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chelseeebe · 3 days

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bump n’ grind

a lil continuation to gimme a hand wherein our lovely reader helps eddie out after an embarrassing mistake.

18+ mdni. again, mostly just smut. maybe some angst towards the end i guessss. eddie munson x female reader.

eddie’s on cloud nine.

his head floating well above the pretty pink room he was currently in.

not entirely sure how he ended up here but also not at all angry about it. a night of rum and beer had lead him to this.

sarah.. savanna.. something, sits atop of his lap, bouncing off of his thighs like a jacked up rabbit.

he’s clawing at her back, trying and failing, to keep a steady grip on her wild body. appreciating the soft squeaks that left her mouth with every bounce.

and before he can really think about it enough to stop his mouth, he says it. wanting to dig his own grave the second his lips spread.

a long, drawn out iteration of your name.

she stops, immediately. breathless as she grips his shoulders, “what’d you say?”

his cock aches and his cheeks burn, any hope that she’d just ignore it and continue had flown out of the window, “what?” acting clueless, “i didn’t.. didn’t say anything.”

eddie knows full well what had slipped out of his loose lips, muscle memory from the embarrassing amount of times he had whined your name while imagining that it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead.

“you said somebody else’s name,” she frowns, sounding far too close to a possessive girlfriend rather than the one night stand that she actually was.

“did i? i don’t really remember.. does it matter?” with full sincerity, wondering if she was going to stay on his dick or climb off and throw him out.

“if i’m having sex with someone, i at least expect them to know my name,” she scowls, clambering from his lap to the empty space next to him.

“shit,” he mumbles, head in his hands, “fuck. i’m sorry,” sobering up instantly, embarrassed by his blunder.

she sighs, taking pity on his pathetic self, “is she your ex or something?” re-dressing herself with an old t-shirt, rightfully putting an end to their encounter.

“no..” eddie frowns, shaking his head, “she’s my.. my friend.”

best friend actually. making it all the more confusing and complicated. he’d spare her of all the gory details, for her sake.

“oh,” the girl gawps, stifling her laugh. “you should tell her,” leaning over to grab her phone, no doubt to tell all of her friends about eddie’s embarrassing freudian slip.

he’d deserve it.

eddie perches on the end of your bed, not daring to move any closer for fear of losing it and touching you like he dreamed of doing.

it had been four months, two weeks and five days since you’d jerked him off in that tiny bathroom.

not that he was counting.

and still nothing more had happened between you. a few instances where eddie had thought you were close but nothing of any real consequence.

nevertheless, a day hadn’t passed since where he hadn’t thought about it at least once.

he’s memorised every single frame of that video, all the times you pant and twist your hand. the exact second his phone falls onto the counter and the video changes to an image of the back of his head.

every. last. detail.

you jab your foot into his back, peering over your phone screen to frown at him, “what’s wrong with you?”

eddie sighs, letting his shoulders slump, still staring at the torn ac/dc poster he had ripped off the wall for you. it reminds him too much of times where things weren’t so complicated.

“i hooked up with someone the other day,” he states monotonously, uncaring anymore about telling you what had really happened.

“okay?” you jab him again, “why are you sad about that?” confusion echoing.

“i’m not sad.”

you sit up, the mattress shifting behind him, “then what the fuck’s your problem?” leaning forward to rest your chin on his shoulder, in that similar position you were in all those months ago.

sometimes he wishes you’d never touched him. that he had just settled with chrissy and you had never been an option. not that you really were now, still unobtainable, taunting and teasing him.

“i said your name,” he exhales in one big breath, “i said your name while i was having sex with her.”

his shoulders felt lighter now, despite you still resting on them. something about the relief of finally letting you know how he felt. embracing his stupidity.

“really?” your mouth falls open, “holy shit, that’s funny,” he can feel your hands creep up his back, sending shivers over his skin.

eddie shakes his head, at a loss for words. he could see how you’d find it funny, but he couldn’t see the humour in it himself. in fact, it was a marker for the absolute desperation he felt towards your new complex relationship. not only had you taken over all of his waking thoughts, but you’d somehow subliminally crept into his intoxicated mind thoo.

“what were you thinking about? when you said it,” you pry, head twisting around to look at him.

“you.”

“me?” you rasp, right into his ear. “what about me?” feeling your breath against his cheek, transporting him straight back to wayne’s cramped bathroom.

his eyes fall shut, like he’s in some humiliation ritual, getting off to the way you teased him so.

“that video.. that stupid video,” he whispers, tuned in to every twitch of your fingers on his back, your soft breaths in his ear.

“oh,” he can hear the smirk in your voice, unwilling to open his eyes to see it again, “is that it? just the video?”

he doesn’t understand why you’re asking so many questions. obviously enjoying the way he squirmed under your touch, antsy and reluctant to say anything.

“i was.. picturing you were her,” he squeezes out, blood rushing to not only his cheeks, but his cock too.

“aw,” you coo, hand sliding higher, “tell me how it felt,” voice thick with desire, fingers circling around his shaking shoulders.

“good..” his eyes squeeze together, feeling his jeans shift uncomfortably, “not as good as you did,” almost begging, pleading for it.

you hum, your other hand finding the top of his thigh, dangerously close to the tent in his jeans.

if you kept this up, he’d cum all over his fucking pants.

you squeeze the skin, a low grumble from yours lips, “what position were you in?”

oh god.

“w-why?” eddie chokes, seeing stars behind his eyelids.

“i just wanna know, eds.. so i can picture the scene.”

his head tilts back, allowing you the opportunity to creep into the crook of his neck, traces of your lips just barely touching the sensitive skin.

“please tell me,” you mumble, vibrating against his trachea, making his toes curl, grounding himself with the rough carpet.

“she was on top,” he spits, balling his fist around your blanket.

it didn’t feel real between his fingers, poorly substituting your body for the cotton.

“oh,” you shift, the bed frame creaking as you clamber into his lap, resting atop of his thighs. “like this?”

he doesn’t open his eyes. can’t, not without cumming his pants right there. but he can feel you, perched just below his crotch,

“what’d she do now? hmm?” dragging your nails down his chest, your fingers prod at his skin, forcing him to flop back against the mattress.

the space allows you to shuffle upwards, your cunt brushing against his aching cock, leaving him no choice but to turn into pure mush beneath you.

“fuck,” he breathes, daring a glance in hopes to keep the image ingrained in his mind forever.

your hips begin to grind against his crotch, groaning softly with your palms flat to his chest.

“you like that?” you purr, rocking back and forth on top for he rough denim of his jeans.

“i need you.. fuck, please,” he keens, fingertips so firmly pressed into your waist that they’d leave indentations for days.

you don’t respond, sighing softly as the friction between you grows stronger, cruel and twisted in the way you tease him.

he doesn’t understand what all of these almost-encounters mean. it’s like you want him but not fully. holding yourself back for the right moment or perhaps just trying to keep him going until somebody else came along.

his hands slide around to your ass, moving with every jerk and cant of your hips. gruff, frustrated sighs leave his mouth, mixing somewhere in the air with your whiny moans. need and urgency ricocheting around the walls of your room, yet neither one of you prepared to take it all the way.

“jesus eds, are you gonna cum?” you breathe, as much as this was for his benefit, you were getting off as well.

that alone makes this other worldly. even if he was doing absolutely none of the work, you were writhing and gasping just as he was.

it’s almost incomprehensible how much you using him to get off was frying his brain.

eddie was about to combust, the closeness of it all, so near and yet still so far apart. two layers of clothes felt like a million miles. finally brave enough to open his eyes, hoping to keep this image seared into his brain forever.

“yeah.. yeah i’m gonna cum,” he whines, jerking his hips up to meet yours, rocking against each other in perfect rhythm, “please.. oh fuck- fuckfuckfuck,” his cock positioned perfectly between your folds, covering your pajama shorts with your slick.

“good boy,” you breathe, fingers twisted into his shirt, tugging at the fabric, not letting up on your torturous grinding.

your tone is somewhere between mocking and sincere, but he doesn’t care. doesn’t have the brain capacity to if he’s honest.

his cock twitches against his boxers, hips shuddering into the air as an uncomfortable warmth overtakes his crotch.

“oh god.. shit,” the sudden realisation of the mess in his pants, how grotesquely down bad he was for you, hits all at once.

your lips curve, shuffling down to the top of his thighs. you don’t exchange words, just a sly glance that erupts into giggles. leaning down to peck his lips as your hands let go of their hold on his chest.

eddie’s hands don’t move, gripping onto your hips, hoping you’ll stay there for the rest of eternity. not only had he cum in his pants, he had done so at a disturbingly fast rate. a few minutes of what was essentially dry humping had left him sticky and full of shame.

“are you ever gonna let me fuck you?” he asks, practically begging for your mercy, needing to know for his own sake.

he likes to think that if you said no, he’d be able to walk away with his dignity, to never let this embarrassing display for pathetic yearning happen again.

yet deep down, he also knows that that’ll never happen. you could string him along forever and ever and he’d never do a thing about it other than cherish the moments you let him touch you.

your laugh topples over, slinging your leg over his waist to kneel beside his lifeless body, “one day,” kneeing him softly in the side, “go get changed, i’m hungry,” climbing off of the mattress, disappearing from his eyesight.

his head flops back onto the bed, sweaty and exhausted, ignoring the feel of his boxers clinging to his skin and the inevitable wet patch seeping through to his jeans.

an insatiable churning in his stomach for more, for you.

but eddie is eddie, so instead of doing any of the things that he really wanted to do, he rolls off of your bed with a sigh, shimmying out of his jeans just as you’d asked him to.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie’s munson one shot

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sunboki · 5 months

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⎯ CHRISTMAS BLUES a Hwang Hyunjin fiction

🎄 : Hwang Hyunjin x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. enemies to lovers, exes to lovers, reader is a writer, one bed au, forced proximity au, hyunjin is an artist(not mentioned a ton), coincidences

WORD COUNT. 7.3k words ☆ 40 minute read

WARNINGS. cursing, angst galore, mention of sex (non desc.), breakup, hurt feelings, making up, mentions of getting drunk

AUG'S NOTES. this is a stupidly lovestruck hallmark christmas mindset talking, whatever you read below is definitely not me… definitely. anyway, happy holidays to everyone that celebrates! this has been sitting in my drafts for months now, initially planned to be a smau, then a fic!! hope this fic exceeds your expectations, feel free to leave a reblog or comment of your thoughts!

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. You thought getting a call from Hyunjin was the last thing you needed during the holidays, but when he reminds you of your non-refundable tickets to Paris you had booked seven months prior to your earth-shattering breakup, you realize that his call was the least of your problems.

or alternatively :

Just a week over Christmas with your ex in Paris, what could go wrong?

Every circumstance has a question that goes along with it.

How did I get so lucky? Why did you leave?

As for yours, it’s fairly simple.

Where did we go wrong?

December 18th – Seoul, South Korea.

Holding onto what could’ve been is stupid, you agreed upon that mindset a long time ago. However, the past, Him being the past, lingered around you like the scent of citrus still clinging beneath your fingernails even after washing your hands. Everywhere. He was everywhere. And no matter how hard you tried to erase the memories of what was, they served their memory purpose and disfigured your mind all the same.

And so, you replaced it.

Replaced the hurt, the searing burn, with someone else. Who turned into someone else, and someone else after that till the only thing sufficing any weekly relationship was a no-strings attached notion.

Until you met Seungmin.

He was your vice, the person dragging you out of your self-made hole of false sanctuary and safety. He laid all his flaws on the table, showed himself to you. Seungmin was gentle and kind, he was patient— more patient than anyone else in this world— and loving. Oh so loving.

But behind your undying affection for your boyfriend, he saw something you didn’t. Perhaps in your eyes, perhaps in your soul, bared to him on an onslaught of occasions.

Longing.

He saw longing in your treasured hues, longing for someone that wasn’t him.

Because some scars take longer to fade away, but yours hadn’t even begun to heal. Masked with his many layers of band-aids only to never staunch the cut, the one Hwang Hyunjin left on you.

“Seungmin I’m so sorry—“

“You love him, I know,” He nods his head, a sad, soft smile holding place on his lips.

Tonight was the night he officially talked about it. The unforgivable thought continuing to incessantly plague his mind.

Although, he didn’t regard you sourly for it. That connection you had with Hyunjin was something no other person could return nor deliver, and he had to accept that if he really loved you.

If Seungmin really loved you, he wanted the best for you, even if that meant the best were when you weren’t with him.

You were shocked when he brought up the matter, asked if you really missed him, asked if you still loved him. Yes, you had of course discussed your previous relationship, but never to this extent, never so blatantly.

Though the absolute kindness in both his tone and the way he looked at you, seated at the dinner table, kept you from lying.

It’s not fair. Not fair for Seungmin, your boyfriend, to have to take responsibility for your tormented feelings. But here he is, assuring you nevertheless.

Because he’s known. He knew from the start you weren’t over Hyunjin. Knew that, despite so much ache and anguish he caused, your heart can’t help but beat at his pace, fruitlessly connected.

And he knew in the end things would fall apart just like this, and his spot as a placeholder would fall apart along with it.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.

“He hurt you, but you love Hwang Hyunjin, I know.” He whispers, fingers tightly twined beneath the table. There’s a sort of hiccuping sound bubbling up from your throat. You stave it down.

“I’m sorry.”

He smiles, smiles when you don’t deny it, reaching forward for your trembling hands to take in his own.

“I want you to be happy, Y/N. I’m not the one you’ll be happy with though.”

A soft squeeze before he rises and curves to where you sit, free-flowing tears threatening to cascade past glossy eyes.

Without hesitation you wrap your arms around him in a hug, chest wracking with unfiltered sobs. Guilty. Guilt is devouring your soul. You don’t deserve Seungmin, nor does he deserve to be hurt so cruelly by someone he loves. But here you are, ruining him.

He’d never admit it, but the pain in his eyes—the ones you’ve stared at countless times—will always remain evident. No amount of smiling or laughing can hide that.

Pulling back while your arms stayed hooked upon his shoulders, you savor the kiss he places on your lips, the ones he delicately pressed to each of your wrists.

Sad. It’s a sad kiss. A kiss that causes your entire body to wilt against him, crashing deeper and deeper into his warmth, his comfort. He’s not false, he’s real. A real, unadulterated love you’re undeserving of.

Guilty.

“If you’re happy,” He breathes, leaning in to land gentle pecks all over your face, forehead connecting with your own. “I’ll be okay.”

December 20th – Seoul, South Korea.

Your room is still exactly as it has been. Pillows faced the same way, sheets still tousled and hanging halfway off the bed. Hell, he hasn’t even touched the blinds — staying open throughout countless nights, your perfume lingering.

Like he was afraid his touch would break apart what he had left of you.

He hopes, swallowing down the remainder of wine in his glass, you’ll be able to look back and laugh at what used to be, find the matter childish and ridiculous.

What you used to be.

Lovers.

Not kids anymore, you taught him once before. You also taught him how deep a love could be. There’d always be a space for you here, just as you left it. Although, he doubts you’d come back. In fact, you’ve probably moved on with your life. Found someone else to fill the space he did.

But maybe, if he keeps the room as it was for long enough, your room; if Hyunjin keeps those tiny paper notes you wrote for him long enough, you would come back.

What a lie.

Wishful thinking takes you far then drops you into festering despair over and over, he’s learned this the hard way.

Starting with a text.

He blinked once, then twice, then three times—picking apart his brain in order to recollect anything, any details whatsoever that could decipher this random message on a Monday morning.

Paris.

Paris?

Paris.

It hits him, evidently.

Immediately clutching his head and simultaneously slapping an aghast hand over his mouth, a sensation recognizable as utmost horror obliterates his soul into pieces, quite literally rocking his world.

Months ago, he remembered.

You’d been stupid, you’d been drunk, and impulsively booked the tickets, laughing off the “no refunds” reminder as if nothing would’ve ever happened.

It did though. And now he’s dealing with the karma in return for that idiotic decision. Soon enough you both will.

Non refundable tickets to Paris, two days from now, together.

What were the chances?

Blindly tapping his password into his phone, he (just as blindly) jams his finger to the first caller he sees, who turns out to be Minho, seeming like both a blessing and a curse in unison.

Never before had Hyunjin so clearly lost his mind and control of his words, but there’s always a first time for everything, right?

“Minho, what the hell am I supposed to do? She hates me and the flight is booked two days from now. This is just.. Fuck!” Hyunjin pours, slamming his hands against the steering wheel, burying his head into the leather as if that would magically make his endless desperation disappear.

He didn’t usually curse, so when he did, whatever had happened was serious. He carried his words elegantly, proficiently.

He'd be the last picked candidate for elegance right about now.

“If I were Chan I would’ve said you should still try talking to her about it, but in my opinion that wouldn’t change a thing. So suck it up Hwang, it can’t be that bad.”

Ah. Remind me why I ever decided to call you hoping for advice.

‘Hwang’ was the name his friend had reserved for him, coming from a long line of tissues in the mouth and other ways Minho would pick fun at the blonde. But he was at least trying to help, somewhat.

How he got himself into this situation is honestly laughable, situation being your nasty breakup and a plane to Paris.

Great. Paris is great, right? Wrong.

Because this stupid, stupid trip to Paris isn’t one he’s going on alone to enjoy the sights and delicacies there, it’s one with you, the girl who ripped his heart in half two months ago. The trip you’d planned while you were still head-over-heels, not hating his guts.

Oh, and your tickets were nonrefundable. Couldn’t forget about that part.

“.. What am I gonna do?”

“Suck it up, duh.”

“And please enlighten me on how the hell I'm supposed to ‘suck it up’ in a plane seat right next to her for thirteen hours and spend every day glued to the hip, your honor.”

The mental picture of Minho’s fraud-innocent face through the line grated his nerves like nothing else. Brows lifted, mouth slightly open. He wanted to punch that imaginary face so badly right now.

"Then follow Chan’s tutorial on making it up to your now-ex. You asked me for my opinion, and you got it. Look, all I’m saying is this is a good chance to get some level ground between you two, even if you still fly back hating each other—"

“I don’t hate her,” Hyunjin quickly quips.

Honestly, truthfully, he doesn’t hate you, he can’t hate you and he doubts he ever will. You were the one responsible for years upon years of the best moments of his life, how could he hate you for that?

Although, by the way you looked at him that night, he doubts your response would be the same.

Minho sighs.

"Even better, you could fly back with her hating you slightly less."

For once the snarky man he was spilling his problems to had provided decent reason, it was terrifying.

From a spectators point of view, his utter fit had to be quite a sight. For the record, witnessing thee calm and collected Hwang Hyunjin go insane in his car wasn’t a sight you’d see on a regular day.

But today wasn’t a regular day. Instead, it was the day he found himself trapped in a loophole of love and war with his ex.

What were the chances?

There’s no book that could wholly describe Hyunjin.

Even as a writer yourself, not even Shakespeare could depict him to the full extent. He’s flawless but so flawed, kind and yet malicious in terms of his brilliantly unfair beauty.

Every day you run into Hwang Hyunjin. The first few times, you called it coincidence, told yourself his meeting happened to be at the same time, maybe he was headed to a neighboring coffee shop.

Well, before those few days turned into every day on your commute.

And when a breakup is as nasty as yours was, it’s not too refreshing constantly seeing your ex on the daily afterward.

Today, Hwang Hyunjin is wearing a tan trench coat that reaches down to his knees. He’s wearing the same tennis shoes as always (except his usual camera is absent from the picture), and his hair is pulled up, soft, sandy strands framing either side of his face. He stands on the other side of the crosswalk, occupied with his phone while you internally ridicule him.

Staring daggers into his frame, the frigidly cold beverage in hand doesn’t aid in warming up chilling temperatures burning your fingertips, signs of winter’s impending approach.

He looks up.

You avert your gaze to your shoes. You can feel his eyes on you; feel them traveling over your body, then to your face, boring into your skull. He’s waiting, watching.

And somehow, you know you’ll eventually have to make eye contact. Because on your normal route, your turn left on Harrison street, then right on Fords. He’s there. Unbelievably, wildly, he’s there.

It’s the one factor in your (almost) perfect life without him that makes things hell.

Back then, you were like clockwork. Not a minute going by without someone being awake. You taking a nap after spending two hours searching synonyms on Thesaurus, Hyunjin just waking up, heading out with his signature Canon camera loosely hung around his neck.

Two perfect oppositions leaving their cluttered love scattered all over a cheap apartment.

For Hyunjin, it was the mug you’d gotten him last christmas labeled in bold font: “ART WHORE”, while yours was an equally degrading “SHE WOULD RATHER FUCK THE MEN IN HER BOOKS” sticker print slapped on the back of your laptop.

Little did you know you’d be desperately scraping the sticker off seven months later, that you’d leave your chapter unfinished since breaking up and that he had likely thrown away that mug.

Or maybe not. Maybe he painted over it, scribbled it out and somehow made it look good. Hyunjin has a way of making anything catastrophic look pretty.

You, on the other hand, are an erupting volcano. One that cries its lava onto the earth and doesn’t leave a pretty photograph. One that froths and rumbles, and destroys things as it goes.

Perfect opposites, exactly.

Now for the real question, the monumental “where did we go wrong” part that served as an explanation.

Three little words.

I love you.

You lied.

Those are big words, big words for somebody. Big words for yourself, words you spoke to Hwang Hyunjin, looped in his apartment, making love on the couch.

Big words he didn’t return.

Big words that kept your heart stilled in your chest, left your lips blue, drowned as you collected your discarded clothes off the floor.

And you left.

You didn’t need the awkward silence, the “let me think about it”, the bullshit they spouted Kissing-Booth-style. You needed him, his reassurance when you were your most vulnerable. His three words that told you your three years together weren’t one sided, not wordlessly confessed through actions though too scared to say aloud – a feared incantation.

Words he never said. Because you did love Hwang Hyunjin, so much it consumed you into his favorite muse, him your inspiration. Then came the doubt. The recollection of your favorite, dearest moments. Was it all a lie?

Those hour-long seconds, tangled on his sofa, kept that incessant anxiety alive.

You thought you found the one when your drunk night didn’t turn into an orgasm you can’t remember, but rather being coaxed into a warm shower despite your complaining about your pants being too tight.

Somehow, you can still feel his tender kisses like a ghost of a presence, littering the skin of your shoulder instead of the sloppy alcohol ridden ones you’d known before, and for once you had woken up beside the person responsible — not to a note saying they had to leave early.

He was the one responsible for teaching you how to paint, propping you in his lap, hand guiding your own while tracing careful strokes on the canvas. It was hardly possible sitting on his stool together, though neither of you noticed (nor cared), too busy savoring the intimacy of the moment.

That was Hyunjin. He was the glass of water placed in front of you after one too many at happy hour. He was the relaxing bath when everything hurt, the shoulder to cry on.

But you were mistaken. He wasn’t the one. Seungmin was the one, the one you had left behind only to chase after a toxic remedy.

In fact, Hyunjin never was the one.

And it fucking hurt remembering that.

December 21st - 22nd – Seoul, South Korea.

The last news you’d anticipated slammed into you like a bus.

Cozied up at your desk, a number pops up on your screen, interrupting the one moment of silence you managed to enjoy. Most people didn’t call during your work hours, except Seungmin, who, for the record, called before work.

The number you’d memorized by heart was not normal either.

Him.

“Before you curse at me,” He begins, and your hand hesitantly hovers over the call button, jaw clenched beyond reason, silence shouting loud. No strength in your bones allowed you to reply. Was it fear, hatred? Both most likely.

Taking the time to continue, his silky tone lulls along the line.

“Do you remember the tickets?”

Hatred seemed the dominant factor.

“What are you talking about?” You rhetorically snap, obviously annoyed albeit confused.

Tickets? It’s been three months, why the hell are tickets the first thing he’s mentioning?

He sighs. “The tickets to Paris. You remember, don't you?”

It takes you a moment, then, aha.

How could you forget? The tip of the iceberg of what two naive, lovestruck idiots thought would be forever. Little did they know everything would slip past their fingertips.

”Well um, did you know they’re non-refundable?”

Huh.

“WHAT?!”

You’d just managed to convince yourself free of Hyunjin, but he simply dragged you further into his labyrinth.

Or so you thought.

You had grown since he broke you (with the help of your better-ex, Seungmin). You evolved better (or so you told yourself). So out of the plentiful lessons you’d learned during your reflection, the factor that stuck with you most was that nobody is there to pick up for you. No matter how much you think they will.

You swore yourself into the belief Hyunjin would mend you, but you lived blind to the truth that he was just as broken as you were, a dog chasing its tail.

And so, you dealt with it.

In ways.

Whether that was incessantly talking to yourself, fanatically checking the date, contacting Felix on the verge of tears for him to laugh and then attempt at consoling your doom, or googling the best ways to run away from your predicament, fate had it out for you.

A disgustingly impertinent, unfairly fair fate.

Packing wasn’t all too stressful, unless you count trying on an entire entourage of outfits descending from dinner to snow-attire, then focusing on simple.

And it really shouldn’t have been so awful getting into your car, nonetheless waking up to realize today was the dreaded day, but it was, and you seriously deserved an award for the amount of times you checked your clock.

Although, you at least expected to have a little bit of time before having to face him again. Talking and interacting, not just drilling holes into his head. Little bit of time as in, a few years at least.

You were wrong.

Not the first time that’s happened.

“Hi Hyunjin.”

Answering his awaiting call with unsteady pitch, your eyes immediately gravitate to the blond-haired man. Taller in stature, leaning against a nearby pillar by your gate, staring directly at you.

Never had it felt so terrifying.

“Hey.”

You hesitate, never breaking eye contact with the man you’re speaking to a few meters away.

“Are we…Are we doing this again?”

He’s solemn. He’s not the same. Different.

“I don’t know. You decide for me.”

Never for a second does your gaze stray to his lips that barely move as he utters the line. Not the same either.

Before, you’d always been mesmerized by his lips. Then he’d notice and tease you prior to delivering the long-awaited kiss, again and again till you were breathless and your head became dizzy.

But this wasn't before; this is now, filled with grudges and sourness.

“You know I can’t make big decisions.”

That isn’t him. Isn’t the Hyunjin who would always provide endless tips and support, opinions unable to be held back without duct tape.

“Because you don’t want to get hurt knowing we chose this?” He whispers, and you tug your bottom lip between your teeth hard enough to bleed.

“Because I want better for us.”

“Y/n,” He sadly laughs, and your name rolling off his tongue sends an ache clawing your chest. It’s humorless, bitter in his throat.

“There is no us, only you and me, remember? So who do you want better for?”

There’s no twinkle in his eyes or his charming smile, it’s dry and painful, like he’d been crying.

You don’t want to think about that.

“Tell me something, okay?” Holding your phone to your ear with an iron grip, you slowly inhale through your nose, sparing a fleeting glance to the floor.

“Anything.”

“If I cry, will you hug me?”

“Do you want that?”

Question after question. He reaches in further, ripping out pieces of your soul with each inquiry. Stupid, sure. But genuine, all the way from the shrouded depths of your mind did you ask.

Of course you want that, want what’s so bad for you. No strength can make you admit it.

He knows the answer.

You hang up the call, fiddling around with your suitcase prior to wheeling the blundering thing over and ensuring you find a comfy spot out of Hyunjin’s sight.

Only five minutes of talking and you already feel as if your body is splintering into little pieces he’ll arrange into the perfect puzzle, ideal and pleasing.

He won’t. Not anymore he won’t.

And in that stead you’ll remain shattered.

What a shame.

Now boarding Group Five. All passengers in Group Five are welcome to board.

The hailing announcement earns a muffled groan through your mask, begrudgingly rising to your feet while directing your attention solely upon the bridge and your tightly held boarding pass. Luckily, Incheon International Airport isn’t half as hectic as you anticipated, but you have a gnawing feeling Paris will have a lot more to say.

Truth be told, you thank every lesson on task focus you once deemed useless as you shuffle among Paris-goers to find your seat.

One that obviously had to be right by Hwang Hyunjin.

“How’s you and Seungmin?” He fixes the length of his headphones, sparing a quick look at you while speaking. You despise how easy he treats this, how easy he’s treating everything at the moment.

Unfortunately, booking this hell-on-earth back when either of you were in your demented fantasy-land meant sitting beside each other also, in assigned seats.

Cupid really needs to give up by now.

You grunt beside him, uttering a hushed, “We broke up.”

Tilting his head, Hyunjin presses his face closer, craning. Close enough that you hold your phone up as a barrier, shrinking away nearer to the window.

“…Who broke up with who?”

Asshole.

Sighing boisterously, you shove in your own earbuds, rolling your eyes. Hyunjin, cocking a brow, dejectedly slouched back. Although he doesn’t ask any more questions, and you successfully get through your first three hours in silence.

Well, prior to the flight attendant strolling by with her cart, mandatorily beckoning orders from each row.

Wheeling her cart over where your seats are, Hyunjin takes a ginger ale and the customary pretzels they hand out. So when she gets to you and you order a Sprite, the man to your right’s head snaps to you, giving you quite an incredulous cock of his brow.

“No ginger ale?”

You wrinkle your nose.

“I don’t like it,” Biting back, you interrupt him upon accepting the canned soft drink, expression bitter and unwavering.

“You always got it when you were with me” or “Wasn’t it your favorite” was what you expected to come out of his mouth, positively obliterating any ounce of peace of mind remaining inside your rattling skull. You weren’t about to sit another seven hours sulking about something your ex said.

The ex you were very much over.

Right.

Your new goal? Avoid genuine conversation for as long as possible, at least on this flight.

So, given the chance to be deep in thought, you came to a conclusion.

You were clockwork, just like before. Except now instead of just equaling the time of day, he was the hour hand and you were the minute hand, always chasing after one another only to briefly touch and start all over again in an endless cycle of time.

Although the rockier the air gets and the more your grip squeezes the armrest does your initial goal falter, finding his considerate gesture asking if you were alright practically impossible to keep from responding to.

Especially when a huge drop has his hand racing atop yours, both too nervous to truly let go.

Just the circumstances, you blame, as if this plane was the sole cause of your slamming heartbeat.

Bullshit.

Four days and this trip was going to be one for the books for a multitude of reasons, that’s for sure.

Let’s just hope you can land first.

December 23nd – Paris, France.

His assuring hold on your hand guiding you through the bustling crowds of visitors and locals storming Charles de Gaulle Airport gives you this disgusting nostalgia, festering in your gut the longer you focus on his dark head of hair in front of you, kind, magnificent almond eyes flickering back to catch sight of you time and time again — like you’d magically sift from his grasp.

It’s a miracle you managed to hit ground in one piece, nevertheless end up with the notorious artist-jerkface named Hyunjin navigating you through an supremely overpopulated airport.

Perhaps it’s the scent of wispy pine or faint cigarette smoke that tinges the atmosphere such a rosy hue, perhaps everyone’s anticipation for the holiday’s. Either way, it certainly doesn’t help fuel your “absolutely NO touchy-feely-ness Hyunjin agenda”.

Well, you had no doubt you’d have to stick to your morals on this trip in the first place, and it’s not like the odds were supposed to work in your favor. Although, a little assistance would‘ve been nice.

Guess you’ll just have to make due.

Lovely.

“Thank you!” You shout, forcing your voice to sound chipper speaking to the Cab Driver (opposing the twenty-two hours of traveling you managed to survive through). Except now, you didn’t know what to do nor what to say standing outside the hotel entrance, especially not when Hwang Hyunjin was going to be biting your ass for the next few days.

Much to your luck though, it seemed he was just as clueless as you, both prioritizing just checking into your room first and foremost.

Thankfully, the sights are a wondrous source of distraction, and you devise a plan to go walking more often than not (and not just to avoid Hyunjin). Each building appears as if it’d been expertly carved from stone, historically aged beige, awnings titled a bottomless array of Grand Seiko and Jaeger-LeCoultre.

To add, huge paneled windows are placed in each room, allowing a breathtaking view of the city as evening dawns. Whether it’s a quaint bakery hitched right below a bookstore or the bell tower seated comfortably in the middle of a square—you could never get bored.

Seems your interest tore you away from an unwelcomed reality until Hyunjin cleared his throat, thick eyebrows raised questionably.

“..We could go ice-skating?” He offers, index pointing to the huge rink a few blocks to the left.

You don’t have to speak for him to know your response, unzipping your suitcase to gather a new change of clothes without a word.

“Look, I know you want nothing to do with me, but I doubt either of us will ever have enough money to come to Paris again, so just, do it for the experience, not for me.”

That’s it.

“For you? You think I’m doing this for you? Are you really that conceited to think I’m still catering to you, Hyunjin? I’ve changed whether you like it or not, and I’m not the girl that’s willing anymore,” You toss your clothing to the side, giving him a downright venomous stare. Loathing. “I’m not yours anymore.”

“In fact,” Spitting poison, you stab your index to his chest, causing him to back up the more you advance forward. “You don’t know shit about me.”

He appears torn. His nose scrunches, and his lips form a squabbled line upon his face, evidently troubled.

Somehow, those actions that normally earned your sympathy only reared your deftly oiled gears more, angrily roaring without fail.

“Because if you did, we wouldn’t be like this.”

Gesturing around, you retreat back a few steps, arms slapping your sides irritably. Meanwhile, the tall man remains silent, attention magnetically directed down at his shoes. And for a swift moment, mere seconds, you feel sorry — apologetic even.

It makes you sick to your stomach.

You exhale. “I’ll go, and not for you. Understood?”

Hyunjin doesn’t reply, biting his cheek as he watches you disappear into another room.

You thank the refreshing scent of peppermint for its momentary relief upon entering the bathroom, practically drenching your face in ice cold water over and over as if it’d clear your head.

For you; you’re doing this for you, nobody else, you remind yourself, prepping a washcloth and your toiletries whilst praying the warm shower water eases your blaring jet-lag.

Yet, you didn’t expect a visitor to suddenly pop in while you were mid-shampoo, and it seemed he didn’t expect it either.

You swore the prolonged eye-contact went on for centuries, absolute terror embracing every aspect of your face through the clear shower door.

“Fuck! Get out!”

Scurrying like a character off a cartoon, Hyunjin manages – through spilling apologies – to blindly ram himself into the door, hands gripping his skull.

Suddenly, he pauses, hesitating.

“Wait but I’ve seen you naked befo–”

“GET OUT!” You scream.

“Okay! Okay.” He hurriedly slips out, leaving you to rethink every decision made with his name involved. A recurring thought at this point.

And with that, you quickly accept that your jet lag isn’t even close to gone and likely won’t be as long as the artist sharing your hotel room is within a six-foot radius.

Oh, and you don’t know shit about ice-skating.

Of course, Hyunjin is a natural on ice. He glides like a snow spirit, freer than ever. Meanwhile, your nails are embedded into your vice of a railing, knees shakily attempting at balancing with little success.

He’s the princess, and you’re the frog. It’s decided. Walking while you crawled, running while you walked. A step ahead that was at some point motivating, now plain humiliating.

The ice rink is jam-packed, citizens and tourists alike savoring the crisp winter, the faded twinkling of lights glittering in the distance.

“C’mon, just one?”

You, clawing the icy edge, confusedly avert your focus to where the voice came from.

It’s Hyunjin, gesturing to his camera while you piece together his request before childishly whining your despair. He lifts his toboggan upward, a few endearing tufts of golden peering out to hang over crescent moon eyes, evidently smiling.

Leave it to this man to test your sanity. How could anybody say no when he looked that cute.

“Fine, one.”

Not like I could run off anyway, you mentally consider, finding the fact your legs are quite literally flailing as a good enough sign to give in.

“Yes!” He chirped happily, hurriedly fiddling with his camera.

Watching him with that kind of expression, you witness your Hyunjin again, fumbling around, so excited about the smallest of things.

It hurts.

“I..” He trails off, voice barely audible whilst winking to see through the lense. “Don’t want to miss a moment of you.”

“What was that?”

The camera flashes, and you wonder if you heard him correctly.

“Oh nothing.” His lips curl into a sheepish grin, easing toward you and unexpectedly prying your hand into his own, involuntarily pulling you along.

Panickedly, you clutch onto any article of clothing available (another goodbye to your no-touchy-feely-ness Hyunjin agenda) similar to the handrails, squeezing your eyes shut while painfully awaiting a harsh slam against rock-hard ice.

A harsh slam that never happens.

You cautiously open an eye.

“One, two, one, two.” He counts steadily, soaring across the ice, unable to contain the huge beam the longer he watches you. Captivating.

You fight the urge to smile, the sensation of wind whipping your hair and his warm, reminiscent touch setting your nerves into a dopamine frenzy, making the routinely frown much harder than need be.

Nevertheless, perhaps staying in Hyunjin’s grasp would’ve been the safer option. Because with confidence comes failure (at least in your book of life), and your knees would’ve definitely appreciated not getting ruined.

“Are you alright?” Hyunjin murmurs, sympathetically regarding your black and blue frame, looking worse for wear, skates in hand.

“Amputation has never sounded more tempting,” Grumbling, you hobble to return your skates, the man tailing behind you choking back his giggle, kindly waiting in case you stumble.

From the way things are going, the probability is high. Except, Hyunjin walks on eggshells, worried you might rip his head off in the case he asked the question sitting tentatively on the tip of his tongue.

Keeping himself contained had never been as unbearable as when with you, constantly having to refrain from wrapping your precious self into his arms, witness those warm, beautiful hues blinking at him like globes.

Five minutes into the walk back and your near-face-plant-turned-catastrophe was his last straw.

“Can I at least carry you?”

Your head snapping back was almost comical, ogling at Hyunjin as if he told you he’d been neutered or something.

Insane. He’s officially gone insane.

So have you, apparently. Because after getting all too familiar with the icy side walk for a fifth time, you give in, stifling your thoughts from erupting out of your skull—feeling like your entire earth was slowing down on its axis when he easily swept you off your feet.

Cute, hell, romantic too, until you arrive back at the hotel and the curious looks sent your way have your cheeks burning.

“This is so embarrassing.” You whine, burying your face in your hands. Of course, Hyunjin just laughs.

You missed his laugh.

And he cares for you that night, transporting you from room to room in his arms despite your complaints you could do so yourself (although you secretly preferred it, and no, not because it was Hyunjin, only because of how bruised your legs were).

Plus, the mental exhaustion was practically debilitating, sleep beckoning you into its cozy embrace as the clock ticked on the wall. The man before you knelt in front of where you sat on the side of the bed, gently applying antiseptic to your cuts while you blanked in and out of consciousness.

Any common sense had completely abandoned you. Certainly, since you hadn’t noticed only one bed sat dead center in the room. Nor had you noticed through your half-asleep eyes how sweetly he maneuvered you around, pulling the comforter snug over your body.

His hand strays, wistfully smoothing some hair from off your eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, gathering spare pillows and blankets.

He’ll sleep on the floor.

December 24th – Paris, France.

Apparently, there was much more to this Paris dilemma than just the “going to Paris” part (excluding, y’know, the havoc that’s occurred over the past three days).

This fantastic surprise came in the form of a booked Louvre Museum date, now a bit more like a punishment with your current state of soreness merely rising up from bed. And, in turn, seeing Hyunjin sawing logs on the floor below, an action you were inaudibly grateful for.

You two are a different kind of romantic if that’s what you want to call it, especially when Hyunjin practically barricades the bathroom door, nonsensically shouting that he won’t make the same mistake of walking in ever again.

Sweet gesture, but it gets a tad bit irritating when you have to basically charge the door in order to move the chair situated behind it, making you doubt if it was to keep Hyunjin himself out or keeping you in instead.

Yeah. Different kind of romantic. Exes kind of romantic.

Once 5pm rolls around, you’re already dressed and ready to leave, trying your darndest to pretend you’re doing something on your phone to evade conversation. A middle school move, though your ego is on the brink of becoming extinct anyway.

Seems the final act is when Hyunjin steps out of the bathroom, wearing that tan trench coat he always did.

He notices you analyzing, stifling a very tempting smirk.

“I thought you’d like this jacket. Y’know, since you stared at it all the time.”

With a sentence you watched your endangered ego obliterate in real time, embarrassment swallowing you whole. The cycle is neverending.

Thankfully, at least one factor in your unsolvable equation proves itself useful, the factor being your already purchased tickets, granting an earlier entrance into what felt to be a new world.

A new world you recognized as Hyunjin’s world. Vast, expansive. A place you can get lost in and be okay with. Stories hidden behind gold-rimmed frames, so much to tell if only you’d listen.

He lingers by the Psyche and Cupid sculpture longer than usual. Briefly, he told you about them many moons ago. Their love awakening from something much more tragic, apocalyptical.

What a coincidence.

You spend what feels to be days in there, daylight from the lengthy windows overhead falling dark by the time you’re finished. The temperature dropped exponentially while you explored, ignorant to the frigid conditions till realizing you still had your trek back.

Curse the taxi service for not running twenty-four hours.

“You grew your hair out.” You comment, but it’s not really a comment, more like an observation you already knew and felt the need to point out for some odd reason. The awkward silence is suffocating enough.

Granted, you’d known his hair had grown. You saw him every day coming to and fro from work, so any adjustments he made you saw, some of which you remember loving oh so much.

This adjustment was his hair.

Hyunjin’s lips quirk ever so slightly, fingers straying up to tousle a strand.

“You used to love it when I grew it out.”

He continues to walk ahead, ignoring how you had stalled behind, numb grip desperately clutching your puffer jacket as if it’d magically allow you inhalations.

“You would tie it up for me, and stick my paintbrushes in the bun.”

This time, he spins around, seemingly unaffected by your (both literally and figuratively) frozen finger that simply blinks at him — robotic-like.

Like Hyunjin is a stranger. Like your Hyunjin, the old one you were mad for, is now a stranger.

“And I,” He sniffs in, his exhale causing a cloud of air to comprise in its stead. “Really wanted to marry you.”

There’s your breaking point.

He’s pulled you thread by thread closer to an unthinkable free fall, a freezing free fall. Unfurling your strings of yarn to no point of repair. So as you teeter on the edge, your defense mechanisms kick in. And before you can logically consider your options, you smack him.

Right. Across. The face.

He’s stunned, you don’t blame him for that, but there’s also a crinkle in his brows, a look of utmost hurt beginning to stain any somber expression left.

“You have no right to say that when you’re the one that caused all of this.” Your volume increases, unaffected by the glances from passerby.

You have no doubt the two of you are quite a scene, though common sense had long abandoned you, and no thought but fiery rage curls around you, tendrils alight.

“Why the hell did you want to marry me if you can’t even love me? Quit hurting and confusing me Hyunjin, I can’t keep doing this.” Practically pleading, he pulls his palm from where it babied his cheek, instead retreating to your wrists, keeping you in front of him.

“Listen.”

“No!” You screech, trying your hardest to escape.

“Listen.”

You pause, gingerly allowing him to adjust the scarf over your pink nose and ensure your gloves trap warmth for your fingers.

He bites his lip, gaze dancing across your features.

“I love you.”

You shakily exhale, wishing everything would just stop. Time would simply diminish into nothing but stillness, easiness.

Your anguish and anger was easy, and staying mad was a whole lot easier than this—confronting the pains of meeting him again, nonetheless this trip.

He’s finding the pieces to your puzzle.

You want to hide.

Worst of all? Especially hearing him say the words that ended you two months prior.

Cruel.

“I loved you,” His voice wavers. “More than anything, Y/n. And I still do. But when you said that, I got scared.”

He shakily inhales, the grip on you lessening a bit.

“Because when I say I love you back, that means I have someone to lose.”

It’s hypocritical, you know.

Hell, you know what it’s like to be a hypocrite more than anything right now. From hearing the godforsaken news to sitting in an airplane together after wholeheartedly promising yourself you’d never let him have you once more.

Yet here you were, dragging him by his collar into a kiss.

He kisses you back, like an idiot, childishly grasping his clothing-cladden frame against your face and savoring the small bit of heat huddled between where your lips meet.

His trench-coat, you remember, despite so many adjustments, is the same as usual, and it’s almost comforting to find he smells the same as well—floral, with hints of jasmine (mainly thanks to his favorite perfume). You remember that too.

Guess some things never change.

Perhaps he kept that mug after all, drank from it every day like he used to.

And perhaps, right now, he’s wishing back all the time you’ve spent apart, just like you are. Wishing you would’ve just talked like mature, capable adults. Figured things out.

Newsflash, you’re not mature adults. You’re two broken lovebirds fighting to find their song after being caged together, searching high and low for the perfect pitch when all you needed was a single note, a single start.

Positioning you where an arm wraps around your back, the other holding your cheek, he dips you as if in a ballroom dance, not kissing beneath a street light.

Everything is pretty in Hyunjin’s presence.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” You whisper, nostrils burning the longer you’re surrounded by snow, falling in hefty sheets at this rate.

He hums into your lips, maneuvering his head to kiss away the chilled tears beginning to froth upon your waterline. And in those moments, you feel so fragile, so weak in his touch.

Almost instinctively, his grip tightens oh so slightly.

“I really don’t want to lose you.”

And he laughs, a muffled laugh that nonetheless causes his shoulders to shake before delving further into your kiss, melting away every bit of anguish you felt, all the hurt and ache. Dissolved into nothingness by his lips.

Figures briefly illuminated by the light of the street lamp, you remain ignorant to the encroaching nightfall, the way the stars seamlessly blend with white snowflakes. Something out of a fairytale.

You’re certain you could’ve stood there forever, all numb and freezing cold.

But in love. So very in love.

For him you would’ve stood there. And the you still in denial without understanding this entire story would’ve died before admitting that.

This time, you’re okay with letting him finish the puzzle, create a song as lovebirds.

“You won’t, I promise,” He traces your cheek with his thumb. “Now let’s get someplace warm, shall we?”

Landing an affectionate peck to your burning red nose, he takes your hand, guiding you through climbing snow toward your hotel, sign reading “Hôtel de Vendôme” glittering in the distance.

In your opinion, however, it was too fleeting. A kiss you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for until it actually happened, till you pathetically craved it again and again.

Although, that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy gaining feeling back in your fingers and toes, treasuring the flicker of the fire crackling beneath a brick mantel. A few guests litter the lobby, dishing paper cups of hot chocolate left and right, taking the opportunity the mistletoe hanging above a long forgotten stairwell provides.

Christmas Eve and you’re beside the ex you swore you’d never spend it with, spend any time with generally. So surreal you simply cannot stop thinking about it, enough that you become too distracted to notice the mischievous glint in Hyunjin’s vision.

Well, before he points upward and you notice the dangling mistletoe.

And he kisses you again just like you wanted. Deeper, slower, like separating would cause you to break apart, carving your kiss into his memory for a second time.

Standing there, too lost in him to ever consider anything better than this, you begin to think maybe you’ll be able to finish that stagnant book of yours. Maybe it’ll be about two lovers turned two exes, whose trip to Paris might just have been the cherry on top to hurt feelings and broken love. Because, at the end of their tribulations, Cupid falls in love with Psyche.

And you begin to think—as the clock’s ringing announces midnight has arrived—maybe this Christmas will pass by on a good note.

No, you’re certain of it.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @slut4colinbridgerton @armystay89 @shujohajohaminnie @minhosbitterriver @callmedarlingsstuff

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imthebadguyyy · 8 months

Text

Something Just Like This II

pairing - charles leclerc x reader

fandom - f1

summary - a look into your relationship

part - ii (part II) (part III )

a/n - more angst??

"everyone, I want you to meet charlotte”

never before had a single sentence made your head whirl the way it was. never before had you felt nauseous at the sight of your best friend, but that day, the wine you had drunk threatened to make an unpleasant comeback. never before had you felt your heart shatter at the sight of a person before, but you swore you heard your fragile heart shatter into a milllion unfixable pieces, as you stared at the gorgeous brunette with the sweet smile, currently greeting charles’ family.

it wasn’t just you that stood shell shocked. pascale stared openly at her son, confusion and sadness visible in her eyes, but nevertheless, the matriarch of the leclerc family greeted the young girl with a smile, kissing her on the cheek and welcoming her to the home that suddenly felt so cold to you. lorenzo stood up to, ever the kind hearted one, greeting her and offering a glass of wine to her.

arthur was the only one that sat shell shocked, mouth agape, and it wasn’t till lorenzo nudged hum gently that he stood up to greet the woman.

the smile on charles’ face made your already hurting heart ache a little more. he looked so happy, and you hated it. you felt the easy tears rising again, threatening to spill over, but you forced them back. no. you were not going to have a breakdown in front of charles and his family, and his new girlfriend. girlfriend. the word had never seemed so painful before.

but you put on your camera smile, flashing charlotte a warm smile, and giving her a small hug. “Hello, I’m y/n” you smiled softly at her, admitting to yourself that she really was a beauty. "hello, I’m charlotte, I’m a big fan!” she exclaimed, and you forced yourself to keep the smile on your face. “always a pleasure to meet the fans” you joked half heartedly, and she laughed. much to your relief, pascale, sensing your discomfort, pulled the girl into a conversation on the other side, leaving you, arthur, lorenzo and charles in her drawing room.

"so charlotte sine huh?” arthur asked, face blank of any emotion. he recognised the girl well, having grown up quite near the family. “yes, I met her the other day on my run and figured I might as well ask her out on a date” he smiled, grinning it himself at the memory. “she seems nice, n’est ce pas?” lorenzo asked, throwing you a sympathetic smile. “oui, elle est tres gentile” he affirmed, and you fought back the urge to cry once more. “mais, y/n, you didn’t tell me you would be here?” he said, pulling you in for a hug,

y/n. not cherie. that was your first thought. of course you wouldn’t be cherie anymore. no, you’d have to give up that title, you reasoned, inhaling a shaky breath.

"i wasn’t supposed to. but i met maman in the afternoon and she invited me over for dinner, and i missed you guys so i thought i might as well” you said, quite honestly. “lovely, that way I can introduce you to charlotte too, no?” he smiled, and you faked a smile once more, before politely excusing yourself.

taking deep shaky breaths, you slipped into the balcony, glass of wine still in hand, sipping on it slowly to keep you grounded, you recognised the sound of feet softly making their way to you, and before you knew it, arthur’s blue shirt came into your line of sight.

how are you holding up?” he asked, wrapping his warm around.

you let out a shaky breath, taking another sip of your wine, and throwing him a watery smile. “simply splendid, tur” you whispered, and arthur swore he felt his heart break for his older sister.

"il ne sait pas ce qu’il ressent cherie, donne lui de temps, je sais qu’il t’aime” he doesn’t know how he feels darling, give him some time, I know he loves you he said, and you let the first tear drop, feeling it roll slowly down your cheek and drip onto the railing.

“no don’t cry” arthur mumbled, feeling such sadness on your behalf. with a soft sigh, he pulled you in for a proper hug, letting you bury your face in his shirt, and balancing your wine glass on the balcony railing.

how had it come to this? this wasn’t how you expected your night to go. you had hoped at the end of it you and charles would have been the ones cuddled up on the couch, laughing and chatting with his mother.

but unfortunately, fate had different plans.

dinner was an oddly quiet affair. pascale’s delicious dinner received multiple compliments from the five of you, but there was an odd tenseness in the air. and you knew it was because of your presence, that the atmosphere was so tense.

"merci maman, pour le diner, mais, je pense qui je vais rentrer chez moi, maintenant, je suits tres fatigue” thank you mum for the dinner, but I think i will head home now, I’m very tired you said, giving the woman who had been a second mother to you all your life a tight hug. you saw your own sad smile reflected on her face, and she gave you a bowl of chocolate mousse to take home.

"leaving already?” lorenzo asked, pulling you in for a hug as well.

“oui, je suis tres fatigue, enzo” you whispered, and he dropped a kiss to the top of your head. “d'accord, bonne nuit ange” he said, and you smiled at him. arthur insisted on walking you all the way to your car, and you let him, grateful for his company.

“is he gonna be with her forever?” you asked, the childish question slipping past your lips, voicing the fears you had in your heart. you knew it was silly to ask. but you had to ask, you just had to.

"no, don't be silly ange. of course he won't. i know he's my brother and i do love him unconditionally but he is terrible at maintaining relationships. in fact he is utterly hopeless. you know why? because he isn't with the woman he truly loves" arthur stated, helping you into your car.

you just sighed, leaning up to kiss his cheek and then starting the engine. the roar of your ferrari brought a small smile to your face, and waving him goodbye, you drove out.

yes, you were distraught but no, you were not going going to let it wreck you. but even as you forced yourself to be strong, you could feel your heart cracking into a million pieces in your chest. you had felt heartbreak before but never had you felt so absolutely wrecked over someone. not just someone.

your best friend. your bestest friend in the whole wide world.

and you had never told him you loved him.

the thought brought bile rising to your throat, and you had to pull over to throw up.

finally, you stopped resisting the tears, and let yourself break down completely in the car, parked near the dock in monaco. you sobbed and sobbed and wailed, lashing out at the wheel of your ferrari, releasing all your pent up hurt.

you turned the radio up, trying to muffle out the sound of your tears. the last thing you expected was the knock on your window, that had you reaching for the pepper spray and slowly lowering the window.

"hey, you doing okay y/n? i saw your car and i heard what sounded like crying so i thought.." your eyes met lewis' sweet ones, currently displaying concern for you.

lewis hamilton leaned down, taking in your red eyes and nose.

he knew you quite well, he had seen you with charles and lorenzo and andrea very frequently around the paddock, and had even spent time with you in monaco when charles invited him for dinner.

he'd never admit it, but he had always thought you were beautiful. but a few stories from pierre suggested to him that you and charles were a thing so he never said anything to you.

but here you were, tears streaming down your face, blasting someone like you by adele on the radio and he knew something was wrong.

"oh! hey lewis. didn't think anyone would be here, i just wanted a minute" you smiled.

"i can leave if you want, just wanted to make sure everything was okay" he said, and you were touched by the sincerity in his eyes.

"im okay" you spoke softly, not trusting your voice to go above a whisper. "but i could do with some company" you admitted, chuckling.

"anytime" he smiled back at you. you opened to door to your car, letting him slide in the passenger seat.

"out on a jog were you?" you asked, driving down to your favourite icecream store (vegan of course)

"yep, i had a lot on my mind and i just wanted to run it all off y'know" he said, and you noticed the shift in his eyes and the sadness reflecting in them.

"this season's getting to you isn't it?" you whispered, and felt your heart go out to him when he nodded.

"lewis, one season doesn't define you...and you've been performing marvellously considering the car you have. im not exactly an f1 whiz but you're still the best. without a doubt" you said honestly.

lewis chuckled, and then turned to face you directly. "don't let charles hear you say that" he joked, and immediately he noticed the shift in your demeanour.

"uh yeah i won't" you mumbled, with a tight smile. "is everything okay with you two?" lewis asked, concerned.

you sighed, stopping at the store and looking determinedly out the window, trying your hardest not to cry.

"yeah it's all okay. im just a little overwhelmed right now is all" you sighed.

lewis nodded, not pushing you to tell him anything you didn't want to.

"c'mon, let's go and get some ice cream" he smiled at you, getting up to open your door.

your story

caption : late night snack 💗@lewishamilton

replies -:

@.yourbestfriend - girlie pop is that lewis hamilton you've tagged?!?!

@.arthurleclerc - icecream without me? :(

@lorenzotl- icecream with lewis?

@lewishamilton - had so much fun! definitely trying the biscoff one next time💜

@.charlesleclerc - is that our icecream spot y/n?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

sighing, you let your hand crash against the piano, wincing at the discordant notes.

this stupid melody had been playing around in your head for weeks and you couldn't put it into a proper song.

at the same time you had also decided the best thing you could do was put space between you and charles, and so, your communication had decreased significantly.

arthur still spoke to you regularly and visited you almost every week. he often brought carla along, who you adored, and who thought of you as an older sister.

he kept you updated on how everyone was doing, and you spoke to lorenzo and pascale over text when you could.

but of course it was hard to avoid your best friend when your social media feed was full of posts about him, now more often with his girlfriend, and you were having a hard time ignoring it.

letting your head drop back, you stretched, hearing your back crack like bubble wrap. the ding of the text notification from your phone made you sit up, smiling when you saw lewis' contact pop up on the screen

lewis h 💜: hey, just wanted to check in on you and make sure you're doing okay?

you : hello, I'm doing okay, thank you for asking 🫶🏼

lewis h 💜: what have you been upto?

you : just trying to figure out this melody, it's driving me insane

lewis h 💜: don't dress about it. i've heard your music and it's absolutely phenomenal. just relax, breathe, and let the music flow.

you : thank you. i can't thank you enough

lewis h 💜: anytime darling 💗 hope to see you soon?

you : ill be there at the monaco grand prix!

lewis h 💜: ive been meaning to ask, would you like to come as my guest to the mercedes hospitality?

you : id love to but..i don't want to cause a media storm..

lewis h 💜: fuck the media honestly. if i want to bring a friend to the paddock, ill bring a friend to the paddock.

you: lewis hamilton swears? 😯

lewis h 💜: hahaha. so ill see you there?

you : yes. ill be there 💗

lewis h 💜: looking forward to it y/n 💗

smiling, you put your phone down, almost giddy with excitement.

like magic, the melody seemed to fall into place and you called your friend jack.

"hey jack, I've got this idea, but ill need some help" you said.

jack antonoff laughed and said, "on it. another pop hit in the making?" he smirked and you laughed. "i sure hope so. ill see you soon then"

you smiled to yourself.

maybe life wasn't so bad after all.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@kymillman- @yourinstagram arriving at the monaco grand prix, but not in her usual manner with @.charlesleclerc, but rather with @lewishamilton, with a mercedes cap. she also made her way past the ferrari hospitality and went to the mercedes hospitality, but always a pleasure to photograph her.

@predestinato - oh dear what did charles do :( she's always supporting charles at all the races and she's been at every monaco grand prix since he got into f1. i miss her :(

@charles16monaco - she's with lewis now? i was hoping to see her at monaco with the leclercs.

@ynfan23 - mother is serving as always!! but i do wonder where charles is...

@ynlnisaqueen - serving looks and badassery.

@charlesbanana - charlie noo :( but yn looks gorgeous as always but i don't want to lose her to mercedes 😭

@lh44fanbase - sir lewis?? shooting his shot?? with our resident popstar queen?

pushing your sunglasses up your nose, you took in the sight of the monaco paddock, smiling as the sun warmed your skin.

the buzz and chatter and roar of engines felt like home, and you felt so excited to be back.

you spotted lewis, walking with roscoe to the media pen, and you watched as he turned towards you and shot you a bright smile.

you didn't expect him to turn and sprint towards you, and wrap you in a hug. you heard the click of cameras behind you but you didn't care. you were glad to have a friend in the paddock.

it felt a little strange to not walk into the red, bustling ferrari hospitality, and instead into the calm atmosphere of the mercedes one. it felt strange to walk past the sea of red, and you did feel a tinge of guilt.

lewis noticed. and he nudged you, bending to whisper, "it's okay, we're just here as friends. and it's just one race. let's just chill okay. ill treat you to more icecream too" he smiled and you giggled, walking into the hospitality.

across the paddock, charles frowned. he hadn't known you would be at the paddock. you were always at the monaco paddock with him, ever since his first grand prix.

he was used to seeing you wearing some element of red, a cap or a shirt or pants. but you were wearing a mercedes cap, and you hadn't even bothered to tell him you would be at the gp.

he pursed his lips, and decided to make his way to the car. he just needed to be focused on the quali and not on how you were with lewis-

no. he shook his head vigorously. he did not need that image in his head.

from the corner of his eye, he saw carlos approaching, and he sighed. he knew what he'd ask.

"cabron, where is y/n? why is she at mercedes? what did you do?" he asked.

"i did not do anything and i don't know why she's there" he said, sounding more put off than he meant to.

"are you sure? she always supports ferrari.." he trailed off, noticing how sad charles looked.

"what do you think happened?" carlos asked, leaning against the wall. the spaniard hadn't know you for very long, but in the time that he had, he had become one of your closest confidantes. he knew he would have trusted you with anything.

"i don't know, but she has been distant lately ever since..." he trailed off, unsure of the conclusion he had come to.

"ever since what?" carlos asked, growing impatient.

"ever since i introduced charlotte to her and my family.." he trailed off, eyes clouding over.

"ah. i see" carlos said. he didn't have to say anything else. he knew that charles knew, what exactly he wanted to say.

"mate, i know that you and charlotte broke up, and I know that it's because of a very strong reason. don't mess up mate. she's something special and you know it." carlos told his friend.

charles sighed, eyes dropping to the floor.

"best of luck for quali mate" carlos said, clapping him on the back and leaving to get ready for his own quali.

unfortunately for them, quali was shit for ferrari. engine issues meant that charles was p10 and carlos as p12, and much more irksome was the fact that lewis qualified p1, and the cameras had planned to your grinning and clapping.

he stormed off to the drivers room, slamming his helmet on the ground and sinking down onto the bed, roughly grabbing his own hair.

"tu es tellement stupide charles, tellement stupide et maintenant tu perds l'amour de ta vie"

sighing, he reached for his phone, and opened up instagram. he instantly wished he hadn't.

the first post he saw made his heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

@yourinstagram - delighted to announce my new single 'it's nice to have a friend' is out now on!! to all my friends who've been there for me, new and old, i love you to saturn and back. thank you for being my people and for loving me and guiding me through everything. i love u all 🫶🏼💗

tagged - @yourbestfriend @lewishamilton @carla.brocker @lilymunihe @kika.gomes

@ynfans77 - OMG WHAT A MEW SJMGLE I AM LISINF MT MIND

-@ynisabadassqueen - same girlie sameee!! 😭 miss maam really just dropped a banger out of nowhere.

@ynrules - OH MY GOD ITS SO GOOD YAS KWEEN SLAY!!

@kika.gomes - forever proud of u my love 🫶🏼so glad to have seen you make this song and see u power through life. honoured to be your friend and ill love u forever. always wanna hang out with u.

@lewishamilton - honoured to be on your team. my support is with you always. so proud 💜

@yourbestfriend - my favouritest friend. my babygirl. my love. my sweetheart. my talented darling. forever proud of you. forever glad i gave u my glove. 🩷

@lilymunihe- my darling u are a force and i adore u. you're my favourite person ever. so proud and i'm always there for u. ps alex has been sobbing for half an hour I think u broke him

-@alexalbon- no I am not lily 😭😭 but gorgeous job y/n. many congratulations 🎉

@carla.brocker - congratulations mom soeur. i love u always 🩷💗🫶🏼 so glad to have u in my life and have u guiding me. you're an icon and a force to be reckoned with. forever grateful for u.

@arthur.leclerc - you are truly a wonder. congratulations cherie! 🩷

@yncharles2216 - she didn't tag charles :( all those years of friendship...

@charlesfans - she's two faced. forgot charles already.

-@ynfans - we don't need u here. mother slays and you're a loser.

liked by @arthur.leclerc @.kika.gomes @.yourbestfriend and @carla.brocker

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

charles took in the sight of the blue waters surrounding the boat.

his brothers, their girlfriends, his mother and their friends had all decided to spend the day on the boat. lorenzo and arthur were enjoying the football game on the tv, and carla and charlotte (lorenzo's girlfriend) were enjoying a sunbathing session on the deck.

charles sighed. he missed your presence on the boat. in fact, he missed your presence overall. usually, the both of you would be chatting away to glory, or playing games or just lounging about together.

he hadn't realized exactly how much your presence meant to him until you had slowly begun to pull away.

he felt tears rise up and he blinked them away furiously.

from the corner of his eye, he saw his mother approach him.

"salut maman" he smiled, kissing her cheeks.

"charles, pourquoi as-tu l'air si triste?" charles why do you look so sad?

"je ne sais pas maman, je... elle me manque tellement" i don't know mum, i... i miss her so much.

"mon fils, tu sais, je sais, nous savons tous que tu aimes y/n. pourquoi tu ne lui dis pas chérie ? elle t'aime tellement aussi et ça me fait mal au cœur que deux personnes destinées l'une à l'autre ne soient pas ensemble." my son, you know, i know,we all have known that you love y/n. why dont you tell her darling? she loves you so much too and it hurts my heart that two people destined for each other aren't together.

"mais... et si elle ne m'aime pas, maman ? je ne veux pas ruiner notre amitié et je ne veux pas la perdre. et c'est égoïste, mais je ne veux pas être blessé" but.. what if she doesnt love me back mum? i domt wamt to ruin our friendship and i dont want to lose her. and its selfish, but i dont want to be hurt..

"charles, l'amour est une douleur. dire à quelqu'un dont vous ne savez pas qu'il vous aime, que vous l'aimez est terrifiant, mais c'est ça l'amour. mais tu ne peux pas laisser cette peur t’arrêter. ne manquez pas votre chance de trouver le véritable amour. souviens-toi de mon fils, un amour comme celui-ci n'arrive qu'une fois dans la vie" charles, love is pain. telling someone you don't know loves you, that you love them is terrifying, but thats what love is. but you cant let that fear stop you. dont miss your chance at true love. remember my son, a love like this comes only once in a lifetime.

"je le ferai maman. merci" i will mum. thank you.

pascale pressed a kiss to her middle son's forehead, and left him to his thoughts. she knew he had a lot to think about.

charles knew he had a lot to think about too. he knew he had to tell you that he loved you, because damn it, you were his sun moon and stars and he would be damned if he let you go.

he smiled, a plan forming in his mind. he called carla and arthur, knowing you had a soft spot for the two of them.

"les gars, j'ai besoin de votre aide" he said.

"how can we help charles?" carla asked, smiling at him.

"i want to tell y/n that i love her"

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n - part ii finished!!! i hope you guys liked it 🩷🫶🏼 comments, feedback, opinions, reblogs are always appreciated! my comments and inbox and are always open so feel free to drop in any time!!

part iii should be up soon too!!

TAGS

those who responded to part i - @chanshintien @eternalharry @janeholt3 @magicalcowboyarbiter @oneafterdark @leclerc13

f1 tags - @theonly1outof-a-billion

all writing - @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove @bluesongbird

TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST SEND ME AN ASK OR A DM 🩷

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kingconia · 10 months

Text

Leona Kingscholar & Malleus Draconia with S/O, who shares their insecurity.

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— He is quite observant, and he had some theories about what exactly makes you feel so familiar and warm before, but it took some events to happen for him to realise what it was;

— He wasn't really happy. He knows how hard it is, always to be left out and forgotten by people you want to call friends. And he hates that you experience that, too;

— Though, he is slightly blessed by possibility to be understood fully;

— Nevertheless, he starts to pay attention more;

— It kills him to watch how you are never invited to important events or celebration, and his heart is aching, when he notices how you are silently following Ace and Deuce, who speak loudly, hardly noticing how far you are behind them;

— He waits, though, for your next personal meeting, to confront you;

— “I am fine with that,” you cut him in the middle of his speech with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. ”It has its perks, too.”

— He can't deny it, but he hates how accustomed to this thought you are;

— And since you helped him to overcome his loneliness, he is planning to do the same for you! So, buckle up, Malleus-comfort-Draconia is after you;

— He is gentle and he is gallant. He makes you feel special by acts of service, and by the way he treats you. And he treats you so well;

— Malleus remembers everything you talk about, even if you mentioned it for a second or less. He remembers what you eat and what you don't, always proudly ordering or brining you something;

— In days, when he is away, or for some reason can't talk with you, he leaves random notes around your room, or places you definitely will visit, during the day, so you could always feel that you are not forgotten;

— If both of you are not alone, and someone speaks over you, or he simply notices that you too quiet, he always turns to ask you questions, and get you involved again;

— In other words... He returns you your own kindness;

— And you are so grateful.

Leona Kingscholar. 🧡

— He is observant, too, but his emotional intelligence is... Really suffering. And you are putting a really impressive act, so, it takes him a whole breakdown from you to see that;

— It happens after some stupid exam that he—naturally—doesn't care about. But it is important for you, and you kinda rivaling for a best score with Azul, just like he always fights with Malleus, so he gets that;

— You fail, and it takes one phrase from Azul to send you on the edge;

— ”Isn't it time to get used of being always the second one, Y/n?”

— Even Leona flinches, hearing that—too close to home, am I right?—but you ignore Azul, so he thinks you are fine. You are not crying or anything, right?;

— And then, he finds you in the library, where he tries to take a nap, and you are restless;

— Your desk is filled with books, notes written all over, and you look absolutely tired. But in a moment you fail to do something correctly, you just... Scream? You trash all books on the floor, you tear all your writings down. You are so uncharacteristically raged and helpless that Leona doesn't even know what to say;

— He just stares at you, asking you are okay;

— Well, you are not;

— ”Okay?! How the fuck I am supposed to be okay, when no matter how hard I work, I am still not enough, Leona?! I am no one, and I have nothing, and I can't even prove that I am capable of anything! I can't even reach the top ot the class! And—”;

— Angry tears prickling your eyes, and Leona is so panicked, lmao;

— So, he just shoves you to his chest. You hit him, he hisses, but then you finally relax;

— He doesn't say much, because he understands that no good words are able to heal this kind of wound, especially so easily, so he takes in consideration everything he heard;

— Leona is really sad that you struggle with that, but he secretly loves it, too. It means you understand each other;

— He has his own ways to help you out. He tries to help you improve your skills, if he can help, of course;

— (And he beats the shit of Azul, and many others, who managed to say something offensive to you, but that is not the part you should hear about. Ever.)

— He knows how hard you work, so he constantly forces you to nap with him. If you don't want to sleep, that's fine. You are just going to lay down, under him, doing nothing, while he snores, curling around you;

— ...He kinda forces Ruggie to take care of you, too, lmao;

— And he calls you his Queen, so... You know How Much he actually respects you and amazed of what you do;

— Want it or not, Leona is going to make you love yourself. Just love him back. Please?

#twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #twst wonderland

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espinosaurusrexex · 6 months

Text

Refuge - a small town crime/love story

BuckyBarnes/WinterSoldier x Detective!Female!Reader

summary: You had a track record of cracking tough cases, but this one proved to be your breaking point. The Winter Soldier was out there, thirsting for blood, operating in total anonymity, and leaving a trail of bodies in the cold Colorado snow. Then, just as a snowstorm was about to paralyse the town, Bucky Barnes appeared on your doorstep – lost, sweet, and in dire need of help. It all seems too good to be true, but what happens when his secrets come to haunt him and Bucky’s blurred past reveals a predicament neither of you saw coming?

a/n: yeah I've been a sad bitch these days...

word count: 7k

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, killing and dying (as well as vague descriptions), probable misuse of police ranks (I don’t know how it works), little use of “Y/N” (like two times), language, a lot of angst and fluff, soft!Bucky, a hint of touch starved!Bucky, no happy ending, smut (unprotected p in v, soft!smut) !MINORS DNI!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

I recommend playing the songs linked in the text - I listened to them a lot while writing 🧡

Long streaks of crimson soaked the innocent snow beneath your feet.

Whatever happened, it had done so quick. The streaks turned into clumsy blotches and soon there would be evidence of a tired body dragging itself through the inches of snow in vain.

It was too late. You were too late yet again.

Sam threw his hat in the snow with a frustrated groan, his fist clenching so tight you actually heard it pop.

“He’s doing it again,” the officer pressed past his stiff lip, “he’s messing with us.”

“Maybe this time he’s actually gotten sloppy.” Your eyes trained on the dark red contrasting the white.

Something was different about this one. But The Winter Soldier never left his victims capable of running away more than 10ft - it wasn’t his style. So why did this one make it past the tree line?

“Don’t try to sweet talk it, Y/L/N, he knows that we’re on his tracks. And he’s doing this to prevent us from finding him out once and for all.”

Sam’s pessimism could really annoy you sometimes, but it did help solve most of your cases in the past - it turned out that considering the worst-case scenario almost always brought you to the truth. Nevertheless, there was still something off. And you were determined to find out what it was this time.

You turned around and made your way back to the car where blue and red lights silently snook through the woods before you finally turned them off.

“I’m tired of this shit. What are we going to tell Sheriff Rogers? I’m pretty sure he’s about to kick us off the case anyway.” Sam gruffly entered the passenger seat with a frown. He was pissed, and you couldn’t blame him.

“We’re not telling him anything.”

“And how would that work?”

“Just let me talk.” The tires screeched on the tar before you sped out of the woods.

❁ ❁ ❁

Cold. So, so fucking cold.

Bucky’s teeth were cluttering. He didn't know where he was. Nor did he know how he had gotten there. There was barely anything he remembered, really. The past two hours were how far his memory reached and after that? Everything blank. Not blank entirely though. There was fear and darkness but no images, no faces, just unease.

He stumbled past the trees and over roots hiding beneath the thick layer of snow that had accumulated even in the forest. His surroundings looked familiar, but he didn’t know why. His feet, however, seemed to guide him exactly where he needed to be. He didn’t think, just let them be. His hands were aching from the cold, he couldn’t feel them anymore, and his lungs hurt with every icy cold breath. Dusk was already breaking past the horizon, and when the darkness would take over completely, Bucky would be done for.

After another ten or twenty minutes - he really couldn’t tell - Bucky could make out a house sitting at the edge of the woods. There was smoke coming out of the chimney and rising past the threes. The sight alone warmed him a little bit, but his legs were quick to remind him how frozen he really was. He stumbled the distance until he landed on the doorstep.

This was a really bad idea. But then again: he was going to die out here.

His knuckles jammed against the wooden door, and it made pain shoot up his entire arm. But his left one was hurting even more. His whole body was - well... the parts he could still feel.

❁ ❁ ❁

You opened the door, but nothing could have prepared you for what you found. There was a man kneeling on your doorstep. His fingertips peeking out of cut cloves trembling from the cold, his lips broken with blood by the harsh winter wind now nipping on your bare toes as well. The warm light from inside your house illuminated his face and what you saw could have only been described as distress. Eyes laced with fear and helplessness, the man looked up at you. There were snowflakes clinging to his lashes, face pale and lifeless.

“Please,” was the only thing he whispered, but his voice was weak and it made your heart plummet.

“What... what happened?” You stood frozen at the door, bewilderment seeping through your body.

“I-“ But his teeth were cluttering so much you could barely make out his words. You looked past him into the woods and then down the lonely street leading to your house. Nobody there. Another look to the little table by the door, where your gun was hidden. He seemed to be unarmed, too weak to fight, anyways.

God, you hated how your instincts made you check through the whole situation, making the poor man die in the cold outside. But when you were done, and your eyes swayed back to his frame, you exhaled slowly and opened the door a little wider.

“Come in.”

“Th- Thank you- u.” He dragged his tired body over the threshold and crawled to the fireplace crackling in the living room.

You just stood still, closing the door after swiping the woods and the road one more time, and watched him tremble by the fire. After a while - he had stopped shaking - you approached him and he looked at you like a deer in headlights. When he noticed you weren’t doing anything but standing there, he faced the fire again and - that’s when you saw it: dark red staining the back of his head and sticking to his shoulder-long hair. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but he had definitely gotten a good hit.

“Sir, you need a doctor.” Your hand reached for the phone but he was quick to stop it. His ice-cold touch made you shiver.

“No, no doctor.” His eyes looked at you intently, switching left and right. “Please... I just need to warm up. And then I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll leave and you never have to see me again.”

You were staring again. Shocked, confused? Something like that. This man wouldn’t be leaving soon, there was a blizzard already hitting the state lines, and it would be here by midnight.

“Please... no doctor.” His voice was only a whisper now but it pushed through to you more than before.

“...no doctor.” He nodded slowly, relaxing a bit. “But... you are bleeding.”

“I’m okay.” He wasn’t. This man was anything but. Though, somehow, he had this weird aura about him that made you want to stay close to him. You weren’t scared or creeped out - you were... intrigued.

Your head dipped to the side. “Who are you?”

He hesitated. “Bucky.”

“What’s your last name?”

“I... I don’t know.” He looked defeated - stressed - but you deserved answers.

“What happened?”

“I-” he looked up again, pain evident in his stare before he closed his eyes. “…don’t know.”

A nod of your head in understanding. He must be tired, exhausted. You’d leave it for now.

“Would you at least let me clean your wounds?” If they were really as bad as they looked you wanted to get him to a hospital before the blizzard hit. Bucky nodded hesitantly but he didn’t move when you inched closer to take a look at his head.

The wounds weren’t that bad. All the blood in his hair made it look a lot worse, but he still needed stitches. He sat quietly as you carefully threaded the needle through his scalp. It wasn’t perfect but it would do.

Bucky didn’t make a sound, not even when you accidentally slipped and poked him, he was quiet.

“You can take a shower if you like - get all that blood off and warm up completely,” you finally whispered when you cut the last thread. All the other cuts on his face merely needed cleaning and the bruises were already forming, so there was really nothing you could do.

“It’s okay. I won’t be staying any longer.”

But when he moved to get up, it was your turn to stop him. “Do you have somewhere else to go?”

“I’ll manage.”

“You’ll die. Blizzard’s already hit north.”

“I couldn’t stay.”

“You can.” Your hand sank when you noticed he wasn’t making a run for it. “At least until the storm passes.” He just nodded again but a hint of relief flushed through his orbs.

“Clean up, change. I have some clothes that will fit you. The bathroom is the first door on the left.”

Bucky followed your orders and disappeared into the bathroom without another word. You headed to your dresser to get the sweatpants and Hoodie Steve had always stored in there. He wouldn’t miss them, he didn’t stay the night anymore. But now it would serve another purpose.

You made your way back to the bathroom and gave Bucky the clothes, though the door wasn’t closed all the way and you could see the sliver of skin peeking through the crack. His back was littered with red streaks, most likely whip marks, and his left shoulder was scattered in bumpy scarring. He had a metal arm and that was about all you could see before willing your eyes away.

Your gaze wandered to his jacket hanging over the chair and your fingers itched to know more. He was a stranger in your house, after all. A stranger you had chosen to trust, though. But your hands were searching through the pockets before that thought was finished. They were all empty. No wallet, nothing. All you found was a black mask and several compartments for weapons - all empty as well, though.

You exhaled. Who are you, Bucky?

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky let the hot water run down his body. He looked at his left arm, the water hitting with drumming sounds and then repelling from its surface. Despite his lack of memory, he didn’t think it strange that an entire limb of his was missing, well kind of. It was okay - as if he had already coped with it somewhere in the past. The scars didn’t scare him either, or the red lines on his back. They were just there - accepted or not - unbothered.

He closed his eyes and let the water fall on his face. Flashes of a fight lighting before his eyes. Torn between intrigue and horror, it was as if he had opened them.

Please! I’m begging you, please! God, please!

He was back. And the shampoo washed from his face in white bubbles. It smelled good. Like you.

Bucky spent another minute under the water before stepping out and looking into the mirror again. What was he even doing? Dragging an innocent woman into this mess - whatever it was.

His hand ran down his face and the towel hung low on his hips when he reached for the clothes you gave him. They were soft and fit him perfectly.

It wasn’t long until he stepped out into your warm living room again. There was a pillow and blanket on the sofa now, and it looked more inviting than Bucky had seen in a while - at least it felt that way. He didn’t say much when he sat down carefully, feeling the soft comforter under his skin, and watched as you handed him a glass of water.

“I’m right down the hall if you need anything.”

He just nodded.

“Will you be okay?”

He nodded again. But Bucky didn’t know if he was going to be okay. He was confused and scared and surprised you offered him shelter even though you knew nothing but his name. What a kind woman you were.

You smiled sadly as you shut off the light, leaving Bucky to sink his head into the fluffy pillow. The flickers of flames in the fireplace danced on his skin when he closed his eyes, falling into a well-needed and dreamless slumber.

❁ ❁ ❁

He woke to the sound of dishes clinking the next morning, stretching and catching a new fire with his eyes before he peeked over the backrest of your sofa to your kitchen. He was more rested than he’d felt in a long time. And he didn’t know if it was the sheer exhaustion that had him fall asleep so quickly yesterday, or if, maybe, it had been the faint smell of lavender your sheets hosted. Either way, he smiled when he got up, and it felt a little strange to do so.

“Good morning, Bucky.” You beamed over the stove where some eggs were sizzling, making his stomach grumble.

“Good morning,...” He still didn’t know your name. But it was strange to ask now that he had already slept in your home.

You chuckled as your name passed your lips and Bucky’s lips lifted into another small smile.

You ate in silence then. There wasn’t much Bucky had to say and you didn’t seem to be chatty. Bucky didn’t mind. This, your house, had a certain serenity to it. The faint crackling of the fireplace, the homey smell of breakfast in the air, and the rioting storm pouring in soft flakes around it. It felt peaceful and calm and safe - even if he didn’t know who you were... even if he didn’t know who he was.

The day went by peacefully. At one point, Bucky explored your house. It wasn’t big, but full of memories, he could tell. There were pictures everywhere - some of people, some of places. Souvenirs, crafted things. Smiling faces stared at him as he carefully inspected the mantel pieces and something akin to sadness pulled on his heart. Bucky wished he had memories - ones like you did. Ones with happy people and gifted bookmarks. He was sure he did... somewhere. He was someone, right? He just didn't know how to pull that someone back.

It was strange because he had memories. Faint ones. Some that didn’t feel right. His childhood was completely blocked out. He had tried to remember, and things came back to him in tiny pieces. This night he remembered his last name. Barnes. But then his mind associated it with strange callings of his name - urgent, demanding, unfriendly. It didn’t feel nice - none of his memories did.

His finger drove over the small picture of a dog and then he smiled.

❁ ❁ ❁

You sensed Bucky standing at the door as your head hung low above the desk scattered with pictures and leads. You didn’t bother hiding it from him though. Your house was small - it was almost impossible to hide things properly, especially if the days you spent snowed in kept being as quiet and boring as this one. Bucky was curious. He didn’t show it much but you notice the way his eyes scanned the room, how his brows twitched upon your frame above the files. He would catch a glimpse sooner or later.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Bucky wrung his hands. “Am I interrupting?”

He watched as you shook your head, tracing the rim of your empty beer bottle. Careful steps approached you and then he stood behind you, a tense breath resealing when he most certainly took read through the reports. Except, he didn’t. When you turned, you watched him scan the decor on the walls.

And he didn’t stop until you called his name.

“Yes?” His eyes were piercing even in the dim lamplight - they were pretty.

“Is there something you need?”

He looked a little started at your question, his hands still kneading beneath him. It was hard to believe someone as tall and built as him could be shy - but here he was.

“I just wanted to... uh...” He avoided your eyes. “I remembered my last name.”

You smiled, a small jump in your heartbeat sneaking past you. “Oh, that’s great.”

“Yeah.”

“So what is it?”

“What?”

“Your name.”

“Oh, Barnes, Bucky Barnes.” He smiled. “And I also wanted to thank you... for being so kind.” He got shy again.

But you stood and smoothed your hands over his shoulder, feeling him relax a little. “I’m just glad you are okay.”

“Still, it’s not a given and I won’t take it for granted. So, thank you.”

There was a short silence in which he just looked at you and you wondered what else there was to discover about this extraordinary man before you. You could tell there was so much history and depth behind the ocean blue orbs focusing on you, so much more not even Bucky Barnes could access yet, and that made it all the more intriguing.

Bucky shifted again, and then suddenly yet carefully, leaned in to encase you in an awkward hug. It warmed your heart from the inside out, but It didn’t last long before you could feel the tension return to his back.

He pulled back, disturbed. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes were everywhere but on you. “I’ll let you work.” And then he stumbled past you and out the door as you stood and watched him leave, turning back to your desk to see the array of crime-scene photographs littered on its surface.

❁ ❁ ❁

The hallway was spinning when Bucky made his way back to the living room.

A heavy body fell to the snow, hands shielding features, scrambling backward on the harsh white ground.

“Please! I’m begging you, please! God, please!”

Bucky’s metal hand collided with a face, releasing a loud cracking sound. There was so much blood. So much fucking blood.

The room seemed to cave in. His chest rapidly rising and falling, Bucky made his way to the kitchen where he fell through the backdoor into feet of snow. The cool on his face calmed him down immediately, hitting him like the memory of it had done. He stayed there for a while, just enjoying the silence of the storm and letting the weather tie him to the ground.

That’s what he needed. A reminder, something to ground him, tell him how vulnerable he was, that there was still something human left in him.

His jaw clenched when he scrambled up again, skin burning from the ice piercing through the air. He was okay, he told himself, he was fine.

He shook his head and made his way to the little hut in the backyard, where he took your axe and began chopping firewood. A little distraction would do him good.

❁ ❁ ❁

After a simple dinner, you retreated to the sofa. Bucky hadn’t talked to you a lot and he felt a little bad you were stuck with him for another day due to the storm. But you never lost a word about it. In fact, you acted so naturally about it, as if he were a frequent visitor in your cozy retreat, one he had grown to associate with comfort and warmth in the short time being.

“What’s your favorite movie?” You crossed your legs next to him.

“I don’t know.” Bucky didn’t even remember watching movies ever. And it made him sad.

“Favorite genre?” You tried again. But Bucky just shrugged with a tight-lipped smile.

“I like rom-coms.” You smiled and Bucky noticed yet again how easy it was to spend time with you.

The TV began to play a generic song, but Bucky was too occupied looking at you. He couldn’t remember but he felt as though he had not experienced this sort of kindness in a long time, and it warmed his heart. But in the back of his mind, there was always that feeling of betrayal lurking in the dark. Because he began to remember things - things that lay not too far in the past and that were horrible, unspeakable really.

He had not pieced them together just yet. Just snippets of memories, pieces of conversations rushing through his mind when he was triggered. And it scared him a little bit. But he didn’t want to lay his burden on you.

“You’re not even paying attention.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you tired? We can stop the movie if you-“

Bucky shook his head. “No.” He smiled, not wanting you to leave yet.

“Okay.” You whispered before turning to the TV with a smile. As did Bucky.

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky woke with an unusual amount of peace. He felt warm and comfortable - well-rested too. The fire was lazily puffing in the chimney and the TV was off. But there was something, or rather someone else he noticed. He looked down, his eyes landing on your frame, tightly tugged to his body. You weren’t cold, even though the room had cooled significantly since last night, and your face looked so peaceful - unbothered. The sight did weird things to his heart. But his response to it was to sling his arms around you tighter, and for the first time in a while, Bucky felt as though he was protecting something rather than threatening it.

A smile snuck on his lips unawares. You stirred, but neither of you loosened their grip.

“Good morning.” Your head disappeared into his chest again.

“Mornin’” he could feel your frown through his shirt.

For some reason, it just felt natural to stay like this. Neither Bucky nor you moved for a while. You just lay there - not talking, not sleeping - enjoying the calm morning, even though Bucky could see the snowflakes rioting outside the living room window.

His hand dragged up and down your back and you sighed.

“What are you doing today?”

You pulled back a little, watching him, contemplating something - he could see it.

“I...” You trailed off, but Bucky stayed silent.

“You know what?” His eyebrows raised as you scrambled off the sofa and extended your hand toward him. “Come with me.”

And he did. You lead him to your office and Bucky was reluctant at first. The last time he was here he had a panic attack. But your hand was still in his, and it calmed him.

“I’ve been working on a case for some time now... but I’m stuck.” You moved to the desk and Bucky followed. “There’s been a murderer tormenting the town for weeks, driving the whole department crazy. I’ve been looking at these files for days. Maybe a fresh set of eyes can help.”

“You... you want me to help you?” This was new.

“Bucky,” your hand landed on his arm and his eyes were glued to the interaction, “we’re stuck in here for at least another day. Why not be productive? And who knows? Maybe you’re able to help me solve this case.” You smiled.

But he was still hesitant.

“That guy killed my partner’s sister. Anyone that can help us even in the slightest is welcome”

He gulped. “Okay, alright...”

You sat down at the desk, spreading out pictures, handing him files, and explaining what you had gathered so far. Bucky listened attentively. And even though he was a little scared to look at the pictures again, he warmed up to the process you guided him through. Everything was labeled and put to memos.

The process and the document brought him a weirdly familiar feeling but Bucky shoved it off to the side - after a while, even enjoying the puzzle you laid before him.

“This one is unusual... why did this victim get so far?” He mumbled.

“Maybe he’s messing with us...”

“Or he was interrupted,” he stated plainly as he grabbed another picture.

You were silent then, and Bucky looked up at you to find you smiling across the files littered on the floor. “You must have some sort of experience, those are some good observations.”

Bucky shrugged. Whoever he had been in the past was yet to be revealed to him, but he did admit that tactical thinking came easy to him.

“Also this,” he pointed at the latest crime scene photo, “these tracks are inconsistent. Normally, he attacks from the left. But here it’s all over the place. Something must have happened to make him stop and change tactics.”

“Something like...?”

“Maybe he got a hit himself. You said the forensic scientist approximated quick deaths. The Winter soldier always kills precisely.”

You nodded. “One hit and they're done for.”

“That takes a high amount of skill. There are not a lot of things that can interrupt these tactics. Except, if he wasn’t capable anymore.”

“There were no indications of the victims defending themselves. They never had a chance.”

“Were there no indications or was it just not tested anymore?”

“The blood.” Bucky watched as you sprung up. “There was too much blood. Some of it must be his!”

Attagirl. Bucky couldn’t help it, a proud smile painted his features. He watched as you pressed the telephone to your ear, a faint beeping caught by his ears, and then you frowned.

“The lines are dead,” you sighed.

“What are we gonna do now?”

“We have to wait out the storm... There’s no way we’re getting anywhere out there.”

His eyes swayed to the window, where a wall of white soft snow fell unrelenting. He nodded.

❁ ❁ ❁

You were on the sofa again, there was nothing to do. The fire was crackling, and you sat next to Bucky with a cup of tea in hand.

The case didn’t stop swarming your mind though. You finally had a new lead, a small hint that could lead to a suspect and you had no way of contacting Sam or the Sheriff’s department. There was likely nobody working, anyway. Maybe Steve, he was crazy like that - he’d gone out in unholy weather when you had a fight once, just to give you space.

Your eyes wandered around the room as your mind went through the case files again, and then, when they landed on Bucky again, a little shiver ran over your skin.

“Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Have you... Do you think it’s possible you were the thing interrupting the Winter Soldier?”

He looked at you blankly.

“You were pretty banged up when you found me.” You didn’t try to insinuate anything, you were just a little worried... and curious.

“There were no other tracks in the snow, though.” His shoulders slumped.

“Oh, I don’t know. I just want to-“

His hand found your knee. “I understand.”

And your eyes locked. “Do you not want to know what happened to you?”

“I’ll remember it eventually,” he smiled reluctantly, “right now, I’m actually glad not having to worry about it too much.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don't know... I just prefer your company instead.”

You nodded and bit your lip to stop your smile from spreading. “I’m glad I’m not alone here, too.”

Bucky looked down, hiding his smile in vain.

❁ ❁ ❁

Icy wind whipped around Bucky when he noticed the man lying in the snow in front of him. He was begging, crying, screaming words he couldn’t make out in the storming winds.

And that’s when Bucky realized he was bleeding. Not Bucky, no, the man. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, drawing a growing circle in the snow - growing darker with every drop seeping deeper into the thick white.

So much blood.

Bucky was confused, and worried, and scared. He didn’t know how he had gotten here, and when he moved to help the man, he scrambled away towards the treeline.

Bucky didn’t follow him. The look of utter fear had shaken him to the bone. What had the man been so scared of? Bucky looked down his body, past the heavy vest to a sleek silver knife wedged between gloved fingers.

He stumbled backward. Almost losing his balance as he sped in the other direction. Away from the man, the blood, the sheer horror of the scene in front of him. What had he done? What was going on?

“You need to wake up!” Bucky’s shoulder shook with your touch.

Suddenly he shot up, shrugging you off until you landed on your butt next to the sofa.

He was sweating, heaving, eyes searching the room until he realized that there was no danger and gore around anymore. Just your cozy living room and you. You.

“You’re okay, Bucky. It was just a bad dream.” Your hands were on him again, his covering yours.

“I’m okay,” he reiterated.

“We’re safe here.” You weren’t. Because Bucky was the Winter Soldier.

The realization hit him like a truck, his hands immediately retracting from your skin. His heart began to pick up its pace again. The memories flooding his brain overwhelmed him to the point of dizziness. But he couldn’t be close to you. Not after he had done the unspeakable. Not after he had killed your partner’s sister. This had become too personal.

“I need to leave.” He stood up too quickly, swaying dangerously before scrambling past you.

“You can’t leave yet. It’s horrible outside.” You reached out to him again.

But he shook you off again. “I can’t stay either.”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

Bucky halted, his shoulders sagging. There was no point in keeping it from you. You would find out anyway. And he would leave either way. It was just fair, you deserved the truth, to know you had sheltered an assassin for days.

He turned to you with afflicted eyes. “It’s me,” he whispered shamefully, feeling his eyes fill with tears.

You didn’t ask - just looked at him and swallowed hard. It was crazy how well you had gotten to know each other in the three days you were snowed in. But what was even more unfathomable to Bucky was that you understood. That you knew and didn’t flinch, or scream, or threaten him.

“I... the... my weapons, they’re buried in the woods. It was me, I did it. They made me do it. They–“ A sob broke through his speech.

You stood up to touch him but Bucky stepped back with the shake of his head.

“They can control me,” he uttered and the statement heard out loud made him shiver all over.

You reached out a third time and this time, Bucky didn’t move. He let it happen when your hands encased his cheeks and your lips laid a soft kiss on his jaw. “It’s fine.” Another kiss. “You’re fine.”

“I’m a monster.”

You shook your head with a teary smile.

“They’ll kill me when they find out.” There was no panic in his tone, he had already accepted his fate. The hard part was saying goodbye to you.

“I won't let that happen.” Your forehead pressed to his.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not him anymore. You’re Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky’s heart picked up its pace. Somehow, hearing his name from your lips meant so much more than anything else ever could. And with a taste of hope on his tongue, his hands grabbed your face and pressed your lips to his eagerly.

❁ ❁ ❁

You stumbled back but Bucky held you firmly in his grasp. He sighed into the kiss when you began to move your lips in sync with his, a lonely tear rolling over his cheek and stopping at your thumb.

He was warm and soft, rough around the edges but so sweet. His chapped lips left your mouth; his arms wandered around your body as he held you tightly, face disappearing in the crook of your neck.

Bucky was so full of affection, and passion, you could feel it in every touch he gifted you. You didn’t know how long he had gone without a kind word, without a reassuring smile, but you knew that you would give it all to him in this moment.

“Come here.” His puppy eyes squeezed between your hands, he let you guide his face back to yours where you stole another deep kiss from him.

But you wanted more. Needed to feel him all over - wanted to step into his skin if you could, just to be closer to him.

You guided him back to the sofa until he fell backward with you pressed against his chest. There was not an inch of space between your bodies as your legs tangled slowly. Bucky groaned when his hand tangled in your hair, a soft nudge pushing you to the side until he was almost hovering over you.

“You’re cold,” he stated upon feeling over your goosebumps. And then he, somehow elegantly, rolled the both of you off the sofa and to the carpet in front of the fire.

Your skin was burning deliciously when he removed your shirt carefully, a cool metal hand soothing over the side facing the fire. His hard bulge nudged against your core when his mouth placed soft kisses over your clavicle. Little did he know you weren’t shivering from the temperature in the room, but you wouldn’t protest.

Your heartbeat quickened with every piece of clothing left discarded around you. Bucky was all over you. Lips, hands, legs - a wild entanglement of limbs surrounded every content moan he gifted you and you loved it.

Soft warm kisses placed a firm trail down his body as you worked your way to the hemline of his boxers. You removed them with ease, his hands not once leaving your body no matter how grand your movements. He seemed assured when he could feel you beneath his fingertips.

“Will you stay?” You kissed his hip, hooded eyes looking at him through lashes.

“Anything for you.” His breath was shaky. You moved to kiss his tip, but as soon as your lips touched his red flesh, “But-“ he pulled you up again. “I need you closer.” He smiled.

“Okay.” And then your lips were back on his. His fingers danced around your body until they pulled your underwear off as well.

You parted just to watch as your warm hands guided his tip along your slick folds, his cock witching when he touched your wetness, another shaky exhale escaping his chest.

His eyes held yours when you lowered yourself until he was fully sheathed by you, a heavenly feeling consuming you with the delicious stretch he gave you.

You moaned in unison when you rolled your hips for the first time. Then another, and another. Until you found a comfortable rhythm that had Bucky bury his strong fingers in your hips, guiding you to meet every thrust of his own.

Your name rolled over his tongue as his eyes closed and it never sounded as good as this. He stuttered when you squeezed his cock with your walls, chasing your own high as Bucky fought to hold on.

There was so little talking in this passionate moment but so much felt said at the same time. Every touch of Bucky’s held stories in its wake, every kiss of his lips whispered soft promises to your body. You never wanted to let go again.

Your hand guided his eyes to yours when you felt your insides squeeze unrelenting. Moans being swallowed by another heated kiss, you rode each other through ecstasy. The overwhelming heat of his body and the fire seemed to swallow you whole when your sticky body collided with his only to have Bucky sling his arms around you again.

He kissed your head, whispering sweet nothing to your ear before the aftershocks of pleasure fully subsided.

❁ ❁ ❁

Harsh knocks on the front door ripped you from your desk. You stumbled down the hallway as you tried to get to the intruder faster.

“Y/L/N open the damn door!” You stopped. It was Sam. What was Sam doing here? The storm had begun to soften, but it was still not totally safe out.

A look to your left showed Bucky standing in the living room looking at you with unease written all over him. He scrambled to the wall on the floor when your hand moved to the doorknob. Sam didn’t know. Nobody knew that there had been a man hiding in your house for three days and it would stay that way... for now.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too.” Sam tried to step forward but you blocked his way. He frowned. “The lines went dead and I needed to show you this.”

Sam pulled a crumbled piece of paper from his jacket pocket, the silver star shining in the white landscape around him. It had stopped snowing this morning, and his truck was probably the only one making it through the streets.

Suddenly, Bucky’s face stared back at you between creased paper. He was wearing an army uniform, a proud smile decorating his features as he held his hat in his hands. “What’s that?” You swallowed hard.

“It’s him.” Sam showed the picture further. “His blood sample DNA is all over the victim.”

“The blood,” you whispered upon stealing a glance at your living room. “What... what are you gonna do?”

“That motherfucker killed my sister. And I am not going to rest until I’ve ended his life just as he did Sarah’s.” Sam tried to hide the raspiness in his voice at his sister’s name, but he failed.

You couldn’t blame him. Sarah had been a wonderful person. Her death had come unexpectedly for everyone. Nobody could fathom that anybody wished her harm.

I have his last known location. So are you coming or not?”

“It’s dangerous. The roads are closed off.”

“I don’t care.” You snuck another look to Bucky who was just blankly staring ahead now. He looked tense - frightened.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Sam-”

“Don’t even try. This is ending, now.” He stepped back. “So are you coming?” His eyes were piercing. “...or not?”

You nodded with tight lips, gifting one last reassuring smile to Bucky as you reached around the door to grab your jacket and gun. Sam was already starting the car.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” you whispered only to watch Bucky’s chest heave with panic. “I’m so sorry. I won’t let him hurt you.”

The car honked before you could hear Bucky’s answer, shoulders jerking as your head pulled from behind the door.

“I’m coming!”

❁ ❁ ❁

“I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna kill him.” Sam was gripping the steering wheel so tight, you thought it would break. “I’m gonna shoot him in the head, and I’ll watch him die just like he did–“

“Wilson.”

His head snapped to you with fiery eyes. But you were just as upset. The thought of Bucky being killed made you want to throw up. You obviously wouldn’t let that happen. Killing Bucky would do nothing when the actual bad guys were still out there, possibly manipulating a dozen other people into doing their dirty work. Bucky had told you the details he remembered, and it was enough to know that none of it was his fault - and most importantly - that there was a much bigger fish to catch.

Sam clenched his jaw before looking back to the road. The mist had cleared slightly now.

“I don’t think killing the Winter Soldier will solve the problem.” You instantly regretted saying that, because Sam slammed the brakes, making the truck slide on the icy road until it came to a stop. He was looking at you again.

“He killed Sarah. He’s a criminal. A ruthless, cold-hearted serial killer.” There was so much betrayal in his eyes but he averted them again. “Even if I did not have personal reasons... he belongs behind bars at least. But the world would be so much better off if he was just gone.”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, really? Then please enlighten me. Because I would really like to know what made you change your morals.”

“You know, you’re not the only one that found out some things while snowed in,” you snapped and watched your partner look down contritely.

“It’s not just him. And it’s not him we need to stop.” You were careful about your next words - you needed to say them but you had no idea how to explain them. “There’s a whole criminal organization behind- ...behind the Winter Soldier program.”

“How?” His teeth were grinding. “How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you that” yet, you added in thought. Though you weren’t sure Sam would ever understand why you sheltered his sister's murderer in your home.

The car fell silent for a moment. But you swore you could hear Sam’s mind working overtime to decide how he would go about this. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached for the ignition.

“You’re lucky I trust you,” He muttered before starting the car again, shoulders still tense, and an ever-growing frown on his face.

❁ ❁ ❁

It had taken a good portion of your energy to explain the situation to Sam without revealing your secret. It was hard and tiring, but you had planned a new strategy to approach the case with your partner. And now, several coffees and hours later, when the sun had already set beyond the woods behind your house, you found yourself on your doorstep with a smile. Because you knew that all of it would be forgotten as soon as you had Bucky back in your arms.

“Bucky, I’m home!” You called out before the door fell shut behind you. But there was something different about the place.

Your eyes scanned the living room - no fire, lights out, and Bucky’s makeshift Bed was neatly stacked by the end of the Sofa.

You smiled, still, he had probably finally decided to accept your offer to sleep in your bed.

“Bucky?” You pushed past the bedroom door just to find the room empty as well.

You frowned. You could have sworn he’d be lying there, waiting for you. But the domestic haze your fantasy cooked up in the few days of isolation the storm had brought you seemed to have clouded your brain.

You tried the hut in the yard last - without luck. But it wasn’t until you came back into your house, sitting on the neatly made sofa that hosted a journey of emotions through the past days that the revelation hit you like a truck.

A tear rolled down your cheek as your hands folded in your lap.

Bucky had come into your life like tragedy - sudden and with the force of an avalanche. He had brought you joy, and confusion, and pleasure, and warmth. Bucky had packed a lifetime of experiences and emotions in the span of three days, and then - just like he had appeared - and much like your initial excitement about coming back to him, he had vanished without a trace.

wow... here we are. I've had this in the drafts for a long time and tinkered on it throughout until it turned out this way. I hope you liked it. Please consider showing this post some love (reblog or comment) if you did - it really helps creators on this plattform! Love ya loads ~ℳ❁

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gamercats-fight · 2 months

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[REDACTED] from Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective vs Judge from Off. Vote for your fav!!

Need help picking? Check down here!

[REDACTED] - CAPCOM - 2010 - Magic black cat:

-He is DEAD and has GHOST POWERS. He can TIME TRAVEL. He has a LOVING CAT DAD as his OWNER and the only family they have left is EACH OTHER. I would go into detail but that would involve spoiling the best mystery game ever written. You should play Ghost Trick. This stupid cat has not left my brain in months. He's haunting me. Which is fitting because he is a ghost. Did I mention he's a ghost cat what is cooler than a ghost cat.

-most special little guy in the world. hes HUGE spoilers for the game btw but um. yea <3

-Because [REDACTED] is the true Schroeder’s cat, he is both dead and alive at the same time and has really cool ghost powers. Also, he can’t read!

-If you haven’t played Ghost Trick, I tragically cannot tell you the spoilers, but this cat is sweet and determined and got a sad man through some rough times.

Judge - Unproductive Fun Time - 2008 - White cat:

-Idk his teeth fucked up tho “I am meowing at my lung’s fullest. I would even argue that the voice that reverberates back to me is the voice of someone I know… have you seen my dear brother?”

-adding some extra propaganda for the judge [non-spoiler]

-He speaks like you gave someone thesaurus for the first time ("Nevertheless, I will introduce myself. I am the Judge, and I am aching to know your name, dear elusory interlocator."

-in some parts of the game it can be read as him making fun of the batter ("Oh, so you can read?" - in response to the batter reading aloud the ad for cat food he was admiring)

-his real name is Pablo

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE ENTIRE GAME-- BE WARNED

-His only family is his brother, who he watched as a bird came out of his mouth and revealed his brother was long dead and the bird was puppeteering his corpse around. While you fight the bird the only thing he can say is calling out his brothers name.

-after you kill the bird he stays at the rooftop where it happened and calls out his brothers name (with real sad cat meows) and says the meowing at his lungs fullest line in the original post. he isnt seen again until the very end of the game

-At the end of the game he reappears to berate you (the player) for helping the batter kill eveyone else in the world, and you can choose to side with him and kill the batter. All his special attacks are named after neck, spine, and brain injurys (Anyurysm rupture, Staggering sclerosis, ect)

-with your help he can easily kill the batter with three of his special attacks.

-after you kill the batter he is seen roaming the now empty world, seeming being one of three(?) people left in existance

hes a silly guy basically thanks for coming to my ted talk

-ALSO The Judge was most likely the inspiration for SANS HIMSELF,

since undertale is highly inspired by OFF and both characters have a part in the game where they judge the players actions, and weigh their morality.

#gamercats tournament #polls #ghost trick #ghost trick phantom detective #off game #ghost trick cat #judge #edit: updated propaganda for judge under the cut

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ruchimochi · 5 months

Text

12.24

📁. It's Christmas eve and you're patiently waiting for your husband who promised he'll be back before December 25th.

A/N: angst, profanity, mentions of death, a happy ending... Maybe?

Gojo Satoru x reader

The lit candle is halfway melted as its sweet scent filled your warm home. It's cold outside and you wonder if Satoru's okay. The cold doesn't bother him as much as it does you.

He usually grab your hands in his, blowing hot breaths on your palm to warm them for you. With a cheeky grin he kisses them before whispering how adorable you look with your scarf on. Satoru's always been a soft lover, he makes sure you're well and comfortable with everything before worrying about his own.

A smile found it's way on your lips as you remember the memory of last year's Christmas that you spent with him. He knows how to make every moment last— to turn every mundane activities into an unforgettable experience for the both of you.

Then your sweet smile turned into a bitter one as you can't help but feel neglected. Why isn't he home yet? The night is almost over but you haven't seen a part of him. Not even a call or a message from him. You can't help the ache in your heart as you celebrate what used to be an exciting day for the both of you alone.

The bright decorations of your home didn't help at all. It only made you feel empty and sad as you remember how happy he looked while decorating your home with you.

You will wait... You can always wait for him because he said he will always come home to you.

The last time you heard from him was yesterday, last night while he was holding you tightly in his arms, whispering in your ears how much he missed you.

"I missed you so much, my love." His words were followed by a kiss on your forehead. His eyes never left yours as he watched you carefully, as if memorizing every curves and every lines of your face.

"I missed you too." Is all you could whisper back as you felt the longing for his touch, his warmth.

Satoru was gone for weeks. You are aware of his busy work schedule but you can't help but wonder where was he all that time. Nevertheless, you trust him; so much so that even if he is gone for years, you will believe him if he said he is coming back to you, his home.

You understand little of his world. The concept of curses and sorcery that you can hardly grasp still left you wondering.

He said he is the strongest and you believed him not because he showed you how capable he was but because he always fulfilled his promises. Satoru's words were never empty.

"I'm sorry I was gone." His words snapped you out of your thoughts.

You wanted to say you understood him but you don't.

"You came back to me..." Your voice was weak. There is a lingering feeling of longing in your heart, and the bitterness of why can't he just stay. He just came back and he is about to leave yet again.

"I always will." There he was again with his promise of coming back to you.

Your tears finally escaped your eyes without you even noticing. Not bothering to wipe them away, you let yourself cry just for a moment. Just so you could ease the blaring ache in your heart that you tried to mask with a smile.

"Satoru..." You say his name, calling for him hoping he would answer.

'Call me whenever you need me. I, your mighty husband, will rescue you.' His voice echoed in your ears as the memory of his cheeky grin and arrogant attitude flashback.

Questions flooded your mind. Wondering where he is right now, how is he, why isn't he home yet? Did something bad happen to him?

As you're crying while hugging your knees, you felt the motion of being lifted up. You look up with tear-stained eyes and cheeks to see what's happening. There you saw your beloved, frowning as he looks at you.

Satoru did not say anything as he settled you down on the kitchen counter, wiping your tears away. He then leaned in to press his lips on yours, pulling you closer to feel your body against him.

He pulls away just to kiss your forehead adoringly.

Your eyes remain on him. You blink a couple of times just so you could confirm that you are not dreaming. Your fingers found their way to his face, feeling him in your hand — he is warm.

He chuckled as he watched you with a soft smile. He grabbed your hand, placing gentle kisses on your knuckles.

This is not a dream. He is here with you like he promised.

"I'm home, love."

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #gojo #satoru #📁Al

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smoothielenny · 1 year

Text

ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴇʏᴇ

Neteyam x Omatikayan!fem!reader

Summary:You always like Neteyam, like every girl in your place. But you always thought that Neteyam hates you. The way he look at you with disgust made your heart aches and thought that you would never have a chance.

Warning: Depression, misunderstanding, not proofread

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It has been three days and you’ve been sulking for awhile. Your mother is quite worried about you. You were never this silent, you’re usually very bubbly when your mother comes around. You dearly love your mother and always show your affection to her, but lately it hasn’t been like that.

You’ve been staying at the certain spot in your marui. Which is the corner, not near your mother. Just there looking like a statue or irritated that you suddenly couldn’t make a jewelry. But mostly lying on the floor looking lifeless.

“My daughter, you’ve been staying in that corner. What is happening?” She gets close to you. You look at her and sigh. You curled up into a ball and stare down to your toes.

“Do you think I’m pretty mother?” She gasped and put her palms both on your cheeks. She look at you throughly while your eyes avert from her looking pathetic. She brushed your cheeks with her thumb and smiles.

“Of course my yawne, you’re beautiful. What makes you doubt that?” You bit your lip not wanting to answer. You thought that it might be embarrassing if you told her what it was. It’s just a stupid crush anyways. Yes, the reason being why you’ve been acting like this it’s because you have a crush on someone.

Neteyam. Every girl in your village has a crush on him. Though he seems to be oblivious about the attention from the girls in omatikaya. He always acts nice to everyone, but recently you noticed that he’s been glaring at you. Giving you side eyes, cold shoulders, and such. These made you think that he must’ve hate you. You didn’t do anything wrong, you rarely even talk to him. So why is he acting like this?

“No, nothing. Just asking.” You said. Your mother is not convinced that it’s nothing. It’s just a drastic change from your bubbly self to this, there’s no way it’s nothing. But nevertheless, your mother let you be, you probably needed some space.

You decided to go out of your marui to the forest. You wanted to clear your head and the forest usually helps you with that. You walked around the forest touching the leaves, trees, insects. And it does helps, you forgot all about your sorrows…well until.

You saw Neteyam staring at you. It’s the same glare that you’ve been seeing. Your smile drops again. You suddenly felt nervous and scared.

“(y/n), your mother has been worried. She told me you’ve been sad lately.” You look at him. How could mother tell him about that?

“Oh uh it’s nothing. Mother is worried for nothing.” You look down putting your hands on your arms feeling the sudden change of air. Your nervousness is uncontrollable, you started to shake from the cold. But a warm hands quickly calmed your shaking arms. You look up to Neteyam, his gold eyes is full of worry. It’s the first time you saw something from him that isn’t disgust.

“I am worried. You haven’t been smiling, laughing, playful. I can’t stop worrying about you.” Your confusion grew as he releases these words to you. He really is worried, but why? What are those glare for then?

“But… why?” You tilt your head wanting answers to your questions. His sighed heavily and hit his lips. He look away for a second then look back at you. His eyes is now full of admiration.

“I care for you. I’ve been looking at you. I love the way you smile to small things, laugh when you hear something funny, and make everyone happy by being you… I like you.” He whispered the last part. He blushed from what he said. You couldn’t believe what he just said. He likes you? But what about those eyes he’s been giving you?

“But I thought you hate me.” His eyes widen. How could he hate you. He would never hate someone with a beautiful personality. He caressed your cheeks making you look up to him.

“Why would you think I hate you?” You look down. Embarrassed if you should say the reason, but you wanted answer so you gulped and say it.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been glaring at me, looking disgusted. I don’t know what I did, We don’t really talk much so I have no idea why you were looking at me with full of anger.” Your tears falling from remembering them. Neteyam’s warm fingers wiped them away.

“I didn’t know I’ve been looking at you like that. I was just nervous around you. I didn’t mean to look at you like that, (y/n).” He hugged you tightly combining both of your warm bodies together.

“I like you, (y/n). I like you.” He slowly moves his lips towards yours, softly kissing you. You can feel his warm breath and his soft lips touching yours. You felt like your heart is about to burst.

“I like you too, Neteyam.”

#avatar 2009 #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #avatar x reader #neteyam #atwow #avatar fanfiction #avatar neteyam #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x you #neteyam headcanons #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #avatar

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avocado-writing · 3 months

Note

we need a rewrite of the tiefling party where tav can actually convince wyll to join the party and have fun please 🥹

notes: love love love writing for Wyll. he's such a sweetie! Implied bard reader but not explicit.

rating: T, but there will be a spicy part 2 coming up!

The party is lively and your head is swimming from the buzz of attention. That, and the small amount of wine you’ve had: not so much as to dull your senses but enough to make you merry. Warmed with Arkhen’s Hoard you take a break from the grateful tieflings and head out towards the familiar babble of the river. The further from camp you go the quieter your surroundings get, and you’re able to breathe a little more easily knowing there aren’t half a dozen children hanging on your every word. It’s lovely to be the centre of attention because you helped them, but a little overwhelming with all those eyes on you.

Of course, that’s not the only reason that you’ve come wandering over this way.

Wyll sits with his legs crossed on the bank, staring at the way the water dances under the moonlight. He seems at peace, the calmest he’s been since Mizora appeared and sprouted those horns for him; shoulders relaxed, tensionless.

“Wondered where you were,” you say, quietly. You don’t want to make him jump after all. It hurts your heart to see the way that his body stiffens when he hears your voice. Ah: there’s the tension again. Nevertheless, he turns to look at you over his shoulder, an easy smile on his lips - but one with a hint of sadness. You’ve studied his face enough in camp in order to know when he’s trying to hide something. It makes your heart ache bitterly that he would try and hide it from you, though.

“Thought I’d be able to sneak away. Should have known you’d be able to find me.”

You take a seat next to him in the grass. It’s a soft spot he’s managed to pick, not wet from its proximity to the river, but green and lush from its plentiful feeding. You lock eyes with him and press a hand to your chest, mock-wounded.

“Wyll! You make me sound like I’m a bloodhound tracking you down, not someone who cares about you checking in.”

He laughs, and you see him begin to lighten again. When he smiles this time, it’s sincere.

“That’s not what I meant. Apologies. Just that I’m not surprised you know me well enough to guess where I’d end up.”

“Down by the river,” you hum, fingers suddenly itching for the feel of a lute’s strings.

“You’re always singing that, you know?”

“I am, it’s a good song. I’ve never once heard you complain about it.”

“I’m not complaining! I never would, I love to hear you sing. Since I joined you on this journey, my life has been filled with so much music. It’s been wonderful.”

You put your hands behind you and lean back on them, allowing your face to become level with his. He looks into your eyes and, this close, you can see his breath hitch a little when your fingers brush together.

“I could be persuaded to do an impromptu performance, but I’d need my favourite person in the front row to give me courage.”

“I’m sure that you don’t need me for that. Courage is the one thing you couldn’t possibly lack.”

“To be my muse, then.”

You know if you lifted your hand and felt his cheek, it’d be warm.

“Please, Wyll,” you continue, softly. “Please come and join us. Everybody wants you there. Me especially, if I’m being selfish.”

“Ah…” you can see he’s warring with himself. On one side of the argument, he longs to indulge you. On the other side…

“I’m not sure. I think people may find me off-putting.”

You furrow your brow.

“You? The single most charming man I’ve ever met?”

Another flash of shyness over his face. You can tell that he enjoys the compliment, but his self-doubt wins out.

“Perhaps I was, before the horns.”

“Oh, Wyll. Do you think anybody up there cares about those? A group of your friends and people you fought tooth and nail to protect? I know for a fact that Karlach wants to challenge you to a drinking game.”

“That seems like more of a reason to hide! I think she’d drink me under one of the tables,” Wyll grimaces, and smiles when you laugh at his silliness. He seems a little more open to the idea, but still not completely sold.

“I don’t know… just… the children…”

“The children who love you and hang on your every word? Umi won’t stop asking me where you are, and someone needs to keep Mol in line…”

“I doubt even the gods themselves can do that.”

When he chuckles you find yourself reaching out to cup his cheek, running your thumb over the sharp ridge that was raised there when Mizora cursed him. His eyes widen and glaze over before sliding closed, nuzzling into the gesture, soul laid bare to the sweetness of your touch.

“Nobody feels unsettled by you. Nobody is afraid of you.”

His lips fall apart, anticipating the way you reach in to kiss him.

It’s a soft kiss. Lips dancing slowly, a waltz, noses bumping together a little, his horns grazing your hairline. Your heart soars at it.

When it’s over you sit there and breathe together. Sharing the same air, letting your blood thrum through you in an intertwined heartbeat.

“Will you come and join us? Will you come and dance with me?” you ask.

Wyll loses the argument with himself.

“Yes.”

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget

#wyll x reader #wyll x tav #wyll ravengard x reader #wyll ravengard x tav #my writing #request

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babybeel · 1 year

Text

— happy new year

satan doesn’t get you. actually, from the slope of your nose to the peak of your lips to your every tiny eyelash, satan knows you better than anyone. rather, he doesn’t understand all your festivities.

halloween he had enjoyed. a big bowl of sweets he had stolen copious handfuls from, amused by your scolding as you hugged the container close to your chest. but dressing up with you, scaring people, had been the highlight, teeth bared and claws peeking through. satan had been beaming by the end of the night, eyes lit up in fun.

christmas had been ok. the food was warming and the atmosphere had been pleasant, despite mammon and leviathan’s inevitable brawl over presents. more than anything, satan had liked as the celebrations drew to a close and you had swaddled the pair of you into a blanket, curling up to his side as old films continued to blare on the telly.

but new year’s confused him. any attempt to make sense of the occasion left satan stumped, baffled as to why you’d cheer and commemorate the start of the year. demons lived significantly longer than humans, a couple centuries gone in the blink of an eye. so why humans had chosen to remember each year passing by made no sense, was it not simply a reminder of your own mortality?

nevertheless, satan wasn’t about to steal away your joy, happy to trail behind you, a squeeze to your hand every so often to offer support as the festivity went on. he shot a sharp glare at a lower demon once or twice, daring them to spoil the fun you’d planned, flashing a threatening snarl so they’d keep in line. and as your excitement began to spill out, earlier nerves subdued as all went according to plan, satan could only silently hope that his brothers would behave this time round.

and then the countdown started.

and it was satan’s turn to panic, heart sprouting wings that beat rapidly in his chest as you turned to face him, wide and content grin on your lips.

because the pair of you had made it through the year. you’d made it through satan’s outbursts, when his wrath would overwhelm him, and the suffocating sadness that followed after. he’d made it through your schemes, always seeming to find yourself in trouble, dragging him along with intertwined fingers. and you’d both made it through all the cheesy dates and comforting nights, limbs tangled together and somehow still aching to be closer.

with such memories in mind and a loud echo of “zero!” you pressed your lips to satan’s, attempting to show him all the love you’d shared over the last year and promising wordlessly that your future would never dull.

you pulled away with a tiny laugh, nothing but happiness filling you as you whispered “happy new year,” soft enough for only satan to hear. it took him a second to return the sentiment, and another to kiss you again. because even if he still didn’t entirely understand the celebration, satan knew he always wanted to start the new year with you.

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #om x reader #om x mc #satan #satan x reader #satan x mc #obey me fluff #satan fluff #obey me satan #om satan #obey me shall we date #cant remember what tags to use =_=#anyways...#i hope u guys have a happy and healthy new year and that 2023 treats u kindly <3

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somber-sapphic · 1 year

Text

Point of No Return

Ya'll, I have a killer headache. Anyways- (wandanat x reader)

You've been feeling depressed for awhile and your girlfriends aren't home. When you let your health go they find you sick and unable to take care of yourself. Depression TW

Word Count: 888

-----

Depression is a fickle thing. It was your girls who convinced you to get help, who held you while you confessed your trauma and who had picked you up in your darkest times. Nevertheless, even with years of therapy and endless support from the women who loved you, you still hit rough patches.

Sometimes weeks in which you would go without showering and rarely leave your bed. Usually Wanda and Natasha were there to coax you out of it, making sure that you ate and even washing your hair when you couldn’t do it for yourself. That was in most cases. This time, they were away.

Their mission had been for three months and halfway through the second you’d felt yourself slipping. It started with a missed meal and now, three days before their return, you’d been in bed for a week. The others had tried hard to get you out of your funk, but none of them really knew how to help you no matter how hard they tried.

You sniffled into your pillow, wiping your runny nose against your sweat soaked pillowcase. Your sheets were far from clean and the fever that you had been fighting off for a few days had them constantly damp. If you had cared enough, you probably would have changed them. Then again, if you had cared enough earlier you wouldn’t have neglected your health to the point of getting sick.

You blew your nose against your far too thin blanket, well aware of how gross you were. You just didn’t care. That was a common theme as of late. But you knew, as bad as it got, Wanda and Natasha would be home soon and they would make it better. They always made it better.

The cough that had been getting progressively worse, making you wonder if this stupid cold had perhaps turned into a case of bronchitis, rattled through your body, pounding against your aching chest. You tried to smother it against your pillow, but the sound was still awful. Maybe you should get up. You were pretty sure that there was medicine in the cabinet from the last time Wanda had gotten sick.

You laid there for a while, trying to work up the energy to get up. But even as you pushed the dark thoughts out of your mind, you realized that you weren't physically capable of getting up. You’d let it go on too long, you could barely lift your blanket, muchless walk all of the way to the bathroom.

Tears began to roll down your cheeks as you realized your situation. You managed to glance at the clock, 5:45 pm. They'd be back any minute. Wanda would insist on making you soup and They’d both cuddle with you for as long as you wanted.

Quiet sobs wracked your body and you curled up tightly around the sweatshirt the three of you often shared, hugging it to your chest as the tears turned into yet another fit of exhaustive coughing. Spots flashed in your vision as you tried to breathe, your lungs crackling in protest.

You were getting desperate for air when gentle hands lifted you up, pulling you into a sitting position. You leaned against a warm body, coughing as a beautiful woman with flame red hair pounded on your back, releasing some of the congestion.

A tissue was pressed to your lips and you spit out a glob of mucus, embarrassment raising high on your cheeks in a deep flush.

“Hi.” You finally rasped, blinking up at your two girlfriends with what you could only assume was the most pathetic expression. You were met with sad, concerned looks and the glowing red aura of Wanda’s magic. You could feel her in your head, but you didn’t mind. You couldn’t say any of it out loud.

Natasha leaned over and kissed your temple while she pressed her lips against your hairline. You leaned heavily against them, soaking up their warmth and love. Wanda was infusing your mind with calm, washing away the depression for the time being. It wasn't permanent, it didn’t fix anything, but it would help in the short-term.

“We’re going to get you a bath, okay love?” Natasha said gently, not giving you an option. You nodded, beginning to cry again. Their love was so strong, you could feel it emanating from the two of them. Wanda sat on the bed beside the two of you and wrapped you up in her arms, speaking to you in soft Sokovian.

“It’s all going to be okay baby. We’ll get those sheet’s changed, get you some medicine and set up an appointment for when you feel better. We’ll make sure that everything is okay.” Wanda soothed, squeezing one of your hands.

“‘M sorry.” You whispered, barely getting the words out. It hurt to talk, it hurt to breathe, but at least you weren’t alone anymore.

“Never apologize for something like this. It’s not your fault.” Natasha murmured, hugging you close. You laid your head against her chest, taking comfort in the fact that they loved you no matter what. There was nothing that you could do to make them stop caring about you. They would always be there for you. In this world where everything felt upside down and unsure, they were permanent.

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dragonedged-if · 1 year

Text

My Second Interactive Novel

Dragon's Edged is an interactive novel, about a Author of a IF died and reincarnated to their own IF.

There are 4 love interest for you to choose from, 2 males and females each with their own past and secrets for you to learn!

(Note: The RO's are not final. I might add more in the near future and that no romance is not a option. Also, I want this novel open as much as possible not restricting itself to the medieval time era or any kind of era. For example, I might put modern music in the novel.)

(Warning: 18+ The story includes the following: Violence, , self-doubt, cliché's and many more will be added in the future.)

Links:

Demo: Prologue To Chapter 5, Discord

Introduction:

"Another one bite the dust" a voice says sorrowful, peering through a mirror and seeing a image of people gathering around a mangled body.

The person waves their hand in the air and the mirror disappeared, leaving them alone to their thoughts.

"Looks likes I need to prepare for the ritual for this one!" they sigh and head aching due to thinking the preparation that must be done.

Still contemplating, they heard their door slammed wide open and a figure barging into their quarters.

"LUCIAN!" they scold the person for being disrespectful and disturbing their peace.

Lucian dismissed the rebuke with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, I know Lucille and I apologize but I want to be sure." he says in a somber tone and a sad look on his eyes.

Lucille looked at his brother with a puzzling look; "Sure of what?" she ask herself in her mind.

She and his brother are Gods and they can sense if a life is snuffed out on Earth.

Due to her being the Goddess Of Life and his brother ,God Of Fertility.

Up to this day she still doesn't know why the roles are swapped, is it the job of the woman to oversee which will be fertile?

But nevertheless the two of them do their job with upmost devotion.

"What do you mean? My Brother?" she looked at him with calculating eyes.

Still waiting for a reply, she was shocked to see that her brother burst to tears.

"MY FAVORITE AUTHOR DIED!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs and eyes flooding with tears.

Lucille mouth gone slack and can't help but face palm.

"Oh brother!" she exclaims in slight annoyance and with a roll with her eyes.

Story:

You're a IF writer, correction was a IF writer!

So the gist of the IF that you written is that the MC(you) is imbued with a dragon’s soul but of course you don’t want to make the life of MC’s easy, that particular dragon is ruthless and stubborn waiting for the opportunity to kill your MC.

You finished the game and launched it lived and never thought that people would loved it and gaining so many followers on “Rumblr”

But an accident happened and forced you to stop breathing on the realm of the living ,you were still processing what happened and your memory is still blurry.

Everything happened so fast, you were coming out of the cake shop with cake in hand and starting the journey back home so that you and the family can celebrate the birthday of your Father.

Then, you saw a little girl crossing the streets and a vehicle fast approaching.

Afterwards, everything went black and your can't remember what happened next.

To your surprise when you heard a Goddess speaking to you and telling that you will be reincarnated.

As added bonus to getting a second life, you will be reincarnated to your IF.

Frankly, you still don't know how you feel about this?

Leaving your past life and exchanging it with a fictional one but still what's done is done and besides dead people can't be choosers.

"A walk in the park!" you boast and knowing that you know the ins and out of your story.

"Oh one more thing!" a voice interrupts your moment.

"Your IF has been rewritten by the Gods!"

"Oh!" you exclaim worriedly.

Features:

Pick your MC's gender

*Customize your MC's physical appearance.

*Make choices that will affect the story and the people around you.

*Choose your class and mastery.

*Can you love among the characters that you created? Know their new story, see what makes them tick. 2 males and 2 females with their own personality.

*Will you follow the story that is dictated in the book or will you make your own narrative.

*Battle liches, dark knights, tackle conspiracy and many more!.

*Oh! A surprise character will be waiting for you in the story!

Romance Options:

"Clara Dacre, The Royal Princess"

"You think being royalty is a boon?

Physical Appearance:

In the kingdom, there is no one quite like the Royal Heir to the throne, Clara. She is the eldest of her brothers and the one who will one day rule the kingdom. At first glance, she appears a little shy, but once you get on her good side, the two of you can talk for hours with tea, of course! However, something is amiss - did you just watch her behead an enemy? It seems the gods have done her dirty by changing her sweet and kind attitude into something feisty and ferocious.

Don't mistake her gentleness for weakness, as Clara is a fearsome warrior on the battlefield. Her parents made sure she can protect herself from any possible threats that may come her way. She is a courageous and fearless fighter who is unafraid of dying on the battlefield. Clara sees her royalty as only a restriction to her passions and hobbies, much preferring to solve problems with her own hands than waste her life sitting on the throne all day. She makes sure the safety of her future kingdom is protected, and she will dispose of anyone who dares harm it.

However, as a princess, Clara doesn't act like one. She is the epitome of scandalous and flirtatious behavior, with no regard for royal ethics. She is the renowned prankster of the kingdom, always looking for ways to stir up trouble. But beneath that mischievous exterior lies a woman who is passionate and full of life. She is not shy or demure, but bold and outspoken. She does not care about etiquette or manners, but only about having fun and living life to the fullest. She is not afraid to express her desires or pursue her passions, whether it is a hobby or a lover.

Can your love prevail through the complicated politics of royal courtship, or will you drown under the sea of bodies seeking the favor of being the consort of the princess? Clara's personality is complex, yet intriguing. She is not one to be tamed or molded into what society expects of her.

Can you be the one who can keep up with her wild and adventurous spirit? The one who can match her wit and charm? The only one who can make her laugh, blush, and moan? But can you also win her heart and make her yours? Can you handle the challenges and dangers of being with the Royal Heir, who has many enemies and admirers? Can you prove yourself worthy of her love and trust?

"Clara is a character that will surprise you, delight you, and seduce you with her unpredictable personality. She will make you feel alive, excited, and passionate with her fiery attitude and playful nature. She will make you want more of her, more of her kisses, more of her touch, more of her love. Will you be able to tame the warrior princess who defies all conventions? Or will you be just another victim of her mischief?"

"Lucas Pierce, The Royal Bodyguard Of The Princess"

Physical Appearance:

"Everyone and everything is an enemy, until proven not, by me!"

In the world of Rumblr, there is no character quite as angsty and cruel as Lucas, yet he remains the most beloved and sought-after character by followers. Tasked with guaranteeing the safety of the princess, Lucas has a gaze that could pierce through steel, and a deathly aura that surrounds him at all times. He is always on edge, and his aloof nature means he doesn't care about your position or status. To him, if he sees you as a threat, he will not hesitate to take you down, even if you are the most reputable person in the kingdom.

Don't believe me? Even the closest friends of the princess and his own comrades must pass his inspection and interrogation before they can get an audience with her. Lucas is devoted, thorough, and quick to act, precise and deadly in the ways of the sword. But behind that tough exterior, you sense a loneliness that only the princess can assuage.

Can you convince him that there is more to life than his job? That there is love to be found in the world, and that he is worthy of it? Lucas is cold and aloof, not interested in making friends or finding lovers, as he is entirely focused on his role as the Royal Protector. But as you spend more time with him, you notice something different about him - a vulnerability that he keeps hidden from the world.

Will you melt his frozen heart and show him the warmth of life? Will you be the only one who can see past his cold and aloof demeanor and discover his vulnerable side? The only one who can make him smile, laugh, and feel? Can you break through his walls and reach his soul? Can you make him realize that there is more to life than his job, and that he deserves to be loved? Or will he push you away and keep you at a distance?

"Lucas is a character that will captivate you with his intensity and intrigue you with his mystery. He will challenge you, thrill you, and even hurt you. He will make you feel things you never felt before, and he will make you want more. Will you be able to win his heart and make him yours? Or will you be just another obstacle in his path?"

"Lucian, The God Of Fertility"[M]

Physical Appearance:

"I love your story so much and it's one of my dreams to be a part of it!"

In the realm of the gods, there is one who stands out among the rest - the God of Fertility, Lucian. But the question remains, why is a man in charge of such an important department? It's not often you see men in this role, but Lucian doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he loves his job and performs it with enthusiasm.

He is the one who blesses the land with abundance, the animals with offspring, and the people with children. He is the one who makes the world a more beautiful and joyful place. But he is also a man who loves to have fun and enjoy himself. He is a fanboy and a friend.

Lucian is not your typical god. He does not act like a solemn and serious deity, but like a cheerful and playful child. He is always smiling, laughing, and joking around, making everyone around him feel at ease. He does not care about status or rank, but only about happiness and friendship. He is friendly to everyone he meets, and he treats them with kindness and respect.

But Lucian’s favorite person in the world is you - the MC, his beloved author. He is your biggest fan, your most loyal supporter, and your most devoted admirer. He reads every word you write, he leaves likes and comments on every post, he sends you gifts and messages of encouragement. He loves your stories, your characters, your imagination.

When you die, Lucian is heartbroken. He mourns your loss, he misses your presence, he longs for your return. But when you are reincarnated and come back to life, Lucian is overjoyed. He rejoices in your resurrection, he celebrates your comeback, he welcomes you with open arms.

Lucian’s love for you is pure, sincere, and unconditional. He will always be there for you, to support you, to protect you, to cheer you up. He will always be faithful to you, to respect you, to admire you, to cherish you.

Lucian's goodwill, childish antics, and friendly nature make it easy to trust him. But could there be something more to his affable demeanor? Is there a hidden agenda behind his loyalty to the MC? Only time will tell.

Can you reciprocate his feelings? Can you see him as more than a fanboy or a friend? Can you accept him as a lover or a partner? Lucian’s story is one that will make you laugh, cry, and swoon. He will charm you with his humor and personality, he will impress you with his skills and abilities(Don't depend on his God-Powers).

"As you read through Lucian's story, you'll find yourself falling in love with his character. His loyalty and protectiveness of his favorite author will make your heart swell with emotion. You'll be drawn to his carefree nature, and his playful banter will leave you laughing out loud. But beneath that bubbly exterior lies a god who is powerful, competent, and fiercely protective of those he loves."

"Songixoninne(Variel), The Raging Inferno"[F]

Physical Appearance:

Left: This is her human looks without the draconic traits.

Right: Just a interpretation on how she will look like if I managed to add her dragon traits.

The tattoos, scales and sharp fingers, the red slits for eyes, etc.

"Humans are so small and fragile beings, how quaint!"

You have faced many dangers in your life, but none compare to Variel. She is the dragon who has brought ruin and misery to countless worlds, earning the ire of gods and men alike. Her soul has been chained to yours as a curse, forcing you to share a destiny with the most wicked being in existence.

But when you finally confront her, you realize she is more than just a monster. She is a dragoness with a name that sounds like a hex, and her savage and rude attitude makes her a pain to deal with. She is a sadist and dominatrix who delights in tormenting you, a tyrant who dominates you with her power, and a mocker who ridicules you at every opportunity.

Yet, despite her evil, you find yourself drawn to Variel. She is clever and witty, making you chuckle or cry with her sarcasm and dark humor. She is fierce and proud, showing off her skills in magnificent and flashy feats of magic. She is blunt and honest, telling you what she thinks without holding back or lying.

And as you journey with her, you begin to see hints of something else. A softness hidden under her hard shell, a warmth buried under her cold words, a yearning concealed under her fierce gaze. Could it be that she is falling for you? Or is it just another scheme to satisfy her twisted urges?

You can’t help but feel attracted to this dragoness, even with all her faults. She is like a magnet, pulling you closer to her with her charisma and intensity. But can you handle the taunts and insults that come with being near her? Will you challenge her, sparking her fury further? Or will you embrace her, falling for the dragoness who was once your foe but is now your companion?

"Variel’s story is one of a world of pain and adventure, and you won’t be able to resist discovering it. Her complex personality, combined with her sadistic and domineering nature, will thrill you or break you. You’ll find yourself captivated by her, despite her alluring personality, and you’ll want to know more about this dragoness who has gone from being an antagonist to being an ally. Can you survive or will you go down in flames screaming and Variel laughing and relishing in your suffering?"

#if #demo #romance #interactive novel #adventure #status: wip #itch.io #twine story #writeblr #Dragon's Edge

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my-own-walker · 11 months

Note

OMG I got an idea. How about Kit Walker x Reader during the asylum and like maybe Kit learned origami to probs keep himself sane. But also like he made little presents for the reader like paper hearts, sweet secrets messages, PAPER RINGS.

Paper Rings

note: a person after my lil taylor swift heart 🥺

warnings: just like fluff, kinda mentions of sadness/abuse bc asylum ofc

+++

Kit's POV

My neck ached. After hours of being hunched over on my bed, my shoulders cramped and my head felt heavy.

It was for a noble cause, though. I sat, cross-legged, folding a piece of paper desperately. An attempt at a present that was all too important. It was quite possibly the only thing keeping me sane anymore.

See, when I was thrown into this place, I never thought I'd find a purpose in life again. My determination to escape dwindled by the day and I feared it would never come back. They were making me weak. Complacent. Altogether incapacitated.

In my spare time before the asylum, I wrote. I liked to keep a journal. I wrote down my thoughts. Sometimes I'd draw funny pictures for Alma. It was calming to me. At Briarcliff, though, writing was banned. Fountain pens and pencils were considered weapons. In a place like that, it could turn bad. So I had to find something different to occupy my time.

After receiving my pills one morning, I kept the small paper cup they were handed to me in. I folded it into a little triangle while sitting idly in the common room. I folded the corners down, and it kinda looked like a penguin. I chuckled softly to myself before an orderly came and stripped the paper out of my hands.

It became a daily routine after that. I would take my cup and stash it for later. Hide it in the waistband of my pants. I started shoving them in my pillowcase, or in cracks in the walls. When I'd lay in bed at night, unable to sleep, I would grab out one of the cups and begin to manipulate it into different shapes.

When Y/N got admitted, I was amazed to find that my mind felt clearer, and more and more reasons to try to get out made themselves apparent to me. She was light. Her soft skin, the way her hair bounced as she walked, and the glint in her eyes, all made me fall for her. She was a total doll. A marvel.

I watched her from across the common room. She tied her hair up messily as she looked down at the chess board before her, engrossed in thought. Strands of hair fell into her face and her brow furrowed. Her perfect soft lips pursed in concentration. I wanted to attack her and take her right there on that table.

Always the gentleman, though, I formally began a friendship with her. Over the weeks following, we found that we had more in common than I expected. She gave me a reason to want to live.

I fell in love with her quickly and wholly. I kissed her for the first time in a tucked-away supply closet in the women's wing. I was alive.

My nightly routine gained a new meaning. Every scrap of paper I collected went toward daily gifts for Y/N. She loved birds. She would always talk about she wished she could hear the birds sing outside again. So I figured out how to make all kinds of birds.

This present was different, though. Very different. I was very focused on the daintiest little project. One that was more important to me than anything I'd ever done up to that point. Finally satisfied with my handiwork, I tucked it into my pillow and curled up for a restless night's sleep.

The next morning, I rose with a start at the wake-up call. I couldn't bear to wait until common room time to see Y/N. Nevertheless, I persevered. The passing hours moved so slowly. But at long last, it was time to see Y/N.

She moved with such grace and beauty into the room. Her head was held high, eyes searching for me. I couldn't help but crack a smile when we finally met eyes. She made such a bleak place fill with air.

'Hiya doll,' I smiled, standing to greet her.

'Hi Kit,' she replied brightly. We both flopped down onto the small sofa in front of the window. I took her hand in mine and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. 'Today has been such a drag.'

'I couldn't agree more,' I sighed. 'But, I have somethin' for ya.' Her eyes brightened at my words. I let go of her hand and reached for my left pocket. I stopped before taking out my newest craft.

'Another bird?' she laughed, looking expectantly at my hands.

'No, beautiful. This is somethin' a little different. I gotta tell ya something first, though,' I explained. I removed my fingers from my pocket and placed them in my lap.

'Oh? What's that?' she asked, smile fading slightly.

'I know we haven't known each other for long, but Y/N, you mean the world to me,' I began. 'I'm not very good with my words, so. you'll have to bear with me.' I chuckled softly, putting my head down suddenly embarrassed by my feelings. 'I'll just come right out and say it. I think I love you, Y/N. I hadn't known the type of peace you give me until I met you, a-and I wanna show ya how much I mean this.'

My hand fumbled into my pocket and fished out a paper ring, perfectly smooth and thick enough to last.

'Oh, Kit,' she breathed.

'I wanna give ya this because I can't give ya anything more right now. But know it's a promise from me. When we get outta this place, I'm gonna buy you a real one a'these. A beautiful gold one. I love you,' I gushed.

'I love you too, Kit,' she smiled, tears forming in her eyes.

'I know it-it's kinda stupid but,'

'No Kit, it's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you,' she assured me. I slipped the paper ring onto her ring finger and it fit perfectly. I sighed inwardly in relief.

'Paper or gold, whatever it's made of, just know that it's a promise to you that I am for you. I love you. And we will get out of this place,' I continued.

And I meant every word.

+++

GOD I think this sucks I'm so sorry haha. Love y'all hope you're doing well and are safe and happy.

#evan peters #evan peters fic #ahs #evan peters x female reader #evan peters x reader #evan peters oneshot #kit walker #kit walker imagine #kit walker x female reader #kit walker x reader #ahs asylum

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sundrownsthehouse · 1 month

Text

Take This Pain And Give It A Name, Part Four

Posted to AO3 (I much prefer the formatting there)

Prologue

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Summary: George breaks his shoulder. Matty looks after him. It gets complicated.

Words: 4.2k

AN: Much love to my bestie (you know who you are), to @allylikethecat, and to @lookedlikethebins for all the moral support- you're all amazing.

The faded grey light of the city filtered in from the windows where they’d forgotten to draw the curtains closed, casting streaky shadows across the ceiling. There was a gentle hush over the hotel room broken only by the muted hum of the aircon. George gazed up into the darkness. Comfortably cocooned in cool, plush blankets, with a warm body at his side, it should have been easy for him to fall asleep; this was the exact kind of quiet stillness he craved whilst on tour. And yet.

His eyes flicked down to the top of Matty’s head where it lay heavily on his chest, dark curls spilling across his skin. He could tell that Matty was still awake by the cadence of his breathing. Despite himself, George was hyperaware of the fact that Matty must be able to hear his heart hammering out a steady rhythm against his ribs. That notion alone threatened to send it racing.

And that’s sort of strange, George thought as he stared at the ceiling, because they’d done this so many times. Matty’s presence at his side was so familiar, it really shouldn’t provoke much of a reaction at all. Then again, it was unusual to lie awake together, entangled like this, without feigning ignorance; the cuddling wasn’t something they’d ever acknowledged openly in the past. It had never bothered him before, the way they’d always danced around it— it hadn’t really mattered— but to think about it now made him inexplicably sad. He didn’t know why they tried to pretend that they didn’t want the same things.

Over and over the night replayed itself in George’s mind, the gravity of it all weighing on him. In the span of only forty-eight hours, everything he thought he knew and felt about his relationship with Matty had changed. It was confusing, overwhelming, and slightly terrifying. There was so much he still didn’t understand, and the unspoken questions permeated the air between them like a thick fog. What did it mean, exactly, that they both seemed to want something more? Did it have to mean anything at all?

And what if it did?

As much as George wanted to pretend that everything was fine, the degree of Matty’s distress had seriously shaken him; they needed to talk about this. In the morning, he told himself firmly. Now wasn’t the time, not when they were both utterly exhausted. He found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could actually read Matty’s mind; even seeing Matty’s expression would give him some idea of where they stood. Nevertheless, he was secretly grateful they weren’t face-to-face. He was a little afraid of what he might find, and somehow, more intimidated by what Matty might see.

The bed shifted slightly. Matty sighed. The puff of breath fell hot on George’s skin, already sensitized by the tiny brush of Matty’s lashes as he blinked, gazing out at a city still aglow despite the late hour. George shivered curiously at the feeling. An unexpected wave of shame that he couldn’t reconcile burned in the pit of his stomach.

“Can’t sleep?” he mumbled. He was compelled to break the silence, if only to distract from the noise inside his own head.

Matty exhaled softly through his nose. “No.”

His arm was draped across George’s waist, absentmindedly drawing small circles into his hip with his thumb. Whether it was an indication of contentment or anxiety, George couldn’t tell. “Are you alright?” he asked hesitantly.

Matty didn’t respond at first. George lightly stroked his shoulder, aching to comfort him in whatever way possible after having seen him in such a state earlier. Matty shrugged eventually, his voice a whisper as he admitted: “No. Not really.”

George’s heart sank— what was he supposed to do with that?

He tried to sit up, struggling to right himself as the mattress dipped. Suddenly, Matty surged toward him. The weight of his body knocked George off balance and sent him toppling backwards, landing hard on the bed. Fire seared through his shoulder, tearing the breath from his lungs. Matty’s voice rose in a panic, but only when the pain began to ebb could George make sense of what he was saying: “….fuck, sorry, I’m so sorry, Christ….”

Though his head was spinning, George reached for Matty, still fretting, and pulled him in. He gently thread his fingers through his hair, playing with the curls— something he knew Matty loved, but would never ask for. Placated, Matty trailed off with another low sigh.

“Fuck, I… just don’t go,” he said after a moment, his voice thick with emotion.

George’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I’m not—”

Matty pressed impossibly closer, burying his face into the side of George’s neck. It was sort of startling; he didn’t know what to make of the way Matty was clinging to him. “M’not going anywhere,” George vowed. His fingers traced the smooth expanse of Matty’s back in slow, soothing motions, as if to show him:

I’m right here. I’m not running away. I’ve got you.

Matty sagged with relief, letting some of the tension bleed from his body. He turned his head, his parted lips coming to rest softly at the base of George’s throat.

It felt a bit like a kiss.

It wasn’t.

Breathe.

Clutching one another in the dark, time seemed to stretch on endlessly. At some point, Matty went lax and began to snore quietly. Utterly captivated by the places where their skin met, George gazed up at the shadows on the ceiling, and wondered why on earth that was.

Before he even opened his eyes he knew that Matty was gone.

George could feel the absence of him in the bed even on the barest edge of consciousness. Half awake, he raised himself up onto his good arm and squinted at the sunlit room, only to find it empty. The balcony was similarly vacant. George strained his ears, hoping to catch the sound of the shower running, footsteps, anything, but it was all for naught; Matty had vanished. The only evidence he’d been there at all was the crumpled pillow on the other side of the bed. It was cool to the touch.

Fuck. George curled up into the sheets, mentally berating himself. He should’ve expected this; it’s not like Matty ever stayed when they were at home, either. The thought was tinged with bitterness. If Matty were to disappear on him again, the way he did yesterday, he honestly didn’t know what he was going to do with himself. They had to fix this. Whatever happened, whatever was still going on between them, they couldn’t keep avoiding it forever— if not for their own sakes, then for the sake of the band. So much was on the line, and George didn’t want to think about what could happen to them if they handled this poorly. A series of horrible scenarios flashed behind his eyes anyway, filling him with a sickening sense of dread.

Lost in a grim, imaginary reality where he’d been abandoned in Wilmslow to shovel Chinese takeout into styrofoam for the rest of his miserable life, George barely registered the subtle metallic snick of the door as it was unlocked.

Matty strode into the room humming softly to himself, fresh-faced and vibrant. Dressed in skin-tight jeans and a gauzy black blouse (pilfered from the women’s section, surely), he balanced two paper cups precariously in one hand and carried a nondescript takeaway bag in the other. He caught George’s startled expression out of the corner of his eye. “Oh— you’re awake!” Kicking off his boots, he crossed the room to set one of the steaming cups down on the bedside table next to George, flashing a warm smile: “Rise and shine, love.”

George gazed up at Matty, a little stunned by his presence. He had so many thoughts racing through his head, he couldn’t actually grasp onto any of them in order to form a coherent sentence. He shook himself internally, feeling like an idiot; it’s only Matty.The same messy curls forever falling in his eyes, that familiar gangly frame (too thin these days…), the dark ink peeking out from under his shirt, hinting at tattoos George knew like the back of his hand… and yet something wasdifferent. The early morning sun pouring in through the open window cast Matty in a strange, golden light. Somehow, George felt like he was seeing him properly for the first time.

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

George felt the tips of his ears burn hot at the amused quirk of Matty’s brow. He quickly averted his eyes, training them on the takeaway bag instead.

“The buffet was closing for the morning,” Matty explained, unpacking fruit, yoghurt, and a couple of sugared pastries. “I mean, it’s only closing just now, but you were proper dead to the world when I left— there was no way you were gonna make it. So I searched ‘round online and figured I’d pop out to this little café down the street instead, cos there’s a Starbucks a few blocks over but I just couldn’t be arsed to go that far, and this place was really nice actually, had great reviews and…” He trailed off self-consciously. “I mean, it might be shit,” he warned, holding his hands up in surrender.

George sat back against the headboard, adjusting his sling with care. He took a small sip of the tea— definitely not shit, and just the way he liked it. He hummed happily.

“Alright?” Matty asked, plopping down on the loveseat by the balcony.

George shot him a grateful smile: “S’good— thanks.”

Pleased, Matty dug in whilst George sipped on his tea. It was remarkable how easily they slipped back into their usual routine of spending the morning together, as if nothing ever happened. Though George was more the cook between the two of them, at home, Matty took care of breakfast. He was almost always up first, usually on account of not sleeping very well, and more often than not had something burning by the time George dragged himself out of bed. Waking up to the smell of coffee and charred toast was, strangely, one of the things he missed most about being in London. The little gesture of familiar domesticity… well, it meant more to him than he really wanted to admit.

Seeming so much more like himself than the night prior, Matty rambled at length in a stream of consciousness: he talked about the show (“don’t get me wrong, it was wicked, but I hate that you weren’t there”), the redundant nature of interviews (“honestly George, they could’ve just Googled most of that shit”), Ross’s determination to hit up the pool (“don’t suppose you know what vitamin D’s for, d’you?”), and Adam’s blatant refusal to go out for drinks later in favour of an early night (“but I’ll bet you twenty quid— don’t laugh, you know I’m right!— I’ll bet you twenty quid he’s off his face by ten”).

George smiled into his tea, content. Matty always had a thousand thoughts racing around in his head, and he’d jump from one to the next so quickly that people who didn’t know him often found it overwhelming, if not abjectly infuriating. “Does he ever shut up?” was a question that had been leveled at George more than a few times, accompanied by long-suffering sighs and rolled eyes— but George had never been bothered. Matty’s mind fascinated him, and besides, he’d long since mastered the ability to interject here and there in the gaps.

Even so, when the topic inevitably turned to George’s shoulder, the conversation grew stilted.

“I’m fine,” George insisted, hating the concern painted all over Matty’s face. “Really. It’s not so bad. Just strange not being able to use my arm, is all.”

It wasn’t an outright lie; the pain wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been that first day. Instead, it had morphed into a persistent, dull ache that never really went away, and flared sharply with the slightest insult. Paracetamol didn’t touch it much, but George found himself leery of the narcotics. He’d left them behind on the bus.

Matty searched his face knowingly. George couldn’t help but feel exposed under his gaze. He forgot, sometimes, that their connection went both ways; Matty knew him better than anyone, and was as attuned to George as George was to him. The stretch of silence wasn’t awkward, exactly— it couldn’t be, after all these years— but there was an element of strain. Apprehension.

“Where were y—”

“I wanted to—”

They both paused.

“You first,” Matty conceded. His expression was carefully blank as he set his coffee down on the table. George took a breath to steady himself. Now or never.

“Where were you yesterday?”

He posed the question gently, but Matty fidgeted in discomfort, his hands fluttering in his lap. “Right, that’s what I… I wanna talk to you about that.” He seemed quite small all of the sudden. Shy, even. Shy was a rare look for Matty. “Honestly George, I was freaking the fuck out. I really thought I’d…” He turned away to gaze out at the balcony, the muscles in his jaw tense.

“Matty—”

“And I don’t know why I did that, the other night,” he confessed in a rush, as if he couldn’t stop the words from spilling forth. “I wasn’t planning on it, it just sort of… happened.” George opened his mouth again to speak, but Matty pressed on. “I think— I think I was a bit drunk, and I’d been worried about you, and I got a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

George shook his head. “You never had anything to be sorry for in the first place. I—”

“Good,” Matty interrupted. “Good, cos I really didn’t mean… I’d like to just forget that it ever happened, if that’s alright.” He offered a small, lopsided smile, but his eyes were hard. Pleading.

Oh. George found himself nodding automatically.

Visibly relieved, Matty leaned back into the cushions and propped his feet up on the coffee table— the very picture of ease to anyone who didn’t know him better. “Though I am flattered,” he teased with a wink.

George snorted and rubbed a hand across his face, lips quirked feebly in an attempt to mask the profound sense of disappointment washing over him. He couldn’t seem to find the right words; the questions that had plagued him all night got caught and died in his throat.

Matty laughed. “I think you need to get laid,” he said as he ran his hands through his hair— another nervous tick that George would recognize anywhere. “Fuck man, I need to get laid.” George felt himself chuckle weakly at the joke, small huffs of breath that left his lungs against his conscious will, but he wanted to melt into the mattress and disappear.

This was a good thing; this is what you wanted, he would remind himself. Matty was fine. He wasn’t mad or upset. He wanted things to go back to normal. Best case scenario.

Maybe, if he kept telling himself that, it would eventually start to feel like it.

***

“WANKER!”

George peaked one eye open from behind his shades as an errant spray of cold water splashed his legs. Waughy surfaced roughly in the center of the pool, sputtering as he flipped off Ross, who was standing on the deck with a suspicious, shit-eating grin. The others howled and scrambled to swim out of the way as Ross landed a cannonball that drenched Waughy (and George’s legs) all over again. Scattered bursts of laughter rose and echoed across the deck.

To Ross’s credit, the pool was a massive hit. He’d gotten word out to the rest of their crew, and by the early afternoon, they had something of a party going. They were being a bit rowdy, but the hotel was evidently letting it slide— one of the perks of being minor celebrities, apparently. Touring was demanding work, and full days off were precious.

George stretched on the lounger where he’d been laying out for the better part of the afternoon, lazy and content. The weather was perfect; the sun was hot, but there was a cool spring breeze that kept the humidity blessedly at bay. Nervous that swimming would mess with his shoulder too much, and unwilling to take any risks, he’d set himself up poolside with earbuds and a book hours ago. A warm glow of deep relaxation had settled into his bones. He yawned, pleasantly drowsy.

Just as he began to nod off, a flash of skin caught his eye.

Matty was lifting himself out of the pool, the muscles in his back and shoulders shifting with the effort of it. He pulled himself up to sit on the side of the deck, letting his legs dangle over the edge as beads of water dripped from his hair to stream in little rivulets down his skin. Hidden behind his sunglasses, George dragged his gaze away from Matty’s upturned mouth only to get caught on the slope of his neck. He traced the delicate dip of his collarbone, following it to the black and grey marking Matty’s sternum— the heart over his heart, the tattoo he knew Matty was proudest of. He roamed over the hard plane of Matty’s stomach, lingering as it flexed with his laughter. From there, it was far too easy to drop down, down, down, following a small trail of hair to the top of his waistband, where a glimpse of blue ink peeked out near his hip like a suggestion.

George shut his eyes, swallowing thickly. Stop it.

He didn’t think he’d ever really noticed Matty’s body before. It had never mattered; like background noise, it was irrelevant. And yet as the afternoon trudged on, George found that it was slowly becoming all he could think about. Matty was surprisingly strong for being so slender, all lean muscle and sinew, but there was a softness about his waist… an almost feminine sort of grace in the way he moved. Now that he thought about it, Matty really was quite pretty for a man, wasn’t he? The recognition of it had George’s mind growing hazy. He found himself searching for the tattoos, moles, and scars that marked Matty’s skin, cataloging what he was familiar with and fighting a strange thrill whenever he noticed something new. He’d resisted the temptation at first, fully aware that it was wildly inappropriate to be ogling his best friend— not to mention the little voice inside telling him that he shouldn’t— but Matty had somehow become this new, exciting, mysterious thing that George couldn’t help but be captivated by.

It made no fucking sense.

Matty’s voice rang out across the pool. George couldn’t quite make out what he and Ross were giggling about over the music, but whatever it was, it made Matty grin, animating his features in a boyish sort of way. His stomach flipped. He shut his eyes in some desperate attempt to reason with himself; he was only watching Matty because he was still anxious about everything that had happened between them… he was just keeping an eye on his body language, seeking reassurance that everything was alright. Though that didn’t explain why his blood was humming with electricity, alive with something delicious and traitorous that he couldn’t quite name, elicited by— Christ, of all things— the sight of Matty nearly naked and dripping wet. Just like…

No. He shouldn’t think about it. He’d been trying very hard not to think about it. The way their bodies felt sliding against one another in the steam… the little ghosts of breath on his skin… the careful, feather-light fingertips tracing his hip… the gentle press of impossibly soft lips to his shoulder. To his throat.

“You’re gonna burn.”

A sharp spike of adrenaline sent George’s heart racing as cool, wet fingers prodded the warm skin of his tricep. “I’m fine,” he choked out, gazing up at Matty’s silhouette against the sun. He’d been so distracted by his own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Matty walking right up to him until it was too late.

Matty snorted and shook his head, little droplets of water flying from his hair. “M’not gonna listen to you whine all night cos you’re burnt on top of everything else.” He jabbed at George’s arm pointedly, watching the tanned skin blanch and then turn pink.

“Won’t be. Haven’t got your delicate Northern complexion.”

“Yeah, that’d be clever if you weren’t blistering as we speak.” Matty reached for a bottle of sun lotion and flipped the cap. “Here, budge up.” He made to sit on the edge of the lounger. George didn’t move.

“You don’t have to do that— seriously mate, it’s fine.”

A hint of irritation crossed Matty’s face. “Don’t be stupid. C’mere,” he insisted, drawing closer.

Too close.

George shot up and took a careful step back, shaking his head. “I can do it myself,” he blurted, holding his hand out for the bottle. A nervous energy snaked up his spine, setting him on edge.

Matty stared in disbelief for a moment, eventually scoffing. “You literally can’t,” he said, squeezing lotion into his hand.

Panic bloomed in earnest, immediate and terrifying. George only knew that— no matter what— he couldn’t bear for Matty to touch him. He waved his hands dismissively and spun around, making a beeline for the changing room. He didn’t care how fucking bizarre it must seem; he had to get away. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. He was vaguely aware of his name being called, of the exasperated tone in Matty’s voice, but it was all secondary to the buzzing in his ears, growing louder by the second as his feet blindly carried him away.

The men’s room was empty. George huffed a shaky sigh of relief, leaning up against the wall to steady himself. A fresh wave of dizziness had his stomach rolling; for one horrible moment, he thought he might actually black out. He pressed his forehead into the faded blue tile, letting it leach the heat from his skin. It was all just too much. He couldn’t— he didn’t want to face it, whatever this was, whatever was happening to him. As his awareness slowly returned to his body, he noticed that his hands were trembling, among other things.

Please stop, he begged— as if contrition alone would change anything at all. Fear and hunger, shame and desire, it all tangled in his mind, fighting with the conflicting sensations of his body. He didn’t even recognize himself anymore, and God, why was his cock throbbing? He shuddered violently at the feeling, enthralled by the heady rush of endorphins mixed with adrenaline and latent frustration. Slowly, mindlessly, he pressed his hips into the wall to abate the pressure in his groin, only to gasp at the sheer relief of it. Out of that hazy cloud of sensation, clarity struck like lightning— sudden, brilliant, and terrible.

It was difficult to know how long he’d been gone. It could have been minutes; it felt like hours. But when he emerged from the men’s room half-dazed, George glanced around to find the others staring at him strangely— as if they could tell that something fundamental within him had shifted.

***

In the evening they separated off the elevator, Ross and Adam heading to their respective rooms, George trailing behind Matty towards their own.

Matty chatted casually about something banal as he dug through his bag, preoccupied with putting together an outfit. Something about dinner… the restaurant, George recognized dimly. He was grateful, really, that Matty hadn’t brought up their strained encounter at the pool, but he couldn’t pretend to care about their reservation at the best sushi restaurant in Austin, George, it won a James Beard award last year, did you know?

Perched on the edge of the bed, George nodded and hummed in agreement here and there to fill the gaps, but he struggled to follow the one-sided conversation. He was hopelessly distracted, and growing ever more certain by the minute that he’d been ignoring what was right in front of him for years.

“Gonna rinse off,” Matty announced as he walked toward the bathroom, clutching fresh clothes and his toiletry kit to his chest.

“Can I come?”

Matty froze, whipping his head to stare at George with wide eyes.

Fuck.

“Erm— I mean, my hair… the chlorine… makes it dry odd…” he trailed off feebly.

A dozen different emotions flit across Matty’s face. It seemed to take him a moment to find the words— and Matty always had the right words. When he did speak, his voice was soft. Apologetic. “You didn’t swim, George,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I mean, I got splashed a bit by you lot, didn’t I.” George tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. He’d thought… he didn’t know what he thought.

Matty’s expression was inscrutable. He went to speak, then hesitated, swallowing hard. “There’s not a lot of time… m’gonna be quick,” he replied thickly.

George nodded. Shame burned through him. “Yeah, right. Okay.”

“Okay.”

He flinched when Matty shut the door behind him.

#matty healy #george daneil #the 1975 #take this pain and give it a name #matty x george #the 1975 fic #matty healy fic #george daniel fic #gatty

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