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chickenparm · 1 year

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By Choice or By Accident (Wanderer/Reader)

Spoilers for Interlude Chapter: Act III Inversion of Genesis

i made the executive decision that the traveler fucks around a bit and takes a good while longer to decipher what scara changed with irminsul and wow, that's a convenient amount of time for him to get real soft on someone huh-

(also i believe scara says he doesn't like sweets only because ei DOES like sweets and he secretly loves them you cannot change my mind, back off)

AO3 LINK

Wanderer/Reader

5,258 Words - SFW

Nothing heinous. Fluff, 2 seconds of Angst, meandering narrative, skipping time a little bit, Reader is a candy maker. Very indulgent, don't take this seriously.

---

Despite its status as a hub of commerce, it’s rather obvious when a new face arrives in the Grand Bazaar. Even more so when they’re dressed like that - soft blues against striking azure, a wide hat and carefully placed body armor to show martial skill.

When the grocer across the way brings home a straggler, your initial thought is to be wary. There’s an unsettled quiet around him as he keeps his head ducked low and his face carefully hidden. The protection on his arms and shins suggests some martial skill, yet there’s no vision to be seen on his person.

In the beginning, you’re wary - and rightfully so. Then his head lifts and his eyes move around the bazaar before he realizes you’re staring, and something fundamental changes in that split second. The air around him shifts, the guarded expression in his eyes bleeds away, and you’re left staring at excited eyes and a smile that shines with both anticipation and trepidation.

The grocer’s new stray becomes a fixture. One that you quietly watch from your stall of handmade sweets, your gaze occasionally broken by the excited child or curious adult, all of whom are the sources of your livelihood here. But even your regulars find it hard to keep your attention when something so interesting is just across the way.

Initially, the first word you’d use to describe him is untouchable. Like something priceless to be placed on a shelf. Only to look at, never to hold in your hands and sully it with your touch. Even as he works diligently at the grocer and displays less than fragile tendencies, you still can’t keep yourself from marveling at the otherworldly sort of perfection.

Then, just like that, it’s swept away in the span of a short interaction.

While you’ve overheard his quiet arguments with the grocer about not accepting pay, you know for certain he’s been tipped on deliveries to their customers. It’s what gives him the means to tentatively cross the walkway to your stall, stand a respectful distance away, and let pretty violet eyes wander over what you have on display for the day.

And they are pretty. A color you’ve never seen before, even in a city like Sumeru where fabrics in all manner of hues are commonplace. You’re not entirely sure that someone could accurately recreate such a shade of purple.

Quietly, as if to keep from imposing on you, he steps a little closer and squeezes the pouch of mora in front of him with a grip so tight his knuckles turn just a little lighter than the rest of his pale skin. It’s painfully obvious that he’s nervous, but his chin lifts and his chest expands with an inhale, and you’re impressed with the bravery he’s showing to simply peruse a candy stall.

“Please recommend something to me!”

He says it like he’s about to run into battle - and your heart that was wary at first melts. Any caution is thrown to the wind as your shoulders relax, and a smile spreads across your face, and you ask, “What do you like?”

To your surprise, he clams up for a moment, twisting at the ties of the mora pouch until you’re certain the ropes are going to unravel. The last thing you expect is a quiet, “...I’m not sure.”

Okay. You can handle that, as strange as it is. Going into your usual sales pitch with gusto, you try your hardest not to be distracted by the way he cocks his head and leans in, listening with rapt attention as you point out each little piece, which were handmade and which you had brought him, which were your favorites and which ones most people seemed to gravitate toward.

“These ones aren’t popular, but I like them. They’re sour, but once you get to the middle, there’s a sweetness that chases it away. Just don’t eat too many, they’ll make your mouth sore!”

“It’s sour, but you say they’re good?” His fingers pinch his chin in thought as he looks at each flavor you have of the small selection. It’s no use keeping a large stock when its audience is few and far between. “Sour on the outside, sweet on the inside, huh?”

“It makes the sweetness that much nicer if you can make it through the tough bit. It’s kind of like life, isn’t it? Once you make it through the difficult parts, the moments that are softer are that much better when you’re in them.”

Violet eyes watch you in wonder, lips gently parted as he mulls over your impromptu advice. With warm cheeks, you busy yourself with straightening the rows, the smallest bit of embarrassment making your fingers shake. They don’t look any neater when you’ve finished.

He picks one of everything you indicate as your preference, carefully counting out the coins and giving a little extra that you try to place back in his hand. But he grasps your wrist until your palm is up, pushing the extra coins there and using his free hand to curl your fingers around them securely. The smile on his face is wider than any you’ve seen, cutting into his cheeks and making the corners of his eyes squint in its wake.

“Just for being kind, that’s all.” And his touch lingers for a moment long enough to make your heart skip, your fingers itching to grasp at his own so he could stay just a little longer. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

“I don’t think you’ll get through all that candy in a night.” Or he could, you’re in no place to judge him for it. Certainly, children much smaller than him have performed that feat before.

In return, he smiles sheepishly and focuses on his hands holding yours, his thumb pressing against the pulse point of your wrist. There’s no doubt he can feel your heart racing from his touch and his presence, his soft grin and the slight flush on the apples of his cheeks. “Maybe not. But… just to talk to you? I’d like to know you if you’d let me.”

If he notices your persistent giddiness for the remainder of the bazaar’s open hours, he mercifully doesn’t make any comment on it. He simply returns the next day with praises over what you’d sold him the day before, exclaiming that the sour candies were his favorite, and an earnest question.

“Could you teach me how to make this?”

And how could you say no? When his hands were fisted at his sides to hide how they shake at the prospect of such a simple question, there’s no way you could deny something so… sweet.

That evening, after he closes up with the grocer, he crosses the pathway that separates you and offers to help you carry your goods home for the day. It’s with great pleasure you gesture to a house just two doors down - your home and workshop all in one. He doesn’t let you carry your goods, anyway.

“It must be nice, living so close. I’m glad to see it.”

“Glad?” You ask, watching carefully at how he carries a box with one arm that you often have to drag across the ground on a nightly basis. He must be deceptively strong. The hat he wears is tucked beneath his other arm, leaving his smooth hair a little mussed after a day of wearing it.

His head bobs as he watches you unlock the door with a key from your pocket, the hinges groaning as you step inside and urge him to follow as you work to light the lamps. The answer you asked for comes as the room illuminates. “I’d hate for you to have to walk so far at night. It’s not very safe.”

“True, but the bazaar is one of the safest places in the city. And I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Spending your life somewhere doesn’t always make it safe,” he pauses, just long enough to set the box of goods down on the table that dominates the center of your home, “but it’s not really my place to be overbearing about your safety. I’m sorry if that was too much.”

“No! It was… nice. Thank you for caring.” The words strike him into stillness, his hand resting on the lid of the box, thumb curling around the edge to press into the wood. His other hand rubs over his chest, just beneath the dangling ornament and pinion that jingle slightly in the comfortable silence.

The swallow he makes is audible, a show of that nervousness that comes when he seems to be faced with sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with. To his credit, his voice doesn’t waver, even a little. “You’ve been nothing but nice to me. Of course I’d care, even a little.” And that endearing pink comes back again, barely visible in the lights that are just beginning to grow stronger as the flame catches the wicks.

“You’ve been nice, too. Give yourself a little credit.”

Outside, other merchants are making their way home. The sound of carts and laughter trickles into the room, breaking the tension that’s somehow formed despite such an innocuous topic. Clearing your throat, you ask, “You know, I don’t actually know your name. You’ve never told me.”

While the tension is gone for you, it doubles down on him as his shoulders clench, and he pointedly looks away. The far corner of the room suddenly becomes impossibly interesting to him, at least compared to how you begin to move closer to unpack the box.

“That’s because… I don’t have one. I’m just a wanderer. Any name I might’ve had, I don’t remember it anymore.”

“Do you not remember by choice, or by accident?”

You don’t miss the way his eyes follow your movements as you bring the sour candies out. Pointedly, you pull a few from their bag and push them across the table to him. As if he were afraid they’d disappear, his fingers wrap around them and drag them closer. One pops in his mouth, and he waits until the sweetness makes itself known before he finally answers.

“A little of both, I think.” The candy clacks against his teeth, running along his molars from one side to the other, as if he’s preventing a single spot from being scoured by the sourness. Perhaps it’s also a tactic to delay what comes next, something you only realize when he says it. “You should know… I’m not exactly human. I’m-... I’m a puppet.”

“Okay.”

“...Okay?”

Giving him time to ruminate over that, you finish unloading the box before stowing it away beneath the table. It gives you enough time to formulate a tactful response. Palms on the table, you lean to get the weight off your feet from standing all day, and explain yourself. “That doesn’t change anything. I still like you, I’ll still teach you. You must’ve lived a long time then, huh?”

He doesn’t give you a number, and you don’t exactly ask, but the way he exhales until his lungs are empty tells you that in his mind, it might have been a few too many years to walk through. Has he wandered all that time? Alone? It doesn’t feel right to ask - so you don’t.

Instead, as you begin to lay out supplies for tomorrow’s stock, you quietly make a promise to yourself that if you can help it, perhaps he won’t need to use the term lonely to describe himself ever again.

—

When you first opened your stall, it was commonplace for you to grow sick after contacting so many people on a daily basis. It was just expected, it came with the territory, and you only needed a handful of months for your body to grow used to it. Nowadays, you hardly find yourself feeling ill at all.

Then there were days like today, where the world is too bright, and your skin feels too hot and too cold, uncomfortable no matter your position. The softness of your bed curls around you, cradling your aching joints as you struggle to maintain a comfortable body temperature. The windows facing the street show that the sun is already risen, though at this time of day, not as much of it makes it down to the bazaar, even at the outskirts as you are.

Wrapped in your blankets in the throes of a cold chill is how the wanderer finds you. His steps into your home are tentative - you’d given him a key, and you thank yourself for the foresight. Looking into your bedroom, his expression goes from curiosity to something that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than fear.

“What’s wrong? Look at me-”

“I’m okay.” Talking makes your head feel thick and muddled, stuffed too full of the meager thoughts it requires to get words out. But he’s kneeling next to your head now, hands hovering over you but not quite touching, like he’s unsure of what to do next. It lightens your mood a little, seeing him fret like this. “Just a little sick - it goes around this time of year.”

“What do you need me to do? Do you need food? Have you had anything to drink today? Hang on, let me get a washcloth.”

And he’s on his feet, moving to your kitchen and out of your ability to call him back. A quiet laugh leaves you as you roll onto your back, snuggling beneath blankets and listening as he sifts through your cabinets to find a bowl, then fill it with cool water to bring back to you. His eyes are more focused on the bowl as he enters, determined not to spill it until he’s able to set it down on your bedside table.

Before you can say a word, the back of his fingers press to your forehead, and he hisses through his teeth. There’s no need to say that you’re burning up, not with how he hurriedly wrings out the cloth and folds it delicately on your forehead. Even chilled as you are, it feels like heaven, and you all but melt into the blankets as the fingers of his hand linger along your brow.

“Better?”

“Mm… yes, thank you.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” He sounds more like he’s reassuring himself, rather than you. There’s something haunted in his eyes, something that’s clawing at the back of his mind. Far be it from your place to ask, but the fever has lowered your inhibitions, and you can’t help but lick the chapped dryness of your lips before asking what you wish to know.

“Why are you afraid? Look at you, you’re terrified.”

The answer is immediate, maybe even instinctual. “I don’t know.” His eyes linger over your face, trailing over the dark circles beneath your eyes and the weariness that lingers. “My mind is telling me terrible things, almost like I’ve… lost someone like this. But I’ve never-... I haven’t been around anyone long enough to care. Not like this.”

He cares. About you. Sure, that was obvious enough at this point, but the fact that he puts it into words so candidly makes your heart flutter nervously. It’s been a long time since anyone would go to these lengths for you in your time of need, and for it to be him… It makes you feel leagues better already.

“I’m… I’ll make you something to eat. And get you something to drink. I’ll be back.”

The words tumble out of him, one after another, with little control. He’s nearly out the door by the time you comprehend that he’d been pink in the cheeks, fingers nervously twirling the golden feather on his chest. He cares. What a novel thought.

It doesn’t take him terribly long to return. Just long enough for your eyes to droop closed and your mind to wander off into dreams of pretty violet eyes and the faint scent of flowers that you’ve never come across before. Soft smiles, a hand running down your arm, a thumb across your cheek as a familiar voice urges you to reawaken.

“Just a few bites, then you can sleep.”

Easy enough, when the spoon finds its way to your mouth of its own accord. Yet it’s not sentient - it’s held by lithe fingers that guide it steadily. At your back is his arm, helping you sit up so you don’t spill over your sheets. Quietly, you shift a little closer and bask in that faint floral smell that’s like nothing in Sumeru. The only way you can explain it is if you were describing the wanderer himself.

Drinking is an easy affair, thanks to the straw he’d somehow found you, and once he’s satisfied you’ve completed the tasks he’s laid out, so too does he lay you back on your bed. With distance comes a stark loneliness, and you reach for his hand as he stands from where he’d been kneeling. “Stay? Please?”

“Let me grab a chair at least. Your floor hurts.”

You want to tell him to just climb in your bed. To let you curl around him for all the comfort he can offer, greedily taking and taking because he’s always so willing to give. But the last bit of your self-control pulls you back in, releasing your grip to allow him to drag a chair across the floor to sit at your bedside with an exasperated smile.

“Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Hm… Promise?”

“I swear it on my life. I’m not going anywhere.”

The last thought before you drift off is a quiet murmur of your heart repeating that he cares. About you, about your wellbeing. He’ll be here when your eyes open, hopefully with less of that fear he’s still holding onto. The washcloth on your forehead is changed, slim fingers wipe away stray water droplets, and all the while he hums a tune under his breath that sounds like the sweetest song.

—

The wanderer has only one devastating, debilitating flaw - he’s a worrier.

Whether it’s after a long day and you’re bone tired, or you were too busy to eat lunch, or even if you’re just feeling a little ill, he has an incessant need to coddle. On anyone else, it wouldn’t be a good look. You’re a grown adult, you can take care of yourself, keep yourself safe and cared for.

But something about the way he does it soothes any outrage you could possibly feel. Insistent, quiet, offered with a smile that seems almost pleading. And you know that while he’s making you dinner and taking on the duty of meticulously creating fruit-shaped candies for tomorrow’s weekend sale, it’s for his own sake as much as it is yours.

And so, if it keeps him smiling as he carefully pours soup into a bowl for you, you’re more than willing to let him get away with it.

Chin propped on your hand, elbow on the table, you let your eyes drift closed as the weariness of the day catches up to you. The festival over the weekend was one of the biggest in a long time, and your preparations were wearing you impossibly thin. It meant longer evenings to finish creating stock, longer days to account for new tourists, and all the stress that comes with it.

Not to mention the last straggling bits of your illness that had kept you homebound for days, still lingering after two long weeks. Your muscles still felt weak, your head still fuzzy.

But the wanderer had been a huge help, especially as the grocer had all but kicked him out of his stall to send over to yours. The grocer had been trying to foist him off on you for weeks now, and he hadn’t really needed to try that hard at all.

The sound of ceramic sliding across the table in front of you is the indication he’s dropped your food off, and you crack your eyes open just in time to see the golden pinion of his ornament dangling in front of your face as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

Both of you freeze.

But he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. Instead, you reach with a shaking hand to the golden feather, grasping it lightly with your fingertips and rubbing your thumb along the subtle ridges. Your curiosity serves an alternate purpose; it keeps him close, prevents him from backing away from you.

A sigh breezes along your scalp, humid from his breath, and a shiver from you breaks you both out of the odd trance.

“I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay.” You cut him off, already anticipating the unwarranted apology for something you desperately wanted him to do again. Even standing above you, he looks incredibly small as his hands clutch at the opening of his kimono, worrying at the edges without a care for the wrinkles he’s creating.

Letting the feather drop back to his chest, you reach for one of his fretting hands and hold it tight enough in your own that you can’t tell if the tremors come from you or him. It could even be both. Suddenly you’re filled with anticipation so strong it makes your stomach turn painfully.

But it’s not bad. It’s welcomed, wanted. The only relief you know of is sought after with a simple question. “Could you do it again?”

“...Again?”

“If you’d like to. If it wasn’t a regretful accident.”

His lower lip disappears between his teeth for a moment, then pops out with a pink hue from the abuse. You’re only allowed a second to admire the shade before the only thing you can see is alabaster and violet, your view of the world cut off as he presses his lips to yours with a clumsiness that is borne from inexperience.

A thud rocks the table from his palm hitting it, an attempt to brace himself as he leans further into you until he’s nearly climbed into your lap. A whine brushes across your cheek through his nose - a high-pitched, cracking sort of sound that’s sweeter to your ears than any song could be, any candy could taste.

That evening, the wanderer becomes your wanderer.

And the world seems more vibrant, the music of the festival is more joyous than anything you’ve ever heard. Your wanderer closes your stall and guides you to the theatre to watch Nilou spin and sway. Her movements are nothing short of hypnotic, but hardly enough to catch your attention as you lean against him and let your eyes follow the cut of his jawline, the brush of his hair against his ear, the subtle pink of his blush as he catches you staring from the corner of his eye.

For an evening, the entirety of Teyvat feels like it’s in harmony. He smiles down at you, and the stars above shine just a little bit brighter. An arm winds around your waist to hold you closer, and the lyrics to the music lose their meaning, the tune grows meandering and unimportant compared to how he smiles so, so gently.

If asked, you’re not sure that you’d be able to think of a single thing you wouldn’t give up to recklessly chase after this feeling with him. Safe, warm, loved. It’d been there from the beginning, quietly growing subtle roots until it ingrained itself too deep to remove - as if you’d want to.

That night, you nearly tell him you love him. Something stays your tongue, but you’re not quite sure what it might have been. Tomorrow, you promise yourself as he brings you to your door and kisses you so sweetly that you can do nothing but melt in his hold. Tomorrow, you resolve as you watch him backpedal down the street, giving you that smile you favor so much.

Tomorrow, you promise the following day as the market quiets following such a busy event, unwilling to break the peace for a confession you’re not entirely confident he’s ready for. Instead, you prop your elbow on your stall’s counter and watch as he smiles at the grocer. As he squats to the level of a child that’s examining fruits, and offers one of the familiar candies from your stall to him.

Over the child’s head, he catches your eye, and the placating smile turns to one that’s teeth and pink cheeks, embarrassment at having been caught with such softness but not ashamed enough to stop. In the heat of the afternoon, the quiet murmur of the bazaar, the daylight stretching the shadows long as the sun crosses its apex and begins to descend, everything feels the closest to perfection you could ever achieve.

Tomorrow doesn’t come.

Or rather, it does, but he’s missing. The grocer mentions he’d stepped out of the city to make a run for sunsettias, then left on an errand with a golden-haired newcomer and their floating companion. The Traveler, you recognize vaguely from gossip through the grapevine. They’d keep him safe, surely, but you can’t help but feel a looming sense of dread when he doesn’t return that evening.

For the first time in months, you eat your dinner alone.

—

The tables are turned, for once. It’s you that worries over his well-being, so much so that you close your stand for the day and pace around your home like a caged animal. Certainly he must be fine, but he would’ve mentioned it to you if he were leaving, wouldn’t he? It feels wrong to not be aware of his presence, to not simply turn your head and have him at the corner of your vision as a steady presence.

The grocer stops by to drop a few pieces of produce off, an attempt to check on you and reassure you of the wanderer’s safety with the Traveler. It does little to assuage your fears - nothing does, until the door opens and it’s filled with a familiar silhouette.

Except it’s… not.

There’s a different set to his shoulders. A tension that lingers for a moment too long before it bleeds away at the sight of you. But his eyes are still the same, taking you in with immeasurable reverence that doesn’t fade even as he steps into your home that’s dimmer than the midday market outside. One, two, three long strides bring him to you, close enough to yank you to his chest and hold you impossibly tight with both arms.

“I’m sorry.”

Even the tone is different. It’s lower, more tentative, almost as if he expects you to refuse him. Adamant, you wrap your arms tight around his waist and link your hands together, squeezing with everything you can muster as you mumble into the fabric over his chest. “You should be. You had me so worried.”

“That’s… I’m sorry for that, too.”

“You’re sorry for something else?” Pulling your head back, you look up at him. Nothing could have prepared you for the way his face falls, his lip drawing between his teeth as he takes in the sight of your confusion and weariness.

There is no stalling further. His hand comes to the back of your head, bringing you back close again as he speaks over your shoulder. “I need to ask you something. Don’t be afraid to tell me the truth. Even if you think it will hurt me.”

“And if it will hurt me?”

“It’ll hurt more if I don’t ask it at all.” His chest beneath your cheek shudders with his exhalation, its wavering shaking you to your core as you realize it’s tinged with tears once he continues. “If someone walked in here that looked and sounded just like me, but they were inarguably an evil person… would you still want to stay with them?”

“Looks and sounds like you…?”

“If you couldn’t tell the difference, beyond the knowledge that for the entirety of their existence, so many of the actions they’d taken were for horrible, inexcusable reasons.”

It shouldn’t be a simple answer. The question he’s posed to you has so many layers despite its surface-level simplicity. But with the way he looks at you - wild, desperate, clinging to the hope for an answer that lets him stay close to you - it only takes you a moment to come to a conclusion that settles into place like a key turning a lock. Smooth, easy, with a satisfying click.

“Whoever that person might’ve been… they’re not who you are now.” His breath hitches, stilling under where you rest your head. Whether that’s the right answer or the wrong, you’re unsure, but you’re too far to backtrack now. “I know who you are. People are allowed to change, that’s just what humans do.”

“I’m not human.”

He’s not. He’s told you so himself that he was created, not born. But it’s easy enough to forget that fact when he’s here in front of you, trembling in your arms and clinging desperately to the normalcy you’ve unknowingly provided. The front he puts up is so convincing that you’re not sure it’s even false anymore - he’s experienced all there is to being a human.

“But you’re close enough, aren’t you? You laugh, and you hurt. You’re hurting right now. And the most important part of being a human is love.” Pulling back enough to look at him, to note the shine of tears and the harshness of his bite on his bottom lip to hide its quivering, you ask, “Do you feel love?”

“Yes. So much, it’s killing me.”

“Ah, you just need to let it out then. Of course, I’d stay with you. If it’s like you say, then there’s a long road ahead, and I’m happy to walk it with you, if you’ll let me.”

Choked laughter leaves him, high-pitched and disbelieving. It signals the floodgates of his tears falling, and he releases one arm from you to rub at his eyes to catch them before they fall. It’s a futile effort, one you’re happy to see, even as he surges forward to kiss you, wetting your cheeks with his own.

Against your lips he murmurs, muffled and sloppy, “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou-”

As if you would have left him after coming to know him like this. It only hurts for a second that the thought had even crossed his mind to doubt - and perhaps that doubt will creep back in over the coming days. When things are difficult or when stirrings of a life past-lived come back to rear its head, threatening the tenuous peace he’s found.

There are times that he looks at you with eyes that aren’t as familiar. They’re darker, edged sharply, but it’s still him. A different facet shining in the light, but if you tilt your head, you can see the core of him that lies beneath. Still the same, no matter how he refracts it. As he comes and goes, it feels as if a new page turns each time - some new, some old. A wildness exists that seeps through, visible only when he holds you a little too tight, kisses you a little too hard.

Unsteadiness is something he’s worn since the first day you’ve met him, and with the return of memories he’d lost, it doesn’t settle over him as often as it once had. Only when you notice the shift does he avoid your gaze, the sheepish little smile lifting the weight on your heart, and his in turn.

He’s trying. That’s enough, you think.

#scaramouche #wanderer #genshin impact #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #just self-indulgent fluff #technically gender neutral i guess but i lean toward F-coded readers so take from that what you will

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presleyhearted · 14 days

Text

Kismet, Kismet ✨🤍 | Part 2

pairing : 1970s!e x Asian!OC summary : Angel Song grew up in a strict, Korean household. Molding her into the perfect 'good girl.' Through a strange case of serendipity, she finds herself face to face with Elvis Presley, the one person who just might threaten to shatter the glass of her good girl act. chapter warnings: age gap, illness, panic.

wc: 3841

genre: 70s!e x college!student!reader. fluff, angst, smut.

taglist: @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a @obsessedwithurlove

author's note : Here we are with Part 2! Thank you for the attention on part 1. I hope you like the name change, trust me there is a reason for it. I've always made a playlist for this fic! It is in the link below, but I will be adding songs as I go along. Happy reading! <3 - Rose playlist -

“It’s fine now.” Angel breathed out, signaling to the raven-haired star that it was clear for him to turn around. The split second that Elvis was turned around provided Angel with a small inkling of time to well, breathe. To somehow force her brain to process that this is the reality, even if she does not know how or why.

Elvis, on the other hand, was ever the gentleman. But the very thought of a beautiful woman changing clothes right behind him - well, he was a man, after all. This was merely a passing thought though, as the realization that he owed her an explanation for this strange happenstance, made him truly forget what words were. She was a stranger to him, and well, judging from the wide-eyed gaze from her a few seconds ago - He was the complete opposite to her. Whether she is a fan of his, or merely one of the members of the population who know him from the enormity of his fame - there was a crossroad.

If he were to tell her the truth about why America’s favorite rock ‘n’ roll star is hiding in a cleaning supply closet - that would fracture the carefully curated image that he knew the people see him as, most certainly including her. Words spread like wildfire, and the nation is always hungry for new information about the world of the people under the spotlight. Hell, even the rumors that are not even remotely true - people inhale and whisper from ear to ear as if it were a section in an academic textbook. For a situation like this, that is true and is real, it would be on the front page news by the morning of the next day.

It’s better this way. Elvis tried to tell himself. By upholding the immaculate persona that the public has carved out for him, he would not only be saving himself but also saving her idea of him. He does not want to leave her with a memory of Elvis Presley revealing that the man underneath the glimmering spotlight, has never felt more engulfed by the waves of darkness than he does now.

So, that is it. He decides to conceal an ugly truth in exchange for keeping the beautiful idea of him that she most certainly has. And just in time, she tells him that it is fine to now turn around.

So, he does. And goddamn it, Elvis thinks to himself. The choices and thoughts that occupied his mind suddenly went to a standstill. It was as if the time that he took to think about what his explanation would be, made him briefly forget to truly have a look at her. Albeit, he did not have time to earlier due to letting her change, now - Elvis found himself finding the space of the supply closet shrink at a rapid rate. He was sat down, and she was stood up - Elvis could not help but find his gaze traveling from her long, slightly tanned legs, to the dress, and to her face that seemed to turn a charming shade of crimson under his gaze.

A pair of hazel eyes looked into his azure eyes. The very same pair of hazel eyes that when she blinked - perfectly captured the appearance of double eyelashes that accompanied her eyes. Elvis’ gaze traveled further - a small button nose, and a full, inviting burgundy-colored lips. Her skin radiated a glow - she was pale, but slightly tanned, a sure result of the Vegas heat. Like the mix of milk and honey. He noticed her black, wavy hair reaching almost her waist - Angel was certainly not tall, but also not short. She was like an oil painting personified, like an art piece that somehow felt the need to step out of the confines of the frame that she was in and step her hand out to him. A beauty that he never believed existed, never encountered before, and felt that he was the admirer intruding. He was so entranced by Angel, that he hardly realized that she had sat herself down on the floor.

Angel cleared her throat, “It was . . . um odd for me to be standing up.” She explained. Her voice was soft, but firm. There was a timidness to her tone, that she noticed very quickly, and tried to desperately fix it because well - I can’t make a fool of myself in front of Elvis Presley. She told herself, but how does one steady herself when he is looking at her with such blunt intensity? It was an intensity that rippled through every part of her being, as he did not fixate on one part of her, he was studying her - every detail of her. She wished she could take a glimpse into his mind and know what he was thinking. She prided herself in being able to read people easily, ever the analytical mind of hers - as her friend Felicity would say.

But not this time. Angel tried to shake herself out of it and thought to herself ‘It won’t matter. He’ll say what he needs to say, and we’ll part ways.’

Angel then thought to herself that it most probably be the easier and smarter choice to apologize to him, apologise for barging in and invading personal space, and then be on her way out. This would make more sense since he does not owe her an explanation. Yes, she was initially shocked to find him in such a random place, but it did not mean he had to explain anything to her. Then Angel also realizes that Elvis has not said anything since turning around, he must be thinking the same thing. Angel thought.

So, with that, she shakes her hand at him and starts to stand back up, “I’m so sorry, Mr Presley. You don’t have to explain anything to me, I’ll go.” Her words rushed out of her mouth, words that filled a sudden dread in Elvis.

“No, honey, it’s alright.” He said softly, making Angel pause her actions. She was frozen in confusion. She was in a rush a few moments before getting changed because she was afraid to miss her favorite star walking out onto the stage for the first time in front of her eyes. But that was before she discovered that he was sitting down in a supply closet and before she also became aware that the time on the ticking clock in the small confined space - showed it had been well past the time Elvis was supposed to be on stage.

“But, I don’t want to intrud-”

Elvis cuts off her sentence, “You wouldn’t be, darlin.”

Angel finds herself biting her bottom lip, in a mental battle of her thoughts. An action that does not go unnoticed by Elvis. Angel felt her cheeks blush again at the sound of the name he called her, she was aware it was probably a habit of people from the South, but it made her blush nevertheless.

“I shouldn’t have barged in like that,” She finds herself saying, still standing.

Elvis shrugged, “It’s my fault.”

Angel profusely shook her head, “No, it’s not. I-”

There she is again, biting her bottom lip - a habit that Elvis found became keenly aware of.

“If you keep doin’ that honey, you’ll cause a bleed,” Elvis said, a smirk now on his lips. Yes, Angel did make eye contact with him, but not for long. The eye contact was overwhelming, so she found herself catching her eyes on everywhere else, but him. Which has been proven unsuccessful now, since that comment of his - with that teasing smirk on his lips, was a powerful weapon in making her hold the gaze of his blue eyes again.

She stopped biting her bottom lip, and found herself mumbling under her breath, “What am I doing.”

“Sit with me. Please.” Elvis said, his tone soft.

“But-”

“Are you in a hurry, darlin?”

A question, loaded with the hopes of a specific response. Elvis was aware that they were likely searching endlessly for him, hands probably in their hair in distress, but he could not leave. Not yet. Jerry knows. Knows where he is, even if Elvis did pull out a lie about the reason why he needed to ‘step out’ for a while and not be where he needs to be.

Words were caught in Angel’s throat, “Yes. No. Yes,” Upon seeing the amused grin on Elvis’ face, she sighed and attempted to clarify herself, “I mean, I was - I’m here to see your show.”

There it was. The very reason why she could not know the truth behind why he was here, and not out there now. She is a fan, and for his fans - telling the truth would be shattering something in them. He could never do that to them.

Elvis hummed, “I know what you’re thinkin’, I’ll tell you.”

Angel somehow found herself sitting back down. Slowly. Of course, it would’ve been smarter if she just left. But there is a curious part of her, the part that wanted to know why Elvis Presley was in a supply closet when he was supposed to be on stage by now. Even more so, why his infamous entourage was not in sight.

Having her at the same eye level as him, Elvis swore he felt his breath caught in his throat and a distant knock of the heart within his body.

“You must be thinkin’ why’s that fool hiding in a supply closet?” Elvis said, chuckling a little. But also realizing that he said the word ‘hiding’ implies a surface of the truth. The truth that he told himself he would never reveal to her. But he just did, even if it was a tiny particle of the truth, and he did it subconsciously. With no control at all, as if his mind wanted her to learn it. Somehow.

And he very well knew that Angel caught wind of the word.

She did not know what to say, so Elvis continued.

Elvis ran his hand through his hair and sighed deeply, “I lost one of my rings. I was gonna ask the cleaning staff who was in here, thought she was ‘cus the door was open. But nah, no one was in here. Only me,” He then let out a laugh, a laugh that somehow sounded difficult to let out.

Only me and my foolish self. Elvis thought to himself.

Angel found the sound of that laugh to be quite forceful, a habit that was similar to what she did when conversing with her relatives when asked about certain subjects at family gatherings. She knew that kind of laugh too well, heck, she was the expert in it. Knew it well enough to know that the explanation Elvis just gave her, held no truth in it at all. Except for the last part. That she was sure of.

“Did you find it?” She asked instead, despite somehow having a feeling that he was throwing out an elaborate story of this ring.

Elvis shook his head in an attempt to keep that crooked grin on his lips, somehow looking strained - Angel thought to herself.

“No, I haven’t. I-”

It was Angel’s turn to interrupt this time.

“My name is Angel.” She found herself blurting this, not out of randomness, but because she somehow could feel he was sharing something personal with her when she hadn’t even told him her name yet. It was unbalanced. She knew him, well the image of him, and then now sharing this information with her - she had to tell him her name. She owed him that.

Elvis paused. He couldn’t help but. Of course, it is. There could not be any other name for her out there in the universe, it is the only name that belongs to her. It belongs to her.

“I thought it was only fair I told you my name. It’s not simple to be sharing this information with me, a stranger, Mr Presley.”

Heck, Angel could not even comprehend why he chose to share this with her, or why he wanted her to stay and sit with him for a while.

Elvis nodded, “Angel.” He said as if testing the way her name rolled off his tongue. Something was blissfully enchanting but illicit about the way he said her name, which sent a trickle of warmth through her body and locked her breath for just a second.

“It suits you very much,” Elvis said honestly because it truly did.

“Thank you, Mr Presley.”

Elvis shook his head, “Just ‘Elvis.’ Mr Presley is my father.” A wide smile overtook his face, an actual smile that Angel knew was genuine. She just did.

Angel nodded sheepishly and somehow found herself smiling, a contagious effect from him.

A sight that Elvis couldn’t help but think that he was possibly in a deep slumber, a daydream of some kind that involved this mesmerizing being with the face of heaven sent and the name to suit it. And now that smile of hers, a smile that dares to rival the morning sun. Not that Elvis saw much of the daytime, but if he did, he was pretty certain that the young woman in front of him could easily overshadow it.

Elvis paused then from drinking in her existence when he saw the frown on her face and her hazel eyes of hers pooling with a sense of sadness.

Damn it. She must be thinking ‘bout the show. I’ve disappointed her, she’s here tonight to see me perform. Not this. Elvis thought.

“I’ll be out on stage soon, don’t worry ‘bout it, Angel.” Elvis says, as if sensing that was what Angel was thinking.

But Elvis was wrong. He’s not even remotely close to guessing what she must be thinking.

Angel does not know why she has not noticed. Surely, it must be the shock of the strange situation that must’ve made her not realize. Not realize that Elvis Presley was profusely sweating and that made his raven hair stick to his pale skin. Angel was no medical expert, but it was the kind of pale that called for rest and a good break. It wouldn’t even make sense why he was sweating when he had not stepped foot on stage yet. Even more so, the way his chest would rise and fall at an abnormal rate.

Perhaps also the reason why he has been sitting down the entire time.

Elvis Presley looked tired.

She pulled out a handkerchief from her bag, an action that caused an eyebrow to quirk from Elvis.

The realization of how. . . vulnerable he looked. It pinched her heart in a way that made her ask the next question, forgetting momentarily that they had only merely met each other a few moments ago.

“Can I. . . ?” She gestured at his face, and somehow Elvis understood.

Somehow in that split second of her sad, hazel eyes meeting his blue eyes - Elvis knew that Angel saw behind it all. Behind the facade. That the veil of protection he put over the truth and the crafted lie - has now dropped, revealing him. Revealing that he is everything but fine. Elvis Presley crafted his public persona in such a masterful way, to the degree that people would not even notice the energy and shine he once had, was slowly fading away.

But Angel did.

And so, with her question, Elvis nodded. Angel put herself closer to him and pulled her knees underneath her as she sat down, so she would be sat on her heels. Elvis closed his eyes, as Angel neared him with the handkerchief in her hand as she slowly, but surely was wiping the sweat from his face. The closer proximity to her made Elvis naturally inhale her scent, she smelled of vanilla and a hint of what smelled like rose oil. A combination that was sweet, but playful. A tease to his senses. Elvis dared to open his eyes again, meeting her hazel eyes. Angel felt herself tense at the intense gaze of his eyes, as she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. The feeling of the cloth wiping the sweat on his face away was not much of an effect compared to the gentleness with which Angel did this. The genuine concentration, and worry in her knotted forehead made his heart sore and trip simultaneously.

She instinctively put the back of her hand on his forehead, as if realizing that she may be overstepping she withdrew her hand back like a flash of lightning. But Elvis was quick to reach for her, his hand enclosed around his wrist.

“It’s okay, honey.”

He let go and she reluctantly, but with Elvis’ nod, touched his forehead with the back of her hand once again.

“Mr. Pre- Elvis, you are burning up.” She said, her tone not even hiding the worry swimming in it.

Angel finds herself looking around and grabbing her bag, “I don’t, I thought I had a bottle of water or something. I don’t know. Sorry.” She said, oblivious to the smile on Elvis’ face as she rummaged through her bag.

Despite feeling the fatigue build up in him again, he found himself smiling at her.

“Say it again.” He said, despite breathing deeply.

Angel was puzzled, “Huh?”

“My name, say it again.” He wanted to desperately hear her say it again, a sound that was beautiful and was the opposite of the horrifying state that he felt his body being engulfed in.

A saving grace.

“Elvis, “ She sighed, “I know I’m in no position to tell you what to do, but you are not well. You need to rest.” She said honestly, gone was the timidness beforehand, and in its place was a woman running in a spiral of worry.

Worry for him, and it was a sight that Elvis had not seen in a long time.

Elvis shook his head, “I’m fine. I need to perform. ” He said, almost mumbling his words.

“You are not well for it. People will understand.” Angel found herself saying.

“Will you understand?” He asked.

“Of course. Any of your fans will.” She said with an encouraging nod.

Angel waited years to see him perform live, and if that first performance happened to be when he was feeling like this, she couldn’t watch him. Can’t let it happen. Heck, she’ll wait years even - she’ll wait till he is better enough to perform.

“Not the Colonel.” He responds, a sad smile on his lips.

Angel assumed this must be his manager, remembering his face and the name of newspaper pages. What kind of person, let alone manager - would let him perform like this?

“It’s too hot here, you need to be someplace else,” Angel said, knowing that the supply closet was not the appropriate place for him to rest properly, “Does anyone know that you are here? How do I get ahold of them?”

She was in full-on panic mode now and leaped up onto her feet. Elvis sprung his arm forward and grabbed hold of her hand, “Angel, don’t leave. Please.” The tone of his voice was void of the confidence and teasing from moments prior, in place was the pleading voice that was filled with fear. True fear. A fear that she would leave him like this.

She shook her head quickly, “No, no. I-I just was thinking how to get you help.”

Angel is smart enough to know that she could not just waltz out of here, and find a helpful passerby because it is not just anyone she is getting help for. Elvis Presley. Somehow, she just knew that he wouldn’t want his vulnerable state to be known to any other person than the ones who work for him and know him.

She was just a fan. But somehow through a happenstance of naturality or not, she saw right through him - saw right through the armor that he lets dazzle everyone else. And even if he realized that she stepped over that veil - he let her. Let Angel walk right through it.

As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like now, as if it is the most natural thing in the world to have her hand in his. An action that was so quick, but she swore sent a flicker of something through her bloodstream.

And just in time, there was a knock on the door - a look exchanged between both of them. But a breath of relief escaped them simultaneously as it was the familiar face of Jerry Schilling who walked through and shut the door behind him. Angel knew that he worked for Elvis, and saw him in that one article of Elvis’ entourage being labeled ‘The Memphis Mafia.’

So, she was glad that a stroke of luck hit, as her prayers were answered. Because otherwise she really did not know what to do.

Jerry Schilling’s eyes found Elvis’ and scanned the state that his friend/boss was in, before shifting his gaze to the woman who was standing up and whose hand Elvis gripped tightly. As if signaling to help him, Jerry nodded and advanced towards Elvis, at the same time Angel dropped her hand from Elvis.

“Come on, E. Let’s go.” Jerry said, but Elvis’ gaze was on the black-haired beauty who was currently getting her bag off the floor. His eyelids were half-closed.

She turned with the handkerchief in her hand and planned to hand this to him, to let him keep it. But found him tugging her hand again, closer to him.

“Stay.” He said.

“I-”

Angel turned to look at Jerry Schilling as if silently asking for his opinion on this.

“I’ll go if she goes with me,” Elvis said, almost mumbling his words.

Jerry Schilling then nods to her.

Angel sighed, not quite sure how and why this is happening all of a sudden. The probability of their meeting, and now with Elvis’ reluctancy to go with someone who could help him. Someone who he knows far more than her, her who was a mere stranger not that long ago. She tried to make sense of and understand why Elvis would want her to be there when he would have more than enough people around him soon. People who knew him personally, and who will help him.

She could not wrap her head around it at all.

But with the ticking of the clock on the wall, and Elvis seeming to not have any plans to get up from his spot yet, she realized that he was waiting for her to say something.

“Okay.” Angel said.

Kismet. Kismet. Perform. Mask. facade. My name. Your name. Angel. Pale. The truth. Elvis. Elvis. Angel. If she goes. Kismet. Kismet.

#elvis fic #elvis presley #angst #fluff #elvis x original female character #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #kismet kismet #part 2

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dateko · 9 months

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˚｡⋆ FOREVERMORE | GOJO SATORU

contents — fluff/angst, a lil banter, gojo being a lil vulnerable, a lil late night drive, also reader is implied to be afab!

a/n: — 2k words of not being quite sure what this is other than the fact it made a very angsty turn towards the end which i did not plan for because this fic is a dusty year old draft!!! (pls enjoy regardless hahah)

An incessant, flickering beam makes its way through your window in the quiet of your small, dimly lit bedroom. It appears to be beckoning you, almost like it's trying to call you out. Confused and admittedly a bit scared for your grown age, you close the hefty novel you’d been dutifully reading shut and creep gingerly toward the window. You hide beneath the curtains, careful not to move around too much. Then slowly, you sneak a quick peek at the persistent light outside.

There, in his expensive imported sports car with a large flashlight in his hold, sits Gojo Satoru and that goofy signature grin of his. The silly man you undoubtedly call your boyfriend and who you, unfortunately, love more than the normal amount. Letting go of the air you’d been holding in with a relieved giggle, you quickly open your window.

“What the hell, ‘Toru! You scared the shit out of me!” You hissed, bringing a hand to your forehead.

“Sorry, Princess!” He calls back, carrying absolutely zero sympathy in his voice, before revealing a familiar bag of sugary drinks and sweet treats to you. “Say… Are you free for a little late-night getaway? I’ve got all your favorites.”

“You’re terrible,” You shake your head in utter disbelief, giggling at how ridiculous he could be. “Hold on, I’ll be down in sec.”

Grabbing your most treasured sweater (a stolen one of Satoru’s) and bag, you bolt out the door and launch yourself down the steps in a love-stricken flurry. Neighbors be damned, you were too excited to even care about the chaos of elephant footsteps you make. As you make your way down the stairs, you can’t help but begin to feel so much younger. Like a high schooler reborn again, you hadn’t realized how much you missed the giddy excitement that stemmed from forgetting your responsibilities. It was almost as if life had always been this thrilling. A late-night drive with your incredibly handsome boyfriend and pretending that you positively did not have a class to teach, plus a gruesome training session with your students waiting for you the following morning.

And that certainly was Satoru for you. Always sweeping you off your feet and doing everything you didn’t think you needed. He’s always too good, too perfect. The man is always somewhere off where he is required, always somewhere trying his best. Yet somehow, he makes sure to save time for you. Gojo Satoru always goes above and beyond. There is never a limit to the things he does.

Meeting him outside, you walk up to his open window, where his face sports a grin you could spot miles away. “Do you know what time it is?” You squeeze his cheek playfully

“I do.” He blinks, taking your hand to press it flat against his cheek instead.

“You don’t have… I don’t know… A class tomorrow? Curses to exorcise?”

Satoru blinks twice, now peppering kisses into your palm. “I do.”

Your brow raises at his response, and you retract your hand to cross your arms. “Then… Shouldn’t you be preparing for that?”

The azure-eyed man sighs, leaning his head against his seatback to stare at you adoringly. “I just couldn’t sleep right... Probably because I’ve been thinking about you too much.”

His cheesy line causes your nose to scrunch up, though you can’t help but feel a pang of worry in your stomach at his words. “On second thought, I’m leaving.”

“Oh, just get in here already.” Satoru whines your name, quick to tug the back of your sweater and pull you in.

Smiling widely, you enter the passenger seat and immediately slot in your favorite CD before looking at your hopeless boyfriend. “You didn’t really think I’d just go back and leave, did you?”

“Maybe a little bit,” He shrugs, turning behind him as he reverses the car. “You can get way too intense sometimes.”

You hum in response as you ogle at his bicep and brush off the way he smirks at you. Ignoring the way your boyfriend of many years continues to make you blush like a young pubescent girl at the sight of his muscles, you reach into the bag in front of you to pull out a snack. It’s a surprise Satoru stays rather silent beside you, driving with a soft smile on his lips as he hums along with the familiar tunes you both grew up listening to. It’s strange. There are no cheesy one-liners or teasing remarks. Just him.

“So where exactly are you taking me, anyway?” You decide to inquire, reaching over to feed him a snack as he keeps his eyes trained on the road.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” His mouth is full, and you puff dramatically in response as you lean against the door to watch him with a comforting expression on your face. “You’ll see in a bit. Almost there.”

Knowing you’d never be able to beat his stubbornness, you continue to bask in the peaceful drive to whatever mystery location Satoru’s taking you to. You watch him solemnly, eyeing the way his lips hold a small smile, yet as you drive under each street lamp, you don’t miss the sight of how tired he really looks. These days, you see him less, and his missions seem to grow in length. More curses pop up in every direction, more colleagues pass, and with how incredibly undermanned the Jujutsu society is, the burden is inevitably thrown onto Gojo Satoru’s plate. He’s gone before you know it.

It’s unfair and cruel, but it’s what you’ve known your entire life.

A part of you wonders why Satoru even bothered driving when you both know he's fully capable of teleporting. You hypothesize that it is for old times' sake. It was near that certain time of year. While your boyfriend could sometimes be emotional about the past, you're no better. In the backburner of your minds, you both desperately wish you could return to the days of your youth. The very youth you never could grasp, taken from you before you knew it. You were naive and power-hungry, too blind to notice anything else around you, too eager to grow up and have the world grovel at your feet. You wish you could have changed it all. But now, as you watch Satoru, a few years older and a little bit wiser, the only thing you can think about is just how lucky you are to have him here.

You don’t realize Satoru’s parked already when you blink at the feeling of his thick fingers flicking your forehead, and you hear the click of his seatbelt. “Jeez, Babe. I know I’m handsome, I can hear you thinking too hard in that pretty little head of yours.”

Scoffing, you brush his hand away as you exit the car, taking the snack bag along with you. “What makes you so sure I was thinking about you?”

“You’re really asking me that? You love me.” He answers confidently, grinning wide until his dimples show when you catch up to him to wrap yourself around his arm. Your hand interlaces with his so effortlessly, not an ounce of infinity between the two of you. Never with you.

“Yes, Satoru. I love you so much that I’d let you take me to…” Your eyes scan around the dark trees and eerie silence. You wouldn’t be surprised if Satoru dragged you on one of his extra missions. “...A deserted forest?”

“Just a little further. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Not once letting go of your hand, Satoru leads you up a hill that overlooks the entire city. It’s quiet during this hour of the night. The city below you seems to be blanketed in a hush of tranquil sleep, yet the lights stay on wide awake and alert. You realize you rarely gave much thought to the world like this. The world you’ve all fought so damn hard to keep together and safe. The very world that only seems to take and never give.

A chin rests on your shoulder, strong arms find a comfortable home around your waist. “Know where we are, Sweetheart?”

You ponder for a moment, letting the night breeze kiss your cheeks. “This is the exact spot where I launched you during the sister-school event.”

“What? No, it’s not.” Satoru pouts as he squeezes you tighter. “Okay, maybe. But you’re still missing something.”

You place a playful finger to your lips, looking up at him. You know exactly where you are. This very spot served as a haven for what you could call your rebellious youth. “Ah! This is where you forced me to kiss you and then confessed your undying love to me. Holding my hand and begging me like a little boy to stay in Tokyo while Shoko had to bring you back to life.”

“Hey! You totally kissed me first!” His offended tone makes you laugh, running your hands down his arms. “And confessed too!”

Deciding to let him get his way since you’ll never hear the end of it, you turn yourself around in his hold to look at him properly. The lighthearted conversation ceases with a short hum from your lips, indicating conceding. When you look at him, his blue eyes are already trained on yours with almost a serious glint to them. The expression on his face is somewhat unreadable like he’s someplace far out of your reach. Here, arms wrapped around you, fully standing and breathing, is Satoru. But you know more than enough that his mind is somewhere elsewhere.

“Tell me.” You whisper.

Satoru looks out at the city and then back to you. Another glance out, a longer one back to you. He holds two worlds he’s tried to keep safe for so long. He’s exhausted, so incredibly worn out without you. When you watch him with that worried expression of yours, his mind replays the question he’s always asked himself. Is he the strongest because he’s Gojo Satoru? Or is he Gojo Satoru because he’s the strongest? Desperately, he’s been searching for an answer. But when he looks at you, he sees everything. All of the infinity, perhaps even beyond that. Satoru is almost certain that the answer has always been out of the question. It’s always been you for him.

“I had this dream about Megumi earlier today… About us and…” He trails off, voice going soft.

You know who he’s talking about, and you don’t prod. You wait patiently, watching him exhale with a small shake of his head.

“I just… I wish it would get easier. For the kids, you know? There’s always something," He rests his forehead against yours. "This same story never ends, does it?” You’ve never heard him sound so lost. Satoru was always sure of himself, confident in everything.

“It will. I promise you, Satoru. What, you think everything we’ve done is all for nothing?” Your voice never wavers, and you place both hands on the sides of his cheeks. “We’re gonna reform the world from the bottom up. Isn’t that what you told me? We're not going to let anything bad happen to those kids.”

“You know, you're starting to sound a lot like me. Perhaps a little prettier.”

“Takes one to know one,” You shrug, not once looking away. “But I’m serious. I’m stuck with you till the end.”

Suddenly, Satoru groans and moves out of your hold, stretches his long arms in the air, and takes your hand. He moves as if he’s been rejuvenated from your words alone, ready to take on anything else that decides to stand in his way. You realize that Satoru’s always just needed a push, something to land on when he feels like falling. No matter what, you’d be there.

“God, do I love you. Ah, we should just kill the higher-ups?”

You roll your eyes, pulling him down to plant a long kiss on his soft lips. It’s passionate and sincere, feeling almost as if it was pulled straight from a storybook with the way the trees flutter behind you and the breeze picks up your hair. In this kiss you share, you can feel both his yearning and his pain. You can feel all of it. The entirety of his love courses into your soul, and you tilt your head just so he can push further and prove it a little more. Asking him to spare some of his burdens onto you.

“Let’s get this job done first, yeah?”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #ngl idk what this is but i am a woman of my word.. i'm posting my old drafts!!!#guys idk how dialogue works i'm sorry i've never had a real human connection #jjk

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he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle · 1 month

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Get to Know Me Tag

Tagged by the feisty @lurkingshan, thanks Shan!

Do you make your bed?

Kinda. After my divorce, I bought lovely new bedding and happily made my bed every morning for like a year. Then I got lazy. I sorta half-ass it, where I fluff my pillows and pull up sheets and straighten the blankets and bed spread, but it's not photo-worthy or anything.

What’s your favorite number?

3. I like triads and trinities. In fact, I named my first dog Trinity. And I had three children!

What is your job?

I’m an author. I have 4 non-fiction books published under my given name and 15 fiction books published under a pseudonym. Many of my books were best sellers. Despite this fact, it is not enough to pay the bills. So I supplement my income with speaking engagements, teaching classes, and running a handful of websites, one of which is a wholesale distribution platform for artisanal imported foods. Basically, I'm self-employed and keep myself busy doing anything that interests me.

If you could go back to school, would you?

No. While I love learning and don't mind taking the occasional class to be introduced to a cool skill (like making stained glass!), I absolutely refuse to do any more higher education than I already have. I was sorta super nerdy at school because of an eidetic memory, so I collected degrees in Biblical Studies, Philosophy, Greek, Linguistics, and Russian Literature before I finally realized I didn't want to be a perpetual student.

Can you parallel park?

Nope. I learned how to do it to get my Driver's License over 30 years ago and have literally never had to use the skill since.

A job you had that would surprise people?

Hmmm. My job-jobs were all pre-children so people are surprised when they find out I ever had any since my last one was decades ago. But I didn't just have a few, I had a LOT of jobs because I finished school early and had to pay for my entire university education myself because of poor parents, and I think that's the most surprising thing. I was a waitress (14-16), a shop clerk (16-18), an acquisitions librarian's assistant (18-19), a bank teller (20), a digital librarian for a major software development company (20-21), a language tutor (18-21), an adjunct professor (22-24), a houseparent in a boy's home (24), and a cog in the county tax assessor's office (24-26). I also volunteered as a translator for Doctor's Without Borders and as a suicide prevention counselor for LGBTQ youth. At 26, I had my first child and became self-employed.

Do you think aliens are real?

Possibly, but I struggle to believe humans have ever interacted with any.

Can you drive a manual car?

Yes!

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Cop shows. I agree ACAB, but I love love LOVE the testosterone-fueled fantasy world of shows like Hawaii Five 0.

Tattoos?

None. I didn't want any at first because all the tattoos I'd seen on old people didn't age well thanks to saggy skin, wrinkles, etc. Now I kinda wish I'd had at least one.

Favorite color?

Dark azure.

Favorite type of music?

I LOVE IT ALL. If you live long enough, you discover awesome music in every genre. Like, I thought I hated heavy metal, but then I discovered the album Pale Communion by Opeth a decade ago and loved literally every single song!

Do you like puzzles?

Yes, but I don't make the time to do them.

Any phobias?

Heights. Absolutely terrifying.

Favorite childhood sport?

Cross country! I ran on my varsity team in HS and continued it through college.

Do you talk to yourself?

No. I am so quiet. On the weeks I don't have custody of my kids, I have sometimes had weeks where I work exclusively from home and don't interact with another human person beyond text messages and emails. When I finally speak out loud for the first time in days, the sound of my voice is jarring and unfamiliar.

What movies do you adore?

About Time. The Royal Tenenbaums. Shawshank Redemption.

Coffee or tea?

Coffee! I used to be more of a snob about it, but I recently fell in love with Korean instant coffees and THEY ARE SO GOOD. HOLY SHIZNITS.

First thing you wanted to be growing up?

A teacher in a foreign country.

I haven't been keeping track of who tagged who, so I'd like to tag @absolutebl @juneviews @twig-tea @sorry-bonebag @stefanyd @waitmyturtles @disaster-j @cooloddball @spicyvampire and @norahastuff If you'd like to play and I didn't tag you, please do!! Be sure to tag me so I can read your post.

#tag game

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still-with-koo · 1 year

Text

Hot Chocolate | KTH

summary: you want to find someone for your best friend. but what if the one he wants is you?

pairing: taehyung x reader

wc: 1,213

warnings/genre/rating: PG, friends to kinda still friends maybe; idiots to definitely still idiots; angst; fluff; one or two swear words; unresolved ending. the characters in this story are my own and do not reflect on the members of bts or anyone else. this is all made up and just for fun, please don’t take it too seriously!

a/n: this is a repost of a drabble i wrote late at night after the scene just randomly popped into my head. it’s kinda cute but also very annoying. i love hot chocolate and snow so both of these make an appearance. anyways, i hope you enjoy ☃️🧋

You watch the snowflakes drift through the cool night air, painting the azure sky with streaks of white gold. Looking up it felt like the stars were slowly gliding down to earth, their descent holding you mesmerized before landing softly on the blanket of snow below.

The sound of snow breaking beneath someone’s feet pulls you out of your reverie and reminds you where you are. A lonely out-of-service bus stop in town, cars driving past you on their way home to someone else.

You slowly turn around, praying you were not about to be hit on by some creep.

“Tae,” you sigh in relief, beaming at him as he smiles back at you fondly.

Then your smile turns into a frown.

“Where’s your car?”

He stuffs in hands in his pockets and looks away, trying to mask his sheepish grin.

“In the shop.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? You didn’t have to come all the way down here, you silly goose. I could have ubered home.”

“Exactly why I didn’t tell you. I needed an excuse to leave my date early. Oh and if she asks, you were in a car accident, ok?”

“Your date— Wait, that was tonight? Fuck, I thought you two would hit it off. What happened?”

He shrugs his shoulders and looks away.

Then he turns back to you with a sparkle in his eyes.

“Do you want hot chocolate?”

He knew you could never say no to hot chocolate.

“Ok, but we’re not done talking about this.”

“Fine. Then come here and hold onto me, I’m freezing.”

You walk over to him as he juts out his elbow for you to put your arm through, snuggling up to him and feeling the chill melt away.

You look up into his eyes and he’s already grinning at you, his signature boxy grin coaxing a smile out of you as you let out an exasperated sigh.

You rest your head on his shoulder and you two start to walk towards the cafe only a block away in comfortable silence except for the sound of your boots sinking into the snow-covered sidewalk.

After a few minutes, you break the silence.

“Ok, tell me what happened.”

“She was boring.”

You lift your head to stare at him.

“Boring—? She’s a lingerie model. How is that boring?”

He just shrugs his shoulders as you both continue to walk.

“Meh. She had all her clothes on, I guess.”

“Wow ok, thanks for that image,” you grumble, shutting your eyes and shaking your head as Tae chuckles, pulling you closer to him to prevent you from tripping in the snow.

“But seriously, Tae. I can’t keep finding people for you. Mrs. Kim desperately wants grandkids - why deny her that?”

He sighs, deciding to ignore your question.

“You can stop looking for someone for me, Y/N.”

“Why? So you can let your poor mom continue to worry about you? We had a long conversation about it just last week and she’s right. You need to keep an open mind because the perfect person might be right in front of you.”

He smiles weakly to himself, realizing the message he thinks his mom was trying to relay.

“I will talk to her. I just… I don’t want you to look for anyone else, ok?”

You stare straight ahead, a little miffed by Taehyung’s request but you continue to hold his arm as you both walk through the snow.

“Fine. I will stop looking. But I really want you to find someone, Tae. An amazing person like you deserves someone to wake up next to, to feel safe with, to love. You have so much love to give, Tae.”

He sighs again, the sound of footsteps in the snow halting as he turns to face you. A moment of silence but it felt like much longer as you look up at him in confusion.

When he finally speaks, it comes out very quietly. Hesitantly.

“What about you?”

You raise your eyebrows, clearly not following him.

“What about me?”

“Don’t you deserve all those things too?”

“Me? Well, yeah, I guess so.”

“But you don’t have anyone?”

“I… I mean I had Seokjin. For a while. But yeah, you’re right, I don’t have anyone now. I guess I should look for someone for myself, huh?”

“Do you have to look for someone?”

You laugh.

“Well they’re not going to magically appear in front of me, are they?”

Tae was staring at you with a frown on his face, concentrating so hard like he was trying to telepathically communicate a message to you.

“And if they were?”

“If they were what?”

He sighs.

“If they were right in front of you, then what?”

You tilt your head to the side and look up at him, confusion stitching a crease between your brows.

“I’m not sure I understand, Tae.”

He bends down to look you straight in your eyes, seemingly searching for something. What he was searching for was a mystery to you.

After a few moments he looks away, letting out a short puff of air as he stomps off.

“Never mind.”

You stare at his back as he walks away angrily. You were completely befuddled by the entire interaction.

Shaking your head a little, you run after Taehyung as you yell out to him.

“Wait, Tae! We’re still getting hot chocolate, right?”

#taehyung x reader #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung drabble #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #lilo fics #hot chocolate

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noooooooop-e · 3 months

Text

~Her Melody~

Coral x Lucy Gray

Warnings: Fluff followed by some heavy smut. Coral is a top in this. (That’s the only way I see her yall sorry)

Five months have passed since the events of the 10th annual hunger games. Not only did this mark a day of bloodbath and trauma, but it also marked an historical event. The time where there had been two victors for the first time in history. The one catch in order for there to be two victors however, was that one of the tributes had to agree to stay in the other district of their fellow victor.

And this is what had lead us to today. Coral sat in her seat at the hob, her leg bouncing in excitement as she awaited dear Lucy Gray to enter the stage.

It really wasn't hard for her to choose to stay in district twelve. She didn't have anyone to go home to, as Mizzen had been taken by the games. She also knew she could never separate Lucy from her family.

She also realized that she had been so happy since she arrived here. Everyone was so kind and lively, and there was always music playing.

She pretended to hate Lucy's singing during the games, though she never wanted her to stop. It calmed her nerves during the stressful events of the games.

Everything about Lucy Gray was perfect to her. From the way she walks, to the way she talks. The sound of her voice could calm the most barbaric of monsters. Her big, brown, doe eyes could cause anyone to get lost, her beautiful long, wavy hair that cascaded down her shoulders.

Her eyes lit up as Lucy Gray herself strode up onto the stage, with her signature twirl. Coral was convinced that she had been sculpted by the gods already, and this just made her believe it more.

Lucy smiled in Corals directed, offering a small wink when they made eye contact. She then began to strum her guitar.

You can’t take my past

You can’t take my history

The covey began.

You could take my pa but his name’s a mystery

Then Lucy herself began to sing.

Nothing you can take from me ~ was ever worth keepin'

Oh’ nothing you can take from me – was ever worth keepin'

Barb Azure began to pat her hands onto the bass before giving it a spin and effortlessly began to play along with the music.

Coral watched Lucy Gray in awe as she continued to sing.

You can't take my charm

You can't take my humor

You can't take my wealth

'Cause it's just a rumor

Nothin' you can take was ever worth keepin'

No, nothin' you can take was ever worth keepin'

She continued to sing, nearing the end. As she finished with the outro, she maintained eye contact, grinning as Coral theatrically blew her a kiss.

She then bowed towards the audience, thanking them for coming to their performance.

Lucy quickly made her way to Corals table, smile widening as the girl stood to her feet to greet her.

Coral could barely even get out a “hello” before the shorter girl suffocated her in a hug, burying her head in the crook of the redheads neck.

“Hiii”, she cooed. Coral smiled at this, moving a strand of Lucy’s hair behind her ear before responding.

“Hello, songbird”, she teased. Lucy giggled at this before pressing her lips to Corals, wrapping her arms around her neck.

“You did so good, love. You never fail to amaze me”, Coral gushed, clutching her hands in her own. The other girl flushed as Coral placed a kiss onto her hands.

“Thank you, darling~ You really know how to sweet talk a girl”, she grinned. Coral smiled in response, kissing her temple.

Lucy Gray then let out a cute little surprised squeak once Coral wrapped her arms around her waist, giggling as the taller girl spun her around.

She closed her eyes and rested her head against Coral’s shoulder, dancing and swaying along with the music as she let her love guide her through this dance.

She slightly shivered as Corals teeth grazed at her ear, arching into her touch as wandering hands tightened ever so slightly around her waist.

“We should go home soon”, Coral whispered in her ear, her tone making her intentions very clear.

Eagerly, Lucy nodded, suddenly filled with need. She giggled as the girl peppered kisses all over her face, before letting her take her hand.

They couldn’t get home fast enough. As soon as Lucy closed the front door Coral had pressed her against it, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

Lucy gasped as Coral began to mouth at her neck, driving her insane. Everything Coral did to her, every touch, every whispered sweet nothing, ever look, it made her knees weak and made her ache with need in all her most neglected areas.

“Please..”, she begged against her lips, running her fingers into Coral’s short hair.

Coral gently guided Lucy Gray over to her bed.

"You’re very overdressed right now”, Coral teased

Instantly, the District 12 girl stopped in her tracks, removing her clothes as fast as possible. Coral snickered at this, amused by just how eager Lucy Gray was for her.

Coral watched, her eyes dark with desire. "Can you lie down for me princess?”, she asked, her overly sweet tone doing numbers on her love.

Lucy climbed onto the bed, lying on her back. Coral crawled over her, straddling her hips. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

"You're so beautiful," she murmured, kissing the shorter girl's neck.

Lucy Gray shivered.

Coral moved lower, trailing kisses across her chest. She cupped the District 12 girl's breasts, kneading them. Lucy Gray gasped, her back arching.

Coral continued to massage the other girl's breasts. She ran her tongue along the edge of Lucy Gray's nipple, causing the girl to moan.

"You're perfect," Coral said softly, taking Lucy Gray's nipple into her mouth and sucking.

The shorter girl moaned louder, her hips bucking.

Coral pinched Lucy Gray's nipple between her teeth, tugging gently.

Lucy Gray gasped, her breath catching in her throat. She was completely at Coral's mercy, and she loved it.

"Does that feel good?" Coral asked, her voice low.

Lucy Gray nodded, her face flushed.

Coral kissed her way down the older girl's body, stopping at her hip. She bit down, eliciting a whimper from Lucy Gray.

"Spread your legs for me, love”, Coral requested.

Lucy Gray did as she was asked, her thighs parting. Coral moved lower, licking her way along the District 12 girl's inner thigh.

"You're wet," she observed, running a finger along the length of Lucy Gray's slit.

The girl beneath her whimpered.

"Do you want this?”

Lucy Gray nodded.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you." Coral teased.

"Yes," the girl whined breathlessly.

Coral grinned, tracing the outline of Lucy’s neglected area with her finger. "Yes, what?"

"Please."

"Please, what?"

Lucy Gray hesitated, not sure what to say.

"You know what," Coral husked, her tone teasing the girl.

"Please, fuck me," the shorter girl whispered.

"Good girl," Coral praised, inserting a finger into the brunette's aching folds.

She curled her finger, hitting the spot that made her lover see stars.

"Yes," Lucy Gray moaned, her hips bucking.

"You're fucking soaked," Coral whispered against her ear, sliding another finger inside.

"Oh my god," Lucy Gray gasped, her back arching.

Coral smirked. "Does that feel good?"

"Yes."

"Do you want more?"

Lucy Gray nodded.

“Words, pretty girl.”

The District 12 girl blushed. "Please."

"Beg for me”, Coral grinned mischievously.

"Please fuck me," the desperate girl pleaded, her voice breaking.

Coral smiled. "I'll give you what you want."

She added a third finger, thrusting them in and out.

"Faster," Lucy Gray begged, breathlessly.

"Patience," Coral scolded, slowing her pace.

Lucy groaned, frustrated.

Coral began thrusting her fingers in and out, her movements deliberate and slow.

Lucy Gray moaned, her hips rising to meet the other girl's thrusts.

Coral leaned forward, kissing the shorter girl's neck.

"I want to taste you," she whispered, her lips brushing against Lucy Gray's ear.

The District 12 girl whimpered, her breath coming in short gasps.

Coral removed her fingers, eliciting a whimper from Lucy Gray.

She moved lower, spreading the girl's legs further apart.

Lucy Gray looked up, her eyes wide.

"Please," she whispered.

Coral smiled and lowered her head. She ran her tongue along the length of the woman’s aching folds, savoring her taste.

"You taste so good," she moaned into her filth, licking against Lucy Gray's clit.

"Oh my god," the shorter girl moaned, throwing her head back as her eyes fell to the back of her head.

Coral sucked on her clit, causing Lucy to cry out.

"Please," Lucy Gray gasped, her hips bucking.

Coral moved lower, lapping at the girl's entrance.

Lucy Gray's toes curled, her hands gripping the sheets.

Coral inserted a finger into the District 12 girl's folds, curling it.

"oh yes!" Lucy Gray cried, her walls tightening around the other girl's finger.

Coral licked the girl's clit, flicking her tongue.

Lucy Gray's breath quickened, her chest heaving.

Coral inserted another finger, pumping them in and out.

Lucy Gray's thighs quivered, her orgasm approaching.

Coral increased her speed, her fingers pumping faster.

Lucy Gray's legs trembled, her muscles tensing.

"Come for me," Coral rushed out.

"Oh my god,” the District 12 girl exclaimed, her hips bucking wildly.

Her body shook as she came, her orgasm exploding through her.

"Holy fuck," she panted, her heart racing.

Coral moved up, kissing the shorter girl.

"Good girl," Coral teased, her tone full of pride.

"Fuck, I love you," Lucy Gray gasped.

Coral laughed, her eyes sparkling.

"I love you too."

The two girls held each other, their hearts beating as one.

They had never been happier.

Their relationship was different.

And they wouldn't change a thing.

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stergeon · 1 month

Note

From that ask game you reblogged (I'm assuming FE3H 🙃):

- What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

- What is your wildest headcanon?

- Is it easier for you to write angst or fluff?

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

oh gosh. this is a lot of power to have and i have too many ideas. it’s hot on my mind because of the vickyvesties, but i freaking hate how almyra is treated in canon. fódlan is atrocious with any and all foreign policy but sweet sothis are they dicks about almyra.

[spoilers for white clouds and azure moon ahead btw]

i also would have loved more screen time for our agarthan pals. i really, extremely do not fuck with clowns, but i still wish we could have gotten more depth from kronya, who was just on the cusp of being really interesting.

i realize i’ve cheated and said more than one thing but whatever i’ve got one more: all of azure moon should be placed in the circular filing cabinet, but especially rodrigue’s death scene. insane to have felix’s dad’s death be entirely about dimitri when felix is standing right there. triple insane to have it happen at all when byleth could just fucking rewind it!!! hello! did you forget you have time powers??? wake up girl!!!! we got an explanation for why she couldn’t undo jeralt’s death, but they don’t even hand-wave away rodrigue’s. byleth just accepts that he’s gotta go. what a joke!!

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

morrowind is yuri and i made a 3.5 hour long powerpoint presentation to defend that stance.

for fe3h, i don’t think my headcanons are too wild for the most part, but i subscribe to the theory that sothis’s dragon form is um. really big. like, say, yea big:

my hottest take? the agarthans were kind of right. unfortunately they were too stupid and evil to make anything of being right.

💘 Is it easier for you to write angst or fluff?

oh, angst. absolutely angst. when the mood strikes and i get the right idea, i can crank out a fluff fic pretty fast, but if i set out to write fluff, i could wind up sitting around for hours trying to come up with something. i’m a lot better at plugging away at angst.

my fluff fics are also prone to taking sudden turns into angst if i don’t keep a close eye on the flow of the conversation. the beginning of chapter 3 of the vesties is supposed to be very light-hearted and sweet, but it was an ordeal keeping byleth from souring it all. she’s so emo in that story and it’s terrifically hard to make her have any fun. i had to scrap six or seven paragraphs and rework them completely because she bummed claude out so badly at his freaking new year’s party, and that simply would not do.

#fe3h #fire emblem #sterge.eml #kyokoenthusiast #thank you for playing my little ask game my friend you are lovely!!!#at some point i’ll write up my rant about the agarthans #haven’t quite organized all of my thoughts on it #might do a fic on it someday. who knows

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allovertheplace-writing · 2 years

Note

Well,I rarely see a Byleth ask so here I am,doing the hidden Byleth fans' work. I'd like some headcanons about how Byleth (both M and F,ofc separate) would fall in love with a student reader there (like how they fall in love with a character from the game) and some general fluff hcs along with it! This is my excuse to see a struggling pining Byleth(s) maybe possibly successing at courting their crush after the timeskip and getting the affection they deserve!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Fire Emblem Three Houses

Character(s): F! Byleth and M! Byleth

Genre: Fluff + Slight Angst

Type: Headcanon

Description: Byleth's relationship with their student through the years and how it bloomed

Warning(s): Cut for Length, Teacher and Student Dynamic(Beginning), Spoilers, Some Hubert Slander, War, Death Mentioned, Reader is Injured(M! Byleth)

So I've never actually finished fe3h and I know the routes you take change things a lot- I'm close to finishing the azure moon route, so I can only use what I've gone through there. I kept it vague, but this is definitely not taking the crimson route into account.

I do hope you enjoy despite my lack of knowledge on other routes! Remember to take care, dear anon ♡

(I also realized this might not be what you were looking for, so I apologize TT)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

➢ F! Byleth

It always began with admiration

The diligence and kindness you delivered being all she knew

You would perform well in class and in practice

Although it wasn't long until she found you struggling with a lance near curfew

As your professor she understood she had to help you

She didn't mean to startle you, but she had

"Pah-P-Professor..!"

"Sorry, it looked like you needed help?"

Byleth felt warm with every touch she made whilst fixing your position- a touch on your wrist to a touch on your waist, she knew she was just helping but it flustered her ever so slightly

But maybe she wasn't flustered, perhaps it was just pride

She thought it was the latter

You've gotten much better after some pointers after all!

Byleth enjoys having meals with you, often inviting you alongside another professor or student

She pays plenty attention to what you like without realizing it herself

Manuela is often the one to point out her affections, and the one Byleth ends up going to when she finally realizes she likes you

She decided to keep her feelings to herself, the timing wasn't right and something.. something was happening

She hadn't been sure what until the day Edelgard revealed herself

Byleth almost couldn't believe it

No one truly could

Hubert was shady, but Edelgard was always earnest and looked out for everyone

It could only be described as betrayal, even if she had good intentions

The death.. the bloodshed

None of it was needed

But it needed to end

And eventually it did

It was mere months after Byleth returned

She gathered everyone, even the ones who had long left the church

Just as she always had

And when she found you, she held you within her arms

Relief was the only emotion she had

You were alive

And willing to help at that

It felt like she could finally move forward and take the steps needed to find Lady Rea and end the misery the Empire caused

Once everything settled, once everyone finally got to rest, she went to find you

The quiet within the monastery felt strange, perhaps even unbearable, to you one evening

Everyone could relax, which you were glad for, but the lack of bustling was unsettling

It felt wrong

"(Y/n)?"

Her voice was soft when she called out to you, yet it startled you all the same

"P-Professor..!"

She sighed in content, nothing had changed it seemed

"Are you alright?"

The concern, the love, she held for you had never changed either

"Oh- um.. yes, well... maybe not."

Coming up beside you, she nodded

"I'm.. thinking about how weird it's been, ever since the war ended.."

"It had been a huge part of our lives and now we're moving on, I'm.. I'm not sure if.. I can."

You hadn't noticed the hand she placed upon your own

"That's okay, (Y/n).. you don't have to if you're not ready."

"But it's terrible! I don't know what to do now that it's over and every day I wake to my friends leaving, I feel like I'm stuck.."

"I.. have no plan- no future it seems.."

Gently, she rubbed the back of your hand with her thumb

"..you're the only one who hasn't left, professor."

"That's because I never planned to leave you."

You looked to her, curious as to what she meant

She didn't make you wait for answers, carefully releasing your hand to pull her father's ring from her pocket

"..Byleth..?"

She liked hearing her name fall from your lips, but it did nothing to ease the flutters within her stomach

"..will you marry me, (Y/n)?"

The silence killed her yet she kept her eyes on you

"I- Byleth... o-of course, yes- yes!"

Once the ring secured itself on your finger, she brought you closer

An embrace to a lingering kiss; she showered you in the affections she had kept hidden for so many years

Millions of possibilities were to happen, in this life and the next

And she was happy to be by your side in each to come

➢ M! Byleth

Proud

Byleth was proud to call himself your professor

Even if you lag behind other students, you try your best no matter what

He rarely spoke with you outside of lectures, but one evening he found you cleaning windows at the church

"..huh? Oh, hi, professor."

"Hi, (Y/n). What are you doing?"

"Oh! Well, the people who usually clean the windows are recovering from the last expedition so I decided to pick it up for them."

He thought it kind and picked up a rag himself

"P-professor, you don't have to do that-"

"I want to."

The rest of the evening was quiet, but he felt that he got to know you better

When the dance came around he thought of asking for some of your time

He couldn't find you, despite having quite the knack for it

It took him some time so he thought to rest

At the tower

"..professor?"

He.. found you

It was strange how people and things showed up once you stopped looking so hard

Twas amusing to some extent

"Are you alright?"

He watched you hesitate

Noting how you fiddled with your fingers

"..yeah, I've just been thinking."

"About?"

"...you."

He felt his heart leap, he hadn't been sure why

Was.. that the type of fondness he's been feeling?

"An-and of my future..! I'm sorry, that must've sounded strange-"

"Not at all."

"Oh, um.. then not sorry."

Byleth's laugh was soft and breathy

It was a tad scratchy yet it filled the air just as pleasantly

But then he offered you his hand, not speaking for a moment as he seemingly gathered his words

"Would you.. like to dance with me, (Y/n)?"

Neither of you could hear the music well

It was farther, people were farther, than you realized

"Even though there's no music?"

"Even though there's no music."

He smiled when you took his hand

A reassuring, clumsy dance

You and he weren't sure of how to properly move your feet, yet you managed

Swaying one way to another

He allowed you to escape from the worries that plagued your mind that night

But he wasn't able to shield you from the next

Edelgard's reveal was much too sudden, not just for him but for everyone

Flayn and another girl from a few years ago had returned, everything seemed fine- they were fine

Maybe if he didn't let his guard down, you wouldn't have been hit

He knew it was a minor wound, you'd live

But there was so much blood

And you were right beside him

The emotions, they were hard to keep in check

He had people to lead

When the initial encounter was over, he was the one to rush you to Manuela

"You're worked up over nothing, professor! They'll be fine with a few days rest."

She was right, but it was still hard to leave your side

Either way he was forced to

The Empire left no time to dwell

Although, as the information of the battle came and went, so did the mention of Byleth and Lady Rea

Everyone knew they were gone, but none could speak of it

So, when a certain man walked back into the monastery, you were flabbergasted

No words were passed between the both of you, yet you knew what this meant

There was a chance

And as he brought everyone together, the future grew even brighter

The hardships never seized, but they were easier to bare

Having to cut down his past students, having to cut down your own friends, it hurt even when you both tried to ignore it

It weighed heavily on everyone even after the war was finally put to an end

Some were able to move on in the coming months but others couldn't find it within themselves

He was one of those that wished to move on

And he decided that it would begin with you

"(Y/n), I was wondering if I could ask you something?"

He had caught you staring at the church's windows

"..oh, yes, of course."

You watched as he grew stiff, was he not expecting you to allow him?

"Well..."

He took a deep breath before bringing himself to one knee, bowing his head whilst looking at his hand

"What are you doing..?"

He huffed a laugh, " 'm trying to ask you to marry me."

"Oh..!"

"Well?"

"Ye..yes! I- I will!"

"I'm glad."

He was beyond glad, the smile that trembled was enough to get that across

The ring easily fit your finger, just as his hands fit in yours

He bumped your foreheads and then your nose with his own

The warmth of the watching sun bathed you both in happiness unlike any before

And, as he gently brought his lips to yours, the two of you found yourselves swaying... one way to the other

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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vypresuh · 3 years

Text

out of the blue | s.r

summary: After sitting and waiting for your planned date to show up, you sadly realized after some time that you were stood up. But there was someone else nearby and ready to be your company.

pairings: steve rogers x fem!reader

tags: fluffy fluff fluffers ♡

word count: 1K

The diner you agreed to meet at established a sense of intimacy and elegance with the dimly lit orange lighting that dangled above in the form of chandeliers. The aroma of different food pallets and ingredients that crested over your nostrils filled you with excitement for the meals to come. You sat on the lower entry floor as the dining area was separated by another platform that overlooked the city. The restaurant was a little fancy for your tastes, especially with the polished wine glasses and fine china plates that accompanied every table, but it was a date after all. And he was treating, so who were you to refuse?

You sat comfortably within the confines of the leather-cushioned booth, eagerly sipping on the pink-tinted wine that the waiter had poured for you. Your date hadn't yet arrived, leaving you to assess the rest of the atmosphere by your lonesome. Now that you could actually attune to your environment, you could hear the faint sound of music playing. The soft brush of piano keys. There weren’t any speakers overhead that you could see. Maybe there was a live band upstairs.

Yeah. This place was super fancy.

Minutes had passed, and you were a third through your wine, wanting to save a bulk of it for when your date arrived. You searched around for any sign of the man who was to accompany you, but there was no one else entering the building but other couples who seemed to be hooked onto the other without a care in the world. Ladies in nice dresses. Men in equally nice suits and dress shirts. There wasn’t a hair out of place on their heads or a piece of fabric dangling off of them. Not a crooked tie, or tag showing. They themselves looked even more expensive than the clothing they were wearing. You weren't donning anything too fancy, just a two-piece black halter and skirt set that slightly crumpled at your thighs, but fit your shapely form quite nicely. It was a little showy for the destination—your breasts didn't really have much room to hide in your top, but you decided to go all out. And your friends seemed to take a liking to it, so why not?

However, even with the comforting atmosphere and the music that played overhead, you were still feeling antsy. You fished your phone out of your purse and watched the screen come to life- the large white numbers plastered on your screen made your heart skip a beat. 9:20. He was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” A voice called out to you, pulling you from your crisis. It was the waitress who sat you. A redhead with curly hair and a kind, heart-shaped face. “Would you like to order in the meantime?”

You paused for a moment, looking for something to tell her. Working up the most half-cocked effort at a smile, you shook your head. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

She grinned back at you-more out of pity-and gave you a curt nod in return. “I’ll return with a refill for you.”

You thanked the girl and waited until she walked off to continue staring intensely at your phone screen in hopes that maybe you were reading the time wrong. Maybe you came too early? Maybe you got the day wrong? The location even? But even as you checked the message thread between the both of you, everything lined up.

Narcetti’s. 9:00 tonight. Can’t wait to see you ;)

You read over his message a few times before you let out an agitated sigh. That jackass stood you up.

You halfway wanted to cry and also storm out in a blubbering rage, but you were too irritated to even get the courage to leave. Instead you finished off your wine–downing the rest of its contents before gathering your things and standing.

“Hey! Sorry, I’m late.” You stopped in your tracks at the sound of a male’s voice.

Your eyes pulled up to meet a pair of azure blue hues- some of the deepest sets of blue that you had ever seen, on top of unfamiliar. He was looking at you, standing over your hunched over frame, and seemingly speaking to you, but you’ve never seen him before a day in your life. The man had combed over blonde hair, fair skin, and was wearing a blue-ish purple dress shirt that was slightly rolled up at his forearm. You hated to stare, but you could tell that he was surely stacked underneath his attire.

Confused, you looked around, thinking maybe he confused you for someone else. He did appear out of nowhere.

You chuckled softly as you flung your bag over your shoulder. “I’m sorry, um.. who are you?”

“Your date for tonight.” He said with a cheery smile before leaning closer to you, lowering his voice into a smooth whisper. “I apologize, I couldn't help but notice that you’d been sitting by yourself for a while. Then, I overheard. I didn't want you to be alone.”

Your cheeks flushed. How embarrassing. The waitress wasn't the only one to notice that you’d gotten stood up. But you could admit that it was sweet of him to come over and cover your ass.

“Thank you-”

“Steve.” He reached out for your hand and brought your knuckles up to his lips, placing a short, yet sweet peck onto them. “Steve Rogers. It's my pleasure. You look gorgeous by the way.”

For the first time all night a genuine smile found its way to you; spreading your plump cheeks wide enough for them to look like balloons.

“Thank you. It's nice to meet you, Steve Rogers. I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N. How about we start this date?” He crept behind you and pulled your chair back out for you.

You glanced back at him and bit down on your bottom lip, trying to contain the mere joy of the moment you felt with this almost complete stranger.

“Let’s.”

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers concept #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers #captain america x female reader #steve rogers x female reader #captain america angst #captain america fluff #captain america fanfic

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foodieforthoughts · 3 years

Note

Hiii, i love your blog and your writing style so i’m gonna make a request if you don’t mind: we often see Cap Sy being jealous of the reader, but what if sometimes is the other way around? like the reader being jealous of one of sy female ‘coworker’ because they have their work in common and they get along, and then Sy notices it and is all reassuring and stuff🥺🥺

Hey Anon bean. It was going to be this drabble for Mondays with Sy, but Henry's IG post distracted me. But here it is. 😁 And thank you so much for the request and for enjoying my work. I'm super soft today and everything is super fluffy. Hope you like it ❤️

Warning: So much fluff! 🥰

Title: Edge of Paradise

You tried really hard not to stare but the moment her hand touched your Captain's arm, you couldn't keep your cool. He seemed unhinged by the touch, continuing with his conversation like nothing had happened. But you knew the familiar flick of the woman's hair, the way she looked at Sy under her lashes and how her voice got a little higher when she laughed at his joke.

Involuntarily, you crumbled the piece of paper in your hand and threw it at the dustbin. Adjusting your apron around your waist, you went back to cleaning the bar top, wiping the pristine surface harder than necessary. The pub was alive with the usual Saturday night crowd of the the several army men living in the area around camp. Syverson had texted you he'll be there with his boys and would later drive you home after your shift.

But after the customary hello and a chivalrous peck on your cheek, he had gone off to mingle with his friends and her.

Tall, athletic and charismatic Lieutenant Gemma was everything you weren't. You often saw her with the men, boisterous and flirty, many a times singling out with Sy. It irked you sometimes when you saw her flirting with your man and hated that she had more things in common with him than you'll ever have. Sy was not a man to be unfaithful, you trusted him, but the thought still worried you when they were deployed together in a foreign land. You tried not to bring it up because you were afraid to come off as clingy and jealous. But when you saw them together, like right now when they were clinking their beer bottles and laughing with their peers, it pricked at your heart and made you wonder if you'll ever be enough.

"You're awfully quiet," Sy broke the silence in the car. You had been staring out the window, mind preoccupied with conflicting thoughts and self doubt. "Everything alright there, babe?" He asked, placing his hand on your knee.

You sighed. Looking down at your hands clasped in your lap, you quietly voiced your concern. "Do I make you happy?"

"Of course, darlin'. You make me very happy." He squeezed your knee, looking at you before turning his attention back to the road. Another moment of silence stretched between the two of you, only the rumble of the car's engine filling in the space as you drove down the busy road. Sy cleared his throat, grabbing your attention. "Does this have to do anything with the Lieutenant? I saw you looking at us."

You felt your cheeks heat up. You looked at him wide-eyed, opening and closing your mouth to form words in your defense but getting none out. Sy glanced at you again before veering the car to the side and parking it under a streetlight.

Turning in his seat to look at you, giving you his whole attention, Sy looked at you expectantly. Under his gaze you felt tiny, miniscule, like a little girl being caught red handed eyeing the forbidden candy jar. You brought your eyes back to staring at your hands which were clammy with anxious sweat.

"What's on your mind, darlin'?" Sy placed his finger underneath your chin and turned your face to him. "Tell me."

"Do you... ever want someone who's more like... You?"

Sy scrunched his face in confusion. "What?"

Biting your lower lip, you took a moment to calm your thumping heart. You were finally going to put your insecurities in front of the man you loved. You dreaded it, but also knew it was necessary for the peace of your mind. "Someone like her? Who knows and understand what you do? Do you regret being with a simple bartender like me?"

You watched as Sy's eyes softened. He tenderly smiled at you, reaching for your hands and taking them in his, not caring about your sweaty palms.

"You are not just a simple bartender, babe. You are extraordinary, in every way. I don't think about being with anyone but you." Bringing one hand to gently caress your cheek, Sy leaned forward and looked deeply in your eyes. Under the soft glow of the streetlight streaming in, Sy's azure eyes glistened like crystals, making you drown in them like the first time you had met him. "The only thing I regret is havin' not met you sooner."

Your eyes welled with tears when Sy's lips touched yours. They were soft against yours, reassuring you of his love. It had taken you only eleven days and two dates to realize you had fallen for the Captain and in Sy's words he had been "gone for good" from the moment he had sat at the bar and you had served him his drink.

Breaking the kiss, Sy sat back in his seat and only stared at you with a smile. He still had your hands in his, grasping at your fingers delicately.

"Okay," Sy said more to himself than you. "I guess I don't have to wait any longer."

"What?" You asked, watching as he proceeded to climb out of the car. You looked at him puzzled as he rounded the front to reach your side and held your door open. Taking his outstretched hand and jumping out of his truck, you followed him to stand in front of the car.

Taking a deep breath, Sy suddenly got down on one knee and fished out a blue box from his back pocket. Your clasped your hands over your open mouth, stunned and astonished at the turn of events. You took a staggered step behind, bringing your hand to place on the warm hood of the car, supporting your body as your legs turned to jelly. Your heartbeat rang in your ears as your entire body heated up, watching the love of your life kneeling down in front of you. Several cars drove by on the road with someone shouting "Say yes!" as they passed by you.

With a cheeky grin under his thick beard, Sy opened the box with the ring shining brilliantly inside. "I swear I'll ask again in a much romantic way." Taking out the ring and holding it up to you, Sy smiled. "Will you marry me, darlin'? Complete me?"

Not able to control any more of the tears that had been threatening to overflow, you cried as you nodded your head and managed to stutter a "Yes". Sy stood up and placed the ring on your finger, smiling from ear to ear as you flung your body at his outstretched arms. You buried your face in his shoulder, wetting his hoodie with your tears as he held you tightly against him.

"You don't have to worry about anything now. I'm all yours. You're the only one I ever want." Sy whispered before he twirled you around, laughing as you squealed with glee and pulled your face in a for breathtakingly passionate kiss.

#ask foodie #anon asks #captain syverson #Captain Syverson fanfic #captain syverson fluff #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic

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whatgaviiformes · 2 years

Text

Ficlet: Grotto

A/N: One of these days I will stop giving Gordon new boats, but it will not be this day. This piece is for two of @gumnut-logic’s Fluffember/Fluff & Fun, being posted in between the two prompts. So - day 20 Grotto and day 24- Singing. There’s some media below the cut as well. Enjoy! Warning for possible (minor) claustrophobia.

Words: 884

Character: Virgil, Gordon

-----

Grotto

“Where exactly are you taking me?” Virgil was used to joining Gordon for his sporadic ventures around the Kermadec Islands, but after the long walk over to Mateo through the underground bunkers, they’d exited through the top of the rocky cliffside. The view was breathtaking, Virgil couldn’t deny it, but he also wouldn’t put it past Gordon to lead him on a wild goose chase.

Not intentionally. Virgil appreciated his brother’s passion, but he was no marine biologist. And Gordon could talk your ear off about barnacles. There seemed nowhere else to go from here. So what was Gordon up to?

“I told you,” Gordon said, stretching his back out as he joined him in the open air, “the grotto.”

“We’ve been to the grotto numerous times, Gords.”

“By sea.” He grinned toothily, breathing in the wild sea air as it rustled through his hair. “I promise you’ll love this.”

It spoke of his trust for his brother that Virgil held back the heavy sigh. “So where are we headed from here?” He gestured out to the Pacific where sun rays danced in flickers over blue waves, framed with pearls of sea spray on the shore. In the distance, a pod of dolphins swam over the swells.

Okay, it really was beautiful. How did he get so lucky that this is what he woke up to every morning? His fingers twitched with the desire to paint, though he didn’t have his set on him. As he took out his phone, hoping to capture the scene while the dolphins were still about, Gordon stood on his tiptoes to lean over Virgil’s right shoulder in attempt to watch as he captured the landscape digitally.

“Perfect.” Gordon grinned. “You ready for the next bit?”

“There’s more?”

“Well, yeah. I didn’t bring you up here just for the cliff views.” Gordon said. “It’s lovely, but we could’ve just opened a window for that. We’re headed down there.” He pointed towards the side of the rock, and Virgil followed Gordon’s finger towards the narrow staircase built into the cliff.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope! That’s how we get to the grotto from here.”

The stairs were not as bad as Virgil originally thought they’d be based on his first glance, but he did have to take them a bit more carefully than Gordon did. His large boots were not made for small steps, and so Virgil was grateful for the handrail he could grasp with his left hand, while his right trailed over the Mateo geology, the heavily compressed layers of tephra that made up their islands.

As they approached the bottom of the cliff, Virgil realized there was a small dock where two small rowboats were tied up, innocently bobbing in liquid azure.

“Do you want Jake or Elwood?”

“What?”

“Jake?” Gordon pointed to the boat on the right. “Or Elwood?” He gestured to the boat on their left. “You know. We’re getting the band back together?”

“I know who the Blues Brothers are, Squid.” He rolled his eyes fondly but stepped towards the Elwood in response. “Is there a reason we couldn’t just take the motorboat over?”

“Yep,” Gordon responded, popping the p as he stepped into the back of the boat by the oars. “You’ll see.”

He kicked off the dock, maneuvering the boat around until they were faced back towards the rock. From this angle, Virgil could finally see the small cave opening, a black space in the rock, and ever so small. That’s where they were headed?!

“It’s only accessible during low tide,” Gordon shared unaware of the panic Virgil felt as his heartbeat rocketed. “Lean back when I tell you to.”

“Wha-!” He sputtered. “It’s safe, I promise,” Gordon answered. “Now, lean!”

Years of instinct, of responding the instant one of his brothers gave direction (because seconds could mean life or death), had Virgil leaning into the wooden center of the boat, while rock passed by his face and near his nose. Hearing Gordon’s echo-y whoop near his ear made him realize he’d closed his eyes somewhere along the way. He blinked himself back to a world where his heart worked properly and his lungs functioned and rocks didn’t sit inches from his face.

“That never gets old!” Gordon laughed, and the cave echoed back to him.

“A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“What do you mean?” Gordon questioned in the darkness. “I gave you warning.” As he spoke, he helped Virgil back into a sitting position.

“Oh, Wow.” He gasped in the space that met his gaze. Around them the waters glowed blue, luminescent even through the depths and reflecting crystalline silver shimmers on the cave walls around them. The space was large enough for their boat to move freely through, a hidden heavens behind the small crack in the rock, and Virgil felt his heart stutter in the beauty. “This is lovely.”

Rowing as they went, Gordon said, “That’s not even the best part. Try singing something.”

Virgil let the flicker of blue in the water pull the note from his gut, as it bounced from wall to wall, around, over, and through them. It permeated space and souls like the songs of nature and creation, and when Gordon joined his voice in harmony, the natural acoustics transmitted reverb down to their bones.

-----

End Note: media is from the Blue Grotto in Capri from my honeymoon in 2019.

#gavii scribit #thunderbirds fanfiction #fluffember2021 #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #ficlets and bits

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ghoultramp · 3 years

Text

patience [link x reader]

▷ loz

↳ pairing: link (botw) x f!reader

↳ content: fluff, first kiss, cuddles, mutual pining, comfort for inadequacy & self-doubt

↳ words: 2k

⇢ summary: you and link have been traveling and training together for months. with your insecurities baring down on you, you let him know just how bad you feel.

also available on ao3

⇢ note: i had a lot of fun writing this, i got my start writing with loz fanfiction -- haha! i like to think that gremlin boy botw link is a huge softy, it made me want to write more between link and this particular reader.

With the way the sky was beginning to glow with hues of pinks and oranges, you concluded that you weren’t being dramatic, you really had been here for hours. Your arms were feeling heavy bearing the weight of your sword and you were unsure how much longer your legs would be able to hold you upright.

You tried to steady yourself wholly as you watched the young man in front of you; he seemed calm. He always seemed calm. You tried desperately to ignore the doubt that was creeping in as he circled you.

Your eyes darted from his feet to the ornate sword held between his hands, to his bright, focused eyes and back again, you really were losing focus.

I have to get him this time.

You planted yourself on the heels of your boots, the ground beneath you dry from the day’s heat, and you scouted the gap between you; it was no more than a few feet. You applied effort to ease your uneven breathing, just like he’d taught you, even if it was just to listen to his footfalls.

You were sure he was smirking as he closed in on you, slowly and deliberately. It was agonizing and you wanted nothing more than to strike.

That’s just what he expects.

His words echoed in your subconscious: patience… you just need more patience.

His sky blue tunic fluttered in your peripheral vision. He was ridiculously quick, he wasn’t holding back now. You exhaled, emptying your lungs of air, before spinning on your right foot. You yelped as your left shin made contact with the butt of his sword as it swung out.

An unfortunate mistake that he’d easily countered and would no doubt reward you with a bruise.

Stumbling backward, you let go of your weapon as you tripped-up over yourself, hoping you might break your fall with your hands. Your fumbling was in vain as you fell on your rear with a soft thud. You stared up in horror, the tip of his sword directly in your line of sight as he stood over you.

“I’ll never get this right!” you protested, balling up your hand and hitting the ground.

Your cheeks burned bright and hot when he laughed.

“You’re a terrible teacher, Link,” you told him, pouting rather playfully as you folded your arms. “Goddess knows why I asked you for help.”

“What?! Come on!” His eyes widened, mortified at the accusation. “That’s hardly fair.”

You watched as Link took his sword in one hand, sheathing it in the worn scabbard at his side. He reached a slender, weathered hand out for you, motioning with a nod of his head for you to take it.

Appreciatively taking his hand, you let out an uncontrollable groan as you stood up. Even with Link taking some of the strain from you as you eased yourself upright, the sudden weight of your efforts bore you down. Link held you steady, but he was trembling as his hands held onto your biceps tightly.

“Maybe you’re right,” he began. You felt your bottom lip quiver and your eyes sting with the threat of tears. “You’ll never get this right if you continue to push yourself like this.”

Your beaten body deflated with a heavy sigh when Link let go of you. You watched as he knelt down.

“It’s been months,” you murmured, feeling ashamed, “I haven’t--”

“Stop,” he interjected, you were taken aback by his abruptness. You watched as he took your weapon into his hands. “I hear the way you talk about yourself,” Link confessed as he stood with ease, but you heard a sense of sadness in his voice, “about your training and this and that.”

He presented your weapon to you on two open palms, his arms stretched out. You grasped your sword by the hilt and let it hang rather unenthusiastically at your side.

“You have improved, you just don’t notice it because I’m so hard on you,” he enthused.

You didn’t have to look at him to hear that he wore a grin on his face, the pride he held for you was almost overwhelming.

“You have to understand,” he continued as he gently placed his palm on the small of your back, urging you to turn around, it was a gesture he probably thought nothing of but made your heart leap, “I was easy on you when you needed me to be easy on you.”

You nodded, beginning to understand, but maybe not believe him.

“But now, well,” he let out a chuckle, “I think you’re starting to give me a run for my rupees.”

You let out a hearty laugh at the audacity of his claim as you strolled in the direction of your shared camp, you felt the warmth of his palm that was still firmly planted at your back.

“I’m sure I would, Link,” you responded, overexaggerating the rolling of your eyes.

Your hands were busy while your eyes focused on something else entirely, hypnotized by the shadows that danced across his features as he tended to the fire. Your eyes slowly inspected each and every detail, from the way his own azure eyes were fixated on the flames, jostling the logs, to the way his dirtied, unruly blond hair framed his face, the way it had unraveled from his ponytail. You watched, utterly entranced as he lifted a hand to his face, somehow graceful as he gently tucked those stray strands behind his pointed, Hylian ear.

Beyond the crackling of flames and the creatures that sang their evening chorus, you heard the unmistakably soft hum of Link’s voice. Your gaze drifted down to his lips where he wore a soft smile tinged with a faint sadness. You felt a heaviness in your chest.

While Link had certainly softened during the long months of traveling and the countless hours of training, you found yourself craving these rare moments of vulnerability from him. You knew there was so much more than he might ever tell you, but it was in these fractures in time that you truly noticed how tragic his kind-hearted eyes were.

You watched as he threw his stick on to the make-shift fire and wipe his hands together on a rag tucked into his belt. You didn’t hear him when he called your name, only startled out of your daydream when he frantically waved an arm at you.

“Are you alright there?” Your cheeks reacted voluntarily to the concern in his voice, feeling them grow warmer by the second you quickly averted your eyes to look at your feet. Your heart fared no better when he quickly jumped to his feet. “I said, are you okay?”

He took hold of your wrist and shook it up and down. His face suddenly came into view; Link had bent down, awkwardly twisting his neck and torso to look up at you.

That damned cocky smile of his.

“Or are you just hungry?” he asked, followed by a toothy grin.

Link’s laugh was so care-free and childlike, even after you swatted his arm, but you felt nothing less than blessed to hear him laugh like that.

“I may take my time,” he reminded you, returning to his seat by the fire, “but I can be sure it’ll taste good.”

You watched as he sat down, patting the ground beside him.

“I’m not so sure about that, Link,” you mumbled, pulling a face at him, “I don’t want to eat Moblin guts again and you can’t make me, either.”

Link chuckled half-heartedly, shaking his head, as you settled down next to him. He watched as you pulled your knees to your chest, as you clutched your arms around your shins and your shoulders heaved with a rather heavy sigh.

You thought yourself silly for hoping Link might start humming again; you wished for anything that might relax you, relieve you of your burdening inadequacies. You felt the uncomfortable sting of tears, far too exhausted to halt the rampancy of your thoughts, you set your chin in the dip between your knees.

You felt indifferent when Link presented the roasted vegetables and meats in a large serving bowl. Under different circumstances, he might playfully wave it about in front of you, tonight he saw just how upset you were.

You heard him shuffle beside you, afraid that if you moved to look at him your tears might fall, you kept your stare low and ahead of you. A gentle weight fell around your shoulders and you realized that Link had draped a blanket over you; you finally felt a tear fall as he tucked it around you.

Link reacted quickly when you heard you sniffle, his hands placed firmly on your shoulders while he moved his head to look at you. He caught the sight of the wet trails your tears were making as they glistened in the light of the fire. When you saw yet more concern on his face, you wanted to let go and bawl.

“I’m sorry,” your voice was small, trembling.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his brows furrowed with genuine incredulity.

“I’ll never be--” you choked on your words as you pushed back your outburst. You appreciated Link’s patience as he waited for you to continue, “I was so foolish to think I could ever be good enough.”

You felt your shoulders shudder beneath his hands as your sobs came freely, you wouldn’t know if he would ever understand just how loaded your statement was. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t just about today. There was too much to say, too much you felt, it was crushing and overwhelming.

“Good enough?” his voice was soft as he brought one of his hands close to your face, gently brushing tear-soaked strands of hair behind your ear. “Maybe I was too hard on--”

“It’s not that--” your words escaped your mouth quicker than your brain could process, the immediate regret showed in your wide eyes.

Instead of backing away from you, as you had so expected, you felt Link’s hand brush along your jaw to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You didn’t resist when he gently lifted your face to look at him, your arms relaxed to your sides and you let your knees rest in front of you.

You watched his eyes as they danced across your features.

“You’ve always been good enough,” he told you, you were barely able to make out his words as he let go of your chin.

You felt yourself relax as his fingers danced across your cheek, up to your eyebrow where he gently brushed at it with his thumb. He caressed your face as he brought his hand back down where he rested his thumb on your bottom lip.

Your lip quivered, his unexpected, but welcomed touch made you more nervous than you had been in a long time.

“And you’ve always been enough,” he continued, the slightest bit closer to you.

You felt the pull of your instincts as you moved with him, ever so slightly, feeling dizzy as your lips finally met. You felt Link’s thumb gently brush at your tear-sodden cheek, wiping under your eye; his gentle gesture almost made you burst.

Softly taking either side of your face in both his hands, he gently relieved your lips of his. You opened your eyes to meet his face looking as flushed as yours felt but his eyes appeared serious as he looked at you.

“You’ll always be enough,” he meant it.

You felt the tickle of a smile at the corner of your lips just before he pulled you into an awkward hug. He made an unintelligible sound before returning to his original seat in front of the fire, you let the smile beam, rubbing at your now-dry cheeks as he began patting the space in front of him.

Pulling the blanket with you, shuffling as best you could, you curled yourself in between his legs. Link gave a soft chuckle when you lay your head against his broad chest, pulling the blanket into place around the pair of you.

You both sat there, basking in the warm, amber glow of the fire, lost in the pools of each other's eyes.

Neither of you spoke, neither of you had to.

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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

Text

Buon Compleanno (Don Giorno x Fem! Reader)

It's as the name says... This fic is close to my heart and I really enjoyed writing it for our Golden king's birthday. Mostly fluff, it does contain mentions of alcohol consumption though. I hope you all enjoy. ❤️🎊🎉😘🐞💭

P. S. Let the fluff ensue 💐

Word count: 2.5k

“So Mista... Fugo, are things ready on your end? I’ve got confirmation from North Island that everything is ready for us on their end. We have to stagger our arrivals so that Giorno doesn’t actually see you guys there until the party. All our villas are ready for our arrival and his presents are being safe guarded there until we arrive,” you beamed as you secretly went over the final checklist for Giorno’s birthday get away with the team and Trish.

Your friends had ever so thoughtfully come over to see you and Giorno off… well more so to iron out the last details of your master plan, but your boyfriend didn’t need to know that. Attempting to keep your plans for his birthday hidden from him was a near impossible feat. Trying to get him to take some time off and just live for himself was an even bigger task, but being who you are, you managed to plan everything down to the finest detail.

Trying to get the entire island to yourselves and plan the party of a century for your closest allies was a mammoth task, but it was what you felt Giorno deserved. In the years that he’s spent running Passione, he had always placed his own needs secondary to the needs of the organization, which is why you resolved to give him the best experience imaginable for his 21st birthday.

“Hi Giorno! We were just talking about you,” piped up Trish in a voice loud enough to alert everyone to the young don’s looming presence. Eyes widening for a split second, you manage to compose yourself without him catching on and flashed him a pleasant smile. You were taken aback by how handsome he looked dressed down in an azure linen Armani suit, hair braided loosely and cascading down his shoulder. He took his place at your side, casually circling his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Morning everyone, what’s this about me?”

“Oh, we’re just discussing what we’re going to be doing when you’re away… you know, cats and mice and the like,” joked Fugo, earning him a worried look from Giorno.

“Gosh, relax my love… come on, we have to go, it’s a pretty long flight,”

“Alright, alright, let’s go bella. Well, I’ll see you all in a few days’ time,” leaving to the collective goodbye wishes of your friends you set off to catch the private jet which would take you to the little piece of heaven in the Seychelles.

Upon landing at the airport, you were just one short helicopter flight away from your destination. Giorno’s demeanor was akin to that of a child on Christmas eve, taking in his beautiful surroundings on the helicopter. Stepping onto the helipad, you were greeted by the wonderful fresh scents of the salty sea air, clear blue seas and white sandy beaches for as far as the eye could see. After the welcome, you were lead to the main villa, given your golf cart and allowed yourselves to get settled in for the rest of the night, choosing to spend a quiet night lounging on the balcony overlooking the ocean.

Giorno couldn’t help but stare at your beautiful form. The way the moonlight bounced off the ocean behind you and illuminated your skin mesmerized him. He had known you ever since he had taken over Passione. You served as a valuable ally when it came to weeding out the members who were still unwilling to adopt his ideals. As the years marched on, he started seeking out your company more and more, until it became apparent that he was at his happiest when he was around you… and once the realization had dawned on him, he wasted no time in making you his. You fell hard, and fast, and it was so easy fall into step with each other’s lives, as if you had been created just for each other.

“Bella, this is incredible, I know I put up a bit of a fight but I’m so glad you did this…” he uttered with a dreamy look on his face.

“I’m glad you think so my love, you’re going to love the day I have planned for us tomorrow… Ah! Actually, later on today," you say, glancing at your watch, "it’s just past midnight! Happy birthday my love! I hope you know how much I love you, and I’m incredibly proud of you and all you have managed to accomplish at such a young age… you’re… you’re pretty amazing you know,” the emotions swirled around in Giorno’s eyes while listening to your heartfelt speech.

“(y/n) … I… you’re… I just love you so much tesoro, you’re everything I could ever want,”

“I love you too Gio… come on, it’s late, let’s get some rest,” you say while leading him to bed.

You rose early, just as the sun made its glorious appearance over the ocean. As early as you had woken up though, Giorno was already awake, nursing a cup of coffee as he stared pensively at the brilliant blue water.

“Good morning handsome, penny for your thoughts?” you greeted your lover, wrapping your arms lovingly around his shoulders and nuzzling into his soft hair.

“Good morning principessa… I’m just thinking about how much I love you…”

“Oh? Is that so, Mr. Giovanna? Well prepare to love me even more, go get ready, we have lots to do today,” you say, a lovely light, lilt coloring your voice.

“Any hints?”

“Wear something comfortable, something that we can walk around in,”

With that, your day had started with a guided hike through the island. Between Giorno’s life-imbuing ability and your affinity for adventure, you were both mesmerized by the flora and fauna you encountered on the hike. Once that was over you looked forward to coming back to a special couple’s massage which eased your sore muscles and relaxed you both into a dreamlike state. Finally, after your last treatments, you could get ready for your “dinner” at the piazza. Feeling a sense of pride as you put on the last of your accessories, you smiled at your reflection in the mirror while inspecting your stunning outfit, and grew even happier when you saw Giorno walking out in a casual charcoal grey Dior suit which matched your dress, but not his expression unfortunately.

“What’s the matter my love? You look great by the way…”

“Thank you tesoro… you’re quite the vision yourself,” standing behind you, sharing the mirror, he raked his fingers through his uncooperative hair, sighing in annoyance.

“Gio, stop- here, sit down, I’ll help you,” you say as you gently brush out the tangles and scrunch the wave back into his lovely golden hair. You carefully braid the length of his mane but leave his signature triad of ringlets out, admiring how beautifully the shorter sections of his hair framed his face.

“There…” you leaned back to admire your efforts, acknowledging the fact that you had a particularly exquisite model as well.

“Are you sure this is fine my love?” there was a hint of doubt in Giorno’s voice, but you made sure to banish any such thoughts.

“Of course, I love your hair like this,”

“Well, that’s good enough for me. Shall we leave my princess?”

“Yes… but can I drive the golf cart?” you ask, extending your arm to him, gesturing for the keys.

Speeding past the rest of the villas, you just wanted to make sure that everyone was already at the piazza ready to surprise the young don.

“Are you sure we’re at the right place my love? Or should we be at a different entrance, this looks like it’s closed,”

“Yes caro, come on, I’m sure the staff are inside… I’ve picked up on your habit of wanting to dine in solitude,” you explain as you walk towards the entrance hand in hand. Stepping into the restaurant, the lights dipped and instantly got brighter revealing your closest friends jumping out of their hiding spots with a collective, rambunctious yell of “surprise”, startling your unsuspecting boyfriend.

“Happy birthday my love,” you softly say once again, as the lively music started to play in the background.

“You… did all of this? For me?”

“Of course bello mio, well, I did have help though” you gestured behind Giorno, pointing out Mista, Trish and Fugo walking towards you both.

“Oi, happy birthday Giogio, haha, you look like you need a drink, I’ll be right back,” said Fugo as he went to order the first round of drinks for your little group. Between flitting amongst your guests, dancing with your handsome beau, and stealing moments away to be alone him, you almost forgot to give him his gifts, which were safely stored in the wine cellar of the establishment.

“Well, what do you think my love?” Giorno’s eyes widened when he saw the glass-encased, white Fender Stratocaster signed by just about every rock star, most importantly, his favorite guitarist, Jeff Beck.

“I’ve been looking for this for the longest time… how did you find it tesoro?”

“I also know some people… that’s not all, look next to it…” you motioned towards 5 Morocco solander boxes that housed a rare first edition of the complete 10 volumes of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables.

“I thought that might look quite beautiful in your study… adding something especially meaningful to your collection,”

“I’m speechless (y/n) … you’ve gone to such great lengths…” you hush him with a passionate kiss preventing him from gushing about your efforts as you were determined to make this night about him.

“I’m sure we’ve been gone for too long, lets rejoin our guests my love,” you started to walk towards the staircase exiting the wine cellar, but you were pulled back against Giorno’s broad chest, grasping your face in his hand, he kissed you with so much fervor this time, leaving you flustered and battling to calm your racing heart. Noticing the effect, he managed to have on you, he gently coaxed you back upstairs with a wicked smirk.

“Hey, you’re back, we’ve been looking all over for you two. We have one more person who wants to say hello,” with a soft smile, Trish reaches behind her to pull out coco jumbo, which meant only one thing…

“Signore Polnareff! Even you…”

“You know I’ve always had a soft spot for pretty girls Giorno… Joyeux anniversaire! You’re a brave young man with a good head on your shoulders and integrity in your heart, always hold on to that,”

“Thank you signore Polnareff, it means a lot coming from you, considering…” cutting him off before Giorno could complete his sentence, Polnareff attempted to lighten the mood.

“Non non non, no sad thoughts tonight, get this man a drink someone, you’re all slacking here,” he said looking at you as you mouthed a small thank you in his direction.

“(y/n), you’ve really outdone yourself. Giogio, you’re a lucky man,” said Mista as he brought a special bottle of champagne for you all to raise a toast with. “Alright, while we’re all here in the same place, I just want to say that you’re all important to me…”

“Mista’s drunk guys, prepare yourselves,” Trish says with an eye roll resulting in hushed giggles as the gunslinger tried to (unsuccessfully) arrange his sentimental thoughts.

Unable to stand it any longer, Trish takes over and pays homage to Giorno, as well as the special people who had given everything in order for them to live, enabling them to carry on their will.

As the party raged on, you took a small break in a dim corner of the piazza, and took a moment to marvel at the fruits of your labor. Everybody was having the best time, including Giorno. After being called away by one of his associates, it filled your heart with fluttery sensations watching the man you loved finally able to act his age for once.

“May I sit with you, carina?” startled out of your musings, you find an old friend standing over you.

“Lorenzo, of course, please, have a seat,” you offer emphatically.

“So, how is one half of Passione’s power couple doing?” his question earning a loud giggle from you. You continued to make conversation with Lorenzo, until Trish came to inform you that one of the service providers needed to confirm a few details with you, so you politely excused yourself and followed Trish. You were confused as she lead you to a secluded part of the beach, where you find Giorno standing alone, staring broodingly at the ocean for the second time that day. You realized that she just made an excuse draw you away to check on Giorno, being slightly concerned yourself after seeing the expression on his face.

“Gio? My love, what’s the matter? Did you just need some fresh air?” he turned to faced you with the softest smile.

“You know bella, I’ve loved you so deeply for years now… you always know what I need… even before I do. I never really feel complete anymore unless you’re with me… which is strange because I’ve always been content on my own. And then it hit me, you will always hold a part of me, and I’ll always seek you out because of it… You’ve given me probably the best experience of my life tonight, but, there’s just one more thing I would like from you to make the day perfect…” you felt light-headed when you saw Giorno moving to kneel down on one knee, pulling out a little trinket box, opening it to reveal the most beautiful ring.

“(y/n), would you give me the greatest gift and agree to spend the rest of your life with me as my wife?”

Emotions tugged at your pretty features, as you whispered a breathy affirmation, while nodding excitedly. Exhaling sharply with a stunning smile, Giorno got back to his feet and placed the elegant ring on your finger, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss thereafter. You threw your arms around his neck, and held him tightly, before the realization dawned on you.

“Wait! How long have you been planning this, Gio? Your question was met with his soft, exasperated laugh.

“Oh! For the longest time amore, I’ll admit though, your plans had forced me to adapt my own, but I had some help in achieving all of this… Trish is a lifesaver,” explained your new fiancé with a hint of pride in his voice.

“I love you Gio, but you managed to hijack your own celebration… I don’t know what to do with you!” the mock exasperation dripping from your voice drew a small laugh from Giorno.

“That’s your problem now tesoro, you already agreed to marry me, no take backs,” with that, you both decide to return to the festivities. Intertwining your fingers with his as you slowly walked back, you both stole loving glances at each other, communicating your intense affections for each other through your eyes alone… perhaps it was as he said, you mused… that a part of your soul resided with him also, and so you always sought him out to feel complete too, just as he did with you.

#giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #giorno x y/n #jojo x reader #jjba x reader #giorno #giorno giovanna #don giorno #don giovanna #vento aureo #jjba #golden wind #jojo's bizarre adventure #giogio #jojo no kimyou na bouken #Happy birthday Giorno #jjba fanfic #jjba fluff #my writing

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h0unds-of-h3ll · 3 years

Text

Talking to the moon

The rumors and trauma lived inside his head in fact it ate him alive. Each and everyday lifeless and a black cloud hung over his head. Except when he received and a test message from an unknown number. He knew it was unknown for three reasons. 1) Everyone knew to not text him or disturb him unless he contacted them first. 2) He could recite his entire list of contacts over anything else in his life. And the third was that he didn’t know that this unknown message would change him forever.

Word count: 15,000 *im so sorryyyy*

This is another dreaded Bucky Barnes x reader fic.

Viewers beware you are in for a scare with the: fluff, Bucky is a wanna be alcoholic, blood, angst, cheesy tropes *wrong number,etc*, bad jokes, one liners, awkwardness, sexual innuendos, mentioned sexual harassment, suicidal thoughts, depression, murder, slight dark Bucky who’s just trying to get through life, Sam Wilson mentioned, astrology and planets, knifes, ptsd, nightmares and terrors, flashbacks, sad bitch Bucky missing Steven and using the reader as a better therapist then the certified one, she/her pronouns used for the reader, mostly from Buckys POV, she/you referring to the reader JOHN WALKER SLANDER NO HATE TO THE ACTOR, glass.

(This is dedicated to my friend, tiny adjustments to buckys story and I am dearly sorry if I didn’t write bucky true to his character!)

He choked awake on the air that never left his cold lungs, meanwhile, his skin was afire. A coat of sweat coated him, he slept shirtless since this occurred so often. Always waking in the depth of night to little to no light, only the low gleam of the moon shone through his window near his kitchen along with the soft luminosity of the television sat in front of the sofa. One that he refused to sleep on. He couldn't even sleep on the soft bed tucked in the back corner of the room down the hall in his apartment. He debated why he just wouldn't move into a studio apartment instead of the one he resides in.

He huffed staggeringly and his eyes falling to the ground, searching for something that was never there. Tranquility. His brain trying to calm itself in some form, it never worked it took hours for it to. Even then it never lasted. He suffers another day's trauma trying to sort the world back into order. Sam would often notice but knew to never ask him about it. He knew from the months working together asking and attempting to comfort Bucky often led to arguments. Bucky strongly knew this was nothing and that others were just blowing it out of proportion.

That also led to bias work and Bucky not doing his best, since Sam put him in a bad mood beforehand. Bucky went to therapy. He was more forced than offered, the government felt he was more of a ticking bomb than anything else. Bucky thought of it as more of a joke than anything.

There was no sense in for him to go to the sessions. He often found himself trying to find excuses to skip sessions. He thought that the past is the past and trying to fix it wasn't a possibility. Bucky dealt with it the way he could. He pushed it deep, deep, down in the roaring sea of his mind and dealt with it later. Only in his dreams did it resurface to haunt him. Always making him uptight and tired from the lack of sleep.

However, at this point, he was use to the torture of it all. His brain is his worst enemy. Through shaky breath fanned on his arm, he was crouched over his left leg up his metal arm resting over his knee his other arm holding his weight. He watched the glow of the tv, his chest heaved in exasperation.

Nothing piqued his interest in broadcasting. It was all the same mumbo jumbo of stereotypical things like romance, the reality that was depicting the species as inhumane, the comedy he didn't understand, only one channel did hold his interest.

Perhaps it worsened his mental state but he didn't care and it was the news. It was all the current disasters of the world and the avengers trying to stabilize the circumstances and the best part of it all how disturbing the world is. Even if his bringing was normal to where he is now, he'd most likely be a deeply tormented individual.

He nearly had heart failure when a banner at the bottom of the screen read "John Walker elected as the new Captain America." In blinding letters. Above the banner was John Walker himself standing in front of the podium a hand raised in a gesture to recognize the audience's howl.

Buckys head burst with memories of Hydra and the way it evoked him. The way of how Hydra forced him to be something he wasn't. John Walker was the perfect example of an alternate reality with a substitute Steve. Everything Steve was for John Walker was against.

Images flashed in his head. He put his hands on his head his natural one warm and clammy, in contrast to the bitter cold one. It just gave his flashbacks even more fuel. Living with a constant reminder of who he is. A monster.

He grabbed tightly onto his hair the strands were being plucked as this was being written. He felt small patches of balding from this happening so regularly. His legs parted and creased by the knees. His face strained into pain. His extensive wrinkles from age, noticeable, and worsened from him doing so.

His blanket thrown away to the side with disregard, he started to rock softly front and back. The wood floor burned his tailbone from him sitting on it for so long. Suddenly he felt a different pain. A killer one.

The beige cabinets thrown open papers and documents scattered everywhere. The dark grey of a ceiling of the shelter peered over him judgingly. His arm pushed down into the metal of the chair burned from the uncomfortable position. The bolts leaving deep indentions in his skin. The helmet pressed tightly to his skull leaving him render less against the horror of hearing the words. So many times he had to go through this routine, the monitors loud and buzzing. He bit down strenuously onto the guard in his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. The electricity drumming into his head, his brain setting fire to its system, he feels it in his muscles, in his blood, the veins that pop in his neck. The tubes behind his head generated and pumped large amounts which umped higher and higher in velocity each time an activation word was spoken loud and clearly. Spat carelessly not in his mother's tongue, he would never think of the language to be beautiful only to be a monstrosity of the world one of the greatest. His dull fingernails dug into the chair it did nothing other than to give him some sort of balance. He screamed but it was muffled to an extent of the guard doing its purpose. "Daybreak."

The announcer spoke into the fuzzy black microphone that's the only word he made out to hear. The daily news report drone on for what of which he came back into reality.

He opened his azure eyes and looked to the left the window that sat in the middle of a pale white wall and his kitchen showed the red bloom of the sun and the tall buildings of the city.

He felt resentful towards the time of day since his flashbacks usually only lasted a minute or so.

Lately, they've grown in duration and that stroke dread into him. He was horrified that someone would say or do an act that would put him in a state of mind. One that he wished to not be in.

Somedays he just yearned to be left for dead in the snowfall of the forest. Notably, so far from the arm that was taken from him that it would be hidden to the world for eons. And from the pessimism of the clouds above him.

He grew irritably hot and damp from the excessive sweat he did to himself, he felt everything was his fault, enlisting, going on the train, helping Steve.

He hated himself for a moment realizing what he thought, he felt selfish for thinking that Steve did this to punish him. He sighed and laid his head tilted to the plastered ceiling.

His neck outstretched. His legs and his arm, limp from the compression of him tensing them for so long. His muscles trying their hardest to relax. His figure seeming to be the equivalent of a sack of potatoes.

He didn't care about how he presented, perhaps it was his past with being a soldier the constant thriving to be the strongest and the son of Hercules. He pushed so far that his body couldn't endure the strength he put it through.

Super soldier serum and all, he was still just a man. He was still human deep into the last atom of his DNA. His eyes nonchalantly examined his ceiling a soft pale white like the rest of his apartment, it reminded him of the moon outside.

If he were to take out his ceiling it'd be right above him. He was enamored by how it seemed to have an ever-lasting glow. He let out a shaky huff then fell ever quiet. Until the day grew old.

Yori had scheduled a lunch meeting earlier that week, they had a routine. Yori attended and Bucky paid. This happened every Wednesday they would meet up and discuss whatever they wished. Yori was just an old decaying man who lived in Chinatown, he lived across from Bucky's building. Yori was kind to the ones he knew.

It was otherwise to people he didn't. After Yori's son died it was hard to, if he only knew who Bucky was entirely he'd die out of shock. Bucky swore to tell him but honestly, Yori was his only friend he had out of work, and even that he couldn't let himself go and confide in Sam.

So here he was in a plain-back leather jacket, some jeans and the same pair of boots he had since the war. He didn't understand the fashion trends of late. Last week he and Yori saw a woman in a bright suit, it looked like a second skin from how tight it was.

Yori was simple-minded as he was and had similar morals and interests. It was disheartening to say that Bucky had a sort of envy for Yori, Bucky wished to have lived a normal life of maybe dying in the war or growing old and gray like Yori.

Get married, have a couple of kids, live a normal life. He understood greatly why Steve went back but he never fully forgave him for it. He felt like Steve was selfish for doing so, but isn't everyone? Steve got a normal life while Bucky had to rot in the world alone and was terrorized by his brain.

He crossed his arms, the leather making a strange sound since he gripped himself so tightly. He sat up straight, his shoulders back, his face set with a profound scowl. It forever imprinted on his face the dark scruff of a new beard growing in.

He hated how it meant uncleanliness, but he didn't have the motivation to shave it off, there wasn't a reason to anyway. He hadn't been on a date in years, centuries even.

He poked and played with his sushi that Yori said was great to try at least once. Bucky felt bad and tried a bite, he had to give credit for a thing so small having to be so spicy. That was about the first and last bite Bucky had. Since then he just jabbed at it with one of the sticks.

The other laid across the small complimentary plate with the rest of the remains of the sushi he failed to eat, he lost his appetite a few weeks ago.

He's been nursing a strong drink called Shōchū. Every time Bucky ordered it Yori said that he put an accent on it and that it made him sound like a foreigner. Although Bucky didn't know how since he was fluent but that was an argument for another day.

The employees there grew to know that they should just leave the bottle there since he usually drinks half their supply on each visit.

He just simply didn't think eating was something he needed. Recently things just seemed to bore him to the point where things that he needed to do he couldn't.

All because his brain tells him this doesn't matter. He's just lived so long from numerous life-ending things and he'd be damned if he'd kick the bucket from starvation.

"That scowl of yours is going to scare the women away," Yori spoke, breaking Bucky out of his trance. Bucky only saw the select few people around them and the women that Yori was referring to were a few older women with smiles and when Bucky turned to look they suggestively waved their fingers.

When Bucky looked back Yori smiled and waved and went back to inhaling noodles. Bucky looked at the man across from him in the small sushi restaurant he grew to know too well, they always sat in the same place a small table near the front of the glass doors.

Some posters and decorations were scattered throughout the small building. The dim lanterns gleam radiantly against the cryptic night. It rained before and the droplets of rain still reside on the windows behind Yori.

Yori slurped pounds of noodles into his mouth at a time, the residue of it was left behind on Yori's pale-white mustache. Bucky was surprised that the stick didn't break from the weight of it. Bucky's eyebrows furrowed together in thought, his posture relaxing.

He laughed inside his shoulders coming up and the side of his lips curved in a smirk. The demeanor he held was appealing from afar, (specifically to the cougars adjacent from where they were.)The conversation always breaking Bucky's previous mood, Yori was very light-hearted when he wasn't in a mood. Especially when he had food and good company. He decided to further it:

"What do you know about the ladies here that I don't?" Yori swallowed a big round lump in his throat slowly going down to his stomach, he must've had a pile of noodles in it by now.

"Well first off all, don't test my ways of making them swoon over me," Yori stated it more of a threat than a declaration. He used his chopsticks and pointed them at Bucky and a warning manner.

His eyebrows perked up and the wrinkles on his forehead worsened similar to the ones that grew on Bucky. His eyes became wide at the thought of being disrespected like the way Bucky just did.

"Second of all, you don't understand how to look without your eyes." And with that Yori chowed down once again on his bucket of noodles. Bucky couldn't perceive Yori's advice, what does seeing without your eyes even could mean?

His smirk faltered into his normal resting face which Yori liked to remark and say was the equivalent to people putting the trash into his garbage can. There was no rhyme or reason for people to do so but they just did.

Just like the way Bucky was always in a sour mood it reminded him of himself always being angry at the world because of other people.

"Have you been seeing anyone lately, if not that might be the cause of your problems," Yori spoke as if he knew everything about Bucky and maybe he could Truth it since Hydra and after being the winter soldier and Steve passing.

Bucky hadn't really been ready to mingle. He just knew he had too much baggage for a partner to put on deal with him. Every now and then when he felt completely alone he downloaded some dating app he didn't actually want and deleted it on the same night.

He had flings here and there and since he met Yori he had been setting him up on dates whether Bucky liked it or not. None of them worked out since Bucky didn't try; he was too wrapped up in his own problems to be listening to hers.

Bucky's gloved metal hand wrapped behind his neck and scratched his stubble coming back down.

"You know Yori surprisingly enough I haven't," Bucky spoke grimly and clutched his teeth. He knew Yori was going to tell him off. He winced when he heard Yori's chopsticks fall into the cup of noodles. Yori sat back into his wooden chair, his arms crossed and a displeased look came across his face.

"And why is that?" Bucky began to open his mouth "Don't give me some excuse that you always give me or this will be our last meeting." Yori stated in a harsh manner with his face twisted in that fatherly manner. "I don't understand why it's a great value to you, to know about my love life,"

Bucky spoke of it as a statement but it came out more as a question. Yori quieted and thought for a moment thinking of the proper words to say. "The stars are aligned in your favor, in which that means you should try and put effort into those small details in what is grief, if not love persevering."

Bucky sat there thinking over the things Yori told him. Bucky stretched his arm out to sip on the Shōchū. He was about a quarter way through. They'd only been there for two hours.

Since Yori met Bucky he learned that people can't always be that bad. Unless of course, you're the type who knocks over his trash can and the men don't pick it up and so it rots to hell when he fills it.

Bucky sighed and reached for the half-full glass of Shōchū. Yori never favored seeing him drink. It was too similar to him drinking when his son passed.

So Yori being Yori he made a little catapult with his chopsticks and put a small piece of noodle into his device and flicked it at Bucky. Bucky glared at him and touched the spot where it hit. Right in the middle of his creased eyebrows. The residue of the noodle followed his fingers Yori went back to eating but before he did so he gave a word to Bucky

"You're not supposed to think about how to see without your eyes. It defeats the purpose entirely if you think about it as strongly as you do, I may have some years under my belt of practicing but you are going to go nowhere soon with the troubles that live in your scowl."

He paused searching into Bucky's storm-driven eyes, Yori saw nothing that lived behind them other than sorrow. It pained Yori to see his friend in such a state.

Yori rested his hands on the table interlaced in front of him, trying to find anything worth reviving if it wasn't already killed behind Bucky's aurora. But then all of a sudden a glimmer, a spark you could say flitted inside the fellow in front of him.

Yori leaned back in his chair and smiled softly, his eyes creasing. "Ah, there it is," Yori spoke softly. Bucky confused more than he had ever been in his life questioned everything.

He had no idea what Yori was doing or as to why he endured the unwanted staring contest they just had. Then his answers were spoken by the one who created the questions.

"The way you see without your eyes is simply to be at peace with yourself, look at the moon and the stars.

They have no troubles or worries and they are the most looked at things in the entire universe no matter where you are. They see everything, yet they still choose to have no regard for the ones that judge them. For you young sir, for them to have that happiness you take that amount doubled."

Bucky scoffed that he didn't intend to be disrespectful, but how in the world was he supposed to be calm when he knew Yori's speech was literal. Yori never made jokes or metaphors, he learned that the hard way.

He uncrossed his arms for the first time since they sat down, and rested his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward in the wooden chair. He squinted his eyes, questioning Yori's statement.

He knew Yori hated to be questioned and tested, they always led to night and day-long arguments that never fully were resolved. Maybe it was the half bottle of Shōchū he drank that made him confident. He spoke rough and dry from it taking over his throat and liver.

"So let me get this straight. the only way I can find peace and happiness is if I talk to the stars and the moon? Yori, you've got to be joking." Yori grew agitated but his composure remained ever the slightest of relaxation.

Yori reached towards the back of his pants to retrieve something while glaring at Bucky and the staring contest resumed. Bucky thought for a moment that Yori was going to shoot him in point-blank range in front of the small company that was set at different tables all over the place.

Instead, Yori pulled out a small crumbling paperback book with the cover filled with stars and galaxy-type depictions and inscribed above it was

"Talking to the moon, and other astronomic casualties"

Yori sat the book gently on the side of the table he got up and before he left he looked at Bucky for a long while before turning and walking out the door. Not another word was spoken between them until the next Wednesday.

Bucky walked home that night by himself. Usually, he would walk with Yori but what happened at the sushi place he felt disturbed by. He lost his temper and he never should've.

He's been put in worse situations than thinking that Yori made him out to be a fool for believing that the stars could talk. Who knows if they do. He should've been more open-minded, he's just been riled up from the flashbacks.

Shōchū seemed to make things worse but he'd forget about things for a while. He wanted to apologize to Yori;

he severely drowned the urge. With the rest of the bottle. Yes, the restaurant let him take the rest. He had to pay handsomely. He thought it was worth it until he had to walk up the stairs to get into his apartment. He swayed back and forth mostly to the left. The arm weighed more when he was like this.

He had not a thought in mind about the world other than seeing the bottom of the clear bottle made of glass.

He tried to walk up the stairs he really did but his chunky boots made it hard to judge the height of the stairs. He got about halfway up them and then he fell. He smashed his chin against the wood and his chin started to bleed. He didn't try to stop the fall.

His right hand was occupied with the bottle. His thick scarred fingers tied around the neck of it securely. He'd kill anything that would try to take it away from him. He pushed himself up off the stair and he winced in pain when his right hand was now in the pile of glass. It fell and broke when he did.

His back burned with being indented from laying on the stairs. His chin seeped down onto the pit of his neck where his jaw formed.

He pushed slowly up off the stairs entirely putting his damaged hand behind his back. How ironic that his normal flesh is the damaged one.

He lifted off with the metal one. He clutched his wrist and pinched it tightly with the metal one.

Trying to cut off blood flow so it won't get more infected than it already had. He walked to his apartment shamefully. His head hung down low, too insecure and awkward about what happened. His jaw stern and gritted he was embarrassed.

The alcohol dimmed it but it was still a major event. He'd hit the rock bottom of an endless pit.

He dug out his key in his pocket and went inside. When he entered he always felt worse than he had left. Yet he never had a problem leaving. It always felt like he was welcomed back into a deep aurora of depression.

He stepped on the back of his boots and left them by the door. He walked to the bathroom but he stopped and turned to look at the tv. There he was again in all his glory. John Walker.

Although this time in his clutches was Steve's shield. He grew saddened by the fact Sam gave it over. He felt betrayed. Sam was the only one he knew other than him how valuable that was and John Walker out of all people had it in his possession.

He'd have a long discussion with Sam in the near future about this. He was always infuriated by John but now he couldn't put it into words. Except for the word imposterous.

Bucky felt a sharp pain in his wrist and when he looked down. He soon found that he was nearly fracturing his wrist with his metal modeled fingers. He also took into mind how deep the glass shard was. Some tiny, some huge. He cursed under his breath a soft and crude

"Fuck."

He quickly loosened his grip and shook his head in regret when he looked down to his wood floor. He realized that blood trickled from him since he opened the door.

He hastily shuffled awkwardly to the bathroom trying his hardest to not make more of a mess than he already had. He walked with long strides and his white socks dirtied from blood.

The bathroom was small, with half tiled walls and a tiled floor, beige paint covered the rest of the wall. A shower shoved to the left of him, an off-white bulb accentuated the room.

He swore to change it but he never did. A mirror and sink in front of him, the mirror was a small white rectangular one, matching the shape of the sink. Sandwiched in between the shower and sink was the smallest white toilet imaginable.

He hated going into the bathroom for this reason alone. He saw how weak he was in the mirror.

A busted bleeding wound. That crept close to the imprint that marked the middle of his chin, dark drunk eyes, shaded pink lips, sharp cheekbones accompanied with a keen jawline, scars littered across his body. His face had a few abrasions, and cheeks hidden in the scruff that continued to grow.

His hair tousled and strewn every way it pleased. He never cared about it; he never tried to style it since he'd just put his hands in it. His shoulders were clad in leather and a beige henley that matched the walls. The calmness after getting pounded reminded him of when hydra made him fight the other soldiers. Then suddenly he was there.

It was a day that Bucky would think about for the rest of his life. Bucky had a lot of those days but this one, in particular, was one that made him feel excruciating pain. The fight he was trained to lose. The compound was a dimly lit walkway in between the cells. Two would fight momentarily continuously one was declared the winner and fight the champion. Bucky or the soldier.

The commanders of hydra love to evoke fear. Seeing the men riddled with fear. Some vomit, others beg. Some are like Bucky. Ruthless. They don't care who they are or what they want to be. All they strive to be or do is fight and the blood splatter after winning against the enemy, releases stress so sometimes it's a release unless you have a guilty conscience. For Bucky, it's the latter. He has nightmares, sure, but everyone does.

Bucky had perfect posture, his head tilted into the way hydra trained him to do or to be brainwashed until he was complicit. Bright ocean eyes were unknowingly dead. The thunder of the other candidates to fight by the cells on the sidelines until it was their time to fight.

Although before they went to fight they would have a fistfight with Bucky to higher their combat skills. Bucky was the best soldier they had to let them practice on. That being said Bucky wasn't being used to his full potential. Bucky hadn't fought anyone to his skill level, everyone was either at a lower or average level. They were put into groups of two in fighting whoever won would fight either Bucky or another soldier even crueler than Bucky. Bucky had some remorse and would hold back. He still deep down was a person but the other soldier killed many from going too far. And today was the day that Bucky had to fight that soldier. Bucky had three other men for the soldier to fight until it was him, all skinny and small, scrappy.

The soldier was big and unruly. He was undefeated, sure Bucky was scared but at the compound, it's kill or be killed.

No one knew the soldier's true name, just the series of numbers he was given. His confidence may be the death of him. Bucky believed-knew that he was more than the average man. He had courage, a heart of gold, and the endurance of a bull and here he was amping himself up and nervously fidgeting wondering what would happen if he won this fight. He wondered if everyone would think of him as superior or if he'd be more of a black sheep.

He heard a crack of a hydra man yelling to start. The man in front of him was next and the one that lost had gashes to the bone and blood oozing out of places where he didn't know could.

Bucky felt exposed when the man in front of him went to fight, there was still a very long list behind him to fight but he was next up. The soldier looked at him, his demeanor felt like the grim reaper and Bucky was fixing to pay his toll.

The soldier had muscles upon muscles and as broad as one can ever be. The word powerful couldn't even describe him in the lightest.

Bucky chewed on the inside his cheek he was nervous.

The soldier was known to put the others in the infirmary for days on end and those he hurt abnormally bad gotta not fight for a while and rot in their cell until. More often than none they'd put you back out in the field.

The stories of this soldier were the type you'd tell sitting at a campfire to scare kids, instead, it was grown, men. Even if Bucky was the bravest out there he wasn't like the soldier.

Bucky observed all of his techniques and styles over the weeks. Preparing himself for his scheduled fight. It was an algorithm for the soldier to react to specific hits and counter them with the same thing over and over. The hydra men taught all of the soldiers the same moves except the one Bucky was going to go against. They knew Bucky was their best soldier so they had to at least put him in a good fight. Bucky caught on to this pattern and that made him think that he could win.

The man in front of him laid in a fetal position with mud and red splatter across his pale form, the boisterous crowd making the shame feel unbearable.

Then all of a sudden Bucky felt a harsh shove on his back. One of the hydra men shoving him into the pit with the soldier. Bucky nearly fell face forward on the cement. A burst of loud booming laughter deafened him more than the crowd on the sidelines.

The soldier crouched low and Bucky knew what he was going to do. He took out the legs then beat his component to a pulp like a gorilla. Bucky did the same stance. He looked foolish, his hair stuck to his forehead, sweat-soaked his clothes which were already tightened to his skin from the excessive working out he did. Courtesy of Hydra wanting him to be in top shape. The other soldiers grew restless as they psyched one out. They went into circles staring at one other like vultures testing who was the quickest. Whoever blinks first wouldn't blink for weeks after.

A screech came from the soldier and he came after Bucky.

Now imagine a vicious lion combined with a cyclops coming at you. Bucky psyched him out and pivoted. That just angered him more since the battles never lasted more than a couple of minutes. This one was already the longest. The soldier turned slightly and looked over his shoulder and before he could do so Bucky had gotten close enough to kick the left of his knee in and he fell. It was as loud as the thunder when he did.

Although Bucky wasn't watching his feet and the soldier took his left foot and grabbed Bucky. He fell. The roar of the other soldiers boomed. His ears went out painfully, a ringing sound, and the rain flew harshly against his face.

He couldn't move, the wind knocked out of him that he couldn't breathe. He felt ashamed to have even thought that he could win. The black ceiling littered with golden beams.

The gold reminded him of the stars behind them, how someday he could be out of this dungeon to see them again. Abruptly all the ringing in his ears came back. He heard a low hum of breathing; he thought it was his own until he saw the beast above him. The soldier grabbed his arms and Bucky struggled even through his stupor. Bucky wiggled and tried to get out from his grasp but he was a god amongst men. Bucky then thought of how Steve felt when he'd get cornered in an alley and he'd come and save Steve from being killed. But Bucky didn't get saved. The barbarian struck Bucky over and over. The nurse would later tell him that she was surprised that he didn't have any brain damage. Bucky waved in and out of reality. Every time he tried to open his eyes it'd be welcomed with a fist. Bucky spat the blood out of his mouth onto the soldier. The soldier was just too strong. He was impossible to win against. The soldier rubbed the blood into his face and laughed. He leaned to Bucky's ear only so he could hear "puny."

Bucky screamed loud. Loud enough that the neighbors awoke from their sleep and he'd sure have a lot of complaints to address in the morning. In a split second, he found himself with his fist through the mirror, the glass falling every way onto the tile into the sink and toilet. Into the already damaged hand of his, the glass poked through his palm, and through the other side, the previous glass dug deeper into his flesh.

Severing the tendons. All he could think about was the pain of having to clean everything up. He didn't feel the pain he caused himself because that didn't matter. It made him feel the least bit human. Pain. Everything living thing felt alive and once he lost that. He'd feel like a complete and utter monstrosity.

He looked up from his hand and to the mirror. Shards still hung and it displayed a perfect depiction of what Bucky was. Damaged.

Bucky spent the rest of the night with a bandaged chin that kept bleeding like a waterfall. Hw picking out pieces of glass with the smallest tweezers known to man, that too ruby red water ran down the sides of his hand onto his bare beefy thighs and pooled in the middle of his palm.

He had calmed down after a couple of hours by sitting on the bumped-out window.

He often likes sitting there and watching the city. The cars zooming past the bright casinos.

The one thing he enjoyed the most was watching the constellations and making them out to be the things he liked. Often he'd see a star in the moon and he saw the shield.

He hated that one since it put him in the pain of remembering Steve and how he had no one.

He didn't need anyone. That's what he told himself but he was very wrong. His jacket was thrown over a wooden chair in the dining area. The sleeves of his henley rolled around his elbows showing the veins in his forearms.

He changed out his jeans for a random pair of dark shorts, he threw off his dirtied socks.

To say the least, he was at comfort for the first time this week. He started to read the book a little, the pages were torn and faded. Yori must've read this multiple times.

Bucky wondered why. The book was small and petite and was only a hundred or so pages. It was interesting, it was all about philosophy, it was written as if it was a big life poem.

He hated a lot of it but here and there were a few good points. He was about halfway through the book when a paragraph struck him.

Heart. Mind. Body. Soul. Great beings of life and they can only communicate by stars. Life and everything between can be carried through them. So if you speak to the sky of night. You will often hear a reply.

He thought of it as silly but then his brain began to wonder. What if he could talk to whoever he wished dead or alive. Just from talking to the stars. It seemed too easy and childish.

Although what did he have to lose the majority of the world hated him and the other half tolerated him.

He put the tweezers down and wrapped his hand with the bandage used to box. He had leftover wrappings since he used to do dirty street fighting when he got dumped from S.H.E.I.L.D's payroll.

He picked up the book that was under his thigh, holding the book open. He held it there since that was where the most light surfaced. He didn't exactly have the expenses to pay the electric bill so he always kept it off.

His eyebrows furrowed ever close as he came across a sentence he seemed to not understand.

The book looked like it shrunk in the size of his hand. His fingers twisted and ran over the cover and the letters on the page fell off onto his lap. The shorts rode up about mid-thigh and engraved their way into his skin.

He couldn't read anymore. He sighed when he read the same paragraph twice over.

All he could think about was being able to talk to Steve. He pushed it into the back of his mind, he carried the book carelessly in his hand, the feeling an odd one since he hadn't read anything for ages.

He walked over to his little place where he slept and laid down.

The news wasn't showing anything interesting. He became quite bored. He wondered if Yori was doing okay.

Maybe he should check up on him even if they weren't on the best of terms. He drifted in and out of consciousness, he played with the wrapping of his hand to try and keep him entertained.

He sat up against his wall observing everything around him how bland and monotone everything was.

He felt a buzz in the pocket of his shorts. He begrudgingly went to grab it. He didn't know who or why they were messaging him. Whoever it knew that it was just for emergencies.

He swears that he was going to murder Sam if he sent him one of the pictures with a caption that never related to the image. Sam said that supposedly there was a joke in the caption but that just made Bucky even more confused.

Bucky didn't know why he kept the phone. He never answers it and usually, he finds out everything he needs to know by watching the news.

When Bucky did finally open his phone to see the lock screen. He stared at it in bewilderment for a long while trying to make sense as to why someone messaged him.

He noticed that it was from an unknown number. That being said there was a one in a million chance for someone to know what his number was. He sighed he was going to have to change his number again. He was surprised what the message was.

"Hey! I had a wonderful time on our date today, I was wondering if we could go on another this week? If not I completely understand I'm new to this..um..blind dating thing. I really enjoyed meeting you instead of talking to a screen! Lol! Anyway, Ttyl!"

Bucky didn’t know how or what to feel. What date? Why was she (he assumed so since the person seemed vibrant and bubbly.) So happy to see him? He didn’t even know who this person was! A thought crossed Bucky’s mind.

Perhaps he could initiate the partner she went on a date with. He wasn’t exactly busy and had a girl on his arm. He realized that if he were to go on this hypothetical date that it would be very obvious that he wasn’t the man she was interested in.

He subconsciously stood up and paced his living room to his kitchen to and fro. The soft glow of his phone illuminated his face in the dark. It was wrapped tight in his metal fingers. The yellow stripes that were like a snake coiling around his arm grew more visible.

He threw his right hand into his hair, his henley slightly rising and showing a patch of skin between the waistband of his shorts and where the sweater laid. It allowed a drooling sight of a teasing view of his defined “V” of his hip bone that flowed below his shorts.

It's been a while since he felt any blood circulate under his shorts. He didn’t understand what this girl did to him but it got him going and that was certainly uncommon under his circumstances of life.

Don’t get him wrong back in his day he was a player. Now it's lessened to nothing. Not even dates, so this could be big for him. He stopped when he concluded. What the hell did ttyl and lol mean? It took an embarrassing text to Sam and Sam merely laughed at him and told Bucky to google it. That just made things worse.

What was google? He went through every single thing on his phone until he found the icon labeled google and he did google it. ‘Talk to you later and 'laugh out loud' Oh. Bucky was embarrassed how long it took him to figure that out.

He sloppily used both of his thumbs and stood in the middle of his living room texting out a reply.

'I'm totally down to go on another date with you, sweetheart."

He was proud of himself since he remembered Sam using the word totally in a sentence before. He was confident that the confidence and the suaveness from his past never left. And then the regret started to hit him with a bat.

Why’d he called her sweetheart? What if she didn’t like to be called that. God how could he be so stupid?! He started to give up after he didn’t seem to have a reply in his future.

He sat down, crisscrossed in front of his tv and his couch, and began to swim ever so quietly in his mind. His eyes burned with strain as he watched the bright screen in front of him. A festival celebrating the new captain he nearly lost his mind until he felt a buzz against his thigh and when he looked down he saw that the mysterious girl messaged him again.

He opened his phone to find three little dots appearing and disappearing continuously. He wondered what she was writing that required that attention to thinking of what she was writing to him. He wasn’t anyone special. He was a natural disaster but that was about the unique thing about him.

He grew impatient and shifted his weight every few seconds. He was very nervous about what she was going to say. He felt like a schoolboy asking out his crush and being afraid of rejection. Lord help him because he missed feeling something other than pain. Then another buzz ran up his arm and under his spine, it was the message she sent. It was short and simple of the lines of what remembered to be:

"..."

Bucky nearly threw his phone across his apartment. But then sucked a huge breath through his teeth when another buzz went through.

"It's just no one has ever called me 'sweetheart' before."

That made Bucky feel like he wanted to crawl into the deepest darkest ice chamber and live there for the rest of his life. This was it he destroyed his life by trying to flirt with someone hundreds of years younger than him. He exposed himself and he could never redo it. He should've known that this was a bad idea.

Technically he did but he just ignored it. How could he be so idiotic to spoil his chances of getting out of this cage of death. This was the epitome of a fish drowning. He was overreacting and hyperventilating solely because he doesn't know how to flirt like the modern age. He was doomed.

His fingers resisting the strength of his mind telling him not to type out sent her the message reading:

"Do you like being called sweetheart or do you prefer doll?"

He swore he died when he saw that he sent that. SWEETHEART AND NOW DOLL? He wanted to take a steaming hot bath and maybe splurge with bubbles and fall asleep and hey maybe he'd drown.

At this point, he didn't think it wasn't that bad of an idea. He put his palms on his forehead, his knees on his thighs staring at the pitch-black rectangle below him. Impatiently waiting for her response.

An on-set headache developing from all the stress he's had under the last thirty minutes. His heart jumped at the sight of the glow lighting up his screen. He quite literally jumped out of his sin to read it:

"You have no idea. It's way better than getting called mama and shawty by the fuck boys. Lol!"

Bucky was now in the crisis of not knowing what was a shawty and an *ahem* fuck boy. It was so worrying the amount of googling Bucky has done just talking to this girl. He noted to never call her..shawty or mama and to never be a fuck boy.

When he did figure out what those things were he wasn't exactly surprised. He was jealous and angry that she'd been called things that she didn't want. The feeling was common but never this strongly. It was an odd feeling it rose from his stomach to his throat and made it dry and hard to speak.

It made him clutch the sides of his phone so harshly that webs started to hatch from within the glass. His eyes cold and dead staring at the screen reading over her sentence once, then ten times over.

A little buzz came from his phone gasping for air from Bucky choking it out with his metal hand. (You wish that was you, huh?)

"I do love how polite and gentlemanly you are tho. It's hard to find guys like you."

Such short sentences made his heart gallop so fast in minutes. The logical side of his brain kept telling him that her compliments weren't for him but the attention for someone was much louder.

Maybe his old ways of flirting were beneficial, which caused him to be more at ease. His tensed shoulders relaxed along with his metal arm. Although his body felt he was burning alive. His free hand pulled his collar off his velcro skin, letting his structured collar bones come breathable. His breathing became shallow.

"It's hard not to be when you meet someone so radiant."

He didn't even know who this girl was but all he knew is that he didn't want to lose her and become utterly alone again. Not this time. His hair stuck to his face. He was going to have to take the coldest shower ever to get rid of her and even that he won't.

"LOL, Speak for yourself, I'm nothing compared to you."

He scoffed and typed furiously, how could she think such things about herself. He was deeply frustrated he didn't know why but he felt very drawn to her. He'd do anything in his power to just want her to promise him that she'd never leave him.

God, he sounded like a psycho and maybe he was. Maybe this was his last straw and when she'd break off he would too. He was so afraid of going back to the way things were to going back to being the winter soldier that he felt like he lost his mind trying to prevent it.

"Alright doll, how about this, we meet up this Friday for dinner and a movie at nine o'clock?"

He was scared that she would reject him. Fuck. She didn't even know what he looked like. What if she took one look at him and saw past his facade and into how broken he was and decided that no. All these feelings are what drew Bucky to stop searching and to think that he was a burden to everyone. Maybe that's why he felt the only place he could be himself was when he knew that he was 100% alone.

He huffed softly and threw his head back against the couch staring up at the ceiling once again. His Adam's apple bobbed as he listened to the soft murmur of the tv. All the world's troubles put onto Steve's back for years and he gets a little tongue-tied and that was it for him.

He needed help. He needed to get better. He laughed softly, his face breaking out into creases of his tanned skin, his lips parting and his teeth glowing against the white flush. He was insane and there was no going back. He laughed at himself for what seemed like an hour until he felt the familiar buzz against his heated skin.

"Hell yes man as long as we watch sharknado!"

Bucky's smile grew more and stretched his face into a radiance that made him look like he did when he was young.

Bucky didn't know what the hell sharknado was but he was glad to know she liked him enough to go on a date with him. Bucky Barnes had a date to go on Friday and he couldn't be happier. He didn't have any nightmares that night but he'd rather have a life-ending one than what he told Yori in the morning.

It was a couple of days after the fight with Yori. Bucky finished the book the day after he read it that's why he was here along with wanting to apologize for his actions at the restaurant. He was currently sat on the wise man's couch. His son's shrine right on the small table in front of him. He bit the inside of his cheek hard and let his eyes fall elsewhere. He was ashamed to have kept this secret for so long but he couldn't find a way to tell Yori.

"Yeah, hey I murdered your son but it was fine since I was brainwashed by wanna-be nazis?" He let out a small nervous laugh and ran a hand through his hair. Yori was going to find out somehow sooner or later. Bucky just hoped it was later. He didn't want what he had with Yori to end because of his past.

"What's worrying you?" Yori said softly as he walked briskly into the living room with a cup of green tea. He sat down on the couch on the right side of the Bucky. Nearest to the door. Bucky couldn't but think Yori was in some form afraid of him since he tested him that night at the restaurant. No one ever tried to test Yori.

Bucky was different. A way that Yori wanted to understand. But Yori saw the trouble of the glass downstairs when he went to put the trash away. The brand was still visible and Yori only knew one person who drank that. Bucky. Yori figured bad things came from it.

Partly the reason since he knew what came after from drunken mishappenings. Yori sat the green tea on the brown coffee table in front of them by Bucky and put his focus back onto Bucky.

"I asked a question," Yori said softly. It seemed that Bucky was in a trance his head downward and his eyes shifting searching for something maybe an answer to Yori's question but there were so many things going through Buckys mind that it'd take months for Bucky to explain to Yori everything.

Bucky looked up to Yori with a smile but in his eyes were nothing but disaster. Yori sat uncomfortably. He was disturbed not once in the few months of knowing Bucky did not smile.

Bucky ignored the question instead "I finished the book you gave me," Bucky spoke with a waver in his voice making him sound unsure. While he reached into his pocket to grab it Yori pursed his lips.

"I didn't want you to read it I wanted you to return it to the library," Bucky's smile faltered and his eyes dimmed even darker than the way they did before. "Oh" is all Bucky said before he put the book back into his jacket pocket. He messed with the wrapping on his hand that Yori took notice of. Bucky was acting odder than usual and Yori couldn't put his finger on it.

Yori took out a scratch piece of paper and handed it to Bucky. In scratchy handwriting, Bucky assumed it was another book 'life on mars.' Then Yori spoke up "Are you going to drink your tea if not I will," Yori jabbed a finger pointing to the white cup. Bucky cleared his throat "I'm not that thirsty,"

Bucky handed over the glass cup to Yori and he glared over to Bucky and he glared back. Yori smacked his lips together after he finished. "If you're here just to have a staring contest with me, then I'm afraid you'll be here for a very long time,"

Bucky readjusted his posture and breathed roughly. "I wanted to apologize for the way I acted at the restaurant. I know I shouldn't have lost my temper at something so minor."

Bucky stopped thinking of words to say he gave up. Yori got up and left the kitchen uninterested in Bucky's apology. His son's portrait started yearning to be alive again. He stared brutally into Bucky's existence. It asked to switch position with Bucky and Bucky swore that he was out of his body and then sucked back in when Yori started to swirl a spoon around the top of the lip of the cup.

"Sugar makes green tea flavorful," Yori sat down when he was finished he swirled it into the now full cup. Bucky guessed he made a few more for later. Yori came back up to the lip and dampened it with tea it made and a remarkably loud song.

Around and around it went putting Bucky into a trance his posture regained to straight and his shoulder back head high with eyes dead. "When my son, RJ, was one he used to sing this song 'a longing rusted freight car coming to an end where it went when the furnace descended.' it was quite a beautiful song when he sang it,"

Bucky heard bits and pieces before his brain went to a mush of the activation words being said in his head. "When he was nine had a tumor and we took him to the doctor but we found out it was benign."

Bucky couldn't hear. He couldn't see. The sky was filled to the brim with stars. The moon brightened and removed his appearance from the trace of a normal eye. He stepped carefully on the roof of the building. His suit blending him into the shadows. His hair stuck to his face closing him in and disguising him more than he already is. He saw RJ through the roof's window. This couldn't have gone more perfectly. He slipped behind one of the paintings and was quiet, his breathing irregular. He heard footsteps and assumed it was RJ and punched through the painting and grabbed tightly onto the neck of the man he mistakenly thought was RJ and tossed him back into the debris of the painting. A man came after him and he quickly threw the knife from the back of his belt and plunged it into the neck of his victim. Another man slammed into the stairway when he flew out of the painting the rest of the men flew down the stairs in pursuit of fleeing the winter soldier. As they shot at him he was faster and killed them first he jumped off the stairs and threw the other spare knife at the man in front of him. An old man grey in the green leather jacket he smashed against the wall even threw metal Bucky could feel the man's heartbeat quickening and then faltering to nothingness. "Hail Hydra'' The last words the man heard as he dropped from Buckys grip to a heap of a corpse in a matter of seconds. Bucky turned to his right and watched the RJ struggle to put the key to escape Bucky. Bucky wanted to laugh at how weak and puny his attempt was to get away; he was constantly looking behind him at Bucky. Closer and closer Bucky's strides were to capture his life. Bucky's shoulder swayed a demeanor threatened with authority and anyone who dared to test it would feel the stupidity of their choice. When RJ started to beg Bucky thought that was all he had in him. Bucky didn't care. He raised his hand and straightened it perfectly matching the hilt to the RJs head.

"I KILLED RJ!" Bucky yelled standing upright. Saliva flew onto Yori when he screamed. Bucky's metal arm was tightly tied around Yori's throat. Yori was in pure terror, his eyes wide, his hands in front of him wrapped around the metal as he leaned back to get away from Bucky as he confessed to him who killed his son.

His mouth was wide in shock gasping for air. Bucky's eyes widened in horror, his mind running thousands of thoughts per second he took his hand off Yori's throat and choked on air. Bucky stared down at his metallic pitch-black hand and then Bucky ran. He ran to his apartment. Hands in his hair pacing kitchen to the living room.

What the actual fuck did he just do? He felt tears brim his eyes and he couldn't believe what he just did. He ruined everything he worked for since Wakanda. His reputation was obliterated just like that in a matter of seconds. His breathing became ragged; he managed to take off his dark black leather jacket and tossed it to the couch.

The black t-shirt he had on raised slightly from his arms being on his head. His wrapped hand tore into his skin making him even more upset from the broken mirror in his bathroom that he still didn't clean up. The memory just kept running itself over in his head he couldn't stop thinking about it. Yori's reaction.

There's no way he'd be able to repair what he did to Yori and he'd had to live the rest of his life knowing how badly he fucked up. He wanted to so badly tear this goddamn arm off with everything he had. He remembered trying the old one off that Hydra gave him it never worked. He still had the deep gashes from his nails where they latched onto his shoulder.

The scars never really healed right, instead of being in the skin, they rose like mountains from it. Bucky clutched his head tightly, his form shaking with tremors. He just kept thinking of the word stupid.

"I, John Walker. Captain America has taken the super-soldier serum and in my disregard, I feel as if there are no consequences and it should be open to the public. And in retrospect of the world, I personally think that Steve Rogers was too soft on his components and since I have taken the serum I will no longer be tolerating the life of the terrorists. That being said I will in no regard will hold back. I will do everything in my power to rid this Earth of the monsters we know until their last god-ridden breath."

Bucky lifted his head from its place hanging down into his hands, his jaw gritted tight, his nose flared, and his eyes full of fury. John Walker. He was going to kill that man one way or another. Bucky was pissed so beyond natural anger that he stood up and walked straight in front of the tv.

This man was beyond no right in having that televised. What he said could destroy the world in an instant. Who or why did he get the serum from? And Bucky was the time bomb? Bucky closed his eyes, his hands turned into tight fists, and let the image of John Walker in an interview with a lady sat across from him at John's old school burn in his mind. The white noise of the crowd cheering John's opinion made Bucky's blood boil.

Bucky thought he had calmed himself until he opened his eyes he saw John look into the camera and point.

"The world would be a better place if there were more brave soldiers like me."

Bucky reared his metal fist back and pounded the tv until the screen was ridden of John Walker's face. Bucky came to the idea that when he got another tv maybe he shouldn't watch the news for a while. Glass fell on the table and pieces on the wood floor by his feet.

He fell to his knees. His knees cracked from all his weight on them with no support. His knees being crushed by the glass. His hands hiding his face from the world.

His cheeks and face grew warm from how he felt. His nose burned when tears started to fall ever so gently down his cheeks. Grey eyes becoming the most vibrant of blues. He choked softly, his throat closing as he sat there in the middle of his destroyed living room. His apartment is the greatest amphitheater in the world.

His shoulders rising and falling and stuttering when he gagged on air. He parted his hands from his face and sat upright. His hands fell into fists, his arms tensed and the veins in his neck pulsed when he let out a blood curdling scream. It was a long screech filled with his voice cracking his vocal cords giving upon him.

His tears despite his yelling still fell and stained his cheeks. He thought so many things at once and everything involved him being a monster. He was hurt and this was the worst self-harm. The arm was given to him and the brain that wasn't his own.

He decided that he needed to go on a walk to calm himself down. Maybe he'd go and return Yori's book. All he knew is that the world for Bucky Barnes was getting darker and worse by the day. Who knows how long until he loses who he is. But one thing was for sure. It wasn't going to be for long until he does.

He stayed home for the rest of that day. It was in the evening when he had gotten home from Yori's. He was still greatly upset by what happened. He couldn't think about it until he grew angry with a suicidal rage. He was alone. All over again the monster that kids are scared to go to sleep over.

He sat by the window again just in the same random shorts and no shirt out of fear of coating it in sweat. It was the least of his problems but it was still a burden. He wished he had something to listen to, his thoughts were so loud that he was surprised that mind readers didn't go deaf from it. He watched the people below him walk past the building complex.

Not batting an eye at the monster in the window above them. He wanted to laugh at how normal people were and how he was once like them but now turned into this creature. His shoulders broad and held his form up by the sides of his sculpted waist.

His legs crossed over another he leaned against the wall that joined the window in the corner. He sat across from the kitchen. His stomach growled at the thought of food, the last time he could remember eating something was at the restaurant and that was just a nibble. It wasn't like he could eat something. He never splurged on food, all the food he had was fruit sitting in a white complimentary bowl on the middle of the island.

He pushed his head against the wall swallowing thickly debating whether he should or not. He decided he didn't deserve it after what he's done. Disrupted from his thoughts he felt a buzz on his thigh in the pocket of his shorts.

He fished out the stupid little box and saw that it once again another text from Sam. He's been ignoring them since he's had Sam's contact; he deemed them not worthy of a response. They were all on the lines of are you okay? Bucky smiled at something so incredulous. He started typing out

Yeah. Just losing my mind but other than that I'm just fine. But went against it. When he read more of the missed messages one did pique his interest. Did you hear about the rumor of Steve being on the moon? Bucky's eyebrows furrowed and his face contorted. What? How could Steve be on the moon? Sam and he literally watched Steve grow old in front of them. How absurd to say that Steve was on the moon. But when Bucky thought more of it, it reminded him of what he read in the book.

Talk to the stars and they'll talk back. Bucky groaned in annoyance. Was this what he was resorting to in a desperate measure for interaction? Talking to inanimate things. He let out a deep breath his chest rose then fell shortly after. He closed his eyes imagining Steve back in Brooklyn and all the mischievous things they did.

He remembered the day Steve got rejected and then Bucky being deployed the next day. The day that started it all. The downfall of Bucky's life. Bucky didn't know what he would say to Steve but he thought he started out well enough.

"Do you remember when we were kids and we'd always have to act like we were soldiers because of you. God Steve even when we were kids you had your mind made up. Always wanting to be something when I couldn't even choose what cereal I wanted,"

Bucky stopped and thought over the words he said. It was true. Steve was always headstrong about everything he wanted. Bucky remembered that Steve was going to create this comic of this monkey who shot bananas out of a bazooka. And Steve did.

It never took off or anything it was just the thought of if anything Steve wanted he would never stop until he got it.

While Bucky always had his priorities elsewhere, the majority of the time he made Steve do his homework so he wouldn't fail. Two opposite people were the best of friends, who knew that one of them would turn out to be the villain.

"You know Steve I enlisted because I felt like I had to prove something, I had to prove that I was better at something than you. Just that one thing I ended up not even being better than you at."

Bucky's voice was dry and raspy when he spoke. The screaming fried his throat when he talked. It burned like a good bottle of Shōchū.

He'd kill for a bottle right now. He was starting to understand that this wouldn't work but he grew angrier at the thought of Steve trading him out for some girl. Bucky knew how much Peggy mattered to Steve but he still never got why he'd trade him out for her. He was jealous in a sense over the life Steve got.

"If I could I would change places with you in an instant, to be at peace. You got to live your life and I had to decay for years without my best friend. Maybe this was for the best so you couldn't see me become who I am now. Someone that we swore to never be ever since we were kids, the bad guy."

Bucky chewed on his lip after that. Til the end of the line his ass. Bucky ran his hand through his hair, the strands comforting his hand. He got up from the window and walked over to his little bed and went to sleep. The night's toll took everything out of him.

The only thing he currently wanted was this thing he had with this girl to be good. How wrong he was.

He decided that he was going to go and return the book Yori gave him. He still hated what happened and he knew trying to fix it would make it worse. The least he could do is get him the book he wanted. So Bucky put on his washed-out jeans, his shirt he wore yesterday, shrugged on his jackets and slipped his feet into his boots, and a black glove to hide his metallic arm, and went to the Library.

The library was a little old place with the roof caving in not far from the complex building. He wondered why Yori didn't just go and get it himself, Bucky didn't really care about having to go but he just wanted to know if Yori was okay and doing well.

Bucky went down the stairs and found a few remaining pieces of the glass bottle he broke last week. The memory of him falling and breaking it etched in his mind vividly. He felt a chill run up his spine at the feeling of someone seeing him like that.

He hurried down the last of the stairs and opened the glass door and went outside. The warm air wafted itself around him in a soft summer breeze. It was warm but not hot enough for him to go without a jacket and the chilly breeze lightened it up. It felt relaxing since he forgot how long it's been outside of his apartment.

He took long strides on his walk. But he couldn't shake the paranoia of being stalked. He was about halfway when he saw a shadow mock him. He walked faster not wanting to have to deal with this today.

The other person's shadow grew larger and bigger as Bucky walked further. When Bucky saw the library and a few he nearly bolted to the building. When he was inside he saw that it was just a lost dog. He was losing it. He sighed his mind relaxing and then jolting when he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay mister?"

A warm voice made his heart pump faster than it already was he felt like he was going to have a heart attack. When he turned around he was met by easily the most beautiful girl. It was you. He thought in that instant that everything about you was perfect the way your eyes looked at him, the way your face was adorable, the way your hair fell behind your ears, the way your lips looked the most perfect shade along with your eyes. He promised himself when he got home that he'd paint his whole apartment that color.

He went cross-eyed from staring at the shape of your lips and how they shaped around the words he couldn't hear from being so entranced by you. He started to feel his heartbeat out of his chest. When he thought of how you'd look with pretty lips wrapped around him and dull bedroom eyes looking up at him through thick eyelashes. He needed to stop, he just met you and now he's so hard against his jeans that he was sure that he was bruised.

And your hands on his shoulders shaking him wasn't helping him. His trance was broken when he realized what was happening. "Huh?" That is all he managed to make out through his lust-clouded mind. You did this face that made him die, it was when your eyebrows furrowed and your lips went to one side pursed together. Your eyes were cut at him and he knew he was in trouble but he just couldn't help being enticed by you.

"I asked if you needed help," You stopped and wagged a finger in his way "You're all sweaty." He looked down at himself and you were right, his hair stuck down and his shirt showed pools. Shit. Way to embarrass yourself, Buck. You're sweaty, you're horny for some girl you just met. He was a trainwreck embodied. "I'm okay, it's just the heat," Bucky spoke with uncertainty. He had no idea what was happening why he was acting like this. He usually never felt like this around a girl, especially one he just met.

Your face was still cut, your lips went back into the fullness of how they are naturally. "Weird but okay." You spoke under your breath since it wasn't sweating weather outside. You were going to be the death of him and thankfully there were only a couple of other people in the library since it was the morning of a weekday.

"There's a cool spot where the ac is over there." She turned and pointed towards the left somewhere. He couldn't concentrate in the slightest even if he tried. And god your body from just the standard shirt and jeans you wore he felt his turn into skinny jeans.

"But anyway if you need me just yell, its y/n." And you left and when you walked away to assist someone else he got the perfect view of your ass. He scurried into the thick of the bookshelves and triple-checked if anyone was around him and adjusted himself.

It was so painful to not jump your bones right there. He rubbed his face with his hands and groaned. Get it together Buck. He realizes that he was going to have to go and talk to you again since he had to check the book in. He mentally stabs himself in the neck.

He calms himself down enough so that he could talk to you again. He feels like a prepubescent boy talking to his crush. Bucky guessed that he lost his cool with talking to girls over the years since he stopped. This was hell. You were at the front desk, the one in front of the door. You were reading some book that he didn't know.

He took a moment to admire the way your hair frames your face, the way your ass jutted out so you could lean over the desk on your forearms. Your free hand, the one not holding your page was used as a support beam for your face under your chin. God you were so beautiful, he hooked his finger under the collar of his shirt and started to flick it back and forth to generate air.

He was the human-dog drooling over a mate. He hated himself for not getting to know you and he already felt like this towards you. He was a monster but he wasn't impolite; he drew the line there. He was in the clouds that he didn't notice you staring at him with squinted eyes. "Can I help you, sir?" Your voice hung on sir in his mind.

He couldn't help but envision you beneath him moaning sir. "Uh, yeah, there's this book" He startled himself when his voice croaked out a response. He patted the pocket of his jacket and had a crisis when he thought he left it at home. But when he shoved his hands into his pocket he let out a smile of relief and grabbed it and slid it over to you on the other side of the desk.

"I need you to check that in and then" He stopped and searched for the piece of paper Yori gave him. He found it crumpled as lint in the bottom of his other pocket and the words faded. "Shit, uh, and check out this." He shoved his hands in his pocket and looked at his feet afraid of confrontation. You silently grabbed the book and checked it in and grabbed the note. You couldn't make out a single letter. Your eyebrows pinched together and when he looked up quickly and then darted his eyes away. He knew that you couldn't.

He wanted a sinkhole to open up and swallow him whole. You scratched the back of your neck trying to decipher the note "I can recommend something similar to the book you turned in, I'm sorry but I can't read this." You spoke with sincerity. And walked out behind the desk and poor Bucky followed you like a lovesick puppy.

You cursed Jordan, another employee for putting the desired book on the top shelf. The bookshelves were very tall and you weren't short but you weren't 7' foot either. You pinched your nose shutting your eyes and put a hand on your hip. "Do you see the book at the very top with the red back?" You muttered and Bucky looked up and saw the issue. "Do you want me to grab it for you?" Bucky looked at you with the softest eyes and you couldn't help but admire them.

You shook your head and lord you were about to melt. His body was brushed up against yours, you could've moved but you really didn't. You could feel the texture of his jacket against your soft skin and you cursed yourself for blushing. He took notice and let a small smile creep on his face when he handed you the book and your head was hung low when you walked back behind the desk.

Bucky guessed that he didn't completely lose his effect on girls. When you were checking out the book he noticed the book you were reading. It was The hobbit. He actually enjoyed the book when he read it when it first came out. He didn't take an interest in fantasy and so he shrugged it off until he actually read it.

When you stamped the books inside the page and slid it back. Bucky smirked "You know they all die in the end." The pure confusion on your face was amusing and with that, he left.

When he got home he started to feel the metal of his arm become rusted and thinking back it had been a while since the last time he cleaned it. He was wanting it to fall off so bad that he forgot he actually needed it.

He wondered where the girl went that texted him before. He didn't want to bother her by texting her first that to him was unnatural. It didn't bother him that much since he used to. And that the date was tomorrow so she would either show up or not and he'd suffer the consequences either way.

He went to the bathroom to grab the grease and a rag he uses every time in the cabinet under the sink.

He stopped shortly catching himself in the shattered mirror. The bandage on his chin began to fall off God forbid it started to at the library. He took it off slowly, the hair of his stubble getting caught in the crossfire. There was a bright pink little scar where the gash was. His skin healed relatively fast but it never cured the scars. He figured if his chin was healed that his hand should be.

He unwrapped his hand slowly for some reason he was scared of what it looked like. When he finally finished unwrapping his palm was littered with scars ranging in size. He touched the scars to see if they hurt with his metal hand and nothing.

Just a scar.

Bucky grabbed the grease and took off his jacket and boots and the first time he moved in he sat on the couch.

It was stiff as ever and it never got out of the store phase. He poured some grease on the white rag and it turned brown and he started to put it in the creases where he noticed it too slow. His mind ran back to you that never happened to him. God he was caught red-handed too, he'd have to take a very long and cold shower when he was done cleaning his arm. The rest of the evening all he could think about was what would happen tomorrow and how he'd destroy the girl of his dreams.

Bucky spent Friday constantly checking his phone for two reasons.

1) to see if his admirer would message him and

2) always checking the time.

He honestly couldn't wait; it's been forever and he was excited about something new. For change. The only source of entertainment he had was the book he checked out earlier. It wasn't the book he was supposed to get. The book in contrast was called American Psycho.

Bucky was about halfway and he fairly enjoyed it. Although it disturbed him since he found similarities in himself with Patrick Bateman. Bucky laughed at all the dark jokes and liked all the points where Patrick lost all sanity; it was the highlight of the book.

Bucky flipped one of the knives carelessly in the hand that wasn't occupied by the book. Bucky loved the power a single knife had. A single slip of the wrist could end something as fast as it began. Time flew by when simple hobbies turned into jobs. He cursed himself because it was seven o clock and he had only an hour to go to the restaurant which was the sushi place that he and Yori used to eat at.

He texted the directions to the girl, he grabbed his glove and jacket and shoved the knife in the back of his belt and fled down the stairs and out the door, and ran the rest of the way.

You sat at the small petite table, your phone clutched in your hand carefully watching the time. When it turned to 8:55 your gut twisted. Maybe he didn't like you as much as you liked him.

The waitress came by once again asking if everything was okay and if you'd like to eat and each time and you'd have to politely decline. You crossed and uncrossed your legs, they grew numb from you sitting in the wooden chair for the past hour. You didn't know what to wear so you opted for a sleek white dress and some heels.

You hoped you didn't overdress and make the wrong impression. You sipped on your water looking through the window to find any hint of your lover boy. You knew what to look for since you knew who it was. But maybe he didn't come and you were set up. How embarrassing this was. Yori told you that he was stubborn but he seemed pretty into you at the library. You know Yori through Leah, an employee at the restaurant who was a friend of yours.

She promised you that she would pay for your meal every time you ate there. How could you refuse? You sighed and began to get up and leave since you thought Bucky gave up on wanting to go on the date. You quickly sat down when you heard the bell of the door ring open and then there he was in all his glory.

Bucky Barnes, in the same leather jacket but you couldn't believe how good he looked underneath the dim light. His bandages were now gone and his face was sullen and structured from the shadows that made his face deepen. You smiled your ruby lips catching Bucky's attention and he hadn't seen something so pleasing to the eye in ages. Although he was confused since he didn't know that it was you who he was texting was there something going on that he didn't know about?

He pulled out the chair and sat across from you with his face stern. "Why didn't you tell me it was you that I was talking to?" He spoke slowly and his head tilted in question like a puppy's. "Yori told me about how you are with dating and he was afraid of you always being alone, and he gave me your number, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

You fiddled with your fingers when you talked you were nervous about his reaction. You knew all about Bucky's reputation and embarrassing enough growing up you developed a crush on him, so you jumped for this opportunity.

You loved how strong and brave he was and even though he was brainwashed you thought of him as a good person. He chewed on the inside of his cheek thinking of what were the right words to say. "Just no more secrets from now on." With that, he waved down the waitress for a bottle of Shōchū.

After the half, the bottle was gone you couldn't help but be in wonder from how he managed to be able to drink all that meanwhile you were still sipping on your first shot. Every sip you took you gagged and your face turned into a kid who took their first sip of alcohol which made Bucky laugh.

Dinner was going along nicely there were many jokes and stories shared but Bucky couldn't help but be skeptical of how this could work. Bucky was severely messed up and couldn't care for another. He wanted to but he was just incapable, maybe he could just live this lie and things could be normal.

When they called for closure Bucky finished laughing at some remark you made, you and he were sat there talking for a couple of hours. It was just so easy to talk to him. Although you did notice a few times he would wince in pain and put his face in his hands. You thought it was odd but shrugged it off from his excessive drinking. Speaking of the devil he asked

"Do you want to go to my place. There have been complications with my tv so we can't watch a movie, but I can keep you company." You smiled a drunken buzz of Shōchū. Not nearly did you drink as much as Bucky but it was still written across your features. Your face flushed pink and your body made of jello hung off of Bucky's arm the whole walk to his house and Bucky every now and then had to pick you up.

Bucky didn't want to do anything rash to you but in the back of his mind, something kept itching it made it so painful that he couldn't ignore it. It kept making him shake his head and wince it was like a headache but much more painful. When he got into his apartment you took notice of what he meant by complications of a totaled tv. You shed off your heels and sat on the tv nervous to be in Bucky's house, your form off-putting to Bucky.

He sat down across the couch from you and he became hurt by you sitting so far away from him. "Are you scared of me or something?" He spoke grimly staring at the floor, his face holding no emotion to his words. "What? no!" You were shocked by his words. How could he assume that you were scared of him? Bucky looked your way and a strange look appeared in his eyes.

"Then why are you sitting so far away from me?" He gritted his teeth and his hands turned into fists, they were clamped tightly together on his thighs and this side of Bucky did scare you. He wasn't Bucky, he looked like him but his whole persona changed in the span of minutes. You wondered if it was something you said or did.

You became fearful when he fell off the couch onto his knees his head clutched in his hands. He started to scream not like the ones before this one was full of pain and torment. The moon's light made this scene unfold a lot more sinister. What was happening to him, why was he acting this way? Then all of a sudden he grew very quiet nothing could be heard other than your breathing.

You were confused and scared but you did care for Bucky and in his position, you assumed he was in serious need of help. You walked carefully taking notice to not step loudly to provoke him. You crouched down your dress falling over your feet, you reached your right hand out hesitant towards Bucky.

You stayed with your hand on his shoulder

"Bucky?"

You whispered softly, scared to disturb him. Everything was at ease at a calm one that felt too unrealistic.

That was true because a few seconds later Bucky grumbled out

"Who the hell is Bucky."

He slung around his body twisted and grabbed a knife from the back of his belt and stabbed you straight into the heart with it. Before you could even have time to run it was over.

The white of your dress now became a soaking deep red. The way your eyes forever open to the moon the way the moon took your life. And that day was when Bucky Barnes lost his sanity and forever came the winter soldier.

*A few months later*

She sat with her legs crossed, her hair tied up perfectly.

Her posture evenly to the ceiling while sitting. The only one that a soldier would perfect. She read over his portfolio over and over to get every last detail to stick in her mind so she wouldn't forget.

She breathed heavily finishing the last sentence. She took off her glasses and shut the case file on her lap, and put her right elbow up on the white seat, her glasses in the same hand.

She pursed her lips staring at the man in front of her and sat on the white couch in front of a forest mural. He was in all black a blank face, his hair a little longer and his stubble now thicker.

He played with the pink protruding scar on his right hand. Pushing and watching the blood rush to it. She wrote that in the notebook.

When he caught notice he stopped and tilted his head slightly. He narrowed his eyes and stared at her.

He was convicted of third-degree murder and numerous accounts of other convictions.

She thought over all the things that were stated in the portfolio but what struck her the most was that he drank excessively and faked being drunk just to feel

"more human."

She thought of a way to form a sentence to not upset him about what he's telling her to see if what he recollected matched what was in the documents but there was no easy way to do that.

She listened to him finish the last of what he was telling her:

"And that's how the story ended."

Fin.

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