#last time I drew them I was just filled with grief as I realised I couldnt give them ear piercings because I didnt draw ears fjfbfkfnf

[chisatowo]

Another bust doodle while I try to get the hang of drawing humans again

#keese draws #bandori #tsugumi hazawa #ngl like half the reason I started more seriously reincorpering ears back into my human artstyle is because of tsugumi lol #last time I drew them I was just filled with grief as I realised I couldnt give them ear piercings because I didnt draw ears fjfbfkfnf #once I get the hang of drawing humans again I might try to make more bandori fan art again but no promises #humans still are kinda boring to draw for me rn Im just enjoying the new experience of ears fkbdkfj #I think how Ive been drawinh em is a decent balance of enough detail to have more room for fun design stuff while not being disruptive? idk #anyways Im gonna scedule this to post tommorrow its late when typing this lol

[jar-of-maise]

She takes his hands gently, cradling them in a manner that made Lyney unsure of how to respond. Those hands could never lie. They shook with an awful tremble, like the last flutter of a dying butterfly's wings.

“I’m sorry for loving you,” she says softly, her eyes filled with unshed tears. 

That was the burden of the unsaid, you never once thought that nightmares could be dreams too, until they were there in front of you.

Dread settles in Lyney's chest, it drops like a heavy stone into a still pond, sliding in without resistance. It sinks to the bottom of his chest where it's weight aches with a dull pain, “Don’t say that," he clears his throat awkwardly, "please, don’t say that.”

She stares back at him, unseen dread haunting her dull eyes, “What?”

Lyney swallows thickly, his breath shuddering in his chest, rattling like fragile marbles in a glass container, “don’t say things like that,” he whispers.

She drops his hands, where they hang like dead weights. She searches his eyes for something she can't find, for something she won't find. It was like the sun, desperately trying to reach the moon, yet finding only it's reflection in the burning daylight, “Things like what?”

She does not want to know the answer to that question. But a burning sensation compells her to ask. Perhaps, with a single word, an entire tragedy could be rewritten.

Looking at Lyney now, she knows that the feeling is mutual. That is an awful realisation to come to, she turns her head away to avoid looking in the mirror.

Lyney, the other half of her, the mirror that she never needed to look in. Lyney, who was the only one who could attune to her soul. Her Lyney who had never been lost for words like he was now, who'd never fumbled or been uncertain.

"Things like what?" She cries, when met with silence. Her hands twitch uncontrollably, and then she's lunging forwards her hands reaching out like desperate claws which latch onto Lyney's shoulders.

These hands of hers were gentle, they were kind. So now, seized by grief as they were, her fingers could not quite grasp the hatred that she wanted them to.

They were strangers to force yet they exerted a violence that was comparable to a monster, "tell me!" It's not a scream, by the time the words drag out of her mouth, it's a mangled, broken tangle of words.

"It's not fair, it's not fair," she says hoarsely, "why do you- you can't-You don't get to do this to me!" She yells, and it's a sound that wretches at Lyney's heart.

"Answer me! What things?! What things shouldn't I say?" Her hands were not made for violence, they were crafted with love in mind. But they tightened on Lyney's shoulders, trembling all throughout.

“Things,” Lyney finally chokes, blinded with tears, “that make it sound like loving me was a mistake,” his hands reach up clumsily, with none of the dexterity or reflex they usually moved with.

She was silent, tears streamed down her face in long, ugly rivers. They fractured her face and drew shadows across her face that did not belong there.  

“It’s not a mistake. This wasn't a mistake,” Lyney whispers desperately, not trusting his voice, yet continuing treacherously.

This is a one way path, a lonely dark road with no return tickets, “you loved Lyney, just plain Lyney. You would never lie," he pauses as his voice wavers, "you didn’t take me by accident, you chose me…didn’t you?” 

“I don’t know,” she admits, lowering her head, she had never admitted defeat. Giving up was not an option, yet she could not conquer this mountain. The shadow of its height, and sheer slopes rendered the fire in her heart cold and frigid.

“I don’t know you. Do I really love Lyney? Who was I in love with?” She asks herself, there is no reply.

This is another question that she doesn't want to know the answer to. But perhaps there is no answer, she's left grasping for strings that have already been broken. The gray cannot be defined, nor described, and in the face of such uncertainty, she doesn't know what to do.

Neither does the magician standing before her. His face is the image of forced apathy, like a puppet with no strings.

"Lyney..." Regret, and immutable yearning surge into her chest, where they mix together like a tapestry woven wrong. The strings are tangled, and the only remaining option is to cut the fabric entirely.

"Perhaps the greatest tragedy of it all is, the more I talk to you, the less I know of you..."

#lyney x reader #technically its supposed to be lyney x oc #angst #hurt no comfort #im not sorry #breakup #genshin 4.0 #takes place after whatever the fuck happened in that courthouse #betrayal #guilt #fear #regret...lots of it #yearning #lyney is sad #neuvillette about to cry me an ocean #unreasonable amounts of poetry #attempt at romance #heartache #love #or the persistent pain that comes with the end of it #im losing my sanity #it was real #to be horribly in love yet unable to be together #there's a name for this trope right? #no they are not getting back together #lyney x lumine #fontaine siblings

[starshipsofstarlord]

There was a Girl...

Pairing | Jace Wayland x reader

Summary | When Clary becomes a shadowhunter, she notices how cold and ruthless Jace is. Every one seems to relate to his pain, not resonating at quite the same level. They’re all mourning nevertheless.

Warnings | Mentions of death, brief smut (handjob), angst, heartbreak, unrequited feelings (for Clary)

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Opening your eyes, you awoke to Jace's chest, his blonde hair falling over his face. You preferred how it looked when it was a little bit scruffy instead of slicked back, and you reached for one of the hanging strands. They were like seams of gold, reflecting from the light that hid within him.

Most people had the wrong perspective on the young man, they only saw a well skilled shadow hunter. But they ignored the smart and witty, yet simultaneously charming person that he was underneath all of his runes. His parabatai Alec was familiar with the set of abilities that his brother figure had, and all that he would accomplish. People thought, because of Jace’s distorted, and confusing past, that he was just another warrior to serve whatever institute that he was sent to.

But in fact, he was not. His duty would always be, to put his family and friends first. He liked to put you on the top of the list, but you always felt the need to scrap that idea, claiming that you could not be his priority from start to finish. It was as though you knew what you future held for you, and how indeed, he could not manage to protect every person that he cared about. The prospect was a great responsibility, far too much for one shadow hunter, even if they be among the best of their kind.

To put such a weight on your own shoulders was defiantly cruel, it would always end in failure, no matter what was done to prevent said downfall. There was never a possibility of saving everyone, that was insanity. The monsters had to kill, in order for you all to remain outside of Idris, and continue on with your heaven sent duty.

“Jace?” You could tell he was awake from how he smiled at the sound of your voice. “Come on.” It was an attempt to encourage him, but you were quick to realise that it wasn’t working. He didn’t like mornings all that much, for good reason too, after all you were shadowhunters.

“Jace.” Your voice became louder and clearer, up to the point where it no longer sounded like your own. He looked away from the screen, to see the new girl watching him. She had an expectant glaze to her green eyes, which were much different from the shield that was covering his own. His pools were surrounded by a shadow of grief, pulling down the entirety of his face to the point where it looked as though he no longer wanted to live.

And that wasn’t entirely incorrect, he struggled at life, often never finding a moment of happiness, and if he did, then he would paint a smile upon his face and wear it to satisfy everyone else around. He had tried to cope with the loss that burdened his heart so gravely, yet nothing made it feel okay. You’d want him to move on, whether it be to lose his vengeful esteem concerning your passing, or find someone else to confide in late at night, to stay up with talking as his head rested upon the pillow, that he needed to wash, so it didn’t smell like you.

Or even, if not to share a bed with this new person, your overall plan as you sat with the angels above would be to find some kind of peace. But that appeared to be the last thing that he wanted as he digitally scoured the city of New York for monsters to uncover, and kill. If he couldn’t protect you, the love of his life, then he would settle for doing so with humans, after all, that had been the way that you had gone. The job had been your passion, yet simultaneously your downfall, and he’d be fine if one of these days he failed to tackle a beast, and it got to him first.

“Clary.” He greeted her, wanting to remove a dangerous monster from the streets by decapitating it. In memory, he would use your favourite blade, spilling blood upon its glowing stake to keep your legacy continuing, although, it did not do much but serve to release Jace’s frustrations. It was a day in which he wanted to speak to nobody, have nobody following him, nor asking him mundane questions about what it meant to be a shadowhunter. Hell, he didn’t even know! To him, the lifestyle was nothing more than accommodated anguish, though, he had been told not to promote it using those words, otherwise, there wouldn’t exactly be many people lining up to join the adverse fight.

And one of the people that he had in mind concerning excitement over a dire and ‘exciting’ lifestyle was Clary. She was naive, and whilst she didn’t know everything, today wasn’t particularly the day in which he wished to explain it to her. It, being predominantly anything. Whilst he had managed to be nice to her during the first few days, it was out of courtesy, considering Alec had an instant distaste towards the wide eyed redhead; he wasn’t sure why, but he supposed that Clary could see a detail of himself that was hidden from the others.

However, even through Jace’s welcoming exterior, was in pain. The feeling tormented him, denying him a break from the patronising pressure, leaving him to hold blame to nobody but himself. The hurt was cemented into his eyes, reflecting as he watched all other tragedies with a stone cold expressions, them hardly affecting him, because he had and was experiencing the worst routine of torture that was possible to him. He had watched you die, and nothing could take those horrific memories from him, no matter how much he wanted them gone.

That was the last time that he saw you. When you passed in his arms, a large wound in your abdomen pouring out with blood, drowning his desperate hands as he tried his utmost to put pressure on the life threatening injury. He wanted to save you but he didn’t know how, his training had always claimed that killing the monsters was more important than saving the life of a shadowhunter from an unknown bloodline. There had been nothing to prepare him for that day in the field, he was a fighter, and taught to be so, not a healer; he wasn’t a medic, he was just a warrior. “What do you want?” Blatantly fell from his round lips as he cast an eye towards the newbie, unimpressed by her timing, or her presence at all.

Clearly, she hadn’t received the memo to leave him be, especially today out of all the rest. Alec, having the personalised intel as to why Jace was emitting a solitary rut understood why he wished to be alone, and respected the space, granting him as much time to himself as he wanted. And whilst Alec was your friend also, he could feel the deep longing that was stabbing his parabatai in the chest, and it killed him too. Your death had been so unexpected, and now without you, there was a void within the institute. And the archer felt as though Clary was trying to fill it, and he saw that as nothing more than disrespect, though she was probably ignorant to the history that wandered the halls.

Her face revelled back at his tone, but nevertheless she continued on with her prying. “I was wondering if I could join you on the hunt, I’m getting better, Izzy even said so.” Jace refrained from rolling his eyes, and contained the feeling that was trying to burst out of his chest. It was anger, directed at everyone that was still alive, including himself. There was no fairness in it, to say that he was sad was an understatement, he was eternally devastated, the death of you had broken him, crumbled him into a figure that he no longer recognised.

“No, you can’t Clary.” He dismissed her, walking away, and going to grab his seraph so that he could hunt this sucker down, and bring upon the same kind of pain to its family as its kind had down to him. God, did you look badass as you swung it, and the thought alone had tears resonating in his unmatched eyes, thinking of how it was the last relic that remained of you.

Walking casually into the armoury, Jace had his hands prized in the depths of his pockets, as his expert and quick fleeting eyes focalised on you, and the weapon within your hold. Your body leant in harmony with the blade, the sound of it woosh-img in the air satisfying to all that could hear; that being only you and the Wayland boy.

“Can i not train in peace?” You groaned, lowering the blade whence you realised that you were being watched. The eyes trailed up your side where your shirt had ridden up, raking over the rune that you had drew upon your skin only this morning. A light laugh fell from Jace’s lips as he stalked forward, taking your seraph out of your hand, and going to lob it upon the ground, but the stern look in your eyes stopped him. Instead, against his nature, he placed it down as though it were made of glass, and rose to stand before you once more.

“Not when you look that good.” The blonde retorted with a sly smirk, sliding his hands up the sides of your hips, finding absolute solace in the feel of your skin. He could be against you forever, and he would not complain, so long as it did last for such a time. “Makes me want to do things to you y/n y/l/n. Terrible things. What would the heads think?” He asked, in reference to those that were in charge of the institute.

Stifling down remarked laughter at his sensually intended words, you raised your forefinger to the space above his brows, and poked him with enough pressure, so that he would pay attention to the notion. “That you’re not thinking with your own.” You went to cross your arms, but instead, Jace grabbed them, moving down to cast his hand over your own.

“Oh, I’m not.” The shadowhunter confirmed, placing your hand upon the crotch of his sweats, applying enough force behind his grip so that you could feel him twitching. “I am indeed having thoughts from elsewhere, would you like to see my sweet?” Licking your lips, you nodded, watching as he peeled the layer away, wrapping your hand around his base, and giving him a few jerks, feeling his pulse race through his cock.

“Tell me more about what you’re thinking my love.” You bit your bottom lip, fluttering your eyelashes up at him, only to reverberate a groan from the blonde male. He panted as your pace quickened, and he was almost certain that he was going to spray his jizz all over the floor if you did not uphold your sexual administrations. His head leant back, as pleasured sounds broke through the clenching of his teeth.

And then, it all stopped as a voice, dressed in absolute disgust, written over with unmotivated shock, interrupted your little exchange. “Really guys, this is a gym, not your damned bedroom. The two of you really are disgusting!” It was Alec, and he cringed at the fact that he had seen his best friend’s cock being stroked in your grasp. Yeah, he wasn’t going to be training today, or at least, not in the asserted place for it.

“Clary.” Izzy called her name, wearing a short lived smile. Whence she studied the expression of the redhead, she was quick to pay attention to the disappointment upon her face. There was confusion laddered in her skin, masking it with creased that made her look worried all at the same time. “What happened?” The Lightwood woman asked concerned, bracing a hand upon said girl’s shoulder.

“Jace snapped at me.” The newcomer informed her, frowning at the prospect, and then after all that, he had stormed off, as though she didn’t even matter. She felt well and truly rejected, like a newspaper that had been tossed in the street, and ending up in a horrible puddle. “I thought he might have liked me, but his attitude says otherwise.”

Izzy twitched her nose; she knew what day it was. There was no way to break it to Clary easy that Jace had no amorous emotions towards her, and so instead of being blunt with the new resident at the institute, she decided to tell the woman a story. “There was a girl...” she began, knowing that after all was explained, that Clary would understand.

#jace wayland imagines #jace wayland x reader #Jace herondale x reader #jace wayland x yn #jace smut #Jace Wayland smut #Jace x reader #jace wayland x you #jace wayland imagine #Jace Wayland one shot #shadowhunters oneshot #shadowhunters x reader #shadowhuntersjace #shadowhunters imagine #shadowhunters fic #shadow hunters x reader #dominic sherwood x reader #dom x reader #imagines #imagine #xreader

[romione-trope-fest]

It Only Takes One Kiss

We love this Second Kiss from @firethecanonsfanfiction!

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Fic Title: It Only Takes One Kiss

Author Name: @firethecanonsfanfiction  Selected Trope: Second Kiss Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione share their second kiss, one week after their first.  Word Count: 2931 Rating: T TW: Subtle sex references.

Thanks to cheesy for the beta once again :D Also, a shout out to Ed Sheeran for thinking to write the song ‘Love in Slow Motion’ so I’d be able to borrow a line from it to use as a title.

—–

It Only Takes One Kiss

The Burrow was a deathly quiet that Hermione wasn’t used to. Of all the times she’d been here, it had always been filled with life and laughter and so many bodies crowded around her. Siblings were shoved into two or three tiny rooms in order to make room for visitors like herself and Harry. 

Now, a solemn air had taken over this once happy place. 

Hermione had done her best to be the person the Weasleys and Harry could count on. She, too, was feeling grief from all that was lost on that horrid day a week ago, but not like them. She hadn’t lost a brother, or a parent, or someone she’d known her whole life. Her parents were safely in Australia, out of harm’s way.

She hadn’t intended to, but she’d taken on the ‘mother’ role. When she could, she cooked for the family, she checked in on all of them, she tended to any non-life-threatening wounds, and she offered a listening ear or a comforting shoulder if they ever needed one.

Surprisingly, most of her time had been spent with Ginny. Not because Ginny needed her the most, but because Ginny was the one who seemed to be coping the best out of everyone. She’d shed her share of tears over her brother, but the young woman had nerves of steel, and it was her that Hermione turned to when she needed downtime. 

They shared a room, and their evenings were spent in quiet conversation, with Ginny usually inquiring about the rest of her family and Hermione filling her in on how everyone was doing. Ginny was the one who ventured from her room the most and took walks outside around the Burrow’s grounds. The rest had barely left their beds.

Hermione came down to the kitchen in the late evening of the seventh day, spotting Ginny sitting at the table. She startled when Hermione entered, and Hermione saw a few tear streaks along her cheeks.

Hermione offered her a smile, which Ginny returned. 

“Everything okay?” Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded. “Yes.” She wiped at her cheeks. “I mean… yes.”

Hermione gulped, realising that that was the only answer she was going to get from her friend. “I was just looking for the bandages. For Ron.” 

Ron had sustained an injury to his shoulder during the final battle at Hogwarts. In his grief over losing Fred, he had failed to notice its severity until a few days later. An infection had built up, and had he gone to St Mungo’s, or had his mother been of sound mind, Hermione had no doubt it would have been cured in a matter of minutes. But Ron had refused to go to the hospital, and Molly was in no way capable of caring for herself right now, let alone her children.  

So, it was left to Hermione to help him, and she was no Healer. 

“How is he?” Ginny asked. The last time they’d spoken about Ron, his injury had been improving. It was slow, but when she’d checked on him that morning, some of the redness and swelling had gone down. 

“Improving,” Hermione answered, collecting the bandages she’d placed inside a cupboard. “But he’d be much better off if he saw a Healer.”

Ginny nodded, but didn’t respond. Hermione left her on her own and went up the stairs to Ron’s bedroom. She drew nearer to the door, hearing the low murmuring voices of Harry and Ron. She stopped, listening for a moment. Ron was the only person Harry would talk to at the moment, and she’d hate to interrupt whatever it was they were talking about. But, if she left Ron’s bandages on too long, then his wound would only get worse. 

She pushed open the door slowly, and both of them looked up. 

“Can I come in?” she asked softly. “I need to…” She held up the fresh bandages, and Ron nodded.

She entered, casting a glance at Harry, who’d fallen into a sullen silence upon her arrival. He laid on the small trundle bed on Ron’s floor, but when Hermione set herself up on Ron’s bed, spreading out the ointment and bandages, he sat up. “I’ll… go for a walk,” he said without looking at them. 

“You can stay,” Hermione offered, but Harry shook his head. “Ginny’s in the kitchen.” She didn’t know if Harry would take that as an invitation to talk to Ginny, but he nodded, and then left, closing the door behind him. 

Hermione turned to Ron, the pair of them looking at each other with a knowing expression. “I heard you talking,” Hermione said first.

Ron shrugged and winced. “He wants to go and spend some time alone at Grimmauld Place. I told him it was a dumb idea, but…” 

Hermione beckoned him closer to her, ready to do her best to treat him. He shrugged off his shirt, something that had initially been uncomfortable for both of them, but a necessity nonetheless. Still, it didn’t stop a blush from creeping up Hermione’s cheeks seeing him like that. Though, like every other time, she put her own unruly thoughts aside in favour of making sure he was getting better. 

“You really should see a Healer,” she advised, slowly unwrapping her poorly applied bandages from that morning. “You wouldn’t be in as much pain if you did.”

“I don’t need a hospital,” Ron argued. “Besides, you’re a good Healer. Even if you don’t have the things an actual one might. You have a gentle touch.”

Hermione flushed at his comment, lifting up his arm to inspect it. 

“Looking any better?” Ron asked. 

“A little. It’s not leaking pus anymore, so that’s a good sign.” She reached for a sponge and dipped it into the ointment. Keeping Ron’s words in her mind about having a gentle touch, she dabbed it over his shoulder slowly… gently. 

Ron shifted.

“Sorry,” she said, quickly pulling the sponge away, worried that it had stung. 

But Ron shook his head. “It didn’t hurt. It felt…” but he didn’t finish, a red creeping up his ears.

She looked up, their eyes meeting, and that familiar flutter in her chest returned. She might have spent most of her time with Ginny, but the time alone with Ron was her favourite. She just wished she could find the words and the courage to talk about what had happened between them a week ago. 

They’d kissed, and she desperately wanted to talk to him about it, and to find out what it had meant. Had it been a once off? A ‘we might die today’ kind of kiss? Or did it mean something more? So much had happened since then that the last thing she wanted was to put pressure on Ron to talk about something that seemed trivial in the scheme of things, but so often these looks — these soft touches — had occurred between them and it was driving her crazy not knowing what to do next. 

Breaking his gaze, she finished sponging over the ointment and then picked up one of the fresh bandages and began wrapping his shoulder in silence. Ron didn’t speak again, though she wasn’t ignorant to the goosebumps that appeared on his flesh every time her fingertips grazed his skin.

All too soon it was over and she pulled away. “Finished,” she announced. “Do you need anything to help with the pain? I can go back down and get you something if you do.”

Ron shook his head. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

Hermione smiled, quickly trying to think of an excuse to stay where she was. Maybe another reason to initiate contact between them. She remembered that he’d hurt his hip, too.

“How’s your hip?” she asked, and without thinking she moved to take a look at, fingers touching the elastic of his shorts, before he grabbed her wrist. She looked up at him, surprised. 

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, the tips of his ears turning red. “That’s pretty much better.”

“Maybe if I just look at it and —”

“It’s fine,” Ron said, this time with more force, moving her hands away from him. 

Hermione blinked, and her eyes trailed back down to where she thought the injury was. And now she saw why he reacted as he had — the slight bulge in his pants. 

She flushed and busied herself with tidying up the used bandages and everything else. 

Oh.

At least she now knew that the attraction wasn’t one sided. 

Ron’s eyes were on her as she gathered the stuff into her arms. She felt them burning into her as if nothing else mattered to him. 

Making sure to keep her eyes above his shoulders, Hermione finally looked back at him again. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out, not really sure why she was apologising for it.

Ron seemed to think the same thing, for despite his burning ears, he looked amused. 

They stared at each other for a few more moments before she sighed, setting everything back on the bed. She needed to talk to him about it, even if it was for him to say he wasn’t ready to take anything further. She’d completely understand if that was how he felt, given what he was going through, but it would be better than the dancing around the topic which was all they were doing now. 

“I know this is awful timing,” Hermione began, “but… I don’t think we can just pretend nothing happened last week.”

She saw Ron visibly swallow, but he nodded. 

She ploughed on. “Did it… did it mean something? I mean… it wasn’t just a kiss, was it?” She tried to hold his gaze, but lost her nerve and looked away. 

“It meant a lot.” Ron’s reply was soft and quiet — barely audible, but meaningful. 

She looked at him again, surprised to find that he was smiling. He looked relieved, perhaps that she’d finally brought it up. 

She returned his smile, feeling her breath leave her. “Oh… it meant a lot to me, too. I mean… I didn’t just kiss you because I thought we were going to die or anything.”

“Yeah, I know that. I mean, I think I knew that at the time. It wasn’t like that for me either, just so you know.” He smiled again and she felt her cheeks tinge pink.

 “I’m glad.” She fidgeted with her hands, wringing her fingers together and trying to figure out what to say to him next. “I guess this means… well, I’m not really sure what it means? What do we do? Er… what do you want to do, I mean?” She was blabbering, she knew, but she wasn’t used to having a conversation like this.

“I dunno.” He was still smiling at her, like he couldn’t quite believe she was there and they were talking about this. 

“I like you,” Hermione blurted out. She flushed a moment later. 

“I like you, too. A lot.“ Ron’s ears tinged red again. “I mean, you saw… wow, it feels good to be finally saying I like you out loud.”

Hermione flushed again, finding it very hard to keep a smile off her face. She swallowed, keeping her eyes on his face despite her growing desire to lower her gaze again. “Well, I think… I think we need to do this slowly. If we do anything, that is. I mean… I hope… I just…” Her cheeks were burning now and Ron could tell.

He was fighting back a laugh and she didn’t know if it was due to amusement or happiness. Maybe it was a bit of both. “I’ll go as slow as you want. Where do you want to start?”

Hermione was grateful to learn that they both seemed as lost as the other, because she was going to ask him the exact same question. 

Where did they start? So, they’d established that their feelings were mutual, but they’d spent seven years dodging those feelings, pushing them aside and prioritising their friendship. It felt almost like second nature to try and preserve that, even now. 

“I want to kiss you again, Hermione.”

Hermione startled at Ron’s sudden frankness. He’d seemed as nervous and as uncertain as she was a moment ago, but something in his eyes showed her a new boldness within him. It had taken a lot of courage for him to say that — more than she had.

“I’m… I’m done pretending,” Ron then said, as if to explain her unasked question. “If the last week has taught me anything, it’s that I need to make every moment of my life count, because you just don’t know when it’s going to be the last moment. I’ve thought about that a lot lately while lying here feeling sorry for myself, and there’s two things that I’ve figured out.

“The first is that I loved my brother and I am going to miss him like nothing else, but I’m glad… well, I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She closed it again and waited, because he deemed to want to say more. 

His eyes were focused on his Chudley Cannons bedspread as he spoke. “The second thing I worked out just now, sitting here with you. I don’t know what my last moment will be, but if it’s going to be soon, I’d be pretty happy if I ended it kissing you again. I’ve done enough pretending, I think. Pushing down feelings I so desperately wanted to feel. I’m… I’m done with it. I’m going to be honest about my feelings from here on in. No hiding them anymore. So, Hermione, I’m telling the truth when I say this. I lo —”

Hermione reached for his hands, shaking her head. “Don’t say it,” she urged, feeling the thumping of her heart in her chest. “Slowly, remember?” 

He nodded. “Right. Sorry. I just… I feel it and it’s a very strong emotion. I can’t help it.”

Hermione squeezed his hands assuringly, letting him know it was okay. He looked up at her, giving her a sheepish smile.

“Just kiss me,” she pleaded. “I just want you to kiss me.”

It was all the invitation Ron needed. His hand — the one attached to his good shoulder — moved to the back of her head, drawing her towards him. Their lips met somewhere in the middle, crashing against each other in a kiss that was both gentle and desperate. Her own hands moved to his waist, gripping at his bare skin from where he hadn’t put his shirt back on. She felt goosebumps rise up on him wherever she touched him. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her even closer toward him. Her chest exploded with so many feelings in just one kiss. 

It was different from the first time. The first time had been desperate, a moment of weakness on her part. But this time it was so much better. And they were alone this time, with no one around to interrupt their moment. Her mind started to wander as her body relaxed, enjoying every time his lips met hers again. 

Then suddenly, she became painfully aware of Ron’s ‘problem’ from earlier, and realised that it, and her touching his exposed skin in the way that she was, was probably only encouraging him. He didn’t seem set to break the kiss any time soon, with his mouth moving away from hers and down to her jaw before skimming over her neck…

It surprised her by how much he seemed to want her; how desperate he was for her and she pulled away in shock, ignoring the roaring fire that had sprung up in her own body and the part of her brain telling her that this was going to happen eventually, so why not now?

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled, dropping his hands from her hair and pulling himself away from her completely so that they weren’t touching at all. He looked guilty. “Too much, too fast. Sorry.”

Hermione moved forward so that she closed the gap he’d put between them. “It’s okay,” she assured him, dragging her fingers along his good shoulder, down his arm, relishing in the response she got from him. “It’s just… a little too fast for me. That side of things, I mean.”

He nodded. “It just feels so good.” His voice came out in almost a moan. “You feel so good. And finally having you here… it’s the bloody best feeling in the whole world.” 

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him again, this time with a gentler touch. Ron sighed against her. 

She had to agree. Feeling his hands become tangled in her hair, his palms pressed against her head, drawing her closer to him, the rapid thumping for her heart… it was better than anything she’d ever felt in her entire life. 

When they broke away again, looking each other in the eye, Ron whispered, “I really want to say it.”

“I know,” she whispered back, her heart bursting to jump out of her chest and wrap Ron up forever. “I do, too.”

His lips pressed against her forehead and she fell against him, resting her head against his chest. His arms engulfed her, making her feel safe and warm.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured against her. “And all I mean is… stay. That’s all I want. To fall asleep with you next to me.”

She nodded. “I’ll stay.”

They both sighed and smiled. For the first time in a week, Hermione could safely say that she felt perfectly content exactly where she was.

#submission

[firethecanonsfanfiction]

It Only Takes One Kiss

Title: It Only Takes One Kiss

Pairings/Characters: Ron/Hermione

Summary:  A week after the war, and after caring for the Weasleys, Hermione can no longer put what happened with her and Ron aside.

Warnings: Very sutble sexual references.

Challenges/Prompts: 'Second Kiss' trope for @romione-trope-fest

Originally published: March 4, 2022 on ao3 and March 21, 2022 on Fanfiction.net and Tumblr.

Reposted: N/A

The Burrow was a deathly quiet that Hermione wasn’t used to. Of all the times she’d been here, it had always been filled with life and laughter and so many bodies crowded around her. Siblings were shoved into two or three tiny rooms in order to make room for visitors like herself and Harry.

Now, a solemn air had taken over this once happy place.

Hermione had done her best to be the person the Weasleys and Harry could count on. She, too, was feeling grief from all that was lost on that horrid day a week ago, but not like them. She hadn’t lost a brother, or a parent, or someone she’d known her whole life. Her parents were safely in Australia, out of harm’s way.

She hadn’t intended to, but she’d taken on the ‘mother’ role. When she could, she cooked for the family, she checked in on all of them, she tended to any non-life-threatening wounds, and she offered a listening ear or a comforting shoulder if they ever needed one.

Surprisingly, most of her time had been spent with Ginny. Not because Ginny needed her the most, but because Ginny was the one who seemed to be coping the best out of everyone. She’d shed her share of tears over her brother, but the young woman had nerves of steel, and it was her that Hermione turned to when she needed downtime.

They shared a room, and their evenings were spent in quiet conversation, with Ginny usually inquiring about the rest of her family and Hermione filling her in on how everyone was doing. Ginny was the one who ventured from her room the most and took walks outside around the Burrow’s grounds. The rest had barely left their beds.

Hermione came down to the kitchen in the late evening of the seventh day, spotting Ginny sitting at the table. She startled when Hermione entered, and Hermione saw a few tear streaks along her cheeks.

Hermione offered her a smile, which Ginny returned.

“Everything okay?” Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded. “Yes.” She wiped at her cheeks. “I mean… yes.”

Hermione gulped, realising that that was the only answer she was going to get from her friend. “I was just looking for the bandages. For Ron.”

Ron had sustained an injury to his shoulder during the final battle at Hogwarts. In his grief over losing Fred, he had failed to notice its severity until a few days later. An infection had built up, and had he gone to St Mungo’s, or had his mother been of sound mind, Hermione had no doubt it would have been cured in a matter of minutes. But Ron had refused to go to the hospital, and Molly was in no way capable of caring for herself right now, let alone her children.

So, it was left to Hermione to help him, and she was no Healer.

“How is he?” Ginny asked. The last time they’d spoken about Ron, his injury had been improving. It was slow, but when she’d checked on him that morning, some of the redness and swelling had gone down.

“Improving,” Hermione answered, collecting the bandages she’d placed inside a cupboard. “But he’d be much better off if he saw a Healer.”

Ginny nodded, but didn’t respond. Hermione left her on her own and went up the stairs to Ron’s bedroom. She drew nearer to the door, hearing the low murmuring voices of Harry and Ron. She stopped, listening for a moment. Ron was the only person Harry would talk to at the moment, and she’d hate to interrupt whatever it was they were talking about. But, if she left Ron’s bandages on too long, then his wound would only get worse.

She pushed open the door slowly, and both of them looked up.

“Can I come in?” she asked softly. “I need to…” She held up the fresh bandages, and Ron nodded.

She entered, casting a glance at Harry, who’d fallen into a sullen silence upon her arrival. He laid on the small trundle bed on Ron’s floor, but when Hermione set herself up on Ron’s bed, spreading out the ointment and bandages, he sat up. “I’ll… go for a walk,” he said without looking at them.

“You can stay,” Hermione offered, but Harry shook his head. “Ginny’s in the kitchen.” She didn’t know if Harry would take that as an invitation to talk to Ginny, but he nodded, and then left, closing the door behind him.

Hermione turned to Ron, the pair of them looking at each other with a knowing expression. “I heard you talking,” Hermione said first.

Ron shrugged and winced. “He wants to go and spend some time alone at Grimmauld Place. I told him it was a dumb idea, but…”

Hermione beckoned him closer to her, ready to do her best to treat him. He shrugged off his shirt, something that had initially been uncomfortable for both of them, but a necessity nonetheless. Still, it didn’t stop a blush from creeping up Hermione’s cheeks seeing him like that. Though, like every other time, she put her own unruly thoughts aside in favour of making sure he was getting better.

“You really should see a Healer,” she advised, slowly unwrapping her poorly applied bandages from that morning. “You wouldn’t be in as much pain if you did.”

“I don’t need a hospital,” Ron argued. “Besides, you’re a good Healer. Even if you don’t have the things an actual one might. You have a gentle touch.”

Hermione flushed at his comment, lifting up his arm to inspect it.

“Looking any better?” Ron asked.

“A little. It’s not leaking pus anymore, so that’s a good sign.” She reached for a sponge and dipped it into the ointment. Keeping Ron’s words in her mind about having a gentle touch, she dabbed it over his shoulder slowly… gently.

Ron shifted.

“Sorry,” she said, quickly pulling the sponge away, worried that it had stung.

But Ron shook his head. “It didn’t hurt. It felt…” but he didn’t finish, a red creeping up his ears.

She looked up, their eyes meeting, and that familiar flutter in her chest returned. She might have spent most of her time with Ginny, but the time alone with Ron was her favourite. She just wished she could find the words and the courage to talk about what had happened between them a week ago.

They’d kissed, and she desperately wanted to talk to him about it, and to find out what it had meant. Had it been a once off? A ‘we might die today’ kind of kiss? Or did it mean something more? So much had happened since then that the last thing she wanted was to put pressure on Ron to talk about something that seemed trivial in the scheme of things, but so often these looks — these soft touches — had occurred between them and it was driving her crazy not knowing what to do next.

Breaking his gaze, she finished sponging over the ointment and then picked up one of the fresh bandages and began wrapping his shoulder in silence. Ron didn’t speak again, though she wasn’t ignorant to the goosebumps that appeared on his flesh every time her fingertips grazed his skin.

All too soon it was over and she pulled away. “Finished,” she announced. “Do you need anything to help with the pain? I can go back down and get you something if you do.”

Ron shook his head. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

Hermione smiled, quickly trying to think of an excuse to stay where she was. Maybe another reason to initiate contact between them. She remembered that he’d hurt his hip, too.

“How’s your hip?” she asked, and without thinking she moved to take a look at, fingers touching the elastic of his shorts, before he grabbed her wrist. She looked up at him, surprised.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, the tips of his ears turning red. “That’s pretty much better.”

“Maybe if I just look at it and —”

“It’s fine,” Ron said, this time with more force, moving her hands away from him.

Hermione blinked, and her eyes trailed back down to where she thought the injury was. And now she saw why he reacted as he had — the slight bulge in his pants.

She flushed and busied herself with tidying up the used bandages and everything else.

Oh.

At least she now knew that the attraction wasn’t one sided.

Ron’s eyes were on her as she gathered the stuff into her arms. She felt them burning into her as if nothing else mattered to him.

Making sure to keep her eyes above his shoulders, Hermione finally looked back at him again. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out, not really sure why she was apologising for it.

Ron seemed to think the same thing, for despite his burning ears, he looked amused.

They stared at each other for a few more moments before she sighed, setting everything back on the bed. She needed to talk to him about it, even if it was for him to say he wasn’t ready to take anything further. She’d completely understand if that was how he felt, given what he was going through, but it would be better than the dancing around the topic which was all they were doing now.

“I know this is awful timing,” Hermione began, “but… I don’t think we can just pretend nothing happened last week.”

She saw Ron visibly swallow, but he nodded.

She ploughed on. “Did it… did it mean something? I mean… it wasn’t just a kiss, was it?” She tried to hold his gaze, but lost her nerve and looked away.

“It meant a lot.” Ron’s reply was soft and quiet — barely audible, but meaningful.

She looked at him again, surprised to find that he was smiling. He looked relieved, perhaps that she’d finally brought it up.

She returned his smile, feeling her breath leave her. “Oh… it meant a lot to me, too. I mean… I didn’t just kiss you because I thought we were going to die or anything.”

“Yeah, I know that. I mean, I think I knew that at the time. It wasn’t like that for me either, just so you know.” He smiled again and she felt her cheeks tinge pink.

“I’m glad.” She fidgeted with her hands, wringing her fingers together and trying to figure out what to say to him next. “I guess this means… well, I’m not really sure what it means? What do we do? Er… what do you want to do, I mean?” She was blabbering, she knew, but she wasn’t used to having a conversation like this.

“I dunno.” He was still smiling at her, like he couldn’t quite believe she was there and they were talking about this.

“I like you,” Hermione blurted out. She flushed a moment later.

“I like you, too. A lot." Ron’s ears tinged red again. "I mean, you saw… wow, it feels good to be finally saying I like you out loud."

Hermione flushed again, finding it very hard to keep a smile off her face. She swallowed, keeping her eyes on his face despite her growing desire to lower her gaze again. “Well, I think… I think we need to do this slowly. If we do anything, that is. I mean… I hope… I just…” Her cheeks were burning now and Ron could tell.

He was fighting back a laugh and she didn’t know if it was due to amusement or happiness. Maybe it was a bit of both. “I’ll go as slow as you want. Where do you want to start?”

Hermione was grateful to learn that they both seemed as lost as the other, because she was going to ask him the exact same question.

Where did they start? So, they’d established that their feelings were mutual, but they’d spent seven years dodging those feelings, pushing them aside and prioritising their friendship. It felt almost like second nature to try and preserve that, even now.

“I want to kiss you again, Hermione.”

Hermione startled at Ron’s sudden frankness. He’d seemed as nervous and as uncertain as she was a moment ago, but something in his eyes showed her a new boldness within him. It had taken a lot of courage for him to say that — more than she had.

“I’m… I’m done pretending,” Ron then said, as if to explain her unasked question. “If the last week has taught me anything, it’s that I need to make every moment of my life count, because you just don’t know when it’s going to be the last moment. I’ve thought about that a lot lately while lying here feeling sorry for myself, and there’s two things that I’ve figured out.

“The first is that I loved my brother and I am going to miss him like nothing else, but I’m glad… well, I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She closed it again and waited, because he deemed to want to say more.

His eyes were focused on his Chudley Cannons bedspread as he spoke. “The second thing I worked out just now, sitting here with you. I don’t know what my last moment will be, but if it’s going to be soon, I’d be pretty happy if I ended it kissing you again. I’ve done enough pretending, I think. Pushing down feelings I so desperately wanted to feel. I’m… I’m done with it. I’m going to be honest about my feelings from here on in. No hiding them anymore. So, Hermione, I’m telling the truth when I say this. I lo —”

Hermione reached for his hands, shaking her head. “Don’t say it,” she urged, feeling the thumping of her heart in her chest. “Slowly, remember?”

He nodded. “Right. Sorry. I just… I feel it and it’s a very strong emotion. I can’t help it.”

Hermione squeezed his hands assuringly, letting him know it was okay. He looked up at her, giving her a sheepish smile.

“Just kiss me,” she pleaded. “I just want you to kiss me.”

It was all the invitation Ron needed. His hand — the one attached to his good shoulder — moved to the back of her head, drawing her towards him. Their lips met somewhere in the middle, crashing against each other in a kiss that was both gentle and desperate. Her own hands moved to his waist, gripping at his bare skin from where he hadn’t put his shirt back on. She felt goosebumps rise up on him wherever she touched him. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her even closer toward him. Her chest exploded with so many feelings in just one kiss.

It was different from the first time. The first time had been desperate, a moment of weakness on her part. But this time it was so much better. And they were alone this time, with no one around to interrupt their moment. Her mind started to wander as her body relaxed, enjoying every time his lips met hers again.

Then suddenly, she became painfully aware of Ron’s ‘problem’ from earlier, and realised that it, and her touching his exposed skin in the way that she was, was probably only encouraging him. He didn’t seem set to break the kiss any time soon, with his mouth moving away from hers and down to her jaw before skimming over her neck…

It surprised her by how much he seemed to want her; how desperate he was for her and she pulled away in shock, ignoring the roaring fire that had sprung up in her own body and the part of her brain telling her that this was going to happen eventually, so why not now?

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled, dropping his hands from her hair and pulling himself away from her completely so that they weren’t touching at all. He looked guilty. “Too much, too fast. Sorry.”

Hermione moved forward so that she closed the gap he’d put between them. “It’s okay,” she assured him, dragging her fingers along his good shoulder, down his arm, relishing in the response she got from him. “It’s just… a little too fast for me. That side of things, I mean.”

He nodded. “It just feels so good.” His voice came out in almost a moan. “You feel so good. And finally having you here… it’s the bloody best feeling in the whole world.”

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him again, this time with a gentler touch. Ron sighed against her.

She had to agree. Feeling his hands become tangled in her hair, his palms pressed against her head, drawing her closer to him, the rapid thumping for her heart… it was better than anything she’d ever felt in her entire life.

When they broke away again, looking each other in the eye, Ron whispered, “I really want to say it.”

“I know,” she whispered back, her heart bursting to jump out of her chest and wrap Ron up forever. “I do, too.”

His lips pressed against her forehead and she fell against him, resting her head against his chest. His arms engulfed her, making her feel safe and warm.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured against her. “And all I mean is… stay. That’s all I want. To fall asleep with you next to me.”

She nodded. “I’ll stay.”

They both sighed and smiled. For the first time in a week, Hermione could safely say that she felt perfectly content exactly where she was.

#romione #romionefanfiction #romionetropefest #second kiss

[reluctantwonderchild]

The meaning of love

As she looked over and watched the pair dance, Charlie couldn’t help but be struck dumb at what she saw. The pair, clearly oblivious to everyone else around them, were so besotted with one another. So obviously in love, that it emanated from them and filled the room with warmth and happiness.

It dawned on Charlie that this was perhaps the first time she’d seen love like this. Or at least, seen either of her parents so happy and content. So at ease. As if they were adjoining pieces of the same jigsaw. They simply fit together, like it was always meant to be. It filled her with both joy and sadness that Bernie had, seemingly, only found this in the last few years. But she had found Serena and for that Charlie would forever be grateful.

Watching Bernie and Serena, Charlie was brought back to her own speech made not that long ago. Only just now realising how true her words had been.

“I used to think I knew what love was. True love. Fairy tales, movie endings. Driving off into the sunset for a ‘happily ever after’. Naïve thoughts I think we all have growing up. But it’s from watching mum and Serena that I can now see what love really is. No relationship is perfect. But if I can ever find someone I can have a relationship with that is anything like theirs then I think that’ll be a pretty good life. Partners who are equal. Treat each other with respect. Acceptance. Support each other. A relationship filled with kindness, humour, passion, and contentment. You know every so often when you see a couple and you can’t imagine them not being together? Or that it just feels right that they were meant to be together? That’s what I feel when I see Serena and mum. After everything that’s happened over the last few years. Everything we’ve been through as a family. I’m so proud to be able to stand here and celebrate their love and relationship with you all. And I’m proud to be the daughter, and now, stepdaughter, of two such amazing women. I know I’m not the only one.”

It was with a pang of grief, one that she quickly tried to push away, that she thought of Cam and Elinor as her speech drew to a close and she picked up her glass to raise a toast.

Afterwards, when she had a moment with Bernie and Serena, she’d pull her mum into a hug and whisper: “I meant it, you know. I am proud, and I love you so much. I know Cam would say so too.” Her arms, tightly wrapped around Bernie, hoping her mum would feel the magnitude of her love even as her bottom lip wobbled at the thought of her brother.

@honeycombwerewolfe

#honeycombwerewolfe #verse: only child #you can either treat this as a little drabble type thing or a starter #depends whether Bernie wants to respond I guess #my writing #berena #berena wedding #serena campbell #bernie wolfe #charlotte dunn #who wanted angst with a wedding? #me apparently #lol

[jabbagabba]

La La Land

WARNING ⚠️

Do not read if you haven’t watched WandaVison, while this isn’t fully cannon story based, it still has potential spoilers and just general references. Read at own risk!

Heavy angst, the loss of a parent, Tony Stark died ya’ll, alcoholism mentioned briefly, also disassociation is talked about and happens to reader so be warned, if you are struggling with mental illness and feel like this may trigger you then please do not read. Grief is a hard thing and this is going to be very heavy, I’ll try to make sure to include all warnings and triggers but please let me know if I forgot anything.

———

Prologue

The pain of losing a parent is one you were familiar with.

That ache of realising you’d never meet your mother was something that had slowly chipped away at you from the moment the first breath of life entered your lungs. Her name was Loren; a twenty something journalist Tony had met at one of his many parties. You had heard the same four or so stories growing up, Tony’s words slightly slurred as he giggled along to the same old jokes she told the night they met.

“I wasn’t looking to settle down, ya know?” He’d say, taking a final swig as the mood shifted. “But, my God. She made me wanna propose that night.”

You usually cut him off at that point, patting him on the back while trying to pry his hands off the coffee mug filled with scotch. It was hard to fully remember those days; each year making the memory foggy as he stayed sober. You didn’t miss the drinking but rather the stories they spilled from inside him.

Loren was his first love, Pepper was his second.

Loren was you mother, but Pepper was the closest thing to one you could get. She made sure to keep you fed during his long hours of work, tucked you in at night and told JARVIS to keep the star lights above you well lit. Pepper was a great mother, but she wasn’t yours.

Sometimes when you couldn’t fall asleep at night you’d imagine what Loren use to look like. Did she have your eyes? Did she like to read Nancy Drew before bedtime like you did? Did she have dreams of becoming some big star that knew everyone there was to know? Did she have stories tucked away of your father that only coffee mug scotch could reveal?

All these questions would swirl in your head before you were to too tired to keep asking them, the start of a new day washing them away from you completely. Death always had a way of avoiding sleepless questions. You only knew one thing for sure about your mother though.

You loved her, and my god, missed her.

But nothing could have prepared you for today.

The way your heart pulled and squeezed inside of your now hollow chest as your eyes stared below at a lake that had the last piece of Tony Stark floating on it. Nothing prepared you for the feeling of poisonous sadness that flowed through your veins as you held tightly onto a little girl’s hand that was now part of your family, already old enough to feel the full force of your father’s loss. It had been three days and you already felt strength drain from you.

It was all too much. Too unbearable. You didn’t move from standing on the dock, eyes glued to the slow moving water. It wasn’t until a tiny tug on your hand that you even realised you were still breathing.

“C’mon, Happy wants to see you.” Morgan’s small voice fills the silence.

‘That’s right,’ Your think as your eyes come back to focus. ‘I’m real. I’m not just staring at water, I’m at my father’s funeral. I wasn’t snapped out of existence again, I’m alive.’

You heard her say your name and are forced to float back to your body.

‘I can move... I should move.’ You pull from her grasp and turned toward her with a shaky smile.

“You go ahead.” You’re surprised when no tears drip down your cheeks. “I’ll be up in a minute.” Your eyes follow her up the stairs, vision glossy as Happy sits next to her on the porch swing. This cabin was not part of your story, the way Morgan floated around it with familiarity was something you simply would never relate to.

Pepper was Tony’s anchor, Morgan was hers and now yours was floating down a river.

———

Wanda watched in silence as the last of the guests fanned out from the lawn. She felt the familiar tug of pain in her chest as she took small steps toward the two girls on the dock. That look on your face was one she saw in the mirror more times then she would like to admit. As she watched the youngest Stark fall onto the porch swing with a small giggle, her mind snapped back into focus.

This was her only chance.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Wanda’s voice was steady, a stark contrast from the tears that fell onto her cheeks. You bite back a bitter scoff and choose to simply nod. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t anyone’s and yet that was the hardest part. Your father chose to die, chose it. How was that ever going to not hurt? “I know what it’s like to lose someone and even though your father and I had... a strange past.” She put a gentle hand on your forearm. “I know in my heart he loved you.”

Your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day filled with tears as you finally looked into hers. Wanda gave a smile as she wrapped her arms around your shaking body and squeezed.

You finally broke.

Wanda was someone you had only spoken to in passing; watching as she tried to crash your father in cars once during the airport fight. You never blamed her for it though, knowing that it was never an intention to truely hurt him. She was barley less then a stranger and yet here she was, letting you sob in her arms as she whispered comforting words in a language you didn’t understand. In that briefest of moments, she was the closest thing to a anchor you had.

For a moment the wave of grief had settled in your body. For a moment, you felt like you could live without him.

“Thank you.” Your voice was muffled by her cardigan, tears finally drying on puffy cheeks as you sniffled. “Thank you.” She moved back and let her hands rest on your shoulders.

“That feeling.” She said with a comforting smile. “That feeling of relief is something that needs to be treasured in times like these.” You tried not to let your confusion show as she moved her hands up to your cheeks. “I can help you.”

“How?” Your eyes widened as you felt a low pulsing float from your neck up to above your ears as she smiled once more.

“But first-“ You were forced to watch in silent horror as her eyes glowed a a deep red. “You need to help me.”

#wandavision #wanda maximoff imagine #stark!reader #angst #fluff #marvel imagine #tony stark x daughter!reader #wandavision imagine #wandavison x reader #marvel x reader #teen!reader

[amonrawya]

The Greatest Gift of All

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

*

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town. 

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky. 

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning. 

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out. 

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast. 

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

*

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief. 

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being. 

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now? 

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

*

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life. 

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

*

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them. 

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition. 

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her. 

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

#marvel #writing #creative #youtube #movies #sacrifice #steve rogers #endgame #captain america: the first avenger #bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky barns x y/n #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky imagine #sam wilson #lovers #i love him #love story #time travel #angst with a happy ending #here you guys go #i hope this is okay!

[merryfortune]

Sunlight wasn’t streaming in

Written for 100ships on Dreamwidth

Prompt - #12 Sunlight

Ship: Hitch/Sunny

Fandom: My Little Pony: A New Generation

Word Count: 1,470

Rating: G

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Pre-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Grief, Pre-Relationship

   Even now, Hitch felt anxious to enter the Starscout resident. Phyllis’s warning still rang clear in his head even now but it was important to him that he visited. He hadn’t seen Sunny in a while, not since… not since her dad had passed away. No one had seen her, actually, and Hitch figured it was his duty as a strong arm of the law, peace, and justice that he perform a welfare check on her but he still felt a tremor of unease. 

   There was something drastically different about the lighthouse today. Sunlight wasn’t streaming in through the windows, all the curtains had been drawn shut. It was solemn. Silent. Unnerving. Even so, Hitch pulled through and nudged open the door. It was open. As safe as Maretime Bay was, all the other ponies in town locked their doors lest a Pegasus or a Unicorn come a-knocking but of course, silly and idealistic Sunny wasn’t like that. Not even when she was grieving so deeply, she wanted to be left uncharacteristically in the dark.

   Hitch swallowed a lump in his throat as he crept in through the door and he glanced to the side of it, the framed photo on the wall of Sunny and Argyle was askew. Hitch fixed it. It wasn’t right just to leave it crooked. After that, he swung his head out and then he called for Sunny.

   At first there was no response but then he heard it. A muffled go away but that only propelled Hitch further into the lighthouse. Onwards and upwards, he figured. He couldn’t just leave Sunny like this. So, he made his way up to her room, using all the contraptions that had impressed him as a young colt but now, just seemed dangerous now. He was certain this madhouse was breaking many by-laws but it didn’t seem appropriate right now to count them all.

   “May I come in, Sunny?” Hitch asked the door to Sunny’s room.

   “Since you're here… you may as well.” Sunny mumbled back.

   With her permission, Hitch came inside and closed the door behind him. Even up here, where the light house should get the most light of all since it was Sunny’s inner sanctum, it was very dark. Dim. Grey. It unsettled Hitch as he drew in closer to his childhood friend who languished in her bed, under the covers.

   “Are you okay?” Hitch asked.

   Sunny dragged herself out from under the covers and glared, “No,” she snapped, uncharacteristically, tears in her eyes, loathing herself for being angry but loathing Hitch for asking, “my dad just died. Of course I’m not okay.”

   “It’s fine.” Hitch mumbled. “Be angry, be sad… I just want to make sure you're getting it out, not bottling it up.”

   “Thanks, Hitch.” Sunny murmured as she lowered her head back into her bed. 

   She swallowed a sob but Hitch reached out to her, placing his hoof next to one of hers and she nodded. She knew she didn’t have to be strong or stoic around Hitch, trying to be the sunniest possible version of Sunny even in her grief and so, that repressed sob became a bawl. Hitch nudged his hoof against Sunny’s, consoling her wordlessly during her sobbing and hysteria. She was loud and wet and he could only make a most bittersweet expression but for it, Sunny did feel lighter of her burden of mourning.

   She lifted her head up off her pillow and took a breath, “Thanks Hitch, I needed that.”

   “I can tell.” Hitch replied. “If you need anything else, I’m your guy.”

   Sunny smiled.

   “In fact,” Hitch added, thinking he was being equal parts helpful and sly, “when was the last time you ate? I can go fetch you something if you want.”

   Sunny wanted to protest, that she was fine and that Hitch didn’t have to go to any extravagant length for her but her belly betrayed her by giving a huge growl, as though on cue. Hitch snickered and Sunny fumed, embarrassed but after her huge cry, it did feel good as well to hazard out a little bit of laughter at her own expense.

   “I only want something small… I really don’t feel up to eating anything huge.” Sunny murmured.

   “Got it, how about I bring you up a smoothie, then?” Hitch asked. “It's your favourite, after all.”

   “That would be lovely, Hitch.” Sunny replied with a gracious smile.

   Hitch winked at her and told her he would only be a moment. He trotted off down the contraptions again and into her kitchen. The idea of it being just Sunny’s kitchen weighed Hitch down as he fossicked through her refrigerator and her counters. It had been a long time since he had been in her kitchen, watching her father bake cupcakes for his little filly. Hitch’s mouth turned sour as he realised that he never accepted one from what was going to be the last batch that Argyle would ever bake. That filled him with regret.

   Eventually, he got the blender working and topped it full of whatever he could find. He wanted it to be healthy for Sunny but he also wanted it to be a comfort so he ended up tossing all sorts of fruit and vegetables in there, ice-cream and honey too and the resulting concoction was pungently sweet. He knew - hope - that Sunny would love it as he put a replacement lid with a sippy on the glass blender and brought it up to Sunny’s room again in its entirety.

   “Er, drink it at your leisure, obviously. But don’t let it get too warm or it’ll taste bad.” Hitch said.

   Sunny giggled as she accepted the entire smoothie. She could smell how strongly sweet it was going to be through the lid but it just made her giddy rather than anything else. She took a smiley sip of it, even if her cheeks were half-dried with tears, and enjoyed it. It was made with love and that’s all she could ask for, even if the flavours didn’t exactly harmonise, she couldn’t begrudge Hitch for trying his best for her.

   “It's delicious.” Sunny replied.

   “Not as good as the ones that you make, I'm sure.” Hitch sheepishly replied, toeing the wooden floorboards under-hoof in earnestness.

   “I appreciate it.” Sunny continued, her voice soft.

   “You’d do the same for me, or anyone, really…” Hitch murmured and he realised there was only a very small pool of Ponies - only him - would ask for Sunny to do the same or do the same for Sunny. He cleared his throat. “So, um, if you need anything at all. It can be small or silly or big and huge… You know who to call.”

   “I do.” Sunny replied, having another sip of her smoothie. “You're the best a mare could ask for, Hitch.”

   “Aw, shucks…” Hitch mumbled, his eyes going wide but he was enjoying the praise. “Your, um, really important to me, Sunny, I mean it.”

   “Thank you, Hitch.” Sunny said.

   She leaned out over her bed for a nuzzle and Hitch awkwardly reciprocated. They rubbed their cheeks and muzzle on each other and Hitch held his breath for it. Sunny was all too soft and sweet for him, so Hitch pulled back first. Sunny sighed but she didn’t seem disappointed by the succinctness of the affection.

   “I’ll, um, give you some space.” Hitch said. “And remember to have something solid for dinner tonight, a smoothie is most certainly not dinner.”

   “I appreciate it, Hitch, and I’ll let you know if I need anything, I promise.” Sunny said.

   “Good,” Hitch said with a smile full of bravado, “because I want to see you rabble rousing on your roller skates again as soon as possible.”

   “On it,” Sunny said and she shrugged, “and Hitch?”

   “Oh? Yes?” he said, surprised to be prompted so soon.

   “Could you do me one little favour before you go?” Sunny said and she seemed rather embarrassed by the indulgence that she was about to ask for. “But, um, could you open the curtains for me? I think I need the sunlight.”

   “I think you do, too.” Hitch agreed.

   He trotted over to the curtains on the far side of Sunny’s room, he bit down on the rod and with a heft, he let so much sunlight into Sunny’s room and she basked in the warmth. She smiled, relieved and loved, and made Hitch feel like he had done really good today. The lighthouse was really only the lighthouse, Hitch thought, if it was all lit up, one way or another.

   Thus, with his welfare check performed, Hitch pardoned himself and Sunny promised she would be out and about in the town again soon, she knew her father would want her to be busy and happy. Hitch, too, of course.

#100ships challenge #starblazer #sunny x hitch #hitch x sunny #sunny starscout #hitch trailblazer #my little pony a new generation #mlp #writing tag #ok i've gotten my mlp fics out of my system

[philliamwrites]

sunkissed

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Albedo / Aether

Tags: #kissing, #morning softness, #fluff

Words: 1.6k

Summary: “Don’t,” Aether laughed, rising his shoulders to hide his skin from Albedo’s hungry mouth. “I’m stinky after yesterday’s battle.”

“No.” The tip of Albedo’s nose grazed his sensitive skin. “You smell like the sun. Always warm. As if the sun loves you. As if it wants to cling to you as long as possible.”

Notes: A birthday present for my lovely friend. This pairing just butters my biscuits, fam.

Also I'm still taking commissions for anyone interested! Just write me a dm!

Masterlist

sunkissed

»’cause you’re so lovely, you’re so lovely, i can’t help but fall for you, love when you love me, it’s so lovely loving you

    When Aether awoke, he was all alone.

    He opened his eyes in a sleepy daze, and as his hand reached out to his left, he found the crumbled sleeping roll empty and cold. Immediately, he startled fully awake as if struck by lightning, his mind clearing from sleep and dreams that tasted like ashes on his tongue.

    “Lumine?” he said out loud—the first name he remembered ever speaking, and the last he wanted to be his dying breath. But when usually his sister would come to his aid, trained to respond to the sound of his voice from childhood, to rise from bed when Aether cried, to run to help him when he fell down, now he was all alone inside the tiny tent.

    No. Not quite alone.

    It’s his first day in Teyvat all over again after he’d regained consciousness and called out for her, and had found Paimon in her stead, drifting in the ocean stretching before Starsnatch Cliff. Now, her little snores filled the suffocating quiet and coated his throbbing heart in a soothing balm labelled companionship.

    Aether thought that with time, missing Lumine would become easier to bear. That he’d simply grow dull and time numbed his feelings. Clearly, he was wrong, and Father Time was not that kind.

    He crawled outside the tent, quietly so he wouldn’t disturb Paimon, and emerged into the early sunlight winking through the tree crowns. Their little campfire from yesterday night had lost its battle and died hours ago, and Aether shuddered when a light breeze stirred its ashes into the air.

    That was when he spotted Albedo sitting at the top of a slope. He hadn’t noticed Aether waking up, his eyes fixed on the horizon where clouds had gathered in the east, and the rising sun lit them in brilliant shades of reds and corals and violets. His hand, holding a fine brush, danced across a canvas, trying to capture that ephemeral beauty with lithe fingers Aether knew were capable of much more than painting. His chest tightened when he thought of yesterday night. Their quiet voices and hushed whispers as they tried not to wake up Paimon even though all Aether had wanted to do was scream Albedo’s name when he finally came as Albedo’s rough thumb had grazed the tip of his member. Thankfully, Albedo was kind enough to swallow all of Aether’s moans and gasps, leaving his mind completely fogged and drunk on his kisses.

    Aether tried not to think too much of it as he went up the slope where Albedo sat, overlooking the vast valley stretching out under them.

    “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Aether asked. He stretched in the morning’s light, delighted by the early warmth and slight breeze on his skin. “I wanted to see the sunrise with you.”

    Albedo’s eyes drew lazily from his canvas to Aether’s waist, watching how his shirt rode up and revealed more of his skin without allowing his hand to stop once as the brush mixed reds and blues. “I tried. But you just drooled.”

    “That’s a lie.”

    A smile crept up Albedo’s face. “True. But you looked too lovely to wake up. Like you had a good dream,” he said so seriously, Aether felt heat rise to his cheeks. His arms dropped back to his side. He couldn’t handle Albedo’s honesty first thing in the morning.

    Albedo rose an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

    Aether did have a dream. A dream about Mondstadt’s Windblume Festival where all his friends had gathered around a table in Angel’s Share, and in the centre, like the sun holding its own universe, sat Lumine, beaming at him.

    “Happy birthday, brother,” she’d said, intertwining their fingers just like on the day they were born.

    “Happy birthday, sister,” he’d said, touching his forehead to hers just like during their days spent inside their mother’s womb.

    How much he longed to be with her again.

    Aether exhaled. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath until that moment. Albedo must have heard him, for he raised his head and his gaze met Aether’s, and he wondered how much of the endless black hole that his grief cut into his heart Albedo could see.

    The corner of his mouth pulled up into a rueful smile. “No, you’re right,” Aether said. “I had a dream. A good dream, indeed.”

    Albedo stopped painting. His eyes were the colour of the ocean after a storm, clear and bright and deep enough for Aether to drown in them. He wanted it. Aether wanted to be swallowed whole. Become tiny, pocket-sized, perfectly fitting in Albedos’ palm and be devoured. Be completely consumed until nothing was left, and all of him belonged to Albedo only. What a wonderful mess that would be.

    Quickly turning his eyes away before he dropped to his knees and begged Albedo to take him right here and now in the open, Aether tried to douse his desire by gazing out at the sublime scenery. A flock of birds took flight from a nearby tree, their song echoing through the valley. Clouds drifted over their heads on their lazy journey over fields and rivers, taking unrecognisable shapes as they told stories about every place they’d seen. Aether envied them.

    “You know, in the world where I’m from, it’s always night,” he said. “Sure, it’s beautiful, we have so many more stars than you guys. And moons. But it’s the same. Wherever I looked, it was always the same. But this—” He waved his hand at the sky above them. “Your sky changes every day. It’s always different, the colours, the clouds. Dawn, dusk. I didn’t know words like that existed when I first came here. It’s beautiful.”

    Albedo followed Aether’s gaze, considering the landscape in front of them. But his eyes—suddenly ablaze, a roaring fire—drew back on Aether as he said, “It truly is beautiful.”

    Aether didn’t feel beautiful. He’s pretty sure his bed-hair was still sticking to all sides and his clothes were rumpled. But Albedo never failed in making him feel wanted, desired. Be that in the early morning hours without having his face washed or teeth brushed, or on the battle field with blood and grime spattered all over him.

    Just like now, Albedo was able to make Aether come undone with a single gaze of those piercing, ocean eyes.

    “Let’s go back before Paimon wakes up and throws a fit because she thinks we’ve left her,” he said and turned around before this would turn into an unholy, filthy ceremony out in the open not even the Archons should witness.

    Aether didn’t come very far. Halfway down, Albedo caught up to him and in a flash, seized Aether’s wrist. He pulled him to a nearby tree, and a second later, Aether felt rough bark against his back. Albedo closed the distance between them in one step. His hands cupped the back of Aether’s head, his mouth slanting down over his, hot and sweet as tea with honey. Aether ran his teeth lightly across Albedo’s bottom lip, and he made a guttural sound that raised the hairs along Aether’s arms. He pressed his body hard against Aether’s, lowering his head to kiss his throat, to lick and suck at the pulse point where he could feel the beating of his heart.

    “Don’t,” Aether laughed, rising his shoulders to hide his skin from Albedo’s hungry mouth. “I’m stinky after yesterday’s battle.”

    “No.” The tip of Albedo’s nose grazed his sensitive skin. “You smell like the sun. Always warm. As if the sun loves you. As if it wants to cling to you as long as possible.”

    Aether’s knees buckled. How could simple words like that make him forget his own name. In Albedo’s hands, he turned to clay, left at Albedo’s mercy for he was the potter and Aether would become anything to please him. Albedo’s fingers traced his curves, the dips and hollows of his body as if he were describing a painting in gilt and ivory with each rush of his hands. Aether raked his hands over Albedo’s body, trying to find purchase before he completely turned into a puddle and dissolved between Albedo’s fingers. His hands caught on the belt strung across Albedo’s chest, and they both halted for a second as they waited for a heartbeat that didn’t come.

    Albedo exhaled softly as he lowered his forehead to Aether’s. “If I had a heart, it would hurt for your burden.”

    “It’s fine,” Aether said. He took Albedo’s hand and put it over his own heart. “Mine is enough for both of us.”

    Albedo smiled. He pressed Aether’s knuckles to his lips, and murmured against his skin, “And what a magnificent heart it is.”

    Aether held onto Albedo so much, just a little more and they’d become one. It felt like they were the only two people on this earth, just the two of them off to see the world and all its wonders. Aether wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t mind if tomorrow came and all of Teyvat’s people fell into an endless slumber, and eventually completely disappear. Until recently, Aether hadn’t know it was possible to love someone this much. That if the world were to end tomorrow—if Aether were to have just one wish before it would all end in darkness, it’d be to wake up to Albedo’s sunkissed face in a quiet place they called home, built with their own hands. If that wasn’t love in its truest form, then every fairy tale Lumine used to tell him was a lie, and it was up to Aether to write his own story in which he’d make sure to burn so bright by Albedo’s side that even stars envied them whenever they come together to create a whole new universe.

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

#genshin impact #albether #genshin impact albether #albedo #aether #genshin impact albedo #genshin impact aether #genshin impact albedo x aether #albedo x aether

[jaskiersvalley]

Hi. I'm sorry to bother you. Can I request some domestic witchersexual Jaskier?? I just had to put my 6 year old doberman down because she had an autoimmune disease and wasn't getting better and I'm really sad and I have read most of the new fics on tumblr and AO3 but alot of it is whump or Angst and I can't deal with that right now.

I am so sorry to hear about your doberman! It’s never easy to lose a beloved pet. If there is anything beyond writing something to take your mind off things that I can do, please do drop me a line either via ask or DMs. This story turned a little less domestic with not all focus on Jaskier but...hopefully it still gives you the comfort you crave.

Rumours were rife. Witchers, already a dying breed, were disappearing without a trace. No body to recover, no contract to follow the trail of. One minute a witcher was travelling in his usual stomping grounds, the next, he was never seen again. It had Vesemir fretting. Just because he was responsible for Kaer Morhen didn’t mean he was blind and deaf to the stories that were rife. Strangely, despite the witchers disappearing, there wasn’t an abundance of creatures running rampant.

Of course Vesemir worried for his pups. He worried for all witchers but his own boys were special to him. When winter came and Lambert turned up, followed not long after by Eskel, Vesemir could almost relax. A crow from Geralt reassured him that his wolves were all okay and whatever was snatching witchers hadn’t been able to get to them. It didn’t take much to gently extract a promise of regular communication with them throughout the following year. Messages were regularly sent back, letting Vesemir know that the unseen enemy hadn’t snatched them. Yet.

Despite their best efforts, Eskel stopped writing. Even when Lambert and Geralt rushed to where he was last seen, there was no trace of him, nothing. That winter, Eskel didn’t return home and they mourned him.

If only Eskel had been enough for the monster that seemed to hunt witchers exclusively. However, Lambert made it down from Kaer Morhen in the spring and was never seen again. Vesemir tried to remind himself that this was a witcher’s life. Solitary, filled with loss, grief and there was no hope of a happy ending. At least he still had Geralt, the shining star of the Wolf School. Deep down, Vesemir found it fitting that Geralt would be the last one standing of his pups, even if Eskel had been his equal in all but fame.

Witchers didn’t travel together, there wasn’t enough work in any area to support one, let alone two witchers. But Vesemir didn’t want to be the last Wolf in existence and he didn’t want to lose Geralt. Not when they had both lost so much already. Kaer Morhen could lock its doors for one last time. It was already crumbling and Vesemir didn’t think he would be returning, not if he went out on the path, shadowing Geralt in a parallel path, occasionally meeting up.

If anything, contracts were more scarce than ever before despite there being fewer witchers. It made no sense and Vesemir couldn’t understand. There was no explanation for it but he trudged on, determined to do what he had been created for. If there were fewer witchers in the world, he would pick up the slack.

Camping was harsh, sleeping on the ground made Vesemir’s bones ache. It was a witcher’s lot in life to weather the discomforts, even in old age. In the morning, Vesemir packed up camp and trudged out onto the road. He and Geralt were heading towards Nilfgaard, an army always left necrophages in its wake so it was a guaranteed income. Somewhere in the distance, there was singing and the soft strum of lute drifting through the air. A fellow traveller, a happy one at that. Unintentionally, Vesemir slowed his steps and let the singer slowly catch up.

“Fine day,” the brightly coloured man called, bouncing along as he played. He definitely kept strange company, an elf who smiled indulgently.

“Made all the brighter by your cheer.” Even if Vesemir wasn’t a fan of the style of music, he could still be polite and appreciate the attitude if not the noise.

“Thank you, kind sir.” The bard took a bow. “I’m Jaskier, this is my friend Chireadan. Mind if we accompany you along this path for a while?”

A bit of company was always welcome, even if Vesemir used it to gather information rather than make friends. The two made for curious travellers, seemingly defenceless, not a sword or dagger between them. It had Vesemir wondering just how they had survived for so long.

Chatter turned from pleasant chitchat to current events to probing questions. It was such a subtle shift, Vesemir didn’t notice until he was being asked quite pointed questions about being a witcher.

“So in all your 300 and something years, you’d never been able to rest?”

Vesemir blinked. “Well, maintaining Kaer Morhen was as much of a break as any witcher could have.”

It only drew a hum from Jaskier. “So single-handedly being responsible for a large keep, repairing it, ensuring crops grow around it to keep four, five, maybe even six witcher bellied full over winter, thinning out the forktails so when your pups and stragglers return home they won’t have to fight as hard, that counts as a break, yes?”

When put like that...Vesemir shrugged it off He did what the world demanded of him, no more, no less. It didn’t seem to deter Jaskier.

“What about a true rest? If I could offer you something, would you take it?”

“No.” Because Vesemir couldn’t abandon Geralt. Not when it was just Geralt left. Even if the others had still been around, Vesemir couldn’t in good conscience leave them behind to live a harsh life with nobody to greet them home each year.

“If it’s Geralt you’re worried about, I promise it’s okay. He’ll be there too.”

Perhaps Vesemir should have been more alert and distrusting. An elf and a bard, unarmed and yet seemingly so at ease in the world. There had to be something more to them. But his medallion didn’t sing, didn’t hum, there wasn’t even the slightest bit of vibration to it. Human and elf. Nothing more. And yet.

“You’ve served your time. You can relax now,” Jaskier murmured softly, swaying closer and putting a hand on Vesemir’s back to guide him.

“Are you Death?”

The sharp, bright laugh suggested that Vesemir was wrong.

“If he is Death, what does that make me? I’m a healer by trade,” Chireadan chipped in. He had been quiet for most of their shared journey, smiling fondly and staring off into the distance, aloof like most elves. “Let us show you what we offer.”

They stopped in the middle of the dusty road with nobody around for miles. Jaskier fished something out of his pocket and, with a lot of fidgeting and even more cursing, a portal suddenly opened up. It was portable, contained chaos and Vesemir took a step back.

“It’s okay.” That was Geralt’s voice and he stepped out of a portal from behind Vesemir. “I fucking hate portals but you can trust that one.”

Whatever trickery this was, Vesemir didn’t trust it one bit. However, Geralt urged Roach through before turning to him with a lopsided smile. “Come home.”

With that, Geralt stepped into the portal and Vesemir reached for him, wanting to pull him back.

“What’s it going to be, my Lone Wolf?” Jaskier asked. Chireadan had stepped through the portal too, waving with a quiet “see you in a minute” which was just a little presumptuous.

Steeling himself, Vesemir gave in. He’d had enough, all the fighting, the loss, the grief, it was enough. Even if this was a trick, he realised there was no point in resisting. His pups were gone, Kaer Morhen wasn’t a place to live alone, contracts were more and more scarce. It was time to put down his swords and accept whatever was on the other side of the portal. Vesemir didn’t look back as he stepped through, feeling the world lurch around him.

The other side was bright, breezy and noisy. Water lapped at the shores of a beach and there was life bustling around him, laughter and...people shouting his name. Geralt stepped closer first and squeezed his shoulder.

“Welcome to The Island.”

Behind Vesemir, Jaskier had stepped through and the portal closed. More people were approaching. Ciri was running towards him like she was still a child. Behind her was- Vesemir’s breath hitched. There was Eskel and Lambert on either side of Jaskier. And Coen. And Aiden. Letho. Wolf, Cat, Griffin, Viper, Bear, all the schools’ surviving witchers, smiling, laughing and happy. It was beyond anything Vesemir had ever seen or even dared hope for.

“What?” He choked out.

“The world didn’t need us any more. And we didn’t need them,” Geralt explained. It wasn’t all witchers, there were a couple of sorceresses, elves and humans too. They all looked comfortable and happy.

“It all started with Eskel,” Jaskier said, an arm around the witcher in question’s waist. “An enchanted bear trap caught him out.” It explained why he limped probably. “It was just me at the time and the idea of a retirement retreat was barely a babe in my mind. But Triss helped heal him and I started travelling with Chireadan. Needed to make sure I could get every hurting witcher home.”

“Actually, Jaskier wanted a sex island,” Lambert butted in. Vesemir noted that he looked at peace, smiling without any of the bitterness he’d been weighed down by over the years. “Eskel couldn’t run. I didn’t want to run. Eventually Geralt let himself get caught. Like a stray cat Aiden turned up. Then Ciri dragged her friends with her. A Jaskier’s got a lot of love to give if they want it.”

Geralt smiled at the stunned look on Vesemir’s face. He clapped him on the shoulder.

“I said welcome to The Island earlier but what I actually meant was welcome home.”

#geraskier #witchersexual jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #vesemir #eskel #lambert #chireadan #tldr: witchers get a retirement island

[the-young-and-forgotten]

Chapter 1 - The Arrival

| masterlist |

A/N: this is set at the start of the marauders 6th year

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a clap of thunder and a single flash of lightning, four boys fell directly from the sun, slamming onto the concrete ground beneath them. 

As their backs hit the pavement, their mind whirled through memories that weren’t their own. A castle up on a rocky cliff, rooms full of magical equipment, a forest with danger at every turn and a fiery redheaded girl that made James blush.

Groaning, they all picked themselves up, dusting their clothes off.  Peter shielded his eyes and looked up at the sun, grumbling “Why did they have to go and drop us from the fucking sky?” Remus opened his mouth to respond but something hot and soft started falling from the clouds. 

James held out his palm to the sky and watched as a burning piece of ash floated down onto his open palm. He studied it, visibly confused. “The sky is.. raining fire?”  “Nah mate” Sirius said with his arms outstretched, head tilted towards the sky “The worlds shuddering at the weight of our power” At that, the other boys started to spin in the fiery rain, laughing as they caught the embers on the tip of their tongues. 

Unbeknownst to them, an old man had heard their laughter and was walking up to them, smiling softly. “So you must be the fallen gods” he stated bluntly, capturing their attention. A flash of panic flitted across the boys’ faces as they searched for an excuse. “Oh no,” James said quickly, leaning against Remus’ shoulder. The boy in question had just started picking the flowers out of his hair, which was not helping to sell their lie. “We are just four normal boys casually dancing in the burning rain.” The man laughed, looking at them with a twinkle in his eye. “I do not think I am mistaken, Hecate told me you would be coming soon.” Peter scoffed, “Psh Hecate. You should never trust the goddess of…..” He paused at this, looking at James in wonder who was waving his arms around haphazardly. Realising his mistake, he tried his best to backtrack.  “Wait I mean, who's Hecate? She sounds dumb.” 

Right at that moment, one too many ashes had landed on Sirius’ skin, activating his flames.  With a big flash, he turned into a humanoid fire. The flames gradually subdued, leaving a sooty boy who looked at his hands in shock before turning his gaze to blood brothers, eyes wide. “That wasn’t supposed to happen..”  James’ shoulders slumped, running a hand down his face as Peter ducked down to hide his grin. Remus finally looked up from picking out the flowers from his hair that now lay in a pile around his feet. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at him. “That uh.. That doesn’t happen often...” he explained, shaking his head at what a mess they all were. 

“Would you like to take a walk?” Dumbledore inquired. They slouch after him, visibly relieved that he didn’t question their insanity further.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Dumbledore spoke up. “Are you boys familiar with… the tale of the Children of Hecate? It’s an old one.” Sirius laughed harshly at this “dude, we are a thousand years old we know all sorts of tales you couldn’t even dream up.” “You never answered my question young god.” “No… we aren’t” Dumbledore smiled, pulling out his wand. “I thought not.” He waved about his wand and silver mist broke out of the end, morphing into people, animating the story being told.

“A long time ago, there was a woman.  Cast out by the gods from helping out a paranoid mother, she, like you today, fell from the sky in a blaze of burning rain. Filled with hate and grief, she vowed to anger the gods in any way possible. For a hundred years she wandered this earth aimlessly, occasionally accompanied by Thanatos who came to reap the mortal souls. One day, she stumbled across seven mortals, cowering at the feet of Death, begging for life. Now, this woman had traveled among us, watching all our struggles and misery. Listening to our heartbreak and treachery. She took pity on these mortals and stepping from the shadows for the first time in a century, she addressed the seven. Pushing past Thanatos, she knelt to their level and placed a hand on the cheek of the child in front of her. Smiling kindly, she knew what to do to help them and fulfill her vow.  Reaching inside of her core, she drew out seven silver wisps. Weaving it around the mortals in front of her. “Upon you I bestow the power of the gods,” she whispered, transforming into her godly form. “Follow the path this shows you and life will come.” As the mortals scampered away, hands smoking and eyes dancing, Thanatos turned to her furious. From then on, Hecate was forced to spend the rest of her immortality guiding demigods, gods and mortals along the three crossroads. The mortals she blessed, though some may say cursed, used the powers how their minds begged them too, some for good, some for evil. But the magic went on, passed from generation to generation, family to family and will do so forever. Among all these powerful witches and wizards, as we call ourselves, were two men and two women. Born with magic unrivalled by anyone but Hecate herself.  They drew together and formed a school now known as ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’.  From then onwards, magical folk have been taught, honing their abilities to perfection. Carrying out the vow Hecate made many eons ago.” 

The boys were speechless. Remus pointed to Dumbledore then his wand and back again. “So you’re…” “Yes” Dumbldore answered, turning towards them and giving a short little bow, “I am a descendant of Hecate.” “And you want us at this school of yours?” “With Hecate's blessing, yes.” 

Peter cuts ahead of his friends, raising his hand. “Interjection! How the hell are we supposed to get magic powers?”  Dumbledore smiles at him and holds his hand. “If you four trust me, I will take you to where everything will be revealed.” The godlings look at each other before holding onto the man in question, watching as he whispers something, waving his wand around.

The boys feel a tug on their abdomen and gasped as the world around them blurs, like they are on a moving train. They felt themselves morph, as if they were travelling through time. Their very fibre being pulled and torn. Before long, the scenery around them started to solidify, changing into a strange room with silver instruments and hundreds of portraits everywhere. “What the FUCK was that.” Sirius shouted from a pile of broken items he had staggered into, being vulgar as always.  Dumbledore merely dusted himself off and fixed his robe before moving behind the desk. “That, dear boy, was a form of magical travel called apparition.”  Peter lay on the floor, gasping for breath. “I think I prefer falling from the sky.”  “And I prefer lying on a couch throwing grapes at the nymphs.” James groaned, stretching out his back.

“So magical powers?” Remus asked, walking up to Dumbledore's desk as his friends gazed at him in shock, wondering how he could be fine after that supposed ‘hell’ they just went through. “Ah yes!” Dumbledore clapped his hands together, reaching into a drawer just behind his desk. Out of the drawer he pulled four glasses filled to the brim with grey smoke.  “Within these glasses contain the exact wisps Hecate used to infuse those seven mortals with magic. Take this and it shall do the same.” “I’ll drink to that.” Says Sirius, pushing past Remus and picking up a glass. 

In one go he downs it, smiling devilishly. “See men? All fi-” Suddenly, Sirius’ face freezes in a half smile as his hands fly up to throat. He falls to his knees, coughing horribly, eyes glowing silver. His whole body twitching uncontrollably.  As quickly as it started, it was over. He lay there gasping, trying to formulate a sentence. “That was delicious…” he wheezed “110% recommend you give it a go.”

After seeing what happened to Sirius, the other boys were more hesitant to take even a sip.  But one encouraging smile from Dumbledore made them drink it, going through the same process as their blood brother. 

When they had finally recovered from the side effects of the potion, Dumbledore was reading through a small scroll covered in glyphs. “I just need to ask your four a question in order to secure your stay here at Hogwarts. Now this may feel extremely unnatural, since I am jogging memories that don’t actually exist.” 

He looked up from the paper, his eyes holding that twinkle they had seen before.  “Boys, what house were you sorted into six years ago?” The godlings felt their soul pulse for a second and their mouths fell open of its own accord.  A movie tape started running through their mind, twisted and slightly burning. Back and forth it ran, so fast everything was a blur of colours.  Finally, it landed on a vision of their younger selves sitting on a stool in front of hundreds as a hat screamed out something. The boys on the stools were faceless and the edges of their bodies were blurred, as if someone had edited them into a scene. They felt something invisible reach towards the memory and rip it out of the tape, forming it into words. Speaking together, they all said “Gryffindor.” 

Their souls pulsed once more, and they were brought back to reality, grabbing their heads and groaning. “I swear if we have to go through that everytime we remember some pointless memory-” Sirius spat, grabbing at his hair like he was trying to rip the headache out. “No, do not worry, Sirius. This should be the last time it will happen. You will feel dizzy and weird when experiencing a memory though, since they were forcibly planted into your mind.” 

“That reminds me,” Remus interrupted, wincing as he stood up “How come we aren’t going dizzy from the sight of you? Something tells me we should know you even though we don’t .”  Dumbledore laughed “My, aren’t you inquisitive?”  “That's Remus for you.” said Peter smiling fondly at the boy in question. “Has to know everything about a subject the moment he finds out about it.”  Remus made a face at him before turning back to Dumbledore, eyes hopeful.  Dumbledore smiled kindly at him and continued. “That’s because I personally asked the gods not to include me in your implanted memories. I would prefer to get to know you as the boys you are now. Not what fake scenarios portray you as.”

The godlings look at each other, questions of trust in their eyes.  Taking the first leap of faith, James extended his hand for Dumbledore to shake. “You have left a good impression on us sir. You have earned our trust.” Delighted, Dumbledore shook his hand, once again smiling kindly at them all. “Now, I must show you to your dormitories…”

“No need Sir.” Sirius said, finally standing up. “We can get there just fine.”  They turned to leave, heading for the office door. Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at their departing figures. “You may get lost” 

James stopped by the door just as the others went through, chuckling.  Turning around he winked at Dumbledore.  “That’s the thing about us chaos gods.” He said, grinning mischievously.  “We have impeccable navigational skills.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#marauders as gods #the marauders #god!marauders #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #peter pettigrew

[concernedbrownbread]

Brevity

For @sokkaweek day 3: Grief/Loss

Preview:

“They made a statue of her. In the square.”

“Is that so? I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

“It is.”

“What’s wrong, son?”

Sokka didn’t know how to articulate all the things wrong with a sixteen year old girl giving her life for an eternity old spirit just so the world could take the stupid circle in the night sky for granted. He couldn’t quite describe how cruel the universe was, to let put so much pressure on her, to make her life so hard, only to snatch it away from her before she could even live it.

“The world sucks, dad.”

Or, in the Northern Water Tribe, Sokka finds a statue of Yue and learns to find meaning in the brevity of their relationship

Words: 1809

Warnings/Notes: I know NOTHING about ephemeral art except basic research, so any symbolism I attempted probably either felt flat or heavy-handed. I drew most my inspiration from Néle Azevedo.

Read here or under the cut

---

Stepping onto the banks of the Northern Water Tribe, Sokka felt a chill travel down his spine. Spring was arriving, but only a tribes person could tell - the snow had yet to melt, and the sun was still a shy thing in the sky. But Sokka knew that the cold he felt had nothing to do with the season.

Unbidden, he searched the sky.

“Welcome!”

Sokka straightened, almost feeling guilty about being caught looking up. Beside him, his fellow Tribesmen straightened as well, though for another reason.

“I’m Tanek,” the man said, a slimy, superior smile in place, “And I will be your guide during your stay in the North. Please, come this way.”

When the gates opened, they were greeted with far more hospitability than when Sokka had first visited, though it made sense. With the war over, a certain tension had seeped out of the Tribe – now, the festivities were in full swing, the cheerful faces of children poking through the guards who were standing on either side of the waterway that led to the palace.

“Chief Hakoda,” Chief Arnok greeted, “Welcome.”

The sight of the man sent Sokka’s stomach churning. He looked like he had aged a decade, not a year, skin wrinkling on his forehead and under his eyes as he smiled. Dad reached forward to clasp his arm in greeting.

“Dad,” Sokka whispered desperately, “I’m going to - go - “

Dad frowned slightly, whispering back, “You don’t want to stay for the meeting?”

“It’s unofficial anyway,” Sokka waved his hand, “I’m hungry.”

“Alright, see you later,” Dad winked, “I’ll fill you in on the boring politics.”

Dad turned back to Arnok and Sokka took the opportunity to escape before he had to talk to the leader of the Northern Water Tribe. To Yue’s father .

In another life, he wondered how this meeting would have gone. If he would have waved at Yue, standing behind her father, and she would have waved back shyly. If their Dad’s would trade Dad jokes and embarrass them, or if they would -

Well. It was over now.

Sokka made good on his promise and made a beeline for the food stands. He didn’t have a lot of money on him, or any Northern Tribe money at all, but fortunately they accepted Earth Kingdom coins just as readily. Sokka’s mind immediately started noting how cuisine had evolved differently from the south, and heard Toph’s voice in his head saying, geek.

Sokka snorted. He preferred nerd.

He wandered the city, making a point to avoid waterways, and marvelled at the intricacy of it. He hadn’t had much of a chance to explore last time. Agna Qel'a’s structures rivalled the ones in Ba Sing Se and the Caldera, though Sokka wondered about the integrity of the buildings. Their supports were built primarily upon whale bones, but the rest really was ice, maintained by waterbenders. Southern Winters were different from Northern ones - they’d have to figure out what to do differently …

Sokka’s mind wondered away from architecture as he ducked under an all too familiar bridge. He caught his eyes before they travelled upwards towards the sky.

The food he had eaten had settled uncomfortably in his stomach, nausea rolling as memories floated into the forefront of his mind. He pushed them away with practiced ease.

“Alright!” Sokka told himself cheerfully, “I should check in on dad and the others.”

He forced his mind back onto the buildings around him, onto thinking about the future of his own tribe, and not the past of another one.

He kept avoiding the waterways. It was a lot harder to get to the palace, but it was a lot easier for him, too.

It was because his eyes kept going back to the skies that he spotted it.

He felt his breath hitch at the sight, a burning climbing his throat and reaching the back of his eyes. The chill he had felt since he got here made him tremble.

The ice sculpture had her arms outstretched, up towards the sky. Her expression painted into a mix of determination and sorrow, just as beautiful as Sokka remembered her. She was dressed in the same clothes, hair tied in the same knot, as he last remembered her. Somehow, even in ice, Yue was beautiful.

He was going towards her without even realising it, as though the promise to protect her had rekindled in his heart.

There was a crowd gathered around her, at awe as they should be.

It was smaller than he expected - smaller than she deserved. Made only of translucent ice, one that would melt when spring came in with full force. Sokka frowned - surely they should’ve used something sturdier to eternalise his girlf -

Do I even have the right to call her that?

A dull ache settled into his heart, one that never seemed to go away. He pulled away from the statue, the sight of it leaving his skin burning.

“Like it?”

Sokka whipped around to look at the woman, her hair greying with age and an adoring smile on her face as she gazed up at the statue.

“It’ll melt,” Sokka replied flatly.

“It will,” she agreed.

“I don’t get it.”

She didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t, “The beauty of Princess Yue’s life was in its brevity - "

“Her life wasn’t brief!” Sokka burst out, “How dare you! You didn’t even know her!”

“On the contrary, I was there for her birth, and every birthday since. I was the one who taught her the beauty of art, of sculptures,” the grief in her voice was undeniable – and unsettling. There was so much familiarity, when she spoke of Yue, something Sokka had never had.

Then she turned to Sokka, “But I don’t remember her mentioning you.”

Sokka felt the words catch in his throat, forming an uncomfortable lump.

“Whatever,” he hissed, “I need to go find my dad.”

The knowing in the artist’s eyes left him feeling uncomfortably cold, even more so than the chill of the arctic did.

---

Sokka wandered into the room that Dad was staying in, directed there by a worried Bato. Dully, he noted the decor, similar to the room he, Katara and Aand had shared during their time there.

Sokka had hated sharing back then, even as he had needed it. He had wanted to invite Yue over, but he certainly didn’t want Katara meeting her and spilling all the dumb stories of him from when they were kids.

Now, Sokka wished he had taken every opportunity to be with the Princess. Even if it meant his annoying little siblings were tagging along.

“Hey Sokka,” Dad greeted cheerfully, “Have fun?”

“Oh ... yeah.”

Dad frowned, “You seem a little distracted. You okay?”

“Do you …” Sokka sighed, “You still miss Mom, right?”

Dad was by his side immediately, pulling him down onto the bed so that they were sitting comfortably. Dad-instincts , Katara called it.

“Of course I do,” Dad said, “I miss her everyday.”

“So it … never goes away?”

Of course it never goes away. Sokka knew that already. Every time he caught himself looking up at the sky, a dull ache in his chest. It never goes away, but life goes on anyway.

“What’s this about, Sokka?”

Sokka wrung his hand together in knots, “Do you remember Yue?”

Dad’s eyes softened, “I remember.”

“They made a statue of her. In the square.”

“Is that so? I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

“It is.”

“What’s wrong, son?”

Sokka didn’t know how to articulate all the things wrong with a sixteen year old girl giving her life for an eternity old spirit just so the world could take the stupid circle in the night sky for granted. He couldn’t quite describe how cruel the universe was, to let put so much pressure on her, to make her life so hard, only to snatch it away from her before she could even live it.

“The world sucks, dad.”

Dad huffed a bitter laugh, “It does.”

Yeah. He supposed that’s the only way to explain it.

---

Sokka stared up at Yue hanging in the sky, just behind her statue. He smiled wryly at the irony, and though Yue might have giggled at it too.

“Ah, you’re back young man.”

This time, Sokka didn’t startle, “Yeah, I guess I am. I’m sorry for my outburst, earlier.”

The woman waved a dismissive hand, “I’m sorry I did not recognise you. Had I known who you were, I would have been more careful with my words.”

“You know who I am?”

The woman smiled, “There are very few in this tribe who don't. Yue was very fond of you.”

“She was?” he asked hopefully, feeling a little bit like a lovesick schoolboy.

(And maybe he was. Sue him.)

The woman laughed, “She was indeed. Anyone who knew her could see it.”

“I only knew her for a couple days,” Sokka admitted.

The woman nodded, and the pain in her eyes felt more like kinship than anything else, “Even so.”

“I feel like I don’t deserve to mourn her.”

“But you lost someone,” The woman put a hand on his shoulder, turning him gently towards the sculpture before them, “Grief knows no bounds, there is no right and wrong to mourning. Princess Yue cared about you - you made her happy,” the woman smiled ruefully, “And I know she made you happy too. And now she makes you sad. Such is love and life.”

“How cheesy,” Sokka mumbled through his tears.

The woman gave him a stern look, “Nothing cheesy about sincerity young man. Now! Tell me what you know about art.”

“I know a thing or two,” Sokka grinned, wiping his tears.

The woman looked unimpressed, “I do recall Princess Yue saying you were, and I quote, charmingly boastful.”

Sokka sighed happily, “She really said that?” he perked up, “So you knew her well?”

“So-so,” the woman said, “She was very reserved, but I like to think I saw a side to her that no one else did.”

Sokka looked at the statue, considering, “Is that why you made a statue of her that would melt?”

She smiled softly, “It is. Her life was short. Shorter than she deserved, but we cannot change that. But we can remember that even in her brevity, she had meaning. That even if you had not known her forever, you had known her, and that it meant something.”

“Art isn’t about how long it lasts, but about what it means in the moment.”

They stand together in the quiet, watching the statue and the moon and Yue. Knowing that it would melt, and be rebuilt, only to melt again. Knowing that the moon would wax and wane. Knowing the water pushed and pulled, in an endless cycle. And knowing that even as life comes to an end, there will always be meaning in it.

---

Authot's Notes: EEEE, at least it's finished I guess. I want to expand this for when people from other nations arrive so I can write politks and tension while also keeping the theme of grieving Yue in the background (in my a world, reborn series). That being said ... I'm a slow writer, so maybe don't expect anything anytime soon, oops.

#sokka week 2021 #sokka needs a hug #sokka's not having a good time #but he's a strong boi #sokka #hakoda #yue #this took an embarassingly long amount of time to write #sokka/yue #grief/mourning #atla #atla fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #avatar the last airbender #ephemeral art #I guess #idk #hurt/comfort #sokkaweek #sokkaweek21

[venusofthehardsells]

Lead You Back to Me [one-shot]

Sam WinchesterxReader

Summary: In the aftermath of a witch hunt gone very wrong, you find yourself slipping deeper and deeper into grief, pushing everyone around you away, including Sam. What will it take for the two of you to find your way back to each other? Warnings: angst, loss of a child, grief and depression, self-hate all around, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, lactation A/N: This is sad and I swear I didn’t mean to, I just wanted Sam to hold me and tell me he loved me. Shit happens. Enjoy or cry or whatever, I’m just grateful you’re reading! Let me know what you think if you want ♥

The hunt had been a bad one.

You knew it to the core of your being the moment you saw Dean's name flash on your phone screen in the darkness of your room.

Dean's name. Not Sam's.

Sam always sent you a text to let you know he was coming home to you, even if you didn't text him back, even if he'd only been gone a few hours. He always let you know.

If Dean was calling you, then…

Your throat was already thick with choked down sobs when your shaking fingers finally fumbled the phone to your ear just before it went to voicemail.

"Hey Y/N," came Dean's gruff voice. "We're on our way back."

You sighed in relief, but it came out as more of a quiet whimper.

"Still in one piece, your man, so don't worry, yeah? We're about four hours out. Listen, uh…" You could hear him hesitate as he considered his next words. "I know what you're going through ain't easy." He stopped again and you did your best to try and keep calm; something you had a hard time doing these days. "But this case… it was ugly. Sam's in a really bad place and he needs you. So be there for him."

Dean wasn't good with words, but his tone left nothing unsaid.

Since that witch hunt almost two months ago, you had barely left your bed. The days blurred together into a mindless cycle of sleeping, vomiting, crying and staring blankly into the wall or the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take you back into its numbing embrace. Hoping to not wake up again.

Your heart was in pieces. Every time you tried to pick them up and put them back together, the jagged edges cut you right back open and the seemingly unending grief inside of you poured into view until you were sure you would drown in it.

Sam had been there to cry with you, to hold your hair whenever the nausea forced you to your knees, to coax you into showers and back out again when you couldn't will your own exhausted limbs to move, to feed you even when you didn't want to eat. But most of all, he had held you in his arms long into the nights when the pain had grown so bad you could barely breathe and the only image in your mind had been of the witch's triumphant face as her magic ripped you open…

Through every nightmare, Sam had been there for you, steady as a rock you had hauled yourself against over and over.

The distress had made you blind to the possibility that Sam needed a rock too.

Ultimately, your grief wasn’t just yours to carry.

"Y/N?," came Dean's voice over the phone when you didn't answer, softer this time.

"Okay," you managed in a strangled whisper. It wasn't much, but it was all you could offer right now and it seemed good enough for Dean. You hadn't exactly been talkative lately.

"Okay. Good talk." He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "Like I said, we're on our way. Four hours tops, we only stopped for gas. I'll see you when we get there."

He hung up and you were left once again in the almost total silence of the bunker.

Very slowly you lowered your phone to your lap, Dean's words echoing in your head.

Be there for him.

Be there for him like he had been there for you.

Be there for him like you hadn't been for a long time.

You swallowed and swung your legs off the bed, carefully putting your feet on the concrete floor as if it might bite at any given moment and force you to retrieve to the safety of your pillows and blankets.

When it didn't, you got up and turned on the light. It hurt your eyes at first; the only times you didn’t leave yourself in darkness was when Sam was there with you and decided you needed a break from the gloom.

The brothers had been gone for three days now and you had only left the bed to go to the bathroom once or twice during that time and your legs felt as solid as a five-tier mousse cake. The short few steps from the bed to the light switch had your vision blur and you were on the floor almost before you knew it, the dizziness surging over you with the force of the tide.You had to wait for it to ebb for several minutes before you attempted to get back up.

A few days ago, you wouldn’t have bothered.

You would have lain there on the cold, hard floor for those four hours it would take Sam to come home from the hunt and help you back into bed. Freezing, no doubt, every joint in your body stiff, and Sam would have been in a panic to find you like that, half-dead and not caring as he practically forced warmth back into you.

But now the guilt drew you to scramble to your feet and try again.

Be there for him.

You leaned on the doorframe as another wave of dizziness swept over you and waited with your forehead on the firmness of the wood until your heart had slowed down and the world stopped spinning. Sam was not going to find you on the fucking floor again.

With slow, careful steps, you made your way to the kitchen and took stock of the fridge.

It seemed your boys had kept it fully stocked on the off chance that you might actually eat something while they were gone. The shelves were loaded with your favourite things.

You had to blink away a few tears.

The only thing you’d managed to consume since they left was a single Mars-bar and you hadn’t even been able to keep that down for long. Nausea began to rise in you at the mere memory, but you fought it back down as you poured yourself a glass of water and forced yourself to drink it, slowly. When the glass was empty, you made yourself drink another.

Your stomach growled insistently. It had been several days since you had last felt hungry, as if your body had simply given up on trying to convince you to eat. The sight of food seemed to remind it that you needed more sustenance than air to survive and you had a lot to make up for.

With determination, you went to the pantry and found what you hoped you could endure: neutral crackers, white toast, a single apple.

You sat down on the doorstep and ate two of the crackers before even attempting to go back to the kitchen with your food. As expected, your vision turned blurry again, but it passed quicker this time.

It took you awhile to eat. Toasting the bread just enough to turn it crisp and shred the apple into tiny scraps seemed like small tasks, but in your state they felt herculean and very nearly made you give up. 

However, you refused to just go back to bed and wait to wither away completely. 

It hadn’t been far off. You wouldn’t move or speak or eat. Sam could only help you so much when you didn’t want to fight for yourself and he knew it, knew that he was losing you too. You had seen it in his eyes in the past week or so, the desperately buried knowledge that you were slipping through his fingers no matter what he did.

It should have made you angry at yourself, but you had been too far gone to really see it or care. All you had wanted was to vanish.

A large part of you still wanted that, but somehow those few, stern words Dean had spoken on the phone had flicked on a switch inside your head.

Be there for him.

You were not going to abandon Sam. Sam who had been strong for you even though he was probably hurting just as bad. You couldn’t do that to him. Even if all you did was hurt together, you had to be there for him too.

You couldn’t let that witch win.

With all the determination you could muster, you went back to the pantry and gathered a few more things. You were tired and wanted to sleep, but you reckoned you had slept enough for a lifetime already.

A look at the clock on the wall confirmed that you still had more than three hours before the brothers would be back and if it had been as bad as Dean had let on, they would no doubt be hungry and worn out. The least you could do was to make sure they had something to eat when they came home.

It was what you would have done in the past if you hadn’t been out with them on a hunt.

It was normal.

At least, it had been normal.

Now, the motions of turning on the oven and preparing the crust for the savoury pie you had made a thousand times before, felt foreign and unnatural to your hands. You chopped up vegetables at a quarter of your normal speed because your fingers wouldn’t quite close around the handle of the knife. The dough that you had once been able to knead in your sleep with your non-dominant hand now made sweat break out on your forehead and you had to take breaks to catch your breath.

Still, you went through the steps until the stupid quiche was in the oven and the smell of bacon and baked crust started to spread in the kitchen and made you bend over the sink to puke.

So much for eating, but at least you had put in the effort.

Feeling miserable and tired, but more accomplished than you had in months, you set the timer on the oven and went to take a shower. You were reeking of sweat and neglect beneath the scent of Sam’s oversized flannel shirt. He shouldn’t have to come home to that.

Not again at least.

The more you thought about it, the more guilty you felt and the more you realised just how much Sam had done for you.

You swallowed as you closed the door to the shower room and walked to the stall furthest from the door, the one you always used. All your products were stashed there, along with a few of Sam’s as well, and you stripped out of the flannel, grateful for the lack of mirrors in your little corner.

It still filled you with dread whenever you looked at the long white scar across your stomach where the witch had cut into you and stolen that tiny little life you had had growing there, barely even person-shaped yet and infinitely fragile, only covered in blood and magic.

You had to swallow hard and force yourself to turn on the shower.

The hot water streaming down on you eased the burning in your eyes and you were grateful for it. With movements small and shaky you began to gingerly wash yourself with your favourite shower gel, trying not to put too much focus on the body that felt so different and wrong under your touch.

There was the large scar on your shin as well from where you had landed on it when you tried to run from the witch and fell down half a flight of metal stairs.

Sam and Dean had been in two different rooms of the warehouse you had all been searching when they heard you scream and both had come running to save you, but by the time they reached you, it had been too late.

They had found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor, barely able to speak, while the witch had been trying to put that little, bloody thing into herself with magic. Before you could tell them what was happening, that they needed her alive to save you, to save the helpless little embryo in her grasp that your very soul was screaming belonged to you, the brothers had raised their guns and shot her. Dean through the head, Sam through the heart.

You clenched your teeth hard as you scrubbed on the skin of your arms, willing yourself back to the here and now.

Between Rowena’s best efforts and Cas’ waning grace, it had been difficult enough just putting you back together again. The other life inside you was irrevocably gone. There was no undoing it. You couldn’t go back and change what had happened, no matter how long you spent wallowing in the memory of it.

But you could make yourself presentable again and you could make sure there was food waiting for Sam and Dean when they got home from their hunt, even if it took every bit of strength you almost didn’t have.

When you deemed yourself to smell more like a clean human and less like a dead possum, you went on to lather a generous amount of shampoo into your hair that definitely needed a good rinse too. The soap stung your eyes, so you closed them and focused on the feeling of your fingertips rubbing your scalp. You had to admit it felt nice. And paired with the scaldingly hot water it helped distract you from the ache in your limbs, especially your breasts. 

They had been swelling with milk for a while now, even though you had no one to feed anymore. Rowena had warned you with pity in her eyes that the magic the dead witch had used to open you up would have side effects like this and there was nothing you could do but wait until it passed.

It felt as though your own body was betraying you by keeping you like this, reminding you every time you moved of what you had lost. The first time you had had to pump out the milk you had cried on the bathroom floor for hours; Sam had had to pick the lock to get to you. 

You just wanted it to stop.

Resolutely, you turned the water off and started toweling yourself dry. Unless Dean had finally foregone driving by the rules altogether, there was still time before the brothers were back. You could get yourself into some real clothes, set the table for the three of you and still have time to mix up a dessert.

It felt comforting having a purpose, but by the time you reached your room it became clear that you were spent. Plucking a pair of clean panties from your drawer and stealing a T-shirt from Sam’s almost made you topple over and as soon as you had put them on, you knew you wouldn’t get anything more done tonight.

In a haze, you walked to the kitchen and turned the oven off, letting the quiche sit in the residual heat to keep warm until the boys came back. Then you stumbled back into bed and drifted off into sleep almost immediately.

For the first time in weeks, it was heavy and dreamless.

You only got to spend one sorry hour in the darkness, though.

Maybe your body really had gotten enough sleep at this point or maybe you were just so attuned to his presence it automatically woke you up now. 

Whatever the case, you opened your eyes sometime during the night and found Sam standing halfway between the door and the bed, watching you with those big, mournful eyes of his.

You sat up slowly, still groggy with sleep, but somehow more alert than you had been in a long time. A slight tremor ran through him at your movement, but then his lips quivered into the smallest of smiles and he sat down next to you.

Sam leaned in and kissed you almost chastely on the forehead. He smelled of the Impala, of fire and smoke, and you reckoned he hadn’t showered after coming back, just gone straight to you.

“You cooked.” His voice was low and trembled a little, and you leaned into him, placing your arms around him and your head on his shoulder where you could sense the faltering rhythm of his breath. He was still wearing his jacket, hadn’t even bothered to unzip it yet and you felt your throat grow thick at the realisation.

Sam had practically existed for you since the witch hunt, been soft and considerate and stronger than anyone ought to be, but now he was sitting here still wearing his jacket, hardly even able to offer you his usual reassurances or words of affection.

Something had gone very wrong out there.

You squeezed his big, solid frame that suddenly seemed oddly small in your arms.

“Are you okay?,” you whispered, stroking his back softly and you could feel how he shattered beneath your touch.

He pulled you tight against him and burrowed his face into your neck, his body shaking with sobs. It broke your already helplessly crushed heart to feel him like this.

Be there for him.

Carefully, you crawled onto his lap in order to sit closer together and let him cry against you for as long as he needed to. You kept stroking his back and his head, never shushing him and never moving away. Instead, you did your best to make him know that you were there, breathing steadily to maybe let some of your brittle calm seep into him.

Whatever had happened on the hunt, you knew he blamed himself. Sam Winchester was the strongest person you had ever met, but even he couldn’t carry the weight on the world on his broad shoulders like he so often attempted and as a result he had spent all the time you had known him feeling painfully inadequate in nearly every aspect of his life. 

Maybe it had always been that way. People always died around him no matter how hard he fought, no matter how many he also saved, and in the end, he was left alone with nightmares full of faces of people he hadn’t been able to get to in time, an ever-growing list that had almost come to include you as well.

Right then and there, you knew you couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t leave him alone with the thought that you were one more person he had failed to save.

For something that felt like an eternity, you sat there with your arms around him, until finally his violent sobbing died down to sniffles and eventually faded completely.

You waited for a while before breaking the silence and asking in the softest tone in your register.

“Can you talk about it?”

He sniffled again and you could feel him draw a deep breath, bracing himself.

“Changelings,” he mumbled at last, swallowing hard. “We were… we were too late.”

His voice broke and took a piece of your torn heart with it.

“When we finally found their hiding place, it… it must have been days, I-I don’t know… I… We didn’t… I tried, I tried so goddamn hard, but he, he wouldn’t breathe and I couldn’t make him open his eyes, they wouldn’t open their eyes…”

Sam was shaking in your hold again and he clung to you now as if his life depended on it, clenching you far beyond comfort, but you let him. Your own fingers didn’t cease their almost mindless caress of his back. The front of your shirt was soaked in his tears and you realised your own face was wet too.

“They were just children,” he managed devastated and it felt as though a black hole had appeared right about where your stomach had been a few moments before. “They were so small and I, I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t… I’m sorry,” he sobbed and something in his trembling voice shifted. Somehow, your arms around him had never felt more inadequate. “If I’d just been faster, oh god. I should never have let you go back on your own, what was I thinking?! I’m sorry, baby, I’m so, so sorry. I nearly got you killed, I… I got our child killed…”

An icy cold fist closed around your lungs and squeezed.

He blamed himself. He blamed himself. 

Of course Sam Winchester would blame himself for this, just like he did everything else. How could you have been so self-absorbed?

He needed you more than ever and you had shut yourself away in your grief, from him, from everything.

"I don't know how you can stand to look at me," he admitted quietly.

A whimpering little excuse of a sob broke from your throat like water slipping through your fingers. His words hurt so badly you couldn’t help it.

You wanted to cry rivers, but fuck, hadn't you already done enough of that lately?

With a body that trembled to obey, you pushed away from him enough for you to softly place your hands on each side of his face and forced him to meet your eyes in the half-dark.

You didn’t trust your voice enough to speak. Instead, you just held onto his gaze until you could see that he understood you were not going to look away from him.

Very slowly, you leaned forward and placed your lips against his.

He hesitated at first, unsure of what exactly was kissing him: the woman he loved or a broken pile of grief that had assumed her shape, longing for oblivion?

The velvet of his mouth was not as easy to gain access to as you were used to, but after all this time, you supposed you deserved as much.

You pulled away just a fraction.

"Sam, if it weren't for you, I would be dead," you whispered, kissing his cheek the way he had kissed yours so many times when you had been at your lowest.

"You are everything to me." He let out a shuddering breath that might have also been a sigh of relief when you slowly kissed him on the other cheek too.

“And I love you”.

You didn't try to force another kiss on him. You didn't need to.

With your silent permission, he crashed his mouth to yours so fiercely you were glad of his arms holding you to him. His lips burrowed into you over and over again with a desperate hunger you were more than willing to sate, even if it meant you would pass out before coming up for air. He hadn't kissed you like this since it happened, hadn't let him. Instead you had turned your head away until eventually he stopped trying. Chaste pecks on your forehead had been all you had allowed in your liminal state of silent despair, but now you realised just how starved you were too.

You couldn't help but moan loudly when his tongue pushed past your lips and the sound made him draw back in surprise. His eyes had fallen shut as you kissed, but now they were wide open as if truly seeing you for the first time that night: freshly-showered, heat radiating off your body and irises blown black with want, mirror images of his own.

But, more importantly, behind the dark pools of lust, you reckoned he could finally see another person staring back. You were truly there with him in the here and now.

“I want you so much, baby,” he rasped and you realised that he was still trembling under your touch. “Please… let me make you feel good again?”

His lips were back on yours as soon as you nodded and you eagerly opened your mouth, wanting his tongue back. You weren’t just hungry, you were practically ravenous for him.

Moans started building up in your throat almost faster than you could let them out and Sam tilted his head to continue kissing his way down your jaw and your neck, reveling in the sounds he drew from you, but never straying too far from your lips.

Instead he used his fingers to trace patterns of electricity down your back and up your arms, across your collarbones and down your chest again. You whined a little when his hands grabbed hold of your sore and swollen breasts, but he quickly took the hint and went on to drag his hands further down your body. The heat nearly erupted inside you when he cupped your mound through your panties and proceeded to slide his fingers past the flimsy waistband to stroke your clit.

Immediately, you began to rock yourself against his hand. It had been too long, his kiss alone had left you soaked and your walls were already quivering with need.

“Sam, please,” you begged, fingers clutching at his hair. “More-mff!”

He cut you off by shoving his tongue back into your mouth, effectively swallowing your gasp as he pushed a finger in between your wet folds all the way down to his knuckle.

"I've got you, baby," Sam whispered between heavy kisses. "I've got you."

He easily stroked you right to the edge of what you could take, crooking his finger inside of you just right and you dug your nails into his shoulders, holding on tight as hot sparks of pleasure flared up from where he was touching you, making you groan into his mouth.

Your cunt greedily accepted another one of his long fingers. They filled you so perfectly you were certain you would die if he took them away. With the heel of his hand he kept rubbing your clit while scissoring his fingers in you, reacquainting himself with the feel of you until at last the pressure in you burst and you came with a wordless cry, head buried in his shoulder and hips stuttering against him.

Sam kept stroking you through the orgasm, prolonging it until you were so sensitive you had to squeeze your walls around him to make him stop.

He stilled his hand and you slumped against his large frame, breathing in his scent as you came down from the rush. A rush, you realised, you had missed more than you knew.

You hadn't touched yourself since the witch hunt, disgusted as you were with your own body and out of your mind with grief. The few times you had thought about it, any urge had wilted as soon as you slipped your fingers past the fabric of your underwear and you had ended up crying instead. And just as you hadn't let Sam kiss your lips, you had turned away from his hands as well whenever he had indicated he wanted more than to hold you. The knowledge that his child was gone from where it had been growing inside of you, that your body was now empty had made any further intimacy with Sam impossible to bear. Your mind wasn't idle telling you over and over again how spectacularly you had let him down, how you were worthless now, worthless and empty and broken. A failure, at everything.

You were nothing but a brittle shell of a person, fractured beyond repair and Sam would realise soon enough, too. 

"Sweetheart?"

You realised you must have sniffled out loud enough for him to hear.

Be there for him. 

Banishing all thoughts of your own misery the best you could, you leaned down and kissed him on the neck, just inside of the collar on his red and white flannel.

"Take this off," you whispered, slowly undoing the topmost button and you could feel a shudder run through him, all the way to his fingers still in your cunt.

"Are you sure?"

"Mm-hm," you hummed and started in on the next button, brushing your lips languidly over the underside of his jaw.

A low groan began in the bottom of his throat, but he didn't move.

"I- I need to hear you say it," he demanded in a strained voice, clasping your hands in his unoccupied one before you could snap open the next button of his shirt. "I have to know you mean it."

Why did he have to see right through you like that? Even high-strung with arousal and the pent-up adrenaline and distress of a hunt gone bad, he still read you like an open book.

Your throat felt as hard and unyielding as a glass ball, but you managed to speak around it.

“I do want it, Sam,” you got out, briefly proud that you could keep your voice steady. “I want to feel you… here…” You clenched your walls around his fingers, keeping his hand in place. “Please, darling. Make me yours again?”

His fingers began to lose their hold on your wrists and so you eagerly continued unclasping the buttons of his flannel. You had to bite your lip not to whine too loudly when he pulled his fingers from the snug warmth of your pussy, but the sound quickly turned into a gasp as he tore the last few buttons of his shirt himself, shrugging out of the plaid and practically ripping the white undershirt next.

"Anything you ask, baby," he breathed onto your neck before kissing your sensitive skin there. You arched up into the feeling of his mouth, letting him guide your body down onto the sheets beneath him. His weight on top of you was a welcome one and you laced your fingers in his messy, windswept hair as he licked his way from your neck onto your tongue, keeping you close while his hands worked first on your panties, then on the zipper of his jeans.

As soon as all offending pieces of clothing were gone, you folded your legs around his hips to feel the hot, heavy weight of his cock against your core. You ground your hips upwards once, twice and Sam let out a strangled groan at the feeling of your soaked folds sliding over him, teasing him harder and harder.

He pressed your hips down with one hand to make you stop and grabbed his cock with the other, lining up with your entrance, still slick from your previous orgasm. As soon as the bulbous head of his cock began pressing into you, just the first inch, you threw your head back into the pillows with a cry. The stretch of him was divine, it was almost too much. Tears of pleasure rose to your eyes and you clung to his shoulders as he slowly sank into you until his thatch of dark hair was flush against yours and you were so deliciously full of him you wanted to scream.

“F-fuck, you feel so good, baby,” Sam moaned into the side of your neck. Both of you trembled with the desire coursing through your joined bodies and you whimpered when he drew his hips a little back from yours, only to thrust back in and make you gasp instead.

Sam set a steady pace of slow, deep thrusts that allowed you to savour each and every heavenly drag of his cock against your sensitive walls until you were sure you would lose your mind with pleasure.

The longer he moved in you, the more sloppy his mouth on your skin became, the more desperate his hands until he was practically forcing you down into the mattress and you realised through the haze of bliss that he was afraid you would disappear beneath his touch.

His hands found the hem of your T-shirt and gave it a questioning tug, halting his movements to a gentle roll of his hips against you. That grey T-shirt was the last piece of fabric separating you.

“Can I take this off you?,” Sam asked breathily, pleadingly and you found yourself nodding, allowing him to lift it up your stomach, then your chest, then over your head and toss it to the side. Only then did you realise that you had stopped breathing.

The thought of how your naked body looked in the mirror now was suddenly all you could think about, the long, awful scars marring your stomach, your stupid, painfully swollen breasts that wouldn’t stop leaking… Shit.

It wasn’t just Sam’s tears that had soaked the T-shirt. You had been so caught up in comforting Sam that you hadn’t even noticed. As if it wasn’t bad enough that it reminded you of your grief and your guilt all the time, now Sam had to look at it too and the thought alone was almost enough to make you cry.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I’ll… I’ll go get cleaned up, I didn’t mean…”

The words died upon your lips when you caught Sam's expression in the half-dark. His eyes were sparkling, mesmerised by the white leaking from your sore nipples. Slowly, as if in a trance, he leaned down and placed his mouth on your breast, licking the trail of milk from your skin.

“S-Sam, you don’t have t-to… oh.” Oh. His lips closed around your nipple before giving it a tentative suck. “Ah!”

The little stinging sensation that itched in you at first was nothing compared to the almost ecstatic relief you felt when some of the weight was lifted from your breast, flowing into Sam’s gentle mouth. He moaned at the taste and sucked harder, making you whimper and arch your back up into him. You were sore, but Sam was all soft lips and hot tongue lapping and suckling at your flesh. Slowly, he started moving again, timing each brush of his cock against that sweet, aching spot inside of you with a suck on one of your nipples, stroking the warm, pulsing need in you until your entire body was throbbing with desire.

You clung to him almost as hard as he did you, digging your fingertips into his shoulder and the back of his head while he kept worshipping your breasts with his mouth, moaning deep in his throat you all the while. 

The sensations were all too much and at the same time not quite enough.

“Sam, please… I’m so close,” you mewled, the muscles in your legs straining around him.

“Me too, baby,” he panted, immediately making his thrusts come faster and the sound of skin slapping against skin started to mix with your cries and groans of pleasure.

Fuck, how had you ever managed to turn him down?

The white-hot pressure in you burst and you came around his cock with a loud cry and blissful tears running down your cheeks. You soared on the waves of your release, cradling Sam against you and with a groan muffled by your chest, he came too, stilling inside of you while the walls of your cunt milked him for all he had, prolonging your own orgasm until your vision began to flicker, black spots, white spots, an explosion of fire shooting through your veins.

Every muscle in you went limp and you fell back against the pillows with your arms still holding onto Sam the best you could. You didn’t move to push him off. Instead you closed your eyes and tried to focus on the tickle of his hair against your neck, his fingers still desperately digging into your hips and thighs, and the warm weight of his frame on top of yours, his cum hot and sticky between your legs where he was still buried in you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this good and safe, but surely it must have been before… well, before the witch broke you.

Sam lay completely spent in your arms, breathing heavily as he came down from his high. You didn’t want to let go of him ever again. Almost on instinct, you clenched him a little tighter.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you whispered so quietly you weren’t sure at first if he had heard it. The silent words were followed by the shadow of a sob, hardly more than a tremble in your breath and a new trickle of tears that all too easily turned your ebbing pleasure bittersweet.

“Why?” His voice was raspy and not much louder than yours. Just as you had feared, his hold on you started to loosen as he pulled back and looked down at your wet face.

“For putting you through this,” you managed in a choked excuse of a whisper. “For letting you down…”

“No, don’t say that. Hey! Look at me,” he urged when you closed your eyes again to try and stem the flow of tears. “Baby, I love you. Don’t you know? You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me in this cursed life and I can't…" Sam had to stop and swallow around the lump in his throat. "I can't fathom how you still want me, but as long as you do, I'll be there for you. Because I want to. You're not putting me through anything, okay?"

And as you looked into those sad, adoring eyes of his, you saw nothing but truth shining back at you. He meant it.

“Okay.” You sniffled, overwhelmed, but happy when Sam leant down to kiss you deeply on the mouth to accentuate his point. His mouth was sweet after having feasted on your milk and you couldn’t help a contented sigh as you sampled the taste. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought you ought to have been disgusted, but you didn’t really care when everything about kissing Sam just felt so right. You readily indulged when his tongue parted your lips to tangle with your own at a much slower pace than earlier. Arousal started to gather in your belly again until it felt like a pleasant hum stroking and relaxing your limbs. Your hands found their favourite position of their own accord: buried in his hair, while Sam’s arms gently folded their way back around your waist.

After a while of lazily making out, Sam finally broke away with a reluctant smile on his lips. It was the first time you had seen him so at peace for months.

“As nice as this is,” he muttered, his nose brushing yours, “we really ought to get cleaned up”.

“Don’t wanna move,” you answered, hardly ever breaking contact with his kiss-swollen lips and he grinned at that, making your heart soar so high and so far you almost thought it would never come back down.

“Neither do I,” Sam sighed, squeezing your body close. “But we have to. Come on. I promise we’ll get just as comfortable when we get back.”

“Fine,” you grumbled with the corners of your mouth turning upwards almost against your will. “But only if you say you love me again.”

His smile was as bright and as beautiful as the stars.

Tags: @renxzs​ @lilana56 @fouramtwohourstogo​ @corishirogane3​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @cake-writes​ @sagechanoafterdark​

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester angst #sam winchester smut #sam winchester one shot #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #lol no one is following me for sam so i'm just tagging a few mutuals feel free to ignore #not beta'd i die alone

[dreamyjoons]

Last Light ⥋ 04

⥋ Alone was how you preferred it. People came with feelings, feelings get you killed - and death in the new world wasn’t permanent. But not everything is avoidable, and Kim Taehyung is no exception.

Genre/warnings: zombie apocalypse!au. Angst, just lots of emotions, chatacter/bangtan d*ath! Please note!! blood and injury mention. fluff if you have a magnifying glass and squint real good

Word count: 5.9k

A/N: We back- with a heavy one ooop. This one will have death in it, with our beloved boys. Please take this into account when you read! This is nothing personal, purely for fictional purposes. Series materlist under the readmore. Love you all, i hope you still enjoy!

⥋ Chapter 04: grave

Series Materlist

The lights blind you as the car pulls up the dirt track to where you all stand. You stood still rooted to the spot - but the others around you were in pandemonium. 

Taehyung had begun staggering down the road before breaking into a full sprint, and Jin had almost let his axe drop to the floor. He was uneasy on his feet, looking somewhere being elated and terrified. 

You hover, not knowing if you should be around when they reunited. Should you even stick around? You had met Namjoon before, sure. And Taehyung and Jin seemed to be okay so far. But if there was one thing you had learnt from being in a group before, things are never rosy for long. It might be better for you to not be around. Or at least, you should have your hockey stick on hand. 

You’re only halfway to the tent when you hear the vehicle slam on it’s breaks and shouting begins to fill the air. 

“Jin! Jin we need help!” You hear an unfamiliar voice, laboured and panicked. 

You watch as Jin finally drops his axe and bolts towards the sound of the voice. Taehyung beats him though, a strangled cry leaving him as he rounds the car door. 

“Y/N! Can you come help me take care of the stragglers?” You turn to the sound of your name to see Namjoon jumping out of one of the trucks. He leaves the door open as he moves to dispatch the few undead that followed the noise of the engines. 

You move forward towards Jin’s tent for your hockey stick when he calls your name, pointing at his axe. It was a long axe, with a well worn handle and an end that you’re sure had seen a lot of use. With a shaky hand you take it, meeting the eyes briefly of the man he runs with. 

He was familiar to you. You couldn’t place it, but you had definitely seen that man before. But you couldn't give him too much attention as your eyes are drawn down to what lay in his arms, or more importantly, who. 

A man lay there, and he was in a terrible state. His skin was a sickly pale and palid, with blood splatter across his parted lips. He was limp in the arms that held him, his eyes blinking heavily. 

Taehyung bursts past you, opening Jin’s tent and ushering the men in. You tear your eyes away, the unmistakable groans floating to meet you. You steel yourself and rush to Namjoon’s side, the pain in your ribs reverberating with each step. 

There were five. How they had managed to keep track of the car, you didn’t want to know. With each swing you groan, struggling to focus your attention on the undead in front of you. It takes several goes for you to finally get one to stop moving towards you, your stamina severely depleted. You refused to be deadweight though, dispatching the final staggering body with a choke of pain. Once they were all on the floor, you dropped your arms, letting the axe slip from your grip. 

“Come on.” Namjoon says gently, putting a hand on your shoulder before grabbing the dropped weapon. 

You let him lead you back towards the fire. You cast your eyes toward Jin’s tent, the light inside casting shadows of the figures moving rapidly inside. 

The question of who that was and what happens burns on the tip of your tongue but you keep it to yourself. You stand awkwardly by the fire with Namjoon, listening to the quiet voices from the tent. He shifts constantly, the tension rippling off him in titanic waves as the minutes tick by agonisingly. 

Even if you wanted to escape, your stuff was in Jin’s very busy tent. And you wouldn’t make it on your own out there with how much your ribs hurt. It was foolish, but still an option. You don’t know how well this is gonna turn out. 

Your ears prick up at the sound of the tent zip opening and closing. Namjoon’s head snaps in it’s direction, deflating slightly when he realises it’s not any news. Over to you both staggers the guy you vaguely registered before but still you could not place. 

He was skinny and much shorter than the rest, but he looked the most intimidating. His forehead was pulled into a deep frown, with his hands tucked deep in his hoodie pockets. He was speckled with dark red stains, and you could see the way his hands shake despite how deep he had hidden them.

“How’s Jimin?” Namjoon asks, his voice crackled. The other man merely shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the fire. 

So Jimin was the man that was carried in? You looked over the men, your heart in your throat. 

You knew all too well what they were going through. Watching your group drop away and knowing there’s nothing you could do about it was an agony beyond measure.With the way the world was, you never got to deal with it. There was always someone else to lose, or lose yourself along the way.

The short man hadn’t acknowledged you yet. Not that you were expecting a warm welcome.

You all stand motionless, trapped in the eternal wait. You don’t know how much time passes, but the darkness slowly begins to slip away as the blue hours of the mornings slips in. 

You’re dead on your feet, but nothing can break anyone out of the spell you were stuck under. Your fingertips were like ice, and each breath felt harder than the last. The ticks of the cooling vehicle engines had long since stopped, the trees rustled gently in the breeze, and the quiet hum of constant noise filtered through from the tent. 

“Hobi got… I had to…” Namjoon croaks, his eyes stuck to his feet.

The noise broke through your haze, and you turned to look at him. You searched for words, desperate to heal the wound that you knew nothing could fix. 

“Don’t. It’s not your fault Joon.” The man whispers, the sound barely audible. 

You move and put a hand on his arm, wincing through the pain. He steels himself at your touch, roughly rubbing at his eyes and heaves in a deep breath. 

The other man finally snaps his gaze to you, and you’re caught like a deer in headlights. He watches you, mouth agape. His head tilts, and you know he recognises you somehow too. 

Before he can speak though, the tent zip flies open again. 

“Joon, Yoongi.” Jin calls, his voice flat. 

The men pass a silent look to each other before walking to Jin’s tent. You hover, eyes drifting back to the remaining few embers of the fire as you hold your breath. 

It’s so quiet. The wind had dropped off and nature had long since stopped thriving in the new world. Sounds drew the dead, even the animals had learnt the hard way. 

And the silence meant the words from the group reached your ears. 

“Jimin, I’m so sorry. If we didn’t lose Jungkook you would never have been bitten.” You hear Namjoon choke, and you feel the hair on your neck stand up. 

Bitten?

You can’t hear his quiet reply, the sound lost to the confines of the tent. 

“Jimin? Jimin! Please!” You hear Taehyung wail, and your heart shatters. 

The sounds of grief from all of them grow louder, and it threatens to consume you. Your own family, your old group, your past. It was too much. You had to not think about it. You had to move, to feel something else, to not let the grief hold you by the throat and choke you.

You power back to where the walkers lay, and start prodding them with your boot to make sure none would suddenly jump at you. Content with the lack of response, you grab hold of one by the ankles and drag it to a barren outcrop in the grass just off the road. Once the body is in the middle of the patch you drop your hold on it and move back for the others. 

The throb in your ribs was something you relished. Something for you to latch on to so you didn’t have to think or feel. 

At least it was getting lighter. The sun has started to rise between the trees, the blue of the morning fading into something lighter. Maybe it was around 6AM? You couldn’t tell any more. 

You have the second one by the ankles when you hear the tent open. You snap your gaze over to see Taehyung standing with his head tilted back at the sky. 

His hair was completely dishevelled, his dark jumper marred by even darker stains that seemed to drip red down his arms. His skin was ghostly, and you could see the track marks down his cheeks even at this distance. 

It’s only when his eyes snap to you do you realise that you’re staring. You bite your lip hard and return to your task, tugging harder than necessary. The sudden jerk is too much, and the pain brings tears to your eyes. 

You don’t bother stopping it. 

Instead you keep dragging the body until it sits roughly on top of the other one. Not until then do you look up at Taehyung. 

He turns before you can meet his eyes, storming his way past the tents and through the field until he’s through the treeline. 

A pop echoes from the tent, the unmistakable sound of a muffled gunshot. It’s like a punch to the gut.

You push it out and move towards the next body. You work numbly, one step at a time. And the next, and then the next. It’s not until you go back for the last ones do you stop. Namjoon has the last two by the ankle, dragging them to where you had piled the others. 

All you can do is watch. Once he’s piled them, he walks and gets hold of the gas can that sits in the bed of one of the trucks, throwing a small amount on the bodies and getting a matchbox from beside the fire. 

He strikes the match and throws it, waiting for the pile to start burning before turning away. With your eyes on his back, you heave out a heavy sigh. The feeling of helplessness was as sharp as the burn in your side.

With your heart thumping in your chest you turn back to the blaze, tugging your collar up over your nose to ward off the smell. It’s not until the bodies are just a pile of ashes that you finally bring your eyes away. 

You kick some of the dirt in the area at the flames until it finally putters out. The sun was in the sky at this point, the warmth hitting your skin in a way that it felt you hadn't been touched in a long time. It was soft, only mid-morning. 

“Y/N, can I have your help please?” 

You turn to see Jin, his tee crumpled and bloody. He looked bone tired, no doubt working through the night to try and help Jimin somehow. But they can never be saved, that was a fact of the world now. 

With a nod, you kick the last of the dirt and make your way back up the hill to him. He looks even worse the closer you get to him. 

“We need to… bury Jimin.”

“I’m so sorry, Jin.” 

“He’s just… he’s the first. We’d been together since the beginning. All of us. But with Hoseok dead and probably j=Jungkook too, I just…” He trails, his eyes closed and his chin wobbling. 

“What can I do to help?” You offer softly. 

“Keep watch whilst we dig. We all wanna do it so we can get it done quick, and Tae…”

“You don’t have to explain. Of course.” 

He nods and turns, motioning for you to follow. He hands you his axe once more, and gestures once again as he walks away. You follow for a few minutes until you reach a grassy area on a small hill under a willow tree. It was old, reaching high and wide, with just enough clearance under it’s hanging branches for you to walk beneath. 

You can see Namjoon and Yoongi already digging a spot, the grave already shin deep. Jin jumps into the shallow hole with his friends and begins to dig using what looked like a pot lid. It looked like only Namjoon had an actual shovel. Yoongi had a stick that he was breaking the ground with, and would then scoop out the dirt with his hands. It was too much, the rawness of it too hard to bear.

Remembering that Jin once said this was an old camping ground, you begin to scan the area. If this was any decent kind of place, there’d be a small maintenance shed or office. They must have tools somewhere.

“I’ll be right back.” You mumble, taking off before anyone could reply. 

You jog back up to where the tents are, scanning the area until you see it - tucked inside the treeline, looking more like it was part of nature than man made. 

Jogging towards it, you kick at the door, waiting to see if anything stirred inside. When nothing answered, you got hold of the latch and lifted. It took some wiggling and a good shoulder barge, but finally the door swings open. 

You’re met by mostly rust. It seemed to cover everything inside. Dust, too. Idling between rusty lawn mowers and broken sprinkler heads, you finally spot what you were looking for. 

Sitting on the wall was another shovel, and a small gardening trowel just below. It’s better than a pot lid or stick, at least. You pull them down gently, unsure of how sturdy the wall they sit on is. You tuck the trowel in your pocket and grip the shovel with your axe. Making sure you shut the door behind you - and making a mental note to raid it properly in future - you hurry back over the men.

“Here.”

You stop in front of them and drop the shovel, as well as fishing out and dropping the trowel too. 

“Y/N… Thank you.” Jin whispers, watery eyes meeting yours. 

You can’t find words to reply, so you settle for a stiff nod and move to being a look out. You hear the clang of tools but you leave them to it, settling to scan the treeline instead. 

It felt too personal to stand there and watch them. In fact, it all felt too personal. You were intruding on a moment that they all had to share. Maybe you should strike out on your own, give them their space. You didn’t want to get caught up in a group again, anyway. 

You mentally began running through everything you knew about the area- which really, was nothing. Maybe you could get a map off one of them before you went anywhere? At least a look to get an idea. Or maybe you could find somewhere to hole up for a few weeks until you’re better, or at least able to swing your arm without wanting to collapse in pain. It was doable. Very lonely, but that was something you’d grown accustomed to now. 

“Okay, that should be enough.” 

You look back over your shoulder and see Namjoon hoisted out of the grave before he turns and holds out a hand for yoongi. He gets a leg up from the bottom, and once out he and Namjoon turn to offer Jin a hand, lifting him from the pit. That choked you, the existence they had wordlessly carved out together.

“We just need to get him now. And Tae, he should be here for this…” Namjoon sighs, eyes glued to the pit.

“I can get Taehyung.” You offer, though you really don’t want to. 

He’s grieving, you know that. But the man doesn’t like you at the best of times. You have no idea how he’ll react to you, if you’re even able to find him. 

“Thank you.” Yoongi mumbles.

You don’t wait any longer, moving towards the area of trees that you saw Taehyung disappear through hours ago. You twist the axe in your hands as you break through the treeline, high alert rippling through your body. 

After only a small amount of walking did you find what Namjoon had set up in the name of defence. Strings, sitting at only about knee height, running around the perimeter of the camping grounds. These are what must be attached to the tins at the top of the camp, with different roped strings for different sections. It was so simple, yet still impressive. 

With a careful step up you're over the string and back on your way to finding Taehyung. 

The sun was way above you in the sky. It had felt like it had been a week’s worth of days, not just a couple hours. All you ever seemed to do was move on from one tragedy to the next in this new world. You stopped in your tracks, realising you had no idea where you were going. 

Where could he be? There seemed to be miles and miles of forest. He could be anywhere by now. 

You take a deep breath, close your eyes and strain your hearing for any indication of where he could be. It was hard to pick up any noise over the rustle of the forest. But after a while, a few sounds eked in. The rustle of a small animal foraging somewhere to your right, the faint whine of the leaves as they’re jostled in the wind. And more increasingly, the sound of something splintering and breaking. 

With no other leads to find Taehyung, you follow the sound. You grip the axe tighter in your hands, not willing to face the consequences if you’re wrong. 

Another loud bang greets you as you draw near, making you falter in your steps. Perching behind a tree, you peer at the source of the sound- only to have relief flood you when you realise it was Taehyung. You were infinitely grateful he hadn’t wandered far in the hours he’d been away. 

He had been busy though. Splintered trees and branches cover the forest floor, with big chunks of bark hacked out of the trees that still stood around him. He somehow looked worse than the cargaget that surrounded him. 

The jumper he wore was dry, the bloodstains thick across his stomach and chest. The blood that had trickled onto his hands from the clothing had long since dried, red patches surrounding the raw patches of his skin. His hair had a mind of its own, flyaway and messy where he’s been roughly scraping away from his face. Streaks of dirt and mud cover his skin, but his cheeks were clean from the tears that had long since dried. 

You take a deep breath. And then another. Then you stand, letting the axe sit a little more loosely in your hands. 

“Taehyung?” No response.

“Tae?” 

He turns to you but it’s slow, a tightness forming in his shoulders. The look on his face is almost bored as he looks at you quickly, eyes lingering on Jin’s axe in your hand. You steel yourself, your heart beating irregularly as he sizes you up. Maybe the nickname wasn't something for you to use. 

“What are you doing here?” He snaps. 

“They sent me. It’s time to bury him.” you try to keep your voice even, ignoring the barb in his words. 

“What are you, the messenger?”

You don’t reply. That seems to rile him up more. 

“I suppose you helped dig my friend’s grave too, right? You’re a regular member of the group now. Maybe you can even replace Jimin!”

“I’m not here to replace anyone. I just came to tell you what your friends said.” 

“This has gotta be nice though, right? A nice group to settle yourself in after your lonely existence.” He laughs bitterly, dragging his eyes away to look at his shaking hands. 

You bite your lip. You were not gonna rise to it. He’s hurting, you know he is. He wants the fight, he wants to forget the pain and feel something else overtake him. But you weren’t going to be that punching bag. No matter how much he needed it.

“Sure. Just don’t be too long.” The words are as soft as you can make them. 

The division inside you rages. You want to call him out - it’s not your fault this has happened, no matter how much he wants to find someone to put the blame on. But you know he’s hurting, and those words are not his own. He may not like you, but he still saved your life. That has to count for something. 

You turn away, your heart heavy in your chest when you hear a sudden thud behind you. Turning, you see Taehyung on his knees, jumper pulled off as he stares at the bloody clothing in his hands. His shirt he wore underneath had stained too, the cream colour marked with an ugly patch of claret. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” His voice is thick, emotion in every syllable. 

“So am I.” You turn back to face him.

You move to crouch beside him, ignoring the throb in your side. His fingers scrunch the material, as if letting go would mean death. 

“Jimin gave this to me.” His voice is so low you barely hear him, the bite from his voice completely gone. 

“He’s not gonna live on through a jumper, Taehyung.” 

“But I have nothing left of him.” 

His words stew in the air for only a few seconds before he breaks. He tucks his face into the clothing as sobs wracked his body, and all you can do is watch. You put a cautious hand on his back, rubbing smoothing circled into the material of his shirt with your thumb. 

You let him be. He needed to let it out or he’d be choked forever. Your thumb remained in constant motion, and you made sure to keep checking the surrounding areas. There were going to be no more casualties, not if you can help it. 

Slowly his sobs roll out to scratchy heaves, and he rubs at his face with his forearm. He looked like he could sleep for a decade, and god knows he needed it. You take a breath and clear your throat.

“Let's get back. I know some ways that can save your jumper.” 

Without hesitation you grab hold of his hand, gently pulling him to his feet. The blood that marred his skin didn’t phase you, you just had to get him back for all their sakes He follows your lead, letting his fingers link with yours. You follow back the way you came, pace slow as he trails behind you, jumper clutched to his chest. 

Relief flushes through you as you find the string, being careful to step over it and making sure Taehyung does the same. 

Once you’re through the treeline you steer him towards the willow. His fingers flex against yours, and you’re hyper aware of the warmth of his large hand. When the boys are finally in sight you panic, and let go of his hand. 

“Almost there.” you say awkwardly.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him take your hand again. Your step falters slightly, a strange stirring in your chest blocking out everything else. He keeps walking though, making you the one he’s getting pulled along. 

Namjoon Jin and Yoongi watch you both approach, each looking between you before turning back. 

You see Taehyung stiffen as you both draw closer, so you give his hand a slight squeeze to show that you’re still there for him. Once you’re standing alongside the others, the view down into the grave is all you can see.

At the bottom sits a body shrouded in a black tarp. He looks so tiny down there. You didn’t have to know him to feel the weight of that. 

“There are… no words for this. Nothing that will ever, ever make this right. And I know… I know I’m part to blame for this-”

“Namjoon-” Yoongi starts, but Namjoon barrels on.

“But I promise you here Jimin - and Hoseok, and Jungkook - that I will make sure that never happens again. We were friends, but we will remain a family. Goodbye.” 

“You brightened everything you did. Teasing me, or singing something I thought I'd long forgotten. I’ll never forget you.” Yoongi nods solemnly, his voice a low gravel as his eyes sit on the mound of dirt behind the grave. 

Jin doesn’t speak, his bottom lip caught between his cheeks as he brushes at his eyes with his fingertips.

Taehyung moves to talk, but his words fail him. He draws in a sharp breath, and squeezes your hand tight before he speaks. 

“I… thank you, Jimin. I’ve had a life full of light with you. You will always be with me, and we will survive for you.” His voice is barely audible by the end of his sentence, though you know there are volumes more he wants to say. Maybe you should ask about them all later. Keep these men alive in memories. 

You move your free hand to clasp his hand that holds yours. A juddered breath ripples from his chest, reminding you to breathe too. 

Namjoon moves to the shovel, slowly beginning to push the dirt back into his grave. You watch for a moment, his bloodshot eyes never leaving the tip of the tool. 

Taehyung slips from your grip and steps to the edge. He folds the jumper up carefully, before holding it out and letting it drop down to where Jimin lay. His shoulders shake as he looks down, and you watch on helplessly. 

You wanted to reach out, to tell him he would be okay. But how could you? You didn’t know how it ever would be.

Instead you stepped back, moving your eyes off his figure and dropping by the pile of dirt. Carefully you begin pushing some of the mound back into the grave, careful not to put your body through any more excessive strain. But you hurt nonetheless. 

It didn’t take long when Jin picked up another shovel. The silence was deafening, the soft scrape of the shovel against the gritty soil, and the soft pads of it hitting the tarp below the only sounds. You worked and worked until there was nothing left to move over, just a mound of freshly turned earth and what lay below.

You cast your eyes around the men, helplessness clawing its way through your chest. 

Maybe you should stick around a little longer. 

You watched as Jin and Namjoon bumped into each other as they moved back up to the camp, barely acknowledging the impact. Yoongi had slunk away, long disappearing into his tent. Taehyung stood under the branches of the willow tree, his eyes fixed on the knots in the bark. 

It wouldn’t hurt to help keep them afloat. Just until they can tread water on their own. The resolution took a weight off your shoulders, though you didn’t want to unpack that thought right now.

The rest of the evening is spent helping out where you can. Your body hurt, but you refused to be of no help. You gathered firewood, helped a lifeless Jin prepare food, and silently checked on them as often as you could. Taehyung drifted. He’d sit staring into the flames, and then he’d be suddenly on his feet, listlessly moving down towards the willow again. 

There were no words you could offer, nothing you could do to make it right. You just had to help fill in the spaces where the parts of them couldn’t reach. Keep an eye on the horizons, an eye on the fire, an eye on them. 

Finally you manage to get them into their tents, telling them to get as much sleep as they can. You know they’ll spend hours laying awake, replaying every second together over in their head, a pressure on their chests so heavy it’s suffocating. 

Jin tells you to take his tent once more after giving you some more painkillers. You swallow them gratefully, not bothering to find some water. He was going to stay with Namjoon for the night. They both needed the company, to know the other was still there. Yoongi had been asleep all day, and had got up to keep a silent watch for the night. Taehyung stood at the door of his tent fiddling with the zip, and with nothing else to say, you finally step inside your own private space. 

You unroll your sleeping bag and spread it out on the floor of Jin’s tent. You make a mental note to see about getting your own tent. If you were gonna stay, you needed to give Jin his back. And if you didn’t stay… well, you’d have a tent for the road. 

You kick off your boots and crawl inside the padding, the night air cold against your skin.

Sleep evaded you, leaving you with nothing but your own thoughts to stew on. Specifically Taehyung, but generally everything else too. There was so much, it felt like anything else would lead you to implosion. How can you see this world through when everything in it causes you so much harm?

The words Taehyung had used against you floated around in your head. Maybe there was some truth to it. Were you trying to get in with this group, and purely for selfish reasons? The last few months had been a bitter sort of agony, one you learnt to stringently ignore every waking moment of the day. Alone was how you preferred it. There was less to worry about: noise, people, supplies. But it was painful. And with physical pain thrown into the mix, almost unimaginable. 

And you wouldn’t even delve into the way he held your hand. It had been… so long since you had been touched like that. Starved of it. And despite the way he had treated you in the past, you couldn’t help but feel safe with him? It perplexed you. Those kinds of feeling were not going to be of any help in this world. Write it off and move on, it’s what you had to do. 

Your incredibly loud thoughts were punctured by the sound of the tent zipper sliding up. Fear crashed around you as you sat upright, grabbing hold of your hockey stick and brandishing it.The seconds tick by as the teeth of the zip click, and you realise how trapped you were. You didn’t hear any of the cans rattling, had something still gotten through?

Through the gap steps Taehyung, and the air feels like it’s forced out of your lungs as you lower your hands. You collapse back on the floor, your heart thudding in your throat. 

“Taehyung?” You murmur once you get your voice back. 

“Why have you got your hockey stick?”

You could’ve been undead. Or a looter!” You sit back up, forehead creased as you look at him. 

He stands just inside the tent with something behind his back, and he was chewing on his thumbnail. Was that a nervous tick? Why would he be nervous?

“How were you going to beat me when you’re still fully in your sleeping bag?”

“I… look, what do you need? I don’t know where any of Jin’s things are, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Oh, uh, no- i… iwaswonderingificouldsleephere.” The words are so hushed you barely comprehend what he was saying. 

“What?” 

“I.. uh. I was wondering if I could sleep in here with you. Tonight.” His cheeks are a dark red as he asks, his tired eyes glued to the hockey stick in your hands. 

“Okay.” The words are out of your mouth before you can even consider what you’re agreeing to, but Taehyung plows on regardless. 

“I get if you don’t want me to! I just feel safe, I guess- wait, what did you say?” 

“You can stay here.” You say simply, but he stares at you like you just asked him to tell you the meaning of life. Silence stretches and you shift awkwardly until he finally speaks. 

“Why?”

“... because you asked to?”

“No, I mean, why did you agree?” His voice cracks as he asks, and you ponder his words for a minute. Why did you? But when you think about it, it comes back around to one factor that seems to be plaguing your life lately. 

“It sucks being alone. Especially at times like this.” 

“Thank you, Y/N.” His voice is low, his eyes bright with burning intensity as he meets your gaze.

You say nothing, simply shuffling closer to the edge of the tent. Laying the hockey stick back at your side, you lay back down in your sleeping bag and cuddle up in the little warmth it offered. Taehyung finally moves, zipping up the tent once more and bringing out his sleeping bag from behind his back. 

Hiding your smile under the puff of your sleeping bag, you settle on your side, facing the tent wall. You hear him rustle behind you, and the puff of breeze as he flicks out his bed. 

You hear him settle in down, and finally the world around you sounds deathly quiet once more. But you hear him breathe, steady and deep. 

It was reassuring, something constant for you to focus on. Slowly he seemed to grow restless though, and it isn't until he tosses and turns for the millionth time you roll over and look at him.

You could barely make him out in the darkness, the moonlight hitting the outside of the tent just barely illuminating his silhouette. It was a staggering sight, and you had to focus your attention on his face to stop your mind from fixating. 

“About today…”

Oh. That.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, no. I was nasty, but you were still kind. I’m sorry, I didn't mean what I said.”

“Thank you.” You whisper, your blood thrashing in your veins as you study his profile.

“So… goodnight.”

“Night Taehyung.” 

“Tae’s okay, you know.” His voice was so quiet, a whisper you could barely hear. It made your stomach knot.

You were finally grateful for the darkness so that he didn’t see the way that affected you. You take a soft breath and exhale as smoothly as you can before smiling, even if he can’t see it. This felt like progress, a light in the middle of an endless night. 

“Okay, Tae. Sleep well.” 

You hear him sigh deeply, the air around you stilling. Your mind blanks a little as you turn back around, your eyes blearily focused on the tent wall. It was freeing, almost. The thoughts that were plaguing you had frozen replaced with the awareness of him. His breathing evened out, their depth telling you he had fallen asleep almost instantly. You were unsurprised, he’d had one of the worst days imaginable.

Sleep pulled at you quickly, the air prickling with cold but a prevailing sense of safety trickled over you. Soon the world disappeared, a dreamless night ahead of you. 

Warmth roused you near the morning, the heat of it pressed tightly against your back. But in your tired state, you merely shuffled closer to it and drifted off, paying no thought about where it could be coming from. You simply allowed the warmth to pull you back into a blank slumber once more. 

#bts reader insert #bts x you #bts x reader #bts angst #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #taehyung angst #taehyung series #my writing

[hunterscoffee]

Masked Crush

Oneshot Masterlist Din Djarin/The Mandolorian x Reader Warnings: angst, violence, the usual sw stuff Word Count: 1.6k A/N: Tell me if you want a sequel/part two.

He was laughing on the inside, he really was. He had never seen your face, your body and he knew nothing about you. What colour were your eyes? Your lips? Your skin? What did your voice sound like without the modulator in its way. Even though he had never seen you, he was in love with you. The way your beskar curved over your chest, the rasp of your laugh through the helmet, your impulsiveness and most of all, no matter how closed off you seemed to others you were so open and caring to him and the child. Whenever he realised he didn’t know who you were beneath the armour he got the unhappily reminder that you didn’t know who he was either or what he looked like, to be frank he sometimes forgot who he was too.

Din’s latest reminder of his crush on you was when you had breathed a heavy sigh, one that the modulator picked up. He just cocked his helmet at you like your breath of relief was a massive insult to his flying. And as if you were reading his mind.

“That was an insult to your flying, we nearly died!” you clarified to him. He breathed his own sigh, but his of frustration and slight anger.

“I saved our asses,” he bit out, “not my fault the New Republic dropped out of nowhere.”

“It was New Republic space,” you reminded him, he could only guess what your expression looked like right now, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly quirked in the corner, eyes shining with amusement at how defensive he was acting.

What he did know of you was very little to go off, he knew that you had joined the clan when you were 13 by your own choice and you were born on Mandalore during the Clone Wars. And of course he knew of your reputation as a bounty hunter and he had witnessed your skill.

“You also did a shit job of trying to fix it,” you unhelpfully commented.

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

“Do you know the name of this super special Mandalorian?” you asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“No.” he said, you groaned at his unhelpful answer.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself. "I'm going to get some rest." 

You must have fallen asleep because you woke to the Razor Crest beeping out an orchestra of warning sounds and the ship herself rattling as you essentially fell to the planet's surface. Din was grabbing her controls with what must be a white knuckled grip. If all that wasn't enough a woman's voice was echoing through the coms warning your partner that you were coming in too fast. 

"Holy shit," you breathed as you took it all in, powerless to do anything except watch and hold the child. Out of some miracle he managed to land the ship, on the platform, perfectly. But of course that didn't last long. Razor Crest tipped over the edge and plummeted into the water surrounding the platform. 

"Fuck." that's all Din said, that was it. 

"I'm flying next time," you growled. 

"No, your kiffin' not," he snapped at your blatant rudeness. 

"Mando look at the fucking transparasteel, you can't see see shit out of it, no to mention the state the metal alloy." you bit back, he huffed, chucking a few credits at the Mon Calamari by the spaceport and asking him to fix her the best he could, which to be honest couldn’t be that good by the looks of her.. You were too busy staring at the ship to realise he, the child and the frog lady had walked off, happily enough you got there in time to watch the reunion of the frog lady and the frog gentleman, it warmed your heart, just the joy you needed after such a shit day. In return for her passage the frog couple took you and Din to an Inn not far from the port and mostly filled with amphibious species. Just as you sat down a Mon Calamari approached you, asking what you wanted to eat and as quick as ever Din had just very coolly slid some credits across the table.

“Chowder and… information.” you would have killed to see his face when he said that, just his tone of voice sent shivers of arousal down your back.

As Din and the Calamari spoke you watched the kid and his chowder with jealous and hungry eyes, your stomach rumbled as if to acknowledge your hunger.

“Maker, I’m starving,” you murmured, not loud enough for the voice modulator to pick it up. Suddenly part of the child’s dinner launched itself at him, the baby let out a startled gurgle that turned to scared baby language. You pulled the dagger you had strapped to your thigh and slid it into the edible creature, then greedily watched as it fell into the bowl of probably disgusting chowder. What drew your attention from the child’s meal was a Quarren walking with loose shoulders towards you. 

“You seek others of your kind?” he asked, his tone rough like someone who’d been hardened over the years.

“Have you seen them?” Din asked, overly curious.

“Aye, I can bring you to them,” he added, then he started chuckling and your blood ran cold with fear and adrenaline. 

“Where.”

“Only a few hours sail, it’ll cost you though,” he added, getting up from the table. Without even consulting you Din slid even more credit across the table as if you weren’t broke enough.

“When do we leave?”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” you scolded under your breath to him, “You’ve put the child, me and yourself in danger.”

“You didn’t have to come,” he scoffed, though he had badly wanted you to come.

“And let you get killed, I think not,” you huffed, glancing over to the child’s cot. Your little conversation was interrupted when a shipmate came to stand beside you.

“Ever seen a mamacore eat?” he asked, you blinked, “Quite a sight, child might take an interest.” as if on cue you glanced over to the baby, he had his chin tilted up so he could watch his father. “You should come over, take a look.” the Quarren invited, Din hesitantly pushed himself away from the banner and followed the alien to the hatch in the middle of the ship.

You had seen Jedi, heard stories of how they could predict the future, get feelings about what was about to happen. You weren’t force sensitive but you had a devastatingly bad feeling about what was about to happen. You were right. It happened in seconds, the hatch door slid open and the crew fed the beast, the Quarren that had led you there began blabbering on about feeding the thing and then with the end of his staff the bastard knocked the child’s crate into the hatch and Din, without a thought dived in after him.

“Close the gate!” the alien shouted, the sudden shocked expression you wore turned quickly into a scowl.

“Demagolka,” you growled, planting your feet on the ground as you drew both guns. The hatch finished closing, and you shot your first victim, you had barely three dead when three beskar armoured individuals landed on the ship, the painting they wore was familiar but you couldn’t quite place it, no room for it, you were too worried about Din and the child. You had no choice but to put your faith in the strangers, taking off in the sprint to the control panels, trying to get there as fast as humanly possible, without hesitating shooting the Quarren that stood there. 

“Maker, which one? Which one?” you tried to picture how the shipmen had opened and shut it, then without time to think you grabbed the leaver and pulled back. To your utter relief the gate slid open, you moved quickly to the edge of the hatch, reaching your hand down as Din came back up. With all of your strength you pulled him out of the water quickly. “Shit, Mando, are you okay?” you didn’t let go of his hand, he couldn’t see it but your eyes were wide with worry.

“The child,” he gasped out. One of the other Mandalorians dove into the water only to emerge seconds later with the child. Both you and Din breathed a sigh of relief as the child as child was placed back into Din’s hands. But, your partner's somewhat relaxed demeanor was cut off when the ‘leader’ removed her helmet and you were met with a face you never thought you’d see again.

"You're not Mandalor-" Din started before you cut him off curtly. 

“Clan Kryze,” you spat out, so much uncontrollable venom in your voice. Her head snapped to you. You placed two hands on either side of your helmet then smoothly pulled it off.

“Y/N?” she whispered.

“Bo-Katan,” you had no room in your heart for pleasantries.

“Ad’ika please,” she started.

"Please what, mother?" you growled. Mother? Din nearly coughed in shock, then he saw your face, gone was the sarcastic, but kind Mandalorian Din knew and in its place was the living image of anger, grief and sadness. He wanted so badly to reach out and pull you into his arms, try to comfort you. Then he suddenly remembered the code, you had broken the code. 

"Give me the child, I'm going to see if I can help with the ship," your voice softened when you spoke to Din, then hardened again when you turned to your… Mother? "If you so much as follow me I'll kill you." that wasn't a threat, it was a promise. Without another word you picked the child up and cradled him in your arms then ignited the jetpack on your back, and left Bo-Katan with tears in her eyes.

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorion spoilers #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin