#tw: self loathing

[comatosebunny09]

fever dream | astarion a.

genre(s): fluff, angst

warning(s): language, self-indulgent, sick!reader, astarion’s a little ooc

now playing: the night does not belong to god - sleep token

notes: very self-indulgent because i’m sick and needed some comfort and @nanaoise08squad inspired me to finish this. thank you for reading, lovelies! ❤️❤️❤️

Somehow, the sun shines brighter today. Glaringly so.

You hold a hand to your temple to shield your eyes from its brilliance. Your armor feels heavier, too. Like boulders stacked on your shoulders and chest, making it harder to breathe. You force out a groan that’s gritty like ash. Trudge down the steps leading outside the inn to join your companions, your limbs weighted and achy.   

“I hate to point out the obvious, darling.” Astarion grimaces with his hands curled to his chest in revulsion. He ducks away from the sight of you. Winces as you take a labored step forward, your balance thrown to the hells.

“But you look like utter shit.”

You scoff, phlegm making itself known in your throat.

What a way to be greeted by the love of your life.

“You sure are a flatterer, aren’t you, Astarion?”

You’re sure to drag out the vowels of his name—or perhaps your words are a little slurred due to whatever ailment took hold of you today. Nevertheless, you jab a finger between his ribs, your face twisting into something haughty.

You wonder if it was worth the exertion as your vision and body sway along with the trees, and your head pounds something menacing whilst a wave of vertigo hurtles into you.

“Shit!”

Astarion catches you when you pitch forward, your legs unable to grasp the rhythm of walking. And there are suddenly two of him. Two little ‘starions calling your name, fretting over you, shaking you to keep you amongst the conscious.

You feel like lead. Feel yourself sinking below the surface, unable to return.  

Your lids shutter as if weighed down by sandbags. The muddled shouts of your friends trickle in, each tinged with varying degrees of concern. You register hands all over you, patting and pulling. Register a strained voice yelling stop, and the frantic touching ceases.  

Before you fully succumb to the darkness, there is the sensation of you being lifted up, followed by the earthy scent of bergamot flooding your senses, and it furls around your heart.

Then, there is nothing.

Something savory draws you from the inkiness of your sleep. It curls around your mind, luring you into consciousness.

You caution a sound, your throat rubbed raw from disuse. You slowly open your eyes, and the bleariness gradually morphs into discernible shapes and colors. Somehow, this place feels familiar.

You’re back in your rented room. Nestled in the plushness of a mattress with too many pillows and sheets soft as linen. You will yourself onto your elbows, wincing at the stiffness of your neck. The pain is manageable. Better than it was before, you note, leisurely ingesting your surroundings.

A lone candle flickers on the nightstand, swathing the room in its bronze glow. Moonlight seeps through the curtains lining the window across. The faint symphony of crickets accompanies the murmur of the inn’s other patrons and the groans of the floorboards beyond your doorway.

Bloody hell.

How long have you been out?

On cue, the doorknob rattles, and a slither of light leaks in. The swell of noise outside commands your attention. You stiffen, fingers instinctively twitching for a weapon. But your bones settle as a thatch of white creeps into your vision from the threshold.

“Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty,” Astarion breathes. He toes the door shut, a steaming bowl of deliciousness cupped in his palms. Takes a few steps forward, rounded eyes flashing amber beneath the candlelight.

You recognize that aroma. The hearty scent which roused you from your sleep. Your stomach gnarls with life as Astarion nears the bed, donning that smug little mask.

“Hungry, are we?”

You nod enthusiastically, garnering a chuckle from the room’s other occupant. Suddenly self-conscious of how eager you are whilst he hands you the bowl, his fingers slinking away from yours as if he’s touched simmering coals.

“Courtesy of Gale,” Astarion supplies. “I can’t guarantee how good it tastes considering—well, you know. Undead and all that.”

His smile is tight-lipped. Guarded as he settles himself on a stool beside you, his spine straight and his ankles crossed. He helps you sit up against the headboard despite the unease permeating the air. Quickly retracts his hands to press them against the wood of his seat between his thighs, surveying your room.

You take some time to study him. Note that his eyebags seem more prominent than usual. Darker. Hair’s a little tussled, skin a bit paler. His shirt sits rumpled around his shoulders, the fastenings of it done all wrong. Worst of all, he has not looked at you for longer than a few beats. Like you’re made of glass and will shatter if he stares for too long.   

A pang shoots through you, searing hot like lightning.

He was worried.

Worst of all, he was worried about you.

You’re no longer hungry, your stomach twisting as you gaze down at the stew bleeding warmth into your palms. You set it on the nightstand with a decisive clunk, quietly receding into yourself. Silently relenting to the smog of self-loathing draping itself across your shoulders.   

“You scared me half to death, you know,” says Astarion, parting the tangled sea of your thoughts. As if he senses you berating yourself. It’s a soft drawl. An attempt at scolding you, but there’s weariness nestled in the undercurrents of it. “That’s saying a lot, considering I’ve already one foot in the grave.”

You peer up at him like a meager child. He watches you from his peripheral with crossed arms, his nose turned up, feigning disappointment. You see through the cracks of his façade, and your lips twitch with the threat of a smile.

He can be incredibly adorable when trying to shroud his feelings.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, your tone barely above a whisper.

Astarion releases a resigned sigh. And the weight of the world seems to pour from his shoulders as he angles himself towards you, reaching for one of your hands.

His expression softens, and he squeezes, his palm frigid yet reassuring. For the first time since he entered, he truly looks at you. Gaze swims through your features as if to commit every detail, every imperfection, to memory. As if he could lose you at any second.  

“No need to apologize, my love. I was just…concerned, is all. I suppose we all were when you went down.”

The recollection makes your face blossom with heat. Poor little darling, taken out by a nasty cold. Causing hysteria among your friends, deterring your journey.

Astarion thumbs your cheek, smiling something genuine at the pout on your lips.

Your tongue burns with the ache of a question, and you shrink, not wholly prepared for the answer.

“How long was I out for?”

“Nearly two days.”

You blanch, evoking another guttural laugh from Astarion.     

“Shadowheart did her best to heal you. There was only so much her magic could mend. So, we’ve been playing the waiting game while you caught up on your beauty sleep. Not like you need much more of it.”

You snort at Astarion’s cheekiness.

Leave it to your little star to find every opportunity to flatter you.

He examines your joined hands thoughtfully, thumb smoothing over your knuckles.

“It’s been centuries since I’ve dealt with mortal illnesses. Honestly, I couldn’t begin to fathom how to comfort you. Other than gracing you with my presence, of course.”  

It’s refreshing to see his humor is still intact despite his beloved pulling a Snow White.

For a while, you sit like this. Basking in the moment’s serenity, holding hands. Grinning and laughing like two enamored fools when your gazes interlock. You can tell that Astarion’s lightyears away, however. At war with himself, lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, reprimanding himself for not being your proverbial knight in shining armor.

Absently, you scoot over. Relinquish your love’s hand—much to his chagrin—to pat the space beside you. You affix him with a look that’s all too serious as you say, “For starters, you could try holding me.”

Astarion stares at you with rounded eyes. Mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish, forming around words that he can’t quite conjure.   

“Oh. A-Alright,” he finally musters. Dumbfounded, Astarion stands, maneuvering to sit beside you on the bed. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. Never does, unused to being so vulgar, so unabashed with his feelings.

Though, for you, you know he would rearrange the stars in the sky if he could.

So you help him, tugging him closer and falling into the circle of his arms. You nestle against his chest with a pleased hum vibrating your throat. Tangle your legs together, ignoring the surprised sound that leaves him.

He’s a lovely contrast to your still-enflamed skin. Fits like a puzzle piece against you, soft and lithe. He relaxes gradually, tucking you ever closer against him as if you’ll disappear in a plume of smoke if he lets go. He pets through your hair before anchoring his chin to the crown of your head, surrendering a satisfied sigh.

“Well, I supposed this isn’t so bad, now is it?” Astarion husks, stroking soothing circles into the notches of your spine.

You nod offhandedly, your lids lowering, and your body feeling at ease.

Suddenly, your ailment seems more bearable as you sink below the depths of slumber, an unguarded smile cresting over your lips.

The shadows of your conjoined bodies dance along the walls as the candlelight dwindles, and you both surrender to the tranquility of the night.    

masterlist

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 x reader #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fluff #tw: language #tw: angst #tw: self loathing #tw: sickness #sick!tav #sick!reader #astarion comfort #bg3 #bg3 astarion

[harrystylesfan2686]

Alone

Pairing: no one really.

Summary: Reader starts to feel left out in her own family...

Warnings: Neglection. Suicide thoughts. Self harm (in detail) please go back if any of these bother you. Your mental heath matters more.

A/N: I think I need therapy too...

Masterlist Part 2(Azriel) Part 2(Eris)

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Ever wondered what it's like to be alone?

It's a game, really. A game of utter self degradation. A game where there are only two players, you and your mind. A game where you never truly win and you always have to keep playing because your brain never tires.

A game which no one else realizes your playing until you lose and it's too late.

It's the game you have been playing ever since the Archerons joined the inner circle. You love them all, honestly. Thier different personalities was the first thing that drew you to them. You admir all three of them but the one thing you hate is how you got left alone after their involvement to your life.

Before them, you all relied on all of you for company and support. Now, everybody has their own person.

Rhysand has Feyre, Cassian has Nesta, Azriel has Elain, and Mor and Amren have found thier partners too but in case they aren't present, Mor and Amren, as crazy as it sounds, rely on each other. Just like that, everybody has a person to go home to, to come back safely for, to turn to for comfort.

You don't have anyone.

You hate going home because your bed is always empty. You hate going on missions because you know no one would be worrying about you every minute you gone. You hate celebrations because you have no one to dance with, to drink with, to end the day with.

You love family dinners. Even though you never get a chance to speak, even though you never talk to anyone, even though no one notices your presence. You love family dinners and meetings because it's the only time youre not alone.

It's doesn't matter if you're lonely, at least you aren't alone.

But in the game you're playing with yourself, after a while, you get too tired to challenge back with same force. You don't push back the mean thoughts your mind throws at you as insults. You listen to them, compare them to your situation and realise, you've been trying to win for nothing.

You slowly stop trying to protect yourself all together.

The first time you didn't go to a family dinner, you thought you would regret it later but you didn't, instead you felt glad that you didn't go because no one had come to get you, no one came to ask why you didn't show, no one cared about you enough to think why you didn't go.

So you stopped going at all.

You stopped doing everything with you 'family' and prefered being left alone.

You only met them when you had a mission together or anything related to work.

Just like that, today you had gone to one of the Illyrian camps at Rhys orders. He got report saying things haven't been going as they should there and wanted you to go check. But on your way back you had been ambushed by a group of six men wanting to kill you in the camp, they couldn't of course but you did come out of the fight with a large sward wound on your left side.

All you wanted to do was go home, rest, tend to your wound and sleep. You can give the report to Rhys tomorrow.

You let out a grunt and step in your house, immediately tense seeing a shadow of a person move the dark room. Your hand placing itself in your dagger straped to your thigh, you other hand on the left side of your waist pressing on your wound.

"Relax, it's just me." A familiar voice fills the silence as the fae lights turn on and Rhysands face becomes visible. You sigh in relief and furrow your eyebrows,"What you doing so late in my house?" You nearly snap, but hold back as respect for your high lord.

"You came late you were suppose to be here two hours ago." For minute it feels like he cares for you, and you allow yourself to believe that he was worried for you but you fantasy shatters the second he opens his mouth again. "You were supposed to deliver your report two hours ago. You know how important this is, I have other things to do too." His voice sharp as he scolds you.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I got attacked while leaving, it took time to fight them of. It was six against one but well I managed to survive, eh?" Rhysand's scowl deepens. "Tell me what happened there now."

Your eyes closs for a second whem you feel dizzy. "Look, how about you give me ten minutes to freshen up, and I also have a wound to–," You try to say but he cuts you off saying,"I don't have more time. Tell me right now what happened so I can get started on fixing things, then you can have all the time to fresh up as you want. My office, now." He doesn't leave much to room to argue and winnows you to his office.

You sigh and start speaking, repeating everything you noticed in the camp as Rhysand listens and writes down the report. Near the end, you feel another wave of dizziness hit you and put your head down to rest it against the backrest of your chair and groan when you feel pain shoot up from your injury from the movement.

Rhysand finally notices the source of your pain and his eyes flare,"You're hurt?" You scoff. "Yes. That's what I was trying to tell you before you winnowed us here."

"I didnt notice it. I'm sorry, you should go tend to it." He quickly dismisses you, finally letting you go back to your house.

As you look at yourself in the mirror, thinking how filthy and hideous you seem, you grit your teeth. Of course no one notices you. Look at you. You are ugly and filled with dirt and scars all over your body.

How could anyone look at you when you can't even look at yourself.

Your gaze falls to your wound, the big cut that spread from under you left breast to the start of your thigh. If was deep enough to bleed you dry.

Would anyone even notice if you did? If you don't heal and let the injury bleed you dead. Would anyone know that you were gone? That your body layed unmoving in the bathroom floor. How long would it take for someone to find you? Who would find you? Probably Rhysand when he needs you for his next mission.

You eye your dagger that you unshielded on your way in the bathroom. How long would it take for you to bleed out? Hours? Days? You didn't want that. That was too much. You don't think you can handle that much pain constantly. Maybe if you took that dagger and deepen your cut, you would bleed out faster. Maybe you would have a faster death. Sure it would hurt but at least you would be gone before someone found you.

You would be free. Free of the loneliness. Free of the feeling like you were a burden in everyone's life. Free of wanting Someone to care for you the way you see everyone else care for their loved ones. You would finally be at peace.

You gasp and blink out the terrible thoughts. Breathing heavy, you search for the cotton and Healing cream in the cupboards. You groan out with you don't find any of them.

You turn back to the mirror. Maybe your brain is right. Maybe this is a sign from Mother herself telling you to not let the wound heal and die right here, right now. Your gaze finds the knife again, eyeing the sharp edge. Would it really be that bad?

Your hand grips the handle of the dagger, bringing it closer to the cut. You let the cold mettle edge scrap the skin, an inch afar the start of the cut. The sharp edge slicing through skin like paper, leaving a line of crimson red blood, seeping out of the newly cut skin.

Your eyes widen as you observe yourself, keeping the knife near the cut but not touching it entirely.

It's... mesmerizing. The way blood slowly comes out of the skin, the small and steady lines created by your dagger are engrossing. And the pain, the pain is hypnotizing, slowing raising to the rest of your body. Your body feels electrified, there's snips of pain tingling through out your entire body, your ears buzzing with excitement. Your hands are shaking and eyes bluring but all you can focus on is how much you want to do this again. Feel your skin open beneath you knife again. Feel the pain that slowing raises with each extra inch of cut.

Oh gods. What have you done?

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#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar angst #angst #tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: self loathing #tw: self half #your mental health matters #love you guys #azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #cassian x reader #inner circle x reader #eris x reader

[hunterwritesstuff]

Adam x fem sinner reader, Adam(angel) being insecure about his tummy and face, so reader basically just with body worship! (Suggestive!)

Sure!! :D Hope you enjoy! :D

"Why do you call me perfect?"

Adam groaned, gently pinching at his tummy. God, today was NOT being nice to him. First, his robe had to be put into the laundry, so he couldn't exactly cover up like usual, THEN his mask had to be fixed/remade, so his face was all out in the open, today just fucking sucked.

He straight up took down all the mirrors in his room at this point. He hated how he looked, and he knew if he went out, he'd have to put on the typical confident persona he always put on.

Hell, he didn't even want to fucking leave his room until he could cover up again! He sighed frustratedly, just resolving to get back into bed until he could wear his robe and mask again.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, hidden under his blanket for, he just knew he heard someone come in. "Adam?" He heard his partner call softly.

He grimaced. You were gonna see him at his most insecure, at his lowest, at his WORST.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the blankets got pulled off, ready for any insults or wayward comments to come his way about his appearance.

...

...

...

...

...but they never came. The only thing that came his way was a soft hand running through his hair. He slowly opened his eyes, looking up at you, tears starting to well up in them. "...you can go ahead, y'know...everyone else has already done it multiple times...you don't have to be different." Adam sighed.

"What do you mean, love?" You asked, tilting your head in confusion.

"Just LOOK at me!! I'm not conventionally attractive, I'm fat, I've let myself go, my face isn't attractive-" He started, pausing as you hushed him.

"Adam, you're perfect to me. Besides, even if you weren't-which you AREN'T-you were the first human. If you have any imperfections-which you DON'T-it's because God didn't really have humanity figured out fully." You reassured.

Adam frowned. "I'm SUPPOSED to be perfect. But I'm not."

"But you're perfect to me. Isn't that enough?" You asked. "I love you for all of you. No matter what."

"Nobody could. Two people already threw me away-People just want me for my dick! Not me as a person! Just my dick!" Adam ranted. "Nobody likes how I look!! I'm a mess, I've let myself go, and you should try to find somebody better for you!"

You furrowed your eyebrows in worry. How bad had this man seen himself? You looked down at your pocket, pulling your phone out, searching something up.

"Adam?" You asked.

"Just go find someone else." Adam frowned.

You shoved your phone into his face, showing him a photo of a baby seal. "What does this seal look like?" You asked.

"....it looks fat. Why?" Adam chuffed.

"How do you feel about it?" You asked.

"...it's cute." Adam sighed.

"That? I see you as that baby seal." You said softly. "Yes, you may be bigger, but you're still cute to me. I love you for YOU. Your face, your tum, your wings, all of it. All of you is perfect to me."

You turned to Adam, finding he was tearing up, clearly on the verge of breaking down into tears. "You think I'm like a baby seal...?"

"Mhm! And just like a baby seal, I wanna pick you up and snuggle you and love you and cuddle you until you realize just how lovable you are!"

Adam sighed, melting into your embrace. He felt happy. "I will say, the dick is a plus." You joked.

"Well, you've earned it, babe~" Adam grinned.

#hazbin hotel adam x fem reader #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #suggestive #slightly anyway #tw: self loathing #tw: self deprecation #tw: self destruction #ask to tag #Adam goes through it-

[chaoticace2005]

The angst potential of if Winners don’t remember those who didn’t go to Hell…

Imagine Angel finding Molly. Finding his twin. Finding his other half. Finding the person he regrets hurting more than anyone else. One of the main reasons he’s even trying to get into Heaven.

Imagine him finding her and she just looks at him blankly.

“Oh, hi, what did ya say your name was?”

“Uh, Ang— Anthony. Molly, it’s me.”

“Who??? I’m real sorry have we met? I don’t rememba an ‘Anthony.’”

The idea that she completely forgot about him. The idea that for her to truly be “happy”, for her to truly be in Heaven, she needed to erase “Anthony” from her mind. The idea that everyone in his life was right, as he was just a mistake. The fuck up. The twin that weighed his better half down. That the one person who always told him that wasn’t true doesn’t fucking remember him so maybe that was a mistake too?

“Oh… yeah. Sorry, I.., thoughtcha was someone else.”

Imagine him pushing himself away from everyone again, because maybe they’re better off without him too. Imagine him relapsing because if nobody wants him to be here he certainly doesn’t either.

#I woke up from a nap and chose violence #but also if any artist wants to draw this 👀 #hazbin hotel #angel dust #bonus points if it incorporates human Anthony and molly #angel dust hazbin hotel #molly hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel blurb #tw: sui thoughts #not explicitly but they’re definitely implied #tw: self loathing #tw: self destruction

[grace-writes-shit]

Perfect For Me (Steven Grant x Reader)

Words: 2.2K

Warnings/Themes: Angst,Self-hatred, body insecurity, hurt/comfort, fluff, light nudity (non-sexual)

Characters/Pairings: Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector

liavaleska asked:

Hellooo! How are you? I hope you are doing great. Can I request something where reader comforts Steven Grant when he is feeling insecure about his body? Ty❤️

A/N: Sorry it took me a while to get this up! But here it is and I hope you enjoy it. It came out a tab bit angstier than I intially wanted but I'm quite proud of this one! Let me know what you think :)

Tired eyes mindlessly watched the little goldfish bob around its tank. The only sound filling the apartment was that of the tank’s filter. Rain pattered against the windows. Each door that opened or closed in the building had her peeking at the door through the tank. It was a quiet evening. As it had been for the past few days, nearing two weeks.

Nearly two weeks of silence. All because the other occupant of the apartment was hardly around anymore. Something was up with one of the boys. She had hoped one of them would have confided in her. But they are alters of Marc Spector. Mr. Secret.

The notion of her husband keeping secrets saddened her. It wasn’t hard to suspect that something was wrong. Steven would be up before her and leaving for work earlier than usual. Before he would wrap himself tighter around her when her alarm would go off, begging her to stay in bed for a few more minutes.

He had also picked up the habit of jogging. At first, she had been happy for him; happy he had found a healthy hobby. But now she’s questioning how healthy it really is. The bags under his eyes darkened with the passing of each day. Getting up early, going on jogs, and working as Khonshu’s personal plaything, had to be tiring. Not to mention she didn’t really see him enough to confirm that he had eaten that day.

“At least you’re around, huh, Gus?” She murmured, chin resting on her palm. The fish swam into his pyramid. A groan left her as she hung her head. Great. Even the fish didn’t want to spend time with her. Pushing out of her seat, she decided it was time for bed. The clock on the wall read 1am.

A quick glance at her phone showed that her messages had been read. But there had been no response.

‘Hey, love. Just wondering when you’ll be home. Any ideas for dinner?’

Read at 7:30pm.

‘Hey, again, you’re probably busy so I wrapped up dinner for you. Chinese takeout, your favorite! Love you <3’

Read at 10:46pm

With a heavy heart, she typed out one last text.

‘Going to bed now. Love you, darling’

She didn’t wait for a reply and stuck her phone on the charger. Tears pricked at her eyes as she stared at the empty bed. This would be the sixth night in a row that she would be going to bed by herself. The cold, white duvet laughed up at her. Sniffling, she padded over to the closet and pulled out one of Steven’s hoodies, and tugged it on. His scent filled her nose but didn’t bring the comfort she craved. Rather, it broke the dam holding back her tears.

She wished she could help him. Wished he let her help him. Wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone in whatever he was going through. If only he would just let her in. Her teeth bit into the soft flesh of her lip as she tried to stifle the sobs. Curled up on the bed, she hugged Steven’s pillow to her chest.

Keys knocking against the door had her freezing. The door slowly creaked open and heavy, tired footsteps entered the apartment. The sound of a duffle hitting the floor broke her out of her trance and had her shooting up.

“Steven?” The figure outlined by the light of the fish tank shuffled over to the bed, standing at the foot.

“No, sorry…” Marc said, voice low and, dare she say, sad. She quickly flicked on the lamp on her nightstand, beckoning him towards her.

“What’s wrong, Marc? Are- are you guys okay?”

Marc was silent for a few heartbeats, his silence giving her time to think of every possible thing that could be wrong. Steven doesn’t love her anymore, Khonshu’s asking too much, they have some terminal disease… Her lip wobbled more with each new possibility.

“No… No, we’re not okay.” Marc whispered, “Steven doesn’t want me to tell you… but I don’t think he’s okay.”

He sounded so tired, and his eyes didn’t even come up to meet hers as he spoke. Whatever was wrong, it had been going on for a while and it’s become too much for Marc to handle. With a frown, she grabbed his hand to tug him onto the bed.

While she wasn’t in a romantic relationship with him, Marc was still important to her. He was like a brother to her. Without him, she wouldn’t even have Steven.

“Tell me, Marc… Tell me what’s wrong,” she begged softly. If he closed the door now after letting her get a toe in, she might completely break down. He sagged forward with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“I just wish I could have protected him better… All of this is my fault. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know this has been hurting you too, but I don’t know how to help him. He won’t eat; he runs until we have blisters… Hell, he’s been fronting during almost every fight and I can’t make him give me the body…”

It was as if once the words started pouring out of his mouth, they wouldn’t stop.

“The only reason I’m fronting now is that I think he was just too exhausted to…” The sigh that left him was far beyond his age. It was the sigh of someone too tired to continue. “You gotta help us, Y/N… You gotta help Steven.”

With a tear-streaked face, she nodded.

<><> 

Marc had showered and changed into Steven’s favorite pajamas before climbing into bed. Y/N lay on her side of the bed, wishing that it was her husband she was falling asleep next to. She wanted to hold him close, to protect him from the dangers of his own mind. She could only hope that when she woke up, it would be Steven kissing her awake as he used to.

Her sleep was a light and fitful one. An odd form of sleep paralysis. She could hear the sounds of their apartment, and Marc’s heavy snores next to her. But she couldn’t move. Worry and fear gripped her body like a vice.

Time seemed to still be flowing as one moment she was hearing Marc’s snores, then the next Steven’s much softer breaths. Unconsciously, her hand drifted toward her husband. Her love. Her partner who needed her help.

She couldn’t be sure if her hand ever touched him. Because it was his strained whispers that had her fully conscious. The lamp in the living area was lit and he stood in front of a full-length mirror.

“You overstepped, mate. I told you not to tell her.”

She blinked heavily, unsure if this was a dream or not. A quick hand over his side of the bed told her that it was not and that he hadn’t been gone for long.

“I don’t care! If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here with a big bloody scar on our chest from that fight! Or the other dozen scars everywhere else!” His voice started to rise.

She couldn’t help but stare at his back as he whispered furiously into the mirror on the other side of the apartment.

“She’s not gonna… she wouldn’t want a human scratching post. Y/N deserves more than… this. I mean, look at us…” He inhaled a shuttering breath. His strong hands gripped the edge of the standup mirror. “A million scars, rubbish bags under our eyes… gross stretch marks, unflattering dad bod.”

His final whispered confession had her finally jumping out of bed.

“I just wish I could be the man she deserves.”

She gave him no time to react before she slammed into his back, wrapping her arms around his middle and bunching the fabric of his shirt in her hands.

His breath caught in his throat, shame filling him. He could feel her sobs more than hear them. Gods, he made her upset. That had been the last thing he wanted to do, but Marc’s words from earlier rang through his head.

“You’re hurting her. Leaving early, coming home late, not making love with her, and keeping the lights off when you do. It’s hurting her. She told me so.”

A sob forced its way from his throat, and hot tears fell down his cheeks. His teeth bit harshly into his lip as he bowed his head, unwilling to look at the reflection of Marc’s pitying look.

“I’m so sorry…So, so sorry.” His hands grasped hers over his chest, right over the scar that had started this whole thing. She shook her head, whimpering into his shirt.

“No, please, Steven.” She took a shuddering breath, “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m not mad; or upset with you… I’m upset for you.”

His eyes screwed closed, his lips pressed into a line to suppress his cries.

“I wish I could take this pain away from you. I wish I could love these thoughts out of your mind. You do such an amazing job of protecting me; I wish I did a better job at protecting you.” She pulled her hands from his to drift to his sides and gently turned him to face her.

He kept his head bowed. The shame, the self-hatred, the ugly expression on his face, it wasn’t something she needed to see. The flinch he gave when her gentle hand cupped his cheek was uncontrollable. Her hand dropped back down to her side.

“Steven, let me help you. Whatever you’re trying to keep from me, whatever it is you are trying to hide, I will still love you. Nothing will ever make me not love you; nothing will ever make me think you are undeserving. You are the only man in this entire universe that I will ever love.”

He didn’t flinch when her hand touched him this time. Instead, he pressed his tear-stained cheek into her palm. They both let out heavy breaths. A hand littered with scars he hated so much, gripped her waist. The other, just as scarred as the right, cupped the back of her neck and he brought their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry that I’ve upset you, love. I just... I don’t know how to… how to let someone help. But I know I need it.” Steven swallowed the lump still stuck in his throat. “I am truly fortunate to have you be the one to help me, though.”

“I’m even luckier to have you,” She whispered before leaning forward to press her lips to his. His grip tightened and he pulled her flush to his chest. Flames followed in the wake of her fingers tracing up his stomach to rest on his chest, lovingly stroking the raised skin of the scar. His heart was thundering and he was sure she could feel it under her fingertips.

Salty tears blended on their skin, hiccupping sobs breaking from his sweet lips. As if touching glass, she wiped his tears away, cooing and shushing him. Chocolate eyes locked with hers. Walking backward and not breaking eye contact, she tugged him by the hand towards the bed. Steven followed obediently while wiping his tears with his sleeve.

The bed was cool against her skin as she leaned against the pillows, opening her arms for him. The air was thick with tension as he stood still, watching her. The stifling air was broken when he pulled his shirt over his head with shaking hands. His body is on full display in the dim lighting. While the suit heals wounds, it doesn’t erase scars.

It didn’t seem possible, the amount of love and acceptance in her gaze. It made his breath catch in his throat and warm goosebumps break out over his skin. Wishing for him to be in her arms, she made grabby hands for him. The action made his lips quirk up.

Slowly, he crawled in between her legs and she sat up to wrap her arms around his middle. Soft lips ghosted over the scar as her hands smoothed over his sides. His head was nuzzled into her hair and his arms wrapped around her back.

After breathing each other in, she leaned back and guided him to rest his head on her chest. His strong arms constricted around her middle. Her socked foot caressed his calf while her lips kissed the top of his head.

“If I get too heavy, I can move.” He couldn’t help but mumble. Gentle fingers carded through his hair and trailed down his back. Painted nails lightly scraped over his skin, leaving a trail of more goosebumps.

“If you dare move, I’m going to handcuff you to myself and swallow the key,” she threatened.

Steven let out a breathy chuckle and relaxed more into her. The patterns she was tracing into his skin were hypnotic and slowly, his eyes began to drift closed. A low sweet hum filled his ears.

As he focused on her fingers, he realized she wasn’t just doodling random patterns. It was letters. Words.

‘I love you’

‘Perfect’

‘Strong’

Tears pricked his eyes once more. He tilted his head to press a lingering kiss to her collarbone.

“I’ve got you, Steven. I’m not going anywhere. Not when I’ve got the perfect man for me in my arms.”

#my writing #grace writes shit #fluff #reader insert #request #steven grant #steven grant x reader #angst #tw: body insecurity #tw: mental health #tw: self loathing #moon knight x reader #moon knight #marc spector

[zimthandmade]

Are y'all ready to sob with me?! 🥲 I know this is really over the top and I feel the need to apologise for putting those two in this scenario. Though we could all use some more honest emotional intimacy sometimes, no? I hope you all feel that hug 💙 And man, I bet those salty tears burn like acid on the healing tissue.

Explanation for the conversation at the end: I have this headcanon that ever since they found that gun, Mellos last line of defense for EVERY plan is "If everything goes south, I'll just shoot us outta there" and that line became something of an inside joke between them.

#death note #dn #fanart #headcanon #au #mello #matt #mellodramattic #mihael keehl #mail jeevas #comic #sad #tw: panic attack #tw: emotional breakdown #tw: breakdown #tw: self loathing #tw: self deprecation #dark ambient #death note fanart #sketch #illustration #tw: anxiety #dn au 2.0 #my art

[giggly-squiggily]

The Little Things (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Don't mind me, I'm just gonna-

*drops a near 6k word count fic on y'all all about Shin Soukoku cause I can while dancing to Super Mario 2 music sped up version*

Kay bye! *leaps out window*

...Nah but seriously. Heyo everyone! Awhile back I wrote this for a friend while we were yelling about these two (You know who you are- hi bestie! :D) I originally sent it to them via google doc, but given how easy the links to those fics are to lose (The amount I've lost...gone but not forgotten *cries*) I've decided to post it here!I hope you like it!

CW: Swearing, violence, guns, self-loathing, angst, wasted food (RIP Pork Buns), mentions of the Port Mafia Boss and Elise

Summary: In between assignments and tasks, Atsushi and Akutagawa find time to enjoy the little moments within their strange relationship.

~Chocolate~

“Is that cake?” Atsushi raised a brow at the small slice of chocolate cake Akutagawa pulled from his plastic bag. It looked homemade- maybe someone in the Port Mafia made it?

The idea of anyone there baking sweets was wild.

“No, it’s a bomb.” Akutagawa deadpanned, peeling at the plastic wrap around the plate. “Watch yourself- it just might blow up.”

Atsushi started. Did Aku just make a joke?

At the silence, Akutagawa offered the first forkful in silent inquiry.

“Oh, no thanks. I hate chocolate.” He smiled, fighting down a laugh at the brief look of shock on Akutagawa’s face. “Never been a fan. You however-I didn’t know you liked sweets.”

“Is that an issue?” His expression went hard.

“Not at all. It’s just…unexpected.” Atsushi held up his hands, smiling sheepishly. “Do you like all kinds of sweets or do you have a favorite?”

Akutagawa narrowed his eyes at him, suspicion rolling off his tensed frame like waves. For a moment. Atsushi wondered if he just blew their lunch date-meetup. Then he sighed, turning back to his cake.

“I like chocolate.” There was the barest hint of a blush on his cheeks. Akutagawa shoved a forkful of cake in his mouth with a slight grimace, refusing to look his way.

As if he couldn’t get any cuter.

…..Huh? Atsushi felt himself flush.

“Hm.” Was all the weretiger responded with, taking a long drag of his teacup, ignoring the raised brow Akutagawa sent him.

~~~

“Hey, Akutagawa! Here!” Atsushi shot his arms out before the other could stop him, pressing a small handkerchief wrapped box into his chest. It was hastily wrapped- as if he was tying it while running to their usual meetup spot. “This is for you!”

“....Huh?” The wide eyed shock on his face was priceless. Atsushi resisted the urge to laugh as he watched Akutagawa handle the box like one handled a baby- careful and slightly terrified. “This is…?”

“Open it!” Atsushi encouraged, resisting the urge to bounce on his feet in his anticipation. “I didn’t knot it that bad!”

“Okay, okay, settle down.” Akutagawa’s lips twitched as he gently pulled at the knot, going especially slow, much to Atsushi’s chagrin. When the ends of the cloth fell away, it revealed a little plastic box, within it a variety of chocolates.

“Oh?” Akutagawa stared, seeming to freeze. Atsushi felt himself sweat, tugging at his shirt hem.

“I know it’s not much of…well, anything- I just remembered a while back you mentioned you liked chocolate, and I had some lying around and figured you’d like it- of course if you don’t, I can always take it back-”

“You remembered.” It wasn’t a question. Atsushi blinked. Something soft was in Akutagawa’s expression, and his hands trembled some as he held the small box of treats. Atsushi felt his heart squeeze. “I didn’t think you would…”

“Of course I did! I remember everything you tell me.” Then he flushed, eyes wide. He said too much. “For the missions! And our tasks! Ehe…”

“Yes..having a good memory for those things is important.” That faint blush was back, and Akutagawa wouldn’t look at him- not directly, anyway. “Ehem…This is…” Then he paused, brows furrowing.

“Wait- where’d you get this?” Akutagawa finally met his gaze, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you hated chocolate?”

Seems like Atsushi wasn’t the only one remembering details about each other.

“I do…but like I said- I just happened to have it on me, hehe.” He grinned, deciding not to mention where his source was. He’d bring Ranpo a fresh box of chocolates on his way back from this meeting. With all the snacks he keeps on hand, he wasn’t likely to miss it before he got back.

Akutagawa raised a brow, not entirely believing him. Then he looked back at the box of chocolates, that content expression returning. “I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a gift…so thank you. It means more than you know.”

Atsushi swelled, feeling rather proud of himself. He would make this a habit he decided in that moment; all to see that soft expression.

Though he’d probably have to start buying his own chocolates.

~Rain~

“Ugh, no way…” Atsushi groaned miserably as the sky began to cry. Raindrops dropped in a slow mist at first, but within minutes it began to pour, flooding the alleyways they snuck through. He could already feel his shoes fill with water, making his toes curl unpleasantly.

“Hm, how troublesome indeed.” Akutagawa mused, brows furrowing as he came to join Atsushi beneath the thin railings of the alley. His shoulders felt damp already, and a chill shot down his spine from the icy droplets. “Walking back in this will be rather annoying.”

As of late, it seemed like he and Atsushi couldn’t shake each other. Whether it be on impromptu missions Dazai set them up on, or just little moments like running errands and returning home- somehow in this big city, the demon and the weretiger were never far from each other.

A part of Akutagawa couldn’t deny he liked it that way. That however was a part he’d rather strangle until blue with Rashomon before ever admitting.

“Man, I should have brought an umbrella! I figured it’d rain while we were inside the warehouse and stop after, but I guess the universe has it out for me…” Atsushi shoved his hands through his bangs, groaning in his hands. “This is revenge for Ranpo’s snacks, isn’t it, world?” He mumbled.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little water, weretiger?” Akutagawa shrugged, Rashomon shooting out of his back and forming a shelf above him, shielding him from the continuous onslaught of rainwater. “Though I suppose it’s expected, given what you are.”

“Shut up! I’m not a cat- I just happen to turn into one!” Atsushi glared, rubbing his arms with a slight tremor when the rain began soaking his shirt. In an act of defiance, he took a step out into the elements.

And immediately regretted it.

“Oh my god, that’s COLD!” Atsushi flew into Akutagawa’s shelter of Rashomon, clinging to his coat and shivering. Then he glared, cheeks pink. “Not a word.”

Akutagawa didn’t think he could speak even if he wanted to. This close, beneath the immediate smell of rainwater and warehouse dust, the weretiger smelled like tiger lilies. He could see the strange ombre in Atsushi’s eyes, the way they went from a rosy pink to a warm gold- like a sunrise. The way his lashes framed those odd but pretty irises of his.

So unfairly pretty. Akutagawa forgot how to breathe.

“Hey? Is something wrong…” Atsushi began, only to flush a brilliant red and jump back into the rain. “Oh god- I’m so sorry, how invasive of me- Ah, this rain! I uh…”

Maybe it was how pitiful he looked, soaked and embarrassed. Maybe it was the way he looked at him just now, with those damn sunrise eyes.

Maybe that part of Akutagawa’s heart wasn’t so small after all.

Slowly, as if it were a machine coming back to life after many years, Rashomon extended outward, creating an umbrella-like cover beside its owner. The space was…tight, but it would give Atsushi room to walk with him. “Come on, before you catch your death.”

The weretiger blinked, eyes wide. Akutagawa could feel his face heating; he pretended it was from irritation while waiting for the other to make a decision. “Hurry up before I leave you here.”

“Oh! Right- thank you.” Atsushi ran over, standing within the cover. This close, he could smell tiger lilies again. Did he wear perfume? Would it be weird to ask?

Would it be weird to just reach out and hold his hand-

“Don’t mention it. Just- come on.” Akutagawa made his voice as curt as he could, hoping it hid the fluster he felt himself slipping into. In silence the pair walked back, Akutagawa’s hands shoved in his pockets while Atsushi continued rubbing his arms, trying to warm up.

When he peeked, the weretiger looked equally flushed.

Must be getting sick, he told himself.

Yeah. That’s it.

~Blackout~

When he got back to the agency; Atsushi decided, he was going to murder Dazai.

Just a simple task, he said. Scout out the scene for us to make sure it’s safe, he told him. There shouldn’t be any trouble, he insisted.

Of course, Dazai forgot to mention the literal Mafia meetup being held in such a place.

 Atsushi knew he should leave- turn back before any of the Port caught a glimpse of him hovering near a dirty window. It was fairly high up- the main reason why Atsushi was sent on this particular request was due to his cat-climbing skills- so the chances of being caught were slim.

He should go, had he not caught sight of a familiar face. Stoic as always, black fringe fading into white that framed his pinched face, hands shoved in his pockets. Akutagawa.

He was standing by with a short redhead- Chuuya, he assumed. Dazai had mentioned a redhead in the Port who he’d encountered a few times before. He looked especially irritated, whomever they were meeting up with apparently was late.

Finally, after around half an hour, two grungy looking guys came through the large metal doors, their footsteps echoing across the filthy floor. Between them a smaller man led, his body bent forward and his hair a halo of thinning grays around his wrinkled face.

“I take it your boss sent you with what I wanted?” He asked, and Atsushi felt himself straighten. Despite appearances, the man’s voice boomed and carried, demanding respect with each word. Within the room, even Akutagawa and Chuuya straightened, the latter glowering upon realizing it.

“Yeah. You got what we want?” He demanded, waiting. There was a tense silence before the old man gestured for one of what Atsushi assumed to be his guards. The man opened his jacket, revealing a tightly wrapped parscal.

“Toss it over, we’ll do the same.” Chuuya commanded, straightening to his full height. The old man chuckled, clearly amused.

“Kids these days- never learn to respect their elders. Fine then.” He nodded, and the parscal went flying. Rashomon was out in seconds, catching it with ease. Bringing it to his eyes, Akutagawa peered within, face grimacing.

“This is it. Boss’ order.” He didn’t sound too thrilled about it though.

“Good grief. Alright, here.” Chuuya kicked the box by his feet towards the men, his gravity control making it sail easily across the floor. It landed with a loud thump by the guard’s feet. “I’ll take it this should cover it?”

The guard peered within the box, nodding after confirming the contents. Atsushi couldn’t help but wonder what was in it. Money? Jewels? And what was in the parscal?

No time. He really had to go. He watched Chuuya and Akutagawa turn to leave.

Just as the remaining guard pulled out a gun.

“TURN AROUND!” He heard himself scream. Shit! The old man’s eyes flickered to the window-

And suddenly there was a boom of red. Rashomon exploded out of Akutagawa’s back, sending the guards flying. Interesting enough, the old man remained unfazed. In fact, he hadn’t moved at all. Rashomon bounced around him like water hitting a rock.

“His ability- it’s a shield!” Chuuya yelled, already jumping into action. He crossed the room in seconds, taking the two guards on. Despite the size difference and being outnumbered, Chuuya was easily the better fighter. He dropped low, kicking the goon with the gun in his hand in the ankles. As he fell back, he grabbed his fallen gun, pointing it at the other one. He pulled the trigger-

But the bullet bounced! Seems this old man’s ability expanded beyond just himself. The guard smirked cruelly as he charged, tackling a surprised Chuuya dead on and sending him flying.

Akutagawa started, Rashomon shooting out to catch Chuuya before he could hit the wall. Too late. The old man was upon him. He moved so fast, an elbow flying to Akutagawa’s windpipe as he brought a knee to his gut. Rashomon quivered as Akutagawa wheezed, gasping for air.

Chuuya shot out of the rubble with a roar, flying at the guards. His gravity power saved his life, but just barely- Atsushi could see he was wounded- crimson against orange hair, bruises forming on the side of his face.

Akutagawa stumbled, the old man hooting softly as he watched the boy drop. “Such a shame- the Port Mafia really has let themselves grow weak if this is the best they can offer.”

Hot rage shot through Atsushi's veins. Just who did this old creatin think he was? He got up, ready to jump into the fray- and stopped.

Why was he getting involved? This wasn’t a mission assigned to him by Dazai or the boss back at the agency. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Right now would be the ample time to leave; to use the chaos within to slip away before anyone else saw him.

Saw him.

Saw…

Atsushi’s eyes dropped down to the breaker box just outside the warehouse, an idea already forming in mind.

Within the warehouse, it was chaos. Chuuya had disposed of one of the guards, his body crumpled in the background as he fought the one still guarding. From the looks of things, the shield only protected from the front. Right now- the redhead was trying to get around and go for the back, but the guard stayed on him like glue.

Akutagawa and the old man were fighting once more- this time however, Akutagawa was prepared. Rashomon bounced again and again off a shield, keeping him at bay. He couldn’t land a hit, but neither could the old man. It seemed he needed his arms held up in a specific way to keep it on, leaving them in a stalemate.

Just one moment. A second was all Akutagawa needed. He looked up-

Their eyes met. Atsushi mouthed only one word. Blackout.

Then he tore out the breaker box with his claw.

The warehouse went pitch black, blending in with the night sky. Atsushi rolled down the wall as gunshots exploded from within, the faint sounds of two men crying out before everything went eerily silent. For a short, heartstopping moment, Atsushi was scared one of them was Aku.

Then the doors opened, Chuuya and Akutagawa stumbling out, bruised and wounded, the parscal in hand.

“Next time that creepy bastard wants us to pick up dolly dresses, he better get them through Amazon.” Chuuya growled, limping as he dragged himself down the quiet streets. Akutagawa seemed to be half listening, nodding along as he rolled his shoulder. His throat was bruised, and he was covered in small cuts, but he was alive.

Atsushi felt himself breathe again.

“Are you even listening? Ugh, forget it.” Chuuya waved him off, walking ahead as he carried on complaining about their boss. Akutagawa paused then, turning his head.

And directly looked at Atsushi.

The weretiger didn’t call out. He didn’t say a word. He merely looked back at him, watching. Akutagawa blinked once. Then twice.

Then the rarest thing happened. He smiled.

It was small, nearly unnoticeable and a bit pained, as if it hurt to move his face. Judging by the bruise blossoming on his cheek, it must have been.

Still- that smile. It erased it all. The injuries, his messy hair, the torn clothes- all of it faded away as Akutagawa smiled at him. It was like he was a god, so painfully beautiful it was near impossible to look directly at him, and yet Atsushi did. He didn’t care if his face was on fire, or if he was gaping like a fish. All he wanted to do was get lost in that beautiful smile.

And then Akutagawa looked away, and reality came back. He was gone in minutes, fading away in shadow, leaving Atsushi sitting there, still thinking about that smile.

~Piano~

Akutagawa hated instruments.

More specifically, he hated the piano.

The boss was so insistent he’d learn to play it. Think of how useful of a talent it’d be if you ever found yourself needing to blend in. Blend in where, the orchestra? Good luck with that. They all knew the real reason why Mori wanted him to learn to play.

Because Dazai used to play.

Not the piano- but the Violin. Akutagawa remembered watching him play a few times- the way he’d stand tall, the instrument like an extension of his body as he ran his bow over the strings. His songs were always so sad sounding; they never failed to make someone cry- usually Chuuya, even if he’d never admit it. When Dazai left, Mori burned the instrument, and music was snuffed out, much like those who betrayed them.

Apparently he was now back in his music phase and decided Akutagawa would be the next musician. Had it not been for Gin and her soft encouragement for him to learn- “Ma and Pa would have liked it, I think” she told him- he’d probably set the grand instrument ablaze himself. Just what would he play on it, anyway? Songs of sorrow and anger? Christmas tunes? Suppose he could play a quick death march before a bullet lodged into his brain or a knife to his jugular.

Wasteful. The worst part? He was a natural talent. The lessons flew by and before long he knew all the cords and how to work them into songs. Gin liked them- she would lay across the top like those women in the movies, face in her hands and feet kicking while he practiced. Sometimes she’d sing- her voice soft and delicate. It was those moments that he liked best.

And then Mori asked him to play for him and Elise when they’d marry. He stopped playing it after that.

Now he found himself lingering by a different piano- dusty but well loved, sitting in the corner of what he assumed to be a church. It was abandoned now- the room stale with lack of movement. His fingers glided over the top, making streaks against the smooth black surface.

Like magic, he felt himself back at the music room with Gin, playing a song and her singing-

“Nothing of interest here- hey, is that a piano?” Atsushi’s voice shook him free from his memory. The weretiger joined him, his shoulder bumping gently into Akutagawa’s as he took a seat. “I love the piano! I wonder if it’s in tune?”

Things have been…interesting, these past few encounters with the weretiger. Since the warehouse incident, they’ve been less stiff, more relaxed. Atsushi didn’t jump away if he got too close, and he smiled more easily at him. Their once harsh word exchanges melted into soft bickering, and more than once Akutagawa felt himself fighting down laughter whenever they talked. Not mean, condescending one but genuine mirth at the little things he’d say and do.

What the hell was happening to him?

“I know like- one chord. There was this woman at the orphanage; she was the only nice adult there. She tried to teach me to play, but I never quite picked it up.” Atsushi made a big show of cracking his knuckles, wiggling his fingers. “Okay, let’s tickle these ivories!”

More like make them scream, Akutagawa soon learned. He winced as Atsushi slammed his fingers down into the keys, hitting random clumps and creating what he could only describe as “mindless noise”. He sang along with it, the words lost in the sound as he swayed with his chaos.

“Oh, there once was a cat named Piccolo! He was the fattest cat anyone ever known! He rolled and he cried, and he’d spit in your eye, so the village chief ordered him to-”

“Weretiger!” Rashomon shot out, grasping Atsushi’s wrists and preventing him from hitting more keys. The church rang with the noise. “What happened to knowing only one chord?” He growled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, right! It was…um…” Atsushi looked at the keyboard. “You know- I can’t remember. But it was one of them I just played, I’m sure!”

“That wasn’t playing- that was slapping.” Akutagawa pulled Rashomon back, shaking his head. “I don’t think I heard a single chord in any of that.”

“Oo, you can hear chords, can you? Alright, Yiruma- it's your turn.” Atsushi stood, offering the piano. “Let’s see what you can do!”

Akutagawa stared, first at the piano, then at Atsushi. A mix of nostalgia and disgust filled him when he thought of playing again; Mori ruined any enjoyment he had with it.

And yet…Atsushi was giving him those eyes. The ones that presented a challenge. And Akutagawa had a hard time turning down challenges.

He also had a hard time turning down Atsushi.

What-

He sat down in the warm seat before those intrusive thoughts came back. Stretching his fingers, he let them rest on the cool ivory, wondering where he should begin. “Any requests?” He asked, be it a tad sarcastically.

“Whatever you wanna play.” Atsushi smiled, leaning against the side of the piano. Akutagawa hated how attractive he looked like that- FOCUS AKU! “I’m all ears.”

At first, he simply pressed keys- not the way Atsushi did it- this was far gentler, and actual cords. The weretiger’s smug grin melted into a look of surprise, making the other smirk. “Show off.” Atsushi grumbled. Akutagawa fought down a chuckle.

Then he was moving his fingers against the keys more intentionally, a song coming to mind. He didn’t know all the words- he only heard a chunk of it once when he was walking with Gin through the city. He did know the chords though.

Soft music played throughout the church, Akutagawa’s fingers playing out the beats in a steady rhythm, getting lost in the sound. He felt himself right back with Gin again, her smile encouraging and kind- the few beckons of light in the awful world of the Port Mafia.

Then he was singing. He probably sounded terrible; but he kept hearing Gin encouraging him to, so he gave in.

“If you had it all, would it be enough?

Can you find the way and still be lost?

I write songs about being someone else

That say fuck the world, you’re not angry enough.”

Beside him, he heard Atsushi suck in a breath. Be it from surprise or relation to the song, he didn’t know. Akutagawa kept going.

“Yeah everybody tells me it’s alright.

Everybody tells me I’ll be fine

Everything is not o-fucking-kay,

Oh but they can’t tell me why.

I put the picture on the shelf

Leave the memory behind

But the truth is I can’t say goodbye.”

Was he getting too real? Maybe. Atsushi was quiet beside him, not interrupting, just listening. He took that as a sign to keep going.

“So I made friends with all my demons

Let ‘em sink their teeth in

Got used to the feeling of letting it go

So give me something to believe in

Or throw me in the deep end

It all feels the same with your eyes close

So you can throw me in the, Deep end

Deep end

Deep end, Deep end”

And..that’s all he knew. The rest of the song was lost to him. He dared a peek up at the weretiger, waiting to see him fighting off laughter or wincing at Akutagawa’s singing.

Instead, he was leaning into the piano, eyes misty and something incredibly soft in his expression. There was no disgust, no second hand embarrassment, none of that. Only the look of a man who found something he was fond of, the smallest of smiles on his lips that took Akutagawa’s breath away.

Surely he must be thinking of someone else. There was no way he was looking at him like that.

The idea that Atsushi was thinking of another made his chest ache, a strange hollowness within tearing at his insides. In a haste, he slapped his hands onto the keys, startling the other out of his reverie. “I don’t know the rest- really, I hate the piano; we shouldn’t have done this. We have to go before the cops show up-”

“Aku.” Atsushi’s voice made him pause, halfway out of the seat. He was focused again, the expression he was wearing tucked away and replaced by his usual smile. “That was amazing. Truly.”

His chest ached again.

“It was just a thing I learned at the mafia. That’s all.” His voice sounded foreign to his ears, cold and distant. In the corner of his eye, he saw Atsushi wince. “Just forget about it.”

“Aku-”

But he was already out the door; the cool air of the city blowing on his warm face as he stumbled out. He walked at first, but then he was running. And then he was bolting. He needed to get away- to go somewhere else. He found himself flying down alleyway after alleyway, stumbling over his own two feet before crashing hard on his knees, coughing in his hand.

When he pulled it back, it was wet. However, it wasn’t blood that made it so. When did his vision get so blurry? He blinked, shaking when he realized it was tears.

He was foolish. A complete idiot! How could he let himself fall for the Weretiger? A Detective Agency member- the Mafia’s enemy. They’d never work out; and soon- he’d leave him. Just like how Dazai did all those years ago.

It would never work. Nothing ever did in the Port Mafia. They were sewer rats- destined to live and die among the filth they waddled in. And Atsushi…he didn’t deserve someone like that. He deserved someone who could stand in the sunrise with him, who could see how it matched perfectly with his eyes. Someone who could listen to his songs and jokes and antics and laugh freely alongside him. Someone who could make him happy.

And that wasn’t Akutagawa.

Curling up, he wrapped Rashomon tightly around himself. In past experiences, he found his ability rather sound proof. It was only then did he finally let himself sob.

~Kiss~ 

Atsushi sighed as he leaned back into a park bench, head still reeling. It had been a few days since the church incident, and there was no Akutagawa in sight. He could be busy, but Atsushi was sure he was avoiding him. It hurt- the sudden shut down from the other. Atsushi recounted the event in his mind hundreds of times, trying to figure out what exactly he did that made him flee.

He truly meant it when he said Akutagawa’s playing was amazing. Really- he was referring to his everything; the way he played, the words he sung, the way they broke something within his chest as he found each lyric incredibly relatable. That last moment, when the song ended and Akutagawa turned to look at him- there was so much…vulnerability in his gaze. Was he waiting for Atsushi to say something then?

Oh dear- perhaps he failed him afterall.

Pulling the bag of pork buns closer to his hip, he stood, deciding to head back to his apartment. It was probably dumb, waiting here for him. They hadn’t agreed on a meetup spot; Atsushi had hoped if he remained at the same location for the past three days, he’d pop up. So far, it proved fruitless. He made his way to the entrance.

And found himself staring at Akutagawa.

Silence so thick it could be cut with a knife, the two stared at one another; frozen. The rest of the world seemed to go silent, the people walking by shut off like a mute button. Akutagawa seemed stunned, and Atsushi doubted he looked any better.

For a brief, terrifying moment, he was scared Akutagawa would bolt. He remained standing. Then-

“Weretiger I-”

“I bought Pork Buns-”

They had spoken at the same time. Akutagawa blinked, startled. Atsushi felt himself return to reality.

“I uh…I bought Pork Buns. At the local convenience store? I remembered you liked them and..” He waved the bag in the direction of his apartment. “It’s probably not a good time, and if not you can just take them but…do you want to come over and eat? I bought too many…”

Akutagawa stared, the look making Atsushi squirm. Then he spoke once more. “I’m not busy…sure.” Relief flooded Atsushi’s chest.

“Great! Come along then.”

~~~

The walk back was terribly awkward. Neither spoke, but it was tense this time around, words heavier than steel stuck in their throats as they finally arrived at Atsushi’s place. Fumbling for the key, the weretiger pushed open the door, flicking on the light. “Pardon the mess, I didn’t get to clean up this morning.”

Removing his shoes, Akutagawa looked around. If he noticed the messy futon and leftover ramen cup, he didn’t say. Instead, he nodded. “Thank you for having me over.”

“Yeah, yeah- sure.” Atsushi smiled, hating how polite everything felt. He wanted so badly for Akutagawa to point out something- to make a comment on his tiger plushie that the other gave him in return for the chocolates- to tease him about knocking things over on the counter. He wanted anything else but this super quiet, super polite version of Akutagawa. “Erm, let me go put these down-”

“Weretiger. I must apologize.”

Atsushi froze, scared to turn around. Oh no, was he leaving already?

“The other day- I left without a word to you. That was incredibly rude of me, and I’m sorry.” Akutagawa sounded…choked. Like there was something else there he wasn’t mentioning. Atsushi figured he’d let it be.

But then, would anything actually change if he did?

“You ran pretty far after you left. I didn’t see where you went, you just kinda- disappeared.” Atsushi turned, facing him. “I never got to finish what I was saying.”

“I didn’t want to hear it.”

Ouch. Okay. Atsushi tried to hide the hurt with a smile. “Fair enough.”

“Wait- no. Fuck, this is hard.” Akutagawa ran a hand over his face, clearly frustrated. “That’s not what I meant. Sorry. I mean- I was…” He struggled with the words, waving his hands. “Weretiger, I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

Another dagger. Atsushi felt his heart drop into his stomach. “Doing what?”

“The whole- whatever this is. It’s killing me.”

A third. Atsushi felt his eyes sting. “Just say it, Akutagawa.” He sounded harsh in his own ears. Good.It’ll make him leave faster. “Say it and be done, already.”

Akutagawa flinched as if struck. Then he straightened, eyes intense.

“I’m in love with you, Weretiger.”

The buns hit the floor.

“I’m in love with you- I’ve been in love with you since- I don’t know how long now. Everytime I close my eyes, I see you. I hear you laughing in my dreams; I see you smiling at me when the pain’s at its worst and it’s killing me because I’m not good enough for you. I’m not the kind of person you deserve- a sewer rat who’ll only stain you with my filth-”

“Shut up.” Atsushi sounded strange. Akutagawa stared.

“Shut the hell up, you son of a-” Atsushi stormed across the room, grabbing the front of his coat.

And then he was kissing him. His lips crashed into Akutagawa's like a man craving water. At first, Akutagawa was frozen in shock. Then he was kissing him back, clutching the other tightly, pulling him in against his chest like he couldn’t get enough. He tasted like chocolate. For once, Atsushi found himself liking it.

When they pulled away, flushed and breathless, Atsushi reached up, gently pulling at the fringe framing the other’s face.

“Now you listen to me, Aku.” He tugged, earning a mild wince from the other. “First of all- you don’t get to decide who deserves me. I decide who deserves me. Second of all-” He released his hair, poking a finger into his chest. “I don’t want to ever hear you describe yourself as a sewer rat ever again. If I get stained, I get stained. Despite the white fur, I’m not some pristine tiger figurine.” He moved the hand poking his chest up to cup Akutagawa’s cheek, running a thumb against the smooth skin. “Finally- I never got to say what I wanted to say the other day. So you better listen.

“I think you’re amazing. The way you carry yourself; how you’re still so you even after everything you’ve been through in the Port Mafia. How you have these cute little quirks about yourself and how you’ve got so many hidden talents. I think you’re amazing, and I’m in love with you too. I’ve been in love with you for a long time now.” He smiled at the wide eyed stare he got, watching the hope in Akutagawa’s eyes meld into soft happiness.

Then he pinched his cheek, pulling slightly.

“But if you ever just up and run off on me again, I’ll kick your ass. I’m a weretiger- we like to eat little sewer rats who drive us nuts.”

“Sorry.” Akutagawa said through a deformed mouth. Atsushi released his cheek, leaning up to kiss it. “I thought you'd be in love with someone else.”

“Who else is there? Ranpo?” Atsushi raised an eyebrow. Then he looked thoughtful. “It would make getting you chocolate easier…”

Akutagawa couldn’t stop it. The laugh he fought down so hard bubbled over, then another. Before long, he was leaning into Atsushi, laughing for the first time in what felt like forever. The weretiger stood stunned, then he was giggling. Next thing he knew, he was laughing just as much, clinging to the other and squeezing tightly.

“Ohhohoho my god. I fuhuhucking love you, Weretiger.” Akutagawa wheezed out, wiping away a combination of happy and mirthful tears.

Atsushi looked just as teary, his cheeks warm and smiling like sunshine. “I love you too, Aku.”

Thanks for reading!

#bsd #shin soukoku #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa ryunosuke #atsushi x akutagawa #fluff #angst #love confessions #misunderstandings #little moments in time #tw: swearing #tw: guns #tw: violence #tw: self loathing #kinda one of those 4 times/1 time fics #only I'm too tired to count #also I wrote this coffee high at like 3 am #so any spelling errors and grammer mistakes are possible #just kinda..look away ajerjaekrajkrjka #nah but really #this was truly self indulgent fluff created by my friend and I #and I'm fairly proud of it! :D #Aku sings in this one :D #Look I'm just really into this ship lols akljerjkajerkajr #oh and there's pining #lots and lots of pining lols #we pine here #like trees #ajerjaejrakjerkjaerjka

[sourtomatola]

Thing on your swing: The ones who got away

TW: self harm, blood(discolored), some self loathing

(Some background, everyone here is mid to late teens)

Part 1 (here)

Part 2

Part 3

delving into Sun, Moon' and Eclipse's history with one another

#tw: self loathing #tw: self harm #tw: blood #tw: injury #fnaf moon #moondrop #fnaf sun #sundrop #art #my art #comic #fnaf eclipse #Thing on your swing #dark fae au #backstory time! #too lazy to full color #or even do the veils right #I got 10 more pages of this #it'll be 3 parts #the ones who got away

[misted-buttercup-enjoyer]

Asriel and Kris

#tw: self loathing #deltarune #dr #my meme #dark humor #self deprecating humor #asriel deltarune #asriel dreemurr #asriel #kris #kris dreemurr #kris deltarune #asriel and kris #siblings #the holiday-dreemurr family #the note reads “I hate my self too” #dreemurr siblings #dreemurr family angst #sibling angst

[accidentalslayer]

Nothing hurts me worse than knowing I did not get The Good Genes (tm) and will never know the euphoria of being a pretty girl who looks like a princess. I'll always just look like a gnome someone slopped into a meat suit and added boobs on it.

Looking at my own body gives me so much anger and self-hatred.

Creator of the Universe crafted some people so exquisitely and perfectly and with me? Its hand got a cramp.

Do I even qualify as a girl?

I don't.

#🔪 slayer says 🔪 #tw: self loathing #tw: body dysmorphia #tw: body insecurity #tw: gender dysphoria #i dont even look like a girl #i dont even produce estrogen like a girl #im broken in some genetically intrinsic way #actually mentally ill

[graceful-starker]

Unlovable

Warnings: Soulmate AU, self-loathing, angst.

Peter stares at the small mark on his wrist, taunting him. The tiniest little mark, just the barest hint of hot-shot red where his soulmate first touched him. 

It used to bring him so much happiness. Even though it’s small, even though it’s barley the shape of his soulmate’s fingertip. Tony hadn’t meant to leave a soul mark, of course. No one ever means to leave a soul mark. 

Peter remembers when it happened like it was yesterday. He had been running through the tower like a chicken with his head cut off, bouncing with excitement. All he had wanted was to show his mentor a breakthrough he had made about his web formula. Mr. Stark had seen him first, and reached out in a friendly way, not actually meaning to make contact with Peter’s wrist. “Where’s the fire?” he had joked. 

Neither of them had noticed at first. Peter had just grabbed Tony’s wrist fully, smiling brightly with wide eyes. “I did it!” he had exclaimed. And he had pulled his hand away, digging into his backpack. “I did it, I figured it out, it just came to me all at once! Here it-” 

Peter had tensed as the feeling sunk in. The feeling of wrong, his spidey-sense. A chill had worked its way up his spine, and had he turned to look at Mr. Stark nervously. He had looked around them, looking for the danger that wasn’t there. It wasn’t until he had looked back at his mentor, sure something was wrong with the older man when he had noticed. “Oh!” Peter had breathed. 

Tony had been staring at his wrist. Because in a bright red, the same color as Peter’s suit, were Peter’s fingers. The shape of them, anyway. As if a bruise from Peter holding on too tightly--but Peter would never underestimate himself.  

Peter had blinked in awe, at first. Then he had checked his own wrist and--sure enough, the tiniest little fingerprint. The first mark of Tony initiating skin on skin contact. 

“You’re my soulmate,” Peter had said when he had finally connected the dots. A giant grin had split across Peter’s face, as the boy was unable to contain his excitement. 

That had shakes Tony out of his momentary shut down. Tony had looked up at Peter and grinned back, looking at Peter as if he had never really seen him before. As if Peter was the only person he had ever wanted to look at. “I was beginning to think I didn’t get one,” Tony had choked out. 

The two had always felt something between them, before that. But neither had acted on it, because of the way their relationship started. But if the Universe destined them to be together...

They had crushed each other in a hug after that, Peter sniffling slightly, as they both took in the miracle that occurred before their very eyes. Everybody always says finding your soulmate is like finally being alive, like seeing the sun for the first time after living in darkness, like coming up for air when you didn’t realize you were drowning. 

They were right. 

And for the first few months, it felt like bliss. Being with his soulmate, loving him with his whole heart, giving everything he could to Tony...and knowing Tony felt the same exact way; it was bliss. 

Ignorance is bliss. 

Now, Peter stares at the taunting red mark on his wrist, accusing it. The Universe got it wrong. It must have. That’s the only explanation. It has to be. 

Because if that isn’t the explanation, then that makes Peter truly, completely, and forever unlovable. 

It started off slowly. One day, Tony stopped greeting Peter at the door after he got home from college. No big deal, right? Then it was Tony stopped eating dinner with Peter, staying in the lab instead. Okay, that’s fine, Tony’s a busy man. But then Peter went days without seeing his soulmate. Tony would wake up before Peter and come to bed after him. 

Which is totally fine. Because they’re both busy. Peter has classes and Tony has work. It’s fine. 

But then Peter had summer break. A solid two month period where he could spend all the time he wanted with Tony in the lab. So he did. 

And it got worse. 

It again started slowly. Just an occasional “Hey, quiet for just a sec, I need to concentrate.” Nothing worrying. 

But then it escalated to “Peter I’m working, don’t you have something better to do?” Which hurt, but wasn’t that bad. Peter just found something else to do. 

The straw that finally broke the camels back, the hint that finally slapped Peter in the face, came halfway through the summer. Peter had been babbling, talking excitedly about his patrols last night, when Tony had cut Peter off with a loud, annoyed sigh. “God kid, I didn't ask to hear about this!”

Peter’s jaw had clicked shut, and he had held his breath. It was stupid, Peter had thought back then, to get upset over that. So what if Tony didn't want to listen to Peter talk? Peter talks all the time, it must get annoying. 

Peter had barley managed to choke out a “sorry,” before he had to look down so Tony wouldn’t see him struggle to fight back tears. The room was tense, and Peter did his best to breathe as quietly and as slowly as he could. He pulled out some random papers from his work pack and pretended to read them, pretended his feelings weren’t hurt. Tony finally just sighed again, and silently went back to work.

Peter had waited for what he felt like was the correct amount of time to not consider his exit ‘running away,’ before quietly telling Tony he was tired and went upstairs. 

And Peter had cried himself to sleep that first night. He couldn’t put his finger on it, on what felt so wrong to him. Not that night. 

But once he knew it was there, Peter started looking for it. And he didn’t have to look very hard. 

Peter would start to tell Tony something, and Tony’s shoulders slumped when he realized it wasn’t a short story. He would start to fidget, start to get restless. Until finally, the familiar phrases surfaced. “Peter, are you almost done?” or “I gotta get going baby, wrap it up for me?” or the worst, he would cut Peter off mid-sentence and say “that’s great honey,” or something. 

It was obvious, once he put together the signs. So obvious, that it made Peter feel stupid. 

Tony finds Peter annoying. 

Before Peter moved into Tony’s room, he was only here on weekends. He had no reason to stay the night, no reason to have a room at all here. Tony was just a mentor, back then. Back then, he had probably thought Peter’s ramblings where cute. He had probably gotten all smitten over the way Peter Ould get so excited, bouncing like a little kid. He had probably felt warmth in his chest whenever Peter greeted Tony like Tony had just come back from war. 

But now that he has to live with it, has to constantly be exposed to it...he realized Peter is annoying. 

Peter knew he was annoying. He was an annoying child, May had always told him that with a fond smirk and a hug. He was an annoying friend, something he found out when his friends slowly started to distance themselves until Peter realized they weren’t responding on purpose anymore. He was an annoying classmate, based on his peers’ annoyed side eyes whenever Peter knew the answer. He was an annoying student, always asking for clarification and feedback. He was an annoying person. 

But he thought, really believed, deep in his heart he believed...the Universe would give him a soulmate who didn't find him annoying. He thought the Universe would give him a soulmate who would love him because of his quirks, not in spite of them. Fuck that. He thought the Universe would give him a soulmate that loved him at all. 

But Peter could work with that, he had thought stupidly. No matter how much it hurt that Tony didn’t love him the way he was, he knew he could change. Because he adored Tony. Because he loved Tony enough to counteract Tony’s lack. Because despite how much Tony drinks, or how annoyed he gets, or how often he works; Peter loves him with every fiber of his being. 

And the Universe chose Tony for Peter. The Universe decided this is the love Peter deserves. So he has to work with it. 

So, Peter had adapted. Every time he wanted to talk to Tony, he forced himself to pause, to remember the impatient look on Tony’s face that was sure to follow. Instead, he just went into Tony’s lab and silently worked beside him. 

He had thought it was working, at first. 

But then, after a couple weeks of this, Tony found something else to get annoyed about. “Why do you have to leave your shit everywhere? You’re driving me crazy, hon.”

Peter had looked up confused, at first. He never left anything in Tony’s lab, knowing that there was a not insignificant chance Tony might accidentally start a fire or blow something up around his stuff. “Huh?”

Tony had rolled his eyes, and Peter didn’t understand how such an insignificant action could hurt so much. “Your suit is always on the floor, your books and laptop are scattered everywhere around the penthouse, you always leave dishes in the sink--I could go on!” He had said. 

“Oh,” Peter had whispered. “I didn’t realize a mess bothered you,” he had said, looking pointedly around the lab. 

Tony had gotten a bit angry at that comment. “What I do in my space is my business. But you make messes in our spaces, that we share,” he had explained. 

Peter had swallowed thickly, adding another reason Tony doesn’t love him as much as he loves Tony to the list. “Okay,” Peter had whispered He had cleared his throat, looking at the floor. Eye contact feels impossible when someone is scolding him. “I’ll go clean up.”

Then Tony had huffed, slamming his wrench down on the lab table. Peter had frozen, half turned away from the lab to go to the door. “You always do that!” Tony had complained. “I give you a valid reason why something you do stresses me out, and you act like I hit you.”

Peter had felt like he would rather be hit. His body is mutated to handle hits. Hits that come at him way harder than Tony can manage without his own suit on. This is different; he doesn’t know how to handle this kind of pain. “I’m not scared of you,” Peter had tried to explain. “I just don’t like it when you’re upset with me, that’s all.”

Tony had huffed again, grabbing a drink and looking down it. “Whatever, just stop looking like that.”

Peter had simply nodded and rushed up the stairs. He had cleaned the entire apartment until there was nothing left while tears streamed down his face and he silently sobbed his way around the rooms. The penthouse looked damn near un-lived in by the time he was done. 

Don’t be annoying. Don’t talk to him. Don’t make a mess. Don’t get upset at anything he does. Don’t look down. 

His list of things to do was getting longer and longer. 

And everything just kept getting worse and worse. 

“Baby, what are you watching? Turn that off, I wanted to read in here.”

“Honey, I don’t care about that stuff. You can’t expect me to care.”

“When do your classes start up again? I can’t wait to see you do something other than play video games or go on patrol.” 

“Do you have to breathe so loudly?”

And finally, Peter had simply had enough. He felt like a shell of a person. Everything he did made Tony irritated. Peter was crying now more often than he wasn’t. Peter was alone more often than he wasn’t. Nothing he did make Tony happy. At best, he managed to not piss the older man off. 

He sighs in frustration, pushing his hair back from the table and standing up. He’s done staring at his mark, done thinking about everything that’s gone wrong. He put on his suit and darted out the window, swinging without a destination in mind. 

He watches the sun set as he swings. He beats up a couple of bad guys, webbing them for the police to find. He swings some more. He finds a nice rooftop to sit on, letting himself take a break. He watches the sun rise, feeling only mildly surprised that he was out all night. 

He has always loved the way being Spider-Man made him feel. And not just the adrenaline rushes, or saving people who need saving. But he loves the way he feels like he can be confident. He loves feeling funny when his jokes make people laugh while he’s wearing the mask. He loves that he can be anyone he wants to be, and no will know the difference. 

Spider-Man only annoys people he actively tries to annoy. No one else thinks Spider-Man is annoying. No one thinks Spider-Man talks too much, or is too messy, or breathes too loudly. People love Spider-Man. 

No one loves Peter Parker. Not anymore. Not since May died and not since Tony realized he doesn’t like Peter. 

Peter hadn’t realized he dozed off until the sound of Tony’s repulsers scared him awake. He jumps to his feet, trying to get his heart to slow bak down as Tony carefully lowers himself to the roof top. “Where the hell have you been?” Tony hisses before the face plate is even fully off. 

Peter took a deep breath, still willing his heart to slow down. “Oh you know, meeting up with my secret lover. What does it look like, Tony?”

“You aren’t funny,” Tony grouses. 

Peter winces, fighting the urge to look at Tony’s feet instead of his face. He takes his mask off, clenching his fist around it. He instantly feels less secure, less confident. “I was on patrol,” Peter amends. 

“You were gone all night!” Tony says, stepping out of his suit and stalking towards the younger man. 

Peter forces himself to stand his ground. “And?” Peter asks. 

“And,” Tony copies sarcastically, “I was worried about you! You weren’t there when I went to bed, and you weren’t there when I woke up!”

Peter can’t help but bark a laugh at the irony. Tony’s face turns furious, but he pushes on before he can be interrupted. “That’s every night for me, Tony,” he points out. 

Something that looks like it might have been guilt flashes over Tony's eyes, before he huffs and takes another step towards Peter. “Why?” he growls. 

Peter looks down, before he remembers that’s against the rules and looks back up again. “Because I wanted to, I don’t know.” He mumbles.

Tony scoffs, “You wanted to?” he taunts.

And something inside of Peter breaks. 

“No, actually. I didn’t want to. I did it because I can’t breathe that penthouse. Because I an’t fall asleep alone anymore. Because I’m so scared of making any sort of noise at all in my own home. Because I needed a break from walking on eggshells. Because the thought of waking up alone again made me want to scream. Because my god-damn soulmate doesn’t love me, and if my soulmate doesn’t love me, who can?” His voice breaks on the second ‘soulmate’, and tears are streaming down his face now. Tony’s eyes are wide, his mouth gaped open. Peter can’t seem to stop now that he’s started. 

“I know I’m annoying. I know I talk too much. I know I don’t pay enough attention to my surroundings. I know I like stuff no one else cares about. I know. But you’re supposed to love me! And you don’t!” Peter sobs, feeling the beginning of hysterics start to form as he gasps for air. 

“No one else likes me, I don’t even like me! I lived to come to your lab on the weekends. I lived to see your eyes sparkle when I understood something no one else does when you talk about it. I lived to see the look on your face when I rambled on about something no one else cared about. I lived for you! I live for you! And I-” he chokes on a sob, barely managing to keep going. “And I’ve spent the last year and a half watching you fall out of love with me. Watching you realize that I am annoying. Watching you realize you don’t even like me. Watching you realize you wish you never touched me, wish I never grabbed your arm in my excitement that day.

“Every day, I wake up and pray to the Universe that I’m good enough for you today. Every day, I hold my breath and beg that you’ll smile at me, or at least look at me like you’re happy I’m there. Every single day I try my best to follow your rules, to make you happy, or at least not annoyed! 

“I worship the ground you walk on!” Peter starts to yell, getting closer and backing Tony back closer to his suit. “I love you. I don’t care that you spend all your time in the lab, I don’t care that you can’t be handed things, I do’t care that you have to have a million cups of coffee a day. I don’t care that you disappear for hours and don’t tell me where you’ve been. I don’t care that you drink all the time. I love you anyway; no, I love you because of all of those things! Everything you do, every quirk you have, that’s who you are and I love you!” 

Peter starts to pant, shaking with the force of holding back his sobs. “And you don’t even like me. You’re happiest when I’m not around. Your shoulders slump when I enter the room you’re in. Your eyes dull when they land on me.” 

Peter deflates, his momentum gone. He hadn't ever said any of these things out loud before. Saying them makes them feel so much more real, like they’re the absolute truth. A small part of Peter had been holding out hope. It’s gone now. 

“You’re right,” Tony says softly, and the words cut into Peter’s heart like a knife. “I don’t like you. And I don’t know why. I know I’m supposed to, I know the Universe chose you for me. But I don’t like you.”

Peter feels his knees give out, and he falls at Tony’s feet. It’s like everything that was holding Peter together fell apart, and he has no chance not to fall apart with them. It’s like a hole is carved in his chest. It’s like death, except when you die, the pain stops. It’s worse than death. 

It’s like Tony carved Peter open, took out everything that made Peter who he is, and threw it away. And now there’s nothing left but the body that used to hold Peter Parker. 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” he hears Tony say. And he sounds like maybe he’s in a little bit of pain too. Or maybe Peter is still holding on to hope that doesn’t exist. 

He vaguely processes that Tony flies away, and that he’s alone now. But he can’t move. He can barley breathe. He lifts his hand up, retracting the hand covering. 

Peter stares at the small mark on his wrist, taunting him. The tiniest little mark, just the barest hint of hot-shot red where his soulmate first touched him. 

What does it mean when even someone who is designed by the Universe to love you, can't love you?

#angst #tw: angst #starker #tony stark #peter parker #My writing #fanfic #soulmate au #tw: soulmate au #tw: self loathing

[alexlestar]

Fic I wrote based on this post. It does have trigger warnings of self-harm by starvation, self-loathing and self-destruction. So please don't read if either of them are triggers.

#fanfic #pokmeon #reguri #champion red #namelessshipping #gym leader blue #gym leader green #blue oak #green oak #tw: starvation #tw: self loathing #tw: self destruction #tw: self harm

[harmful-tropes]

I give up. I don't want to exist. I just want to curl up into a little ball and fall asleep forever. That way, I don't have to see what I've become.

#tw depressing thoughts #v3nt #tw: suidice #tw: self loathing

[finlands-world]

Mots d'une illusion

(TW: body image issues, referenced self-harm)

Il y a quelque chose d’incroyablement violent

dans le regard que tu pose sur ton reflet.

J’ai du mal à comprendre pourquoi, d’ailleurs.

Ton sourire illumine les espoirs et tes yeux ont cet éclat penseur,

comme si une fascinante question flânait constamment à la lisière de tes lèvres,

comme si tu n’étais que rarement conscient du décors.

J’essaie, tu sais. 

Te renvoyer un regard aimant, un sourire sincère, 

j’y mets tout mes efforts.

Mais je ne suis capable de porter

que les accusations infondées de ton visage froid.

Je suis là chaque fois que tu pleure

que tu blesse, que tu néglige

ce corps qui pourtant ne fait que de son mieux.

Ce corps qui te permet de vivre chaque instant

dans toute son infinie beauté, dans sa tranquillité.

Et je serai là chaque fois que tu croisera ton reflet

dans les fenêtres de bâtiments obscures, 

dans le miroir de ta salle de bain,

contre la carrosserie d’une trop propre voiture,

ou même dans l’éclat de ta poignée de porte.

Que ce soit tôt ou tard,

délibéré ou accidentel,

méticuleux ou du coin de l’oeil.

Je ne suis que l’écho involontaire de tes pensées.

J’aimerais que tu te voies comme je te vois.

J’aimerais que tu me voies comme je te vois

Je ne mérite pas ces regards violents.

#français #poetry #french poetry #french #poésie #poètes sur tumblr #well not exactly #kind of #narratingastory #as well #tw: self loathing #reference #tw:self harm #i'm not sure what to tag this #this was fun #this was in my head

[ninjastormhawkkat]

"How could you stand there and pretend this isn't your fault?"

"You were the one responsible for what happened to your wife and daughter! If you weren't such an workaholic than your wife would still be alive! If you weren't such a clumsy and naive idiot than your daughter would not have been traumatized like she has! How could you stand there and pretend this isn't your fault! I hate you! I hate you! I HATE YOU!" Steven's throat felt dry after he finished shouting at the one person he hated the most in the world right now. A person he hated more than Athena. The mirror in his bathroom was the best way for him to confront the person he hated the most.

#wordgirl #wordgirl au #mousebraingirl au #carrie #mentioned #experimental cheese referenced #tw: self loathing #steven really hates himself #steven boxleitner #becky boxleitner au #professsor athena cartwright #melodytheybunny #angst #answered ask

[grace-writes-shit]

I Found You (Bucky Barnes X Rogers!Reader)

Words: 4.1k

Warnings/Themes: Angst! Character death, abduction, torture, human experimentation, allusions to PTSD, depression, thoughts of wanting to be unalived

Characters/Pairings: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Rogers!Reader, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter (Mentioned), Howling Commandos (Mentioned)

misspygmypie asked:

Hello 🥰 I saw your request post and figured I'd send something in. I've had this idea for years, and it would be fun to read it!

You know when Steve finds and rescues Bucky at Hydra in the first movie? What if it's reader who they're rescuing and Hydra did some experiments on. Maybe she's Steves sister and they wanted to get to him through her and obviously Bucky has a thing for her lol 🥰

A/N: Sincerest apologies for taking so long to get this up. I've been taking on extra duties at work since my partner got fired and things have been super crazy since it's end of quarter. it also hasn't been the best for my mental health, so writing had been a struggle. probably why this ended up being so dang angsty. Sorry. Adulting seriously sucks. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Rain pattered gently on the canvas walls of the medical tent, while boots splashed noisily in the mud it created. Outside of the tent, she could hear the daily drills going on, soldiers training, and officers shouting commands. Her own fellow nurses milled about the tent, tending to wounded soldiers or doing other daily chores. It was a quiet day for the 107th Infantry Regiment.

“Alright, Private Richards, try not to go sticking your hand into random holes again. I doubt the next rabbit will be so kind.” Nimble fingers began tidying up the bloodied cotton balls and gauze used to clean and wrap the boy’s hand. 18 years old, you would think he’d know better than to stick his hand in holes in the ground.

“Yes, First Lieutenant, ma’am…” The boy grabbed his jacket and sulked out of the med tent. She laughed to herself as she watched him go. Knowing him, he’d be back soon enough. Not unlike his Sergeant, who wandered in a few moments later, a lazy smirk on his lips.

James Buchanan Barnes. Or as she’s known for most of her life, Bucky. The charming Sergeant was her older brother’s best friend, having been around since she was small. They were all thick as thieves, hardly seen without one of the others.

It may or may not have been a blessing to constantly have Bucky around. He was kind, funny, and took good care of her and her brother. However, other boys and men didn’t seem too eager to get to know her with him hanging at her shoulder. It’s even worse now with Steve being triple the size he was a year ago.

Occasionally, a brave soul will strike up the nerve to enter the medical tent and ask her out to the nearest town for a drink and a dance. But Bucky had uncanny timing. He always popped up just as she was about to answer.

“Now, a pretty face like that shouldn’t look so angry.” A voice sounded in her ear. A startled gasp escaped her and her hands fumbled the tools she had been organizing. Bucky caught a pair of forceps before they could hit the floor.

“James! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” She admonished him with a firm smack on the shoulder. He chuckled and rubbed the sore spot.

“Ow, careful there, doll. Gonna take my arm off with that strength.”

“Oh please, it’ll take a lot more than that to get rid of you.” She spun out of his reach when he tried to grab her arm. A small smile graced her lips as she made a final spin to face him. “Did you need something, Bucky?”

“What, I can’t come see my best girl just because I want to?

 “I know your troop is supposed to be running the course right now, so no you can’t just come see me because you want to,” she said while gesturing for him to sit on the cot in the corner or her station. “Now, what mess did you get yourself into to be sent here?”

“You know me so well, Darlin’,” he whispered wistfully, smiling up at her with those big blues. He wore a dopey smile as he presented his cut left hand. She pursed her lips and tried to fight the blush rising to her cheeks. Damn him.

Stepping closer, she took his calloused hand into her softer one and observed the cut. It wasn’t too deep but still needed to be cleaned and dressed.

“What happened?” She remained in between his legs as she prepped some alcohol and gauze. His right hand toyed with the fabric of her skirt. With a narrowed look, she smacked the back of it.

“Just a climbing exercise; a nail was sticking out of the wall and caught my hand.” His voice was hushed as she worked. She hummed and began cleaning the wound. He hissed and jerked his hand back. With eyes rolling, the nurse grabbed his hand more firmly.

“You big baby.”

“Your big baby.” She smacked his arm again.

<><>

Gunshots fired all around her, men shouting and screaming. Some in pain, some as a battle cry. But all she could think about was how gentle Bucky’s hands had been in hers. And how much she wished it was his hands on her right now.

But larger, rougher hands now tore at her. Pushing and pulling. She screamed from behind her gag and her hands strained against the restraints. Black boots kicked out at her captors as she fought like a feral cat. She twisted this way and that, anything to loosen their grip on her. But against four burly men, she didn’t stand a chance.

She guessed they had gotten tired of her struggling because a blunt weapon struck the back of her head and she fell limp to the ground.

It was cold. Colder than she had ever been. The air was damp, making the ache in her lungs worse. Blurry eyes peeled open. The room she sat in was dark, only a green-tinted light on the other side of the room illuminated the space. Its murky light cast deep shadows around the room that seemed to move. Her head lolled to the side as one shadow moved closer.

Ah, not shadows. Men. Hydra.

“Good evening, Miss Rogers.” His voice was heavily accented and polite. Nothing like what you’d imagine a torturer or murderer to sound like. “I am honored to have Captain America’s sister as my guest.”

She groaned. The gag was no longer wrapped around her mouth, but her tongue felt like lead. Thoughts struggled to focus and grasp what this man was saying.

“Such a shame, a First Lieutenant, Chief Nurse, so much promise in your future. But because of your brother, you’ll never get to meet that future. We have another one much better suited for you.”

His words floated through her mind but didn’t stick. She was a nurse… She helps people. Why was she here? There were soldiers at camp that needed her. Bucky needed her…

“..ucky…” She slurred, drool dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Her bones felt heavier than lead and her muscles were like the slop served at breakfast. The shadows at the edge of her vision danced ever closer.

“Don’t worry, my dear, you’ll forget the pain soon.”

<><> 

Bucky tore through the camp, Steve hot on his heels. His blue eyes roved over the multitude of bodies and injured, searching for that familiar head of hair. Always done up so prettily. Like last week when she was bandaging up his hand. Her nails were painted red, and her hair was twisted up into a flawless bun. Her red-painted lips smiled warmly at him. Fear gripped his heart at the idea that he would never see that smile again.

“Bucky, stop!” Steve clamped a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, forcing the Sergeant to a stop. It wouldn’t do his sister any good if they lost their heads. As much as he wanted to tear the whole world apart until his sister was safe, he knew that reckless actions could get her killed. If she wasn’t dead already…

“She’s – she’s gone, Steve. Where is she!?” Bucky spun to face Steve, his eyes wide and slightly crazed. He can’t lose her. He never got to take her on a date. Never got to hold her close and confess how deeply and fervently he love her. Bucky bit down on his lip to stop its wobble. He can’t cry, not yet. Not while there’s still a possibility she’s out there.

“I know. I know, Buck. We’ll get her back. No matter what.”

Footsteps rushed up to the pair. A soldier stopped in front of them, slightly out of breath. “A-a letter for you, sir. It-it has the hydra insignia.”

Upon reading the contents, Steve and Bucky took off to Colonel Phillips' tent. The older man sat at a desk, signing letters to the families of the deceased and missing. Steve hardly gave the man time to put his pen down before requesting a team to rescue the captured. He decided to leave out the fact that he was only doing this to get his sister back.

“I understand the heroic need to save the day, but those who have been taken prisoner are far behind enemy lines and we don’t have the manpower or resources to conduct a rescue mission.” Phillips’ response was expected, but it didn’t stop Bucky’s jaw from clenching or his hands from balling into fists.

The Colonel looked at the two young men standing in front of him. He knew exactly why they wanted to go. Only a fool would think that Captain America wouldn’t move heaven and earth for the younger Rogers. An even bigger fool wouldn’t see the lovesick look every time James Barnes was near her, or the way his gaze follows her as she walks across the base.

Phillips sighed heavily, digging through a stack of letters yet to be signed. First Lieutenant Y/N Rogers. MIA.

Steve took the letter with shaking hands. Bucky felt a tear roll down his cheek.

They were dismissed and the two trudged away. A silent look was exchanged and they agreed. They would go after her with or without permission.

<><> 

“…name… Rogers…” Chapped lips mumbled her name over and over again. A tired mind determined to hold on to herself. Don’t forget. Don’t forget. “…Y/N… Rogers…”

“Y/N?” A voice hissed.

“Y/N/N?” A different voice, closer this time.

“Steve! She’s here!” The buckles around her wrists and ankles fell off one by one. Warm, calloused hands that she dreamed about cupped her face. She groaned and willed the fog from her brain. These hands. Bucky’s hands.

“Buck…” She croaked, red lipstick smudged, and once pristine hair hanging limply around her face. His smile brightened the shadows in her vision. Steve had joined them and helped her sit up.

“Hey, doll. What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” Giving her a watery smile, he pushed the hair from her face. The cheap line earned him a weak chuckle.

“Oh, what any girl does in a place like this,” she responded. Together, the two men helped her to her feet. The room pitched suddenly, her legs giving out under her. Whatever they had given her made her legs weak.

“Guess you make me a little weak in the knees,” she joked as Bucky swept her into his arms. She tucked her head into his neck, leaning heavily into him. Steve carefully led the way out, checking around corners and taking out any enemy soldiers that they crossed paths with.

Eventually, the trio made it out of the now-burning building. A mass of freed soldiers met them and together the company fought their way back to their camp. Bucky cradled her close to his chest the entire time. He stuck close to Steve, letting him take the punches. Steve didn’t mind.

For almost two weeks she was laid up in a cot in the medical tent. It was strange, in the years that she had been an army nurse, she had been the one giving care. She had never been the patient. And the patient of her subordinates, no less.

Her closer friends teased her that she was a horrible patient. Their teasing helped ease the residual anxiety and adrenaline from her ordeal. But what had really helped, was Bucky’s constant presence. During meal time and recreation time, he would come to visit her in the medical tent. Steve would drop by as well, but it was mostly Bucky.

As the days passed, Bucky seemed more and more nervous, however. Like he had something to say, just on the tip of his tongue. Sometimes, when he maybe thought she wasn’t looking, she caught him looking guilty. She hoped beyond hope that he didn’t blame himself for what had happened.

“You’re cleared to return to light duty, First Lieutenant,” Second Lieutenant Fredricks said with a smile.

The first few days of light duty were spent organizing and assisting. Then after a week, she was cleared to begin training again. Nurses didn’t necessarily need to do the drills the men did, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t. She also preferred to stay in shape and to keep her skills from going rusty.

Growing up with her brother being bullied, Y/N learned how to defend not only herself but Steve, as well. The elder Rogers sibling didn’t care for her fighting but he did appreciate that in a pinch, she could defend herself.

In the early morning, dressed in a pair of trousers and a simple shirt, Y/N makes her way to the track. A run should be light enough.

She could make out the tall frames of Steve and Bucky amongst the other men getting ready for their morning run. Bucky smiled as she approached.

“Hey, how’s it going? You sure you’re okay to be running?” Bucky brushed his hand over hers when she stopped in front of him. The touch made her stomach flutter but she smiled confidently at him.

“Actually, I’ve never felt better. I’m tired of being cooped up in the med tent for so long.” She bent to tighten her boots’ laces. Bucky shrugged and patted her shoulder, teasingly telling her to not fall behind. She scoffed and took off after the troops in a light jog.

Steve and Bucky kept pace with her, both worrying she might become too tired and collapse. Their hovering and not-so-subtle glances did not go unnoticed by her. Irritation settled quickly in her bones. She wasn’t some fragile flower. Just because something bad happened to her doesn’t mean she going to break at any moment.

Spurred by anger, her legs moved faster on their own accord. Steve glanced at his best friend as they sped up to match. Soon, the three of them were overtaking the other troops. Bucky was breathing heavily as they passed the frontman, now in a full sprint.

“W-wait!” He panted as the two Rogers siblings were now racing down the path. How was she running that fast!? How wasn’t she tired? Her smaller frame broke past Steve, who was now struggling to keep up.

The younger Rogers didn’t even notice the concerned and shocked looks she was receiving. The wind rushing in her ears and the trees blurring in her vision was all she could focus on. She felt like she was flying; her feet barely touching the ground. She felt free.

She burst into the clearing at the end of their running trail, the morning sun warming her wind-chilled skin. The grass kicked up as she skidded to a halt. A laugh erupted from her, her head light with adrenaline and awe. Then reality sunk in.

Bucky and Steve broke through the tree line a few minutes later.

“Y/N!”

She turned to look at them, her brows scrunched together and lips forming a thin line.

“They did this to me…” She murmured, gazing turning down at her clenched fists. She had thought she was feeling so good because she survived Hydra’s torment. How quickly this revelation brought her down. They poked and prodded, injected, and dissected. They had changed her.

“Doll?” Bucky approached her slowly, hands out in front of him. Seeing her lip wobble had his heart shattering in him. Throwing caution to the wind, he wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest, drowning her sobs in the rough fabric of his shirt. Her brother stood beside them, rubbing his hand over her shoulders.

“I’ve got ya, sweets. I got ya,” Bucky muttered into her hair. “We’re gonna figure this out. It’ll be okay.”

Lord, he hoped he was telling the truth.

<><> 

Months went by as she adjusted to her new abilities. After she discovered her inhuman speed, she quickly learned she was inhumanly strong. Not as strong as her brother, but definitely stronger than any other man in the camp.

She began training with the men, easily laying anyone flat during sparring. Even Steve struggled against her. While he surpassed her in strength, she made it up in speed and agility. She had been given the moniker of Lady Liberty once the higher-ups found out.

But despite the usefulness of these abilities. She couldn’t help but feel violated. Every night she woke up in a cold sweat, dreaming of their cold instruments and icy laughter. More than once she ended up in the clearing from months before.

Each time she made it out there, Bucky wasn’t far behind. He held her as he had back then, whispering comforting words and stroking her hair. This night began no differently than the others. They sat in the middle of the clearing, the half-moon illuminated above their heads.

“I’m sorry, Bucky… You don’t have to come out here with me every night.” She sniffled, wiping her tears from her cheeks. She was settled in between his stretched-out legs, her own draped over one of his thighs. He shook his head and sighed.

“I don’t mind, Doll. Really.” Soft lips pressed against her temple. “Unless you tell me to go, I won’t leave your side. I can’t.”

Shining eyes looked up into his baby blues. She had never felt so safe and protected as she did in Bucky’s arms. Even though she could easily kick his butt in a fight, she knew he would fight tooth and nail for her. And she would burn down the world for him.

There was no doubt in her mind as she pressed her lips to his. He sighed against her as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer by the waist. Everything clicked into place with this kiss. They had been dancing around this thing between them for years, neither willing to take the leap and possibly lose what they already had.

But the feeling of her lips on his, the taste of her on his tongue had him bitterly regretting not doing this sooner. How many kisses could they have had? How many dates and late nights have they missed? He sure had a lot of time to make up.

“I love you, Y/N.” His breath fanned across the skin of her neck as his kiss-swollen lips brushed along it.

“I love you, James.”

<><> 

Over the next two years, the Howling Commandos slowly but surely made their way through the Hydra bases. First Lieutenant Rogers led alongside her brother, Captain Rogers. Not only as extra muscle, but as a nurse, and occasionally, spy. Bucky didn’t like the idea of his girl being ogled by slimy nazi men, but she convinced him that no one would expect a woman to be a super soldier.

She would infiltrate their meetings as a piece of eye candy, acquiring information as needed and then arresting the men as she saw fit.

But this particular mission didn’t require revealing dresses or sultry makeup. Rather, she wore a winter coat and combat boot with reinforced soles. The speed that she ran quickly ate through nearly all of her shoes.

The Commandos were all situated on a cliff overlooking another with a set of train tracks. They were waiting on the train carrying Doctor Zola. Glove-covered hands clenched at her side. Doctor Zola. One of the men who had turned her into this. Turned her into a weapon.

Bucky’s heavy hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her to his side. His soft lips brushed against her temple.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he reassured. “We go in, kick some ass, and then get out. Easy.”

She chuckled and pressed a kiss to his waiting lips. The other men had the decency to look away from the couple.

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s get a move on.” Steve’s voice called out from the edge of the cliff.

She scoffed at her brother and kissed her sergeant once more. “See you on the other side, tiger.”

<><> 

Things were going south very quickly. Hydra had more gun power than she had thought. A huge man with bigger guns than himself stood in the doorway to their car. His guns glowed blue as they powered up.

Steve shoved both his sister and Bucky behind him, holding up his shield. The blast had her teeth rattling in her skull, her body flying back further than the boys. The impact of her head hitting the metal floor caused stars to dance in her vision.

She could barely comprehend the cold rush of air from the massive hole in the side of the train. And before she could gather herself, the man was priming another shot, pointed directly at her. Shaking legs tried to bare her weight as she scrambled for her gun.

Bucky had gathered himself faster than her or her brother, so she could only watch as he picked up Steve’s shield and fired a few shots at the enemy. A scream ripped from her throat when blue light shot out at her sergeant.

Bucky went flying, the shield in the other direction. Both the Rogers siblings jumped into action. Steve went for the shield, quickly taking out the other man. She leaped for the hole in the wall of the train that Bucky had flown out of.

Her eyes widened with horror as she gazed upon the man she loved, hanging on for dear life to the crumbling handrails.

“Bucky! Hold on!” She reached out to him, trying to find her footing to get to him and pull him to safety. The look in his eyes was one she had never seen on him before. Blue eyes wide with fear, his mouth poised in a silent scream. And as his fingers brushed against hers, tips barely able to curl around each other, he was gone.

His scream was joined by hers. The image of him falling to his death will forever be ingrained in her mind. It’ll be the last thing on her mind as she goes to sleep and the first one when she wakes up. It’ll be there when she fights her way through Hydra soldiers, and as she sends her fist straight into Johann Schmidt’s ugly, red face.

Steve worried about his sister’s mental health since that day. She had retreated into herself. Long gone was the witty and strong woman he knew. His sister, who had always been so bright, had been replaced by someone who only knew how to fight.

She only spoke to give orders or to communicate during battle. Her words were always clipped and to the point; no room for banter or sarcasm. The icy wall she had built around herself was all to conceal the torment her mind tortured her with.

If only she had been stronger, maybe she wouldn’t have been down for so long. If she had been faster, she could have reached him before he fell. If she had been better, maybe he wouldn’t have died. Every moment was filled with these thoughts. Awake or not. It was all she could think about.

Eventually, she became too tired. She fought with everything she had; Bucky at least deserved that. She wouldn’t give up simply because it would mean he died in vain. However, with each new opponent, she could help but wish that this one would be stronger than her.

No opponent was ever stronger than her. Until now.

It wasn’t a person that she now faced her death with. But a plane filled with explosives. Schmidt was gone, as was the Tesseract. Now, she and her brother faced the cracked windows of the plane. She tried to keep her lip from trembling as Steve spoke with Peggy.

Even if she hadn’t gotten her happy ending, she had wished her big brother would have gotten his. Tear-filled eyes opened when she felt a hand come to rest on hers. Steve’s face was solemn as he spoke.

“I’ve gotta put it in the water.” He was half telling Peggy and half asking for permission from his sister. It wasn’t just his life going down for millions of others, but his little sister’s, too. The siblings shared a weighty look before she nodded.

Lady Liberty listened quietly as Captain America spoke with Agent Carter. No.

Y/N listened brokenheartedly as her big brother said his goodbyes to the woman he loved and who loved him in return.

And as Steve redirected the plane to the icy terrain below, she closed her eyes and imagined the warm hands of her love. His blue fire eyes and easy grin. The feel of his lips against hers. The sound of her name on his tongue.

I’m coming, Bucky.

#my writing #grace writes shit #reader insert #request #angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #avenger x reader #tw: mental health #tw: self loathing #tw: depression #tw: ptsd