lied," Rick smirked. "Yeah, boy. Get your arse in here."

He trotted down the hall and into the living room. "Highya, fellas!"

Bucky and Steve stared, gaping from Alex to Rick and back.

"Shit," Bucky hissed. "They got you too? How come no one knows?"

Alex leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, grin wide, his face as smooth and unwrinkled as it had been at twenty-five, the year he stopped ageing. The bright, burnished blond of his mop of unruly curls, something he'd inherited from Evie and only recently allowed to grow out, fell over his forehead and into his eyes.

"He's not a super-soldier," Rick explained before either man could have kittens. "Seems there was a side effect to the Bracelet of Anubis no one knew about."

Alex spread his arms and gave a cheeky grin. "Looks like I'm immortal."

Rick slapped a hand to his face. "Unageing is not immortal. You can still die, dumbass!"

"That explains him, but what about you?" Steve asked.

"Something to do with the temple." Rick shrugged. "I went through the door with him. Some of the power rubbed off. I age, just… slower."

"Hence the reason you look a spry eighty?" Barnes mumbled.

Rick chuckled, reached up, and pulled the prosthetics from his face. "More like a spry fifty."

"Jesus!" Steve's eyes went wide. "I never even guessed!"

"Alex is good with the face paint. We've had to be. And that's another reason we moved back here. People were starting to remark on the uncanny resemblance of my grandson to my son."

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look.

"What?" Rick murmured. "Surely, this isn't too much after witches, aliens, and giant green Hulks?"

"No. No, it's not that," Steve said, quick to reassure them. "It's just…"

"Punk had a second reason for coming today. The Avengers found some woo-woo shit. He wanted you to take a look at it. Stark's fancy AI can tell us lots, but she ain't you."

Rick leaned forward, his back cracking, thankful to be straightened. "I'm no Evie, but squirt over there took after her for smarts. She was always the brain. I was just the muscle."

"Come on, Dad." Alex sauntered in and nudged him. "You learned loads from Mum. Plus, that Warrior for God thing comes in handy on occasion."

"Warrior for God?" Bucky asked.

Rick worked the cuff off his right arm, showing them the tattoo hidden beneath it. "Sorry, fellas. Didn't tell you everything that happened with the Scorpion King."

"Yeah. Like how we used the Book of the Dead to bring Mum back to life," Alex grinned.

"I'm sorry. You did what now?" Steve asked.

Rick laughed and shook his head. "All in good time. Alex, get the whiskey. Let's see what you've got."

Steve rose and returned to the door where he'd left a backpack, while Alex grabbed four glasses and a bottle and dumped an unhealthy amount into each one. The bag clanked when Steve set it on the floor between his feet, and Rick arched a brow.

"This is what we found." He placed the golden box on the coffee table.

Rick gave a low whistle. "Jonathon would have liked the look of that."

"It's really brilliant, isn't it?" Alex mumbled as he crouched to take a closer look. "Look at the way the rubies are inlaid. It's like someone wanted it to appear as if it were dripping blood." He spun it slowly, taking in the images and raised glyphs. "Shite, Dad! Do you know what this is?"

Rick didn't get a chance to answer no as Alex was already running out of the room.

"So, is he as reckless as Evie?" Bucky asked, the first semblance of a smirk since his arrival twitching the man's lips.

"Worse. He's got a nose for treasure like Jonathon and my stubbornness," Rick chuckled. "Then, there's his mouth."

"Which he definitely got from you," Steve chuckled.

Rick didn't dispute it.

Alex returned and dropped a book as thick as Steve's arm on the table, causing it to jump, the chest to skitter across it, and only the reflexes of two super-soldiers to keep everything from going sideways.

"Alex! Calm your enthusiasm!" Rick barked.

"No! No, calming!" The manic gleam in his eyes never boded well for any expedition. "Look!"

He wrenched the book open, sending dust and the scent of musty pages spinning, but it opened on an illustrated page of a female warrior standing over the bodies of the slain.

"Ah, no," Rick groaned. "Not another mummy!"

#the mummy #the avengers #crossover #coming soonish

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