Projects have been put on hold whilst I try and get over my new special interest and get back to our regularly scheduled program (like two fics a year) wish me luck πͺ
You met him first in youth. A library of all places and a quiet little boy living in a shadow. A boy who did not even need that of which cast it to make him feel inadequate.
Your friendship came in its strangest form, a hand held out to him in silence. It was easy making friends as a child, a mere gesture of acknowledgment was enough to ensure company.
βMy name is Loki.β
The quiet words that were the starting pistol to the race of your demise.
Months were spent like that, his quiet nature had made him much reserved. But, you met, day in day out, met until you could read him like an open book, till his careful blunt words became beautiful soft calligraphy. Each chapter a new story to unravel, a new challenge to face and a promise to each other to last the test of time. Time seemed only a villain.
He introduced you to his brother and to his mother. There you met his shadow-caster. The adored Thor, strong and worthy. In his blue eyes, there found no trace of Loki. He was a bare, sterile, glowing hallway and Loki was a cozy library at its end. Their contrast was straining, dilation from the glowing potential of Thor to the self assigned defeat.
So childhood memories consisted of him, of helping him, of stocking his hypothetical shelves full of stories of eachother and their adventures, of calm moments and dreams, of secret escapades, of hope.
You wanted to give him a chance, a chance to relight the flame every child should have. You didnβt care if he destroyed the shelves and burnt your stories if only it would allow his flame to grow stronger.
Then you grew, teenage years grew steadily upon you. It was here that the first sign was missed
You didnβt do enough.
He became bitter and resentful despite all the work, his brother soon facing the brunt of his angst. You assumed perhaps it was rivalry, a natural tendency and that his rationality would sink in, that he would become his own person.
The books were what kept you both alive. You kept meeting in that library. Books allowed for you to live hundreds of lives, but the longer you read, the sooner you came to find that no book would allow you to live a future with him.
"Please.. you can't do this.. you know you shouldn't."
You plead with him, but what does it matter anymore, why should he listen to you. His heart was unreachable, unreadable, how could you ever understand.
He hurt people.
Something broke in the boy from all those years ago, something you could not fix. Although perhaps he loved you, still.
Perhaps he found solace from his thoughts in the place were he was anything but himself.
But it is hard to love another, when you are not yourself.
The day he destroyed New York, was the day the red could never wash out of his ledger. There was simply too much damage, to the world, to innocents, and to his mind. He was different.
His imprisonment left him dark. The library was no more, but that did not stop you from going to him.
Perhaps it was in a delusion, that he would see error, that he would come back.
You ask one night, back to the glass, you knew his face well enough, to look at him was to admit he was no longer yours.
"Because I could. Why else?"
He's a liar, a good one, that much is obvious, but that doesn't stop a tear rolling down your cheek. Perhaps he sees, or simply knows, because he does not go on. Perhaps he loved you back, once.
"I'm sorry"
You manage out, refusing to let him hurt you. Instead wanting to hurt him, to be angry, not physically, you have no strength to beat him in any duel, but you want to hurt him.
"I'm sorry that I was not enough for you. I'm sorry that you crave such chaos. I'm sorry that I cannot fix you."
Many will learn of Romeo and Juliet. Perhaps ponder the stupidity of it, the monotony of the same reused story, a destiny set in centuries old script.
Death.
You allowed your soul to die for him
Yet morbidity granted a vision. Now it is easier to see, perhaps the concept of destiny is a metaphor, a warning. A lesson to the lovers who were never meant to be.
Shakespeare himself knew your fate and yet you believed somewhere in a selfish heart that you could have him. How childish you were, are, were. The only dagger used was the shard formed by your own actions and his poison was his own dear nature.
For the first time, you allow yourself to debate the possibility that his heart can no longer love amidst such hatred and it stung as an infused knife.
His antidote was his loveless heart, but for you? Perhaps the poison he came to be would have easier to treat then the wounds of a blade, especially one you forged so blindly.
The words likely meant nothing to him, not yet, but they would, you knew they would, because life is cruel. The words line an end of a chapter, a book best left unread, unfinished.
But of course, that is not how books work. There is always an ending.
Bitterness grew in his absence, something destructive. What was there to be delicate about when all that surrounded you were the reminders of him and his betrayal.
The world fell upon such darkness that there was no net to save from its pull.
If it was chaos he wished for, it was chaos he would get.
It allowed you to wonder as well, does his heart still pain for you as yours does? There was a certain hope, a certain bitterness. Yes.
Because, In this tale of Romeo and Juliet, you were the only one to die. Not quite so literally, but a souls death, one who never asked to become cruel is granted some bitterness.
As the body of your old mind rots and its body caves, in this dark coffin. You pray he thinks of you.
You don't pray to any god, no. But instead pray to an inevitable hell that you'll meet him there. That he is forced to love you for eternity as the monster heβs made, because even still you loved him as the monster he was before.
It would have been a fitting punishment, one should think.
You hurt people, destroyed lives, broke hearts, all for it to come to the end of your home.
There was nothing to fight for anymore, no home to go back to. No tangible thing to place the bitterness anymore.
Something seemed to set in place.. something needed to change.
Life was hard, with asgard destroyed what life was there to live.
What life but to live among the midgardians, and so that is where you were, living a life, a librarian of all things, a place that so dearly reminded you of the one thing you could not have.
A love not bound by him holding another's affection, but by his selfishness.
There was no doubt in the signs that he was there, that he would come, watch, perhaps something remembered a childhood, something he lost, perhaps he remembered his blame, his sorrow.
But oh how life was to destroy him.
He was to learn why, why we tell tales. Why stories of morbid tragedy live on.
Something about a beautiful infinite sky made you feel all the more forgiving as you head laid on a warm lap, glancing up at the face you see whenever you close your eyes.
Or perhaps it was the large shard of shrapnel jutting from your stomach, or the large puddle of blood that began to pool from below your back, staining his legs a foul sickly red.
Perhaps an active war zone was not the best time to share apologies, but it didn't seem to matter, neither of you could say a word.
Your hand reaches up, the blood staining your fingertips, but it hardly matters, he does not care that it leaves harsh prints on his face, he moves to cradle it, to push his face into a warmth that he hasn't felt in years, a warmth that is quickly fading away.
You look, into those eyes, into the world you built together, the shelves of stories, of lives, all seemed to have an end, an end for you both, so why did this have to be the one reality without?
You try to imagine your library, between the shelves and the dust, the ink and the letters, finding the souls that burned in leather bound tomes and scripts. Finding the words that were written but never read, words that told you your end, an end in the land of the lost.
Tears welled in his eyes, but you couldn't focus, he was warm now.. that shouldn't be right, he had never been warm before. Or perhaps, it was that you were colder than him.
For he was your tragedy, a rotten Romeo, but maybe you were just as bad. Perhaps you were the Lady to his Macbeth, perhaps it was a hand crafted tragedy, made by the blood stained hands that now grasp one another in desperation.
Perhaps this union was despised by the very fates three. For together, it seemed to create the greatest tragedy, one that tore a heart and scattered it within centuries-old tales, so that he may never hear those names without thinking of us.
He knew, he knew you, he knew this tragedy well.
How ironic it was.
How ironic that you were led there dying, and he was to die soon thereafter.
How convenient it would be that as his throat tightens, wracked in sobs, he is raised by it, his feet hanging limply as your head hits the ground.
To that one singular person who wanted a part two, itβs gonna be the most heart wrenching betrayal aftermath angst I can possibly muster and as soon as I have the motivation, you better believe ima hurt you and myself.
The first time you really met Spiderman, your hands were around his neck. You were slowly tightening your grip, but, as you looked up to watch the life leave his eyes, something you had eagerly awaited, you stopped as he began to mumble.
You hated heroes. Hated how they were considered salvations to a broken society. Maybe if the rich gave a shit the divide wouldnβt be so great.
Society is run off greed.
And yeah, sometimes the rich do give a shit, you werenβt saying thats the prime evil, the problem comes when assholes use chaos and desperation to make quick cash.
New York City was a prime example of the cesspits designed by and for humanity. In the beginning, there was no night that went by without the sound of an ambulance and a hearse in pursuit with last nights leftovers.
Now they just skipped the ambulance and went straight in with the hearse.
The city chewed people up and spat them out dead.
Heroism is dangerous. It is a false alias for mass destruction and major loss of life, and yet claims to be for the good of the people. A core of wickedness, hidden in a faux utilitarian shell. A being not whole unless causing harm and calling themself in favour of those who they massacre.
Heroism is a plague of the mind, but it doesnβt acquaint to the evil it fights. In concept, the idea was perfect. Thatβs where you came in.
Neither hero nor villain, but one who admits and atones to their wrongs without a need to do so. You had no image to uphold, doing what was right and paying the cost that took.
At least.. at least until you decided to catch the attention of the βlocal heroβ.
Growing up in New York City had its perks, one such being direction. But it was still a big city, things where constantly changing, so it wasnβt uncommon for you to drop into an alley a block or so over from your intended destination.
Usually, this was fine, however how were you to react when you come face to face with The Spiderman adjusting his costume and packing away casual clothes into a duffle.
Clearly, he didnβt know either because as he seemed to be adjusting the material at his shoulders, he turned a caught a glimpse of you.
There you two stood, at a stale mate, perfectly acquainted through previous minor conflicts and slightly contrasting morals. He began to panic, it was dreadfully obvious when all he could seem to do was gape like a fish.
βDonβt worry spider-boy, knowing what you look like would take all the fun out of it!β You exclaimed, turning your back and walking away, chuckling to yourself as you scale a wall onto another building. Hoping to finally enjoy some peace.
What you didnβt expect however, was for him to follow you.
βWhere are you going?β He said, trailing just behind you. He didnβt exactly know why he had followed you up here, but you confused him so and he was intrigued.
Peter knew he was no distinguished labelled hero, Hell, he was reminded by the papers every day. He knew and he accepted that, but he had every intention to be one, no matter what.
You however, you perplexed him. You seemed to hate the evil in the city, and so you did something about it. But you hated being called a hero, you didnβt do anything by the book. In fact there were times Peter found your methods barbaric and oddly personal.
He had watched you beat the literal shit out of your fair share of criminals, but youβd really let it out in cases of domestic crimes. For being so violent, you were so passionate and so caring to victims.
But you just didnβt want to be a hero. Trust that he knows that, heβs asked you on multiple occasions and that black eye from the last time he snuck up on you still aches on occasion.
βNone of your business.β You retaliated to him tiredly, soon following with a yawn. You were exhausted, Rightfully so however. You had been parading around since your class ended and it was almost 11 PM by now.
All you wanted to do was get home, finish your coursework, take a bath and sleep.
But here you were, with an eyesore in tight spandex on your ass. You couldnβt go home with him tailing you, so youβd have to go horizontal to your apartment. Sitting on some random roof and hanging your legs over a darkened alley.
Hoping to have lost him, you glanced over your shoulder, only to see him staring at you from across the roof. You sighed, getting out some protein bar and opening it. Eating away as you stared into the busy streets.
The city truly never slept and amongst the ugliness and sorrow, the chaos and twinkling lights seemed ever beautiful and you smiled at the thought.
βWhy do you do it?β He muttered as he sat next to you. Getting a hum in response only prompted him to continue. βI mean, you say you hate the city, that youβd leave it first chance you have.. but somewhere in there you must love it, or you wouldnβt do this, put yourself in danger just for the innocent.β
βThatβs a dark way of looking at it Spider-man, I thought you were meant to be this placeβs glimmer of light!β You laughed a little, majorly just trying to release the harsh tension. βItβs not the city, itβs the people, itβs the people who this place donβt deserve. I think no matter where I was I would have ended up like this because people need something to believe in.β
βSuperhero speech! That was totally a superhero speech donβt even deny it! I got it all down!β He yelled accusingly but in a light tone, pointing at you. It was fond, as if you were just two old friends bantering with each other. Even if you did push him off the roof in response with a loud βwould a superhero do this asshole!?β
But you knew he would catch himself, that he expected it was coming.
You hated heroes, but this one just seemed to be the exception.
Peter was a sweet boy, respectful, but he was pained.
You could tell he was always hiding a deeper pain, sorrow he never let himself truly feel, sorrow he may never cure himself of.
He was your best friend, a shining ray of hope even through all the dirt, but even the brightest rays where darkened and scarred by the ugly smog that was the city.
Every time you talked to him, every happy moment, he never seemed to let himself truly enjoy it. He seemed to live in the future but always worry about the present.
How can one hope to fix the present if they treat it as the past? Simple answer, you canβt.
It was another night in New York, even the lume of the many billboards couldnβt shine upon every shadowed corner. So, evil continued in the darkness.
You already hadnβt been having a great day, your job had double booked you for 2 meetings and you had spent hours being yelled at for trying to point out the issue. Plus, you had to miss one of your lectures because the meeting went over by an hour. So really you were just sick of today, wanting nothing more than to curl up at home with a bottle of wine and some shitty tv.
But, unfortunately for you, one of the gangs youβve been trailing, notedly unsuccessfully, for the past month finally left a huge clue. They would be sending out another shipment tonight, dabbling in special enhancement drugs that made most people go insane.
So here you were, sat on a rooftop watching some goons bicker in-front of the entrance of the warehouse. You were calculating how long until the anonymous tip youβd send to the police would take to dispatch. Either way you had a good Fifteen minutes before anyone came running.
At least, that was until Spiderman decided to grace you with his presence. A presence that you really didnβt need right now, especially when already peeved off.
βWhat are we doing?~β He whispered mockingly, getting a glare in retaliation. But, not content with that answer he repeated the question again.
βOh lord give me patience, or atleast a fucking knife.β You muttered to yourself. β βweβ are doing nothing, you, you are going to leave me alone and go save another cat from a tree and I, I am going to go actually make a change in this city.β
He just laughed and shook his head at your response, βoh cmon! Why canβt we be partners! An iconic duo! Like Batman and Robin, Bonnie and Clyde or something!β
βWe are not going to be either of those thi- wait shut up for a second.β He began to open his mouth but closed it as you stared intently below, the doors of the warehouse opening mockingly.
βStay here!β You whispered, the last thing you needed was his moralistic hero speeches as you were using some guy as a punching bag. So as he stood obediently, you scaled down the building to an open window, Three stories high.
The room you entered seemed empty and cold, as though no one had been inside in years. Merely a week prior, their main base of operations was set up in here. It was all a trap.
But who had known you would be coming?
You got your answer in the form of a sharp stab at your side, looking down to find a knife expertly lodged in your flesh. It didnβt seem fatal or anything at the time, but it definitely hurt like a bitch.
Turning around to see the man, hands now covered in your blood, was effortless, even more so as your body seemed to simply flow, contorting in quivers of motion as you eventually left him a bloody pulp, dead, sprawled still upon the floor.
You couldnβt continue, you were tired, woozy and bleeding. Shipment or not, you would have to do this another night, plus you definitely couldnβt be around when the police turned up.
Seeing the flashing lights and hearing the sirens was what drove you to stand up and finally clamber out the window. Admittedly, not as gracefully as usual, but you got a free pass since the knife was still lodged pitifully into your side.
It comes to a point in a persons life (typically as theyβre jumping and weaving from one rooftop to another with their only intention to get home and patch up a literal stab wound), when they wonder if itβs all worth it.
This was that moment for you. As you stumbled from another roof, almost falling into the bustling streets below, you had to take a moment to catch a breath.
Turns out, even that seemed a bad idea because as you closed your eyes, you heard a whoosh of air and the thump of the hero, the one you seemed to come to know so much of, landing next to you.
Today really wasnβt your finest and all you seemed to want to do was sleep. It was infuriating and nothing was going your way.
βWhat do you want?β You hissed at him, you were in no mood to entertain. All you wanted was to close your eyes, maybe have a little nap, just so you could finally get home tonight.
He took one long look at you, staring at your slumping figure, drooping before him.
It was depressing to see you like this, he didnβt know what happened in the 20 minutes itβd been since you parted, but you were not in a good state. He was worried, and maybe, just maybe, he was scared.
As he went to go pick you up, or at least help you to your feet, his arms wrapped around you. His fingers finally trailed to the bloody hilt of the knife and he gasped, it was light and restricted, but he was shocked nonetheless and didnβt hide it well. He pulled his hand back and observing the reddened substance on his hands, before his eyes landed on your face.
βCalm down, itβs not toxic or anything- itβs just blood- not all of us can be βmr I never get hurt in fightsβ.β You slurred and hiccuped out the sentence, trying to uphold the typical rivalling βbanterβ you two thrived on.
But He didnβt laugh.
The blank eyes of that mask just bore into yours, especially when he seemed to take in every detail of the injury.
βYou are so lucky I care!-β He was angry, thrashing his arms and pacing back and forward. βIf I didnβt Iβd shove you in a hospital right now and let them expose you to the world! Shove you off and not let you be my problem.β He was being mean, spiteful, but he was also saddened.
βIf I recall Spiderman- you were the one who bothered me.β You laughed in a hushed tone, at least before grabbing at your side as a sharp sensation jolted through it. It hurt and you let out a soft sob.
βMy name is Peter, If youβre gonna die here, tonight, on this shitty run down roof, you deserve to know my name.β He was downcast, turning to face you, to grasp a reaction. All he could see was the small shape of a smile under your own mask. How could you just sit there and smile at him? How could you do this to him at a time like this?
βI know, Iβve always known Pete. I probably wouldnβt have put up with you for so long if I didnβtβ¦β you whispered out cautiously, causing his head to whip in your direction.
βHow- wait! Wait- No- Please tell me itβs not you! Please (Name)! Please No!β He ran over, dropping to your side and ripping off his own mask before gently going to remove your own.
So you smiled at him, itβd been a few days since you last saw his real face. Even tear stained, his was your favourite.
βIβm sorry Pete, I didnβt mean for it to go this way. I knew, I knew since the first time I met you in costume. I tried to kill you, my hands were around your throat. You only escaped that night because of your voice. So maybe.. maybe this is karma? Maybe this is what I get for killing all of these people! Hell, I donβt regret it, maybe that makes it worse, but what does it all matter anyways if I die on this rooftop tonight?β It all came out in a blur, maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was fear, you couldnβt tell.
βYouβre not gonna die tonight, not now I know itβs you. Iβm gonna make sure you live.β He was crying, big tears welled up in his eyes, spilling onto his reddened cheeks.
βYou canβt save everyone Peter, I know you want to, but you canβt. You canβt save me, not from what Iβve done and not from the consequences of that.β You knew you had done terrible things, and you knew that you didnβt regret a single one. You didnβt regret anything, except maybe dying without apologising, without telling him how you feel.
βNo, no I canβt. But you can save yourself.β
It all went by in a flash, there were moments when you were semi-lucid. You could look around, take it all in, but you couldnβt speak, couldnβt see faces.
You had been treated, not professionally and definitely not in a hospital, but well enough. You would live.
Finally waking up, you felt exhausted. You craved the idea of sleep, but you detested the days of nightmares you had been trapped in.
Not speaking when awake was something you could handle, but being stuck in a constant terror of false reality drove you insane. You saw Peterβs face in them, he was always distorted and full of rage.
βI hate you.β Heβd say
βI will never forgive you.β Heβd spit.
βIf you had died, Iβd have one less criminal on the streets to worry about.β Heβd hiss.
You knew it wasnβt real, but it hurt all the same. Whilst you knew that those things he was saying were all in your dreams, all the things you had done were very much real.
Now here you were, trudging your way from the made up bed on his apartments couch. Youβd been here many times before, when he was significantly less aware. Before, it always felt like home, but now it felt like even the walls had eyes that looked upon you with hate, pity and betrayal.
If anything, you wished you could apologise to this place you loved so much, to the lies you told under this sturdy roof and to the cement foundations that had fallen akin a victim to your actions.
You stood outside Peters room for a long while, staring at the Chipping paint at the corners of the door. Debating returning to the couch, but before you could retreat back a voice rang from within the room.
βAre you coming in?β He seemed calm, composed and confident.
Entering the room, he seemed all but that, he seemed anxious and at the same time relieved, he was scared and he was happy. He was confusing.
Walking forward was subconscious. Peter often struggled getting to sleep so you had slept in his room many times.
This time was different though, you werenβt just here because your study date ran over.
He gestured to the empty space upon the bed, so you tucked yourself under the duvet. His bed was comfortable, but you wrapped an arm around him and rested your head upon his chest. Your bodies both suddenly began jolting, he had begin to silently sob, and so you laid there, quietly shushing him as he cried, arms wrapped around him.
Finally the world felt right again, maybe he could save you, because If the world felt this good all the time you wouldnβt have to fight.
βNever do that to me againβ he muttered finally.
βOkay.. I love you..β you murmured in response, nuzzling your head further into his chest.
βI love you too, weβll talk in the morning.β He shuffled slightly to place a delicate kiss on your forehead before falling asleep with you finally in his arms again.
Itβs literally taking me forever to get out my next couple fics cause Iβve got loads of auditions next week that Iβve entirely forgot to prepare for πββοΈπββοΈ Iβm sure my silly angst fics can wait a little longer!
The first time you met Hook, you could tell he was trouble.
He did him self no favours in trying to not be suspicious, but the others needed him so you held your tongue. Although, this was despite how much you truly wanted to rip out his tongue and shove it somewhere the sun doesnβt shine.
The way heβd take glances at you and smirk if you were walking close by, would make backhanded compliments, flirt to get his way, pick winning sides, he was a pirate. He was a pirate and you hated him. You hated his kind.
He was exactly the sort of man Regina would have used in her pursuit of βrevengeβ, the exact sort of man that killed your father.
But he wasnβt, no matter how many times he would breathily chuckle at some comment or some face you had made, you had to hold yourself back. You had to stop yourself from killing the man who smoothly laughed even in the face of his own demise. You had to stop from wanting to punch him in the throat and strip him of that feathery and deep chortle that took away all of your fears, that freed you of your panic, and provided you a euphoria that you had personally forbidden.
He was bad for you, bad for this team, bad for this mission.
He was a bad guy.
He was a villain,
and villains donβt get happy endings.
Leaving him behind was something you and Emma had talked about, you knew she also held distrust of him. Luckily, she had already planned on abandoning him.
The bean stalk was a stroke of luck, Anton was a stroke of luck.
Sure, you felt a slight sense of remorse as you had distracted him. But, as soon as Emma has attached that shackle, you let out a breath that you didnβt even know was there. Something felt good about going back to your life of solace, your newfound life of grief. He was too wild, too unpredictable, it scared you more than anyone would ever know.
But your life had changed, your old life was gone. You had to adapt. No more was it straight lines and schedules, none of the life that Regina had provided was there, instead it was constant fights and unpredictability.
You had to become as unpredictable as the dangers you faced. You turned to the memories of the man in the enchanted forest, his power hidden behind his nonchalance and his loyalty a question left unanswered.
However much you hated the man, you needed to channel some part of him to adapt, to evolve and to overcome. The curse was broken, but danger seemed ever present. The towns memories were returned, but so were their worries, their fears, their anger. Instability was the first sign of anarchy and chaos, one weakness could enact a revolution among the people. So you did as you would, a child of a royal knight, ever loyal to Snow and Prince Charming, one of whom had raised you as a child throughout the curse.
All you had was your friends and your loyalty, but youβd soon learn that wasnβt enough.
Yet the man returned, Hook. Still as untrustworthy as ever and yet, he seemed less irritating when in Storybrooke, except maybe for his dangerous tendencies and antisocial behaviour.
Henry being taken by pan was devastating, but this was the unpredictability you had planned for. So you knew what to do.
The ride to Neverland on the Jolly Rodger was less than pleasant. It was full of cryptic warnings and misdirected anger. Even Emma was struggling.
The mermaid that was soon brought above deck definitely didnβt help your nerves, nor did the storm that soon followed and berated the ship.
You could catch no oneβs attention, you had figured that the warnings may have held some truth. This land was built on belief. There were definitely some strong negative beliefs between them all. The blame fest began, fighting ensued and you couldnβt take it. So as you searched through the rain, you caught sight of land and jumped overboard. Your thoughts were that if no one would listen, youβd at least catch someoneβs attendance or make your own way to land without them.
What you didnβt account for was a bit of broken barrel being launched after you and slamming into the back of your head once you had reached the ice cold water.
Losing your breath and all reasonable thinking, you gaped your mouth like a fish, breathing in and spluttering out water to no avail.
You could feel it filling your lungs and your eyes began to close, focused on the blurry light of the moon above you, till it was covered by the shadow of someone diving in for you. But by then you were already too tired.
Opening your eyes and coughing out liquid from your burning lungs seemed to have never felt so good. That was until you saw it was a particular irritating man that hovered over your jolting form, hand on your shoulder as he helped you sit up.
The storm has calmed now, and you smiled. Everyoneβs focus was on you, eyes wide at the madness that had ensued.
βHey! Donβt look at me like that! See! I got the storm to stop.β You proclaimed in a broken voice, interrupted slightly by a coughing fit and a small βthank youβ as you were passed a blanket.
The way that David and Snow stared at you was obvious youβd get some form of scolding later, but you hadnβt cared too much for it. When the curse was first broken, they had to double check you werenβt in some way related to Jefferson with how you often acted on impulse, in supposed madness. So rest assured you were used to scolding.
Getting to the island was your priority, keeping the team together and getting Henry was your number one goal.
But you could help but notice the glances the pirate would send you when he thought you werenβt looking.
It seemed like as if by some miracle, you started to believe in the sincerity and goodness of a certain pirate.
Hook was caring, he was careful and serious. He was always suited to the situation, always ready. But he could also lighten the mood.
It seemed all the time that wasnβt spent avidly searching for Henry, fighting Pan or planning, he always wanted to make you laugh.
The first time you had laughed at one of his jokes, it would have been some stupid joke about his hand.
βCan you give me a hand?β David had yelled over.
βCmon really? Last time I lent one out I didnβt even get it back!β He had hollered back in response, turning to smirk at Davidβs glare.
Only.. only he spun right back around when he heard a small chuckle.
Seeing you, with your back turned to him and hand coving your mouth, was all he needed to decide that you were right for him. He walked over to David with a huge smile on his face and kept stealing glances at you the entire time.
It was all too much, you had lost Henry again to Pan, he was too powerful and you all seemed powerless.
You pulled your legs to your chest and buried your head in your knees. Making yourself small was all you could do when the world felt so big around you that it felt like it would swallow you up and youβd be nothing but a snack to a bigger cause.
Feeling a soft hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality, the reality that you had been sat sobbing into your arms after you had ran off from the main camp.
At first you were afraid, was this hand malicious, was it Pan?
But after hearing a feathery throat clearing, you raised your head to meet eyes with Killian.
βKillian? Whatβs up? I thought youβd be with David or Emma.β You muttered out in response to his presence.
βYβknow, Iβm not sure Miss swan or her doting βsame-age parents are too fond of me. Plus we both know that I canβt exactly tell one hand jokes to Regina lest I want to lose that and another appendage id much like to keep..β he takes a breath whilst you smile at his sarcasm. βPlus, Youβre the only one who calls me my name, Iβm getting sick of βHey youβ βOiβ βpirateβ or if theyβre really creative, I get to hear βassholeβ, would that be pleasant for you mβlady?β You laugh and shake your head in response.
βNo, I suppose not kind sir~.β You tease him, just wanting to stay in the moment, it felt light and airy, for the first time in days you felt free. βAlthough Iβm honoured youβd grace me with your presence, I sure hope itβs not because Iβm the only one who doesnβt currently want to stab you?β
He turns to look at you, βOf course not, for a royal knight though, surely you should be the one to want to stab me most of all. Maybe itβd be better that way.β He moves in, close to your face, as you are enamoured with gazing into his eyes.
βIβm sure they can handle themselves, Four powerful people after you if you do anything wrong, I think I should be okay to try and resign from stabbing at the moment. Plus, if anything were to happen Iβm sure I could accept the consequences.β He grabs your chin and smiles.
βYou? Face the consequences? Perhaps you just are afraid to accept you might actually have fallen for me~β He pulls you into a short and passionate kiss. Grinning against your lips as he rests his forehead against your own.
βNot a chance pirate!β You tease as you stand up and begin to walk away, sporting a mischievous grin of your own.
But before you could walk further he grabbed your wrist and was suddenly stood right in front of you.
βMark my words sweetheart, Iβll have your heart, weβll take it as slow as you need but I will have it, as youβve enslaved mine.β And as you turned your head away to think on what he had said, he had already walked off deeper into the forest.
Falling asleep every night, Hook would sit there hands running through your hair as you laid your head in his lap.
Every night he would repeat one sentence
βIβll be here when you wake up, I promise.β
Except one night, when he wasnβt.
You woke up one night. Checking the clock next to you it was some time around 1 in the morning.
You werenβt sure what had woken you up until you heard sounds of struggling and choking. It was Killian! He sounded in pain.
You rushed down to see Pans shadow ripping Killianβs as he struggled against the figure.
Catching a glimpse of you, the shadow tore the other from your lovers frame and stole them both. Dragging them from the home as you chased and screamed for help, for Killian, for anyone.
You pinched yourself, you screamed until your throat went raw and your mouth ran dry, you yelled and sobbed until you had half of the town surrounding you, trying to figure out what had happened.
In your worn voice you could get out two sentences.
βPans back.β βKillianβs gone.β
That was all you could force out before you fell to the floor, soon encased in a warm pair of arms trying to lift you back into the house. The house that you had just lost everything in. The house that was meant to have been your home.
It had been months since the incident, months of failed attempts and grieving.
But you had had enough of being sad.
Nothing was going to save you, no one was going to save you, so you were going to save yourself.
One day you got up, took a shower, brushed your teeth and hair, and went into work.
Life had to continue as normal, you had to ignore the concerned glances and you had to hope the eye bags would go away on their own.
So life went on, it went on without him. Although it hurt, it needed to, the world couldnβt stop for another 28 years, everyone couldnβt just forget again.
Emma and David had been trying to interrogate the shadow for months now. They had decided to keep Reginaβs torture methods away and just had to hope that a non physical being had some form of conscience.
In those months they had nothing.
Nothing until the shadow gave off a mirage, a realm of bodies and their shadows caring for them.
Waking up to a breathy humming and the feeling of hands in your hair wasnβt unusual.
In your grief, you had accidentally began to see Killian. Youβd see him every morning, youβd see him at dinner, youβd even make him an extra plate.
You knew he wasnβt real.
But you needed to cope somehow.
There was a hole in your heart and you couldnβt just fill it with a child like Regina could.
This morning felt real though, it felt too real. But it also felt too good to be true.
You opened your eyes to see him where he usually sat, next to you, hands in your hair playing with the strands.
βWhy must you torture me every morning.β You muttered. βHeβs gone and heβs never coming back.. Iβm never gonna wake up to him ever again so just! Just go away!β
You yelled.
Youβve been yelling at your hallucination of him a lot lately.
Usually heβd disappear, actually, every single time heβd disappear. But you turned around from where you were now sat up and he was still there.
He stared at you, tears in his eyes, reaching out for your cheek. He needed to touch you again.
βKillian..?β You whimpered out.
βI told you Iβd be here when you woke upβ he said, tears streaming down his face as he tackled you and held you in his arms.
You both sobbed. You cried like you hadnβt seen each-other in years. You held each-other like the other would slip out of grasp and disappear again.
You were here.
He was here.
You had him back, you had your home and he had your heart.
And in his heart he knew heβd never let you go ever again.
I literally canβt write without coming up with another idea, prepare for witty villain/vigilante reader with backstory and so much sarcasm youβre going to want to punch me and yourself π
Okay hot people, Iβm writing a Killian Jones fic, if it doesnβt work out you better believe Iβll swap out the name for some marvel character and watch the world burn.
Is the ouat fandom dead? I literally donβt know anymore but this man has my heart and soul in a chokehold.
Edit: Guys Iβve already written it ππ
Killian jones x reader
Warnings: itβs once upon a time, thatβs the only warning youβll need.
This is not proofread. There will probably
To become an avenger you had to have nothing to lose. To lose was to be weak. You must have lost to know pain, to know suffering, to understand why they do what they do.
The avengers found you, they stood before your small tattered form , adorning shining cloaks and sturdy facades. At first they were blinding, glistening rays of hope, laid stark among the dying embers of what was once your home, your haven and solitude.
But now it was all gone.
All because of you.
A shorter woman stood out most of all, not intentionally, mind you, but it was just in the way she held herself. Her eyes speaking of pains and truths, of real empathy and understanding. She smiled solemnly once she caught your gaze, and so did you.
Grasping her outstretched hand brought nothing but warmth to your soul. You were going to be safe. At least, as safe as someone whoβs trying to save the world on a daily basis can be.
Natasha was nothing but kind. She was a friend, she had her moments of sarcasm, of rebellion and disapproval, but she was never harmful.
Waking up every morning soon became exciting, because you knew you would get to see her.
Walking into the kitchen at the ass-crack of dawn was a sure place to catch a glance of her half rested slump.
βGβmorningβ she half-mumbled out, only just acknowledging your presence. She was your roommate, after everything had happened with Thanos and the snap, you decided it was best to stick together.
βSup loser.β you teased, grinning, content in watching her groan into a fluffy pink blanket. She looked gorgeous in the morning sun, she was your second chance at life but damn if she didnβt look like heaven.
You hadnβt realise you had been staring until she cleared her throat and laughed. Embarrassed, you chuckled and moved to take the seat next to her. βSleep well?β You idly chattered, she nodded.
You passed the time mostly with quips and melodramatic monologues, many of which were solemn nostalgia of your family, the avengers, of whom you both dearly missed.
Waking up to Natasha was a blessing, but you would give anything to wake up in avengers tower again, to hear loud hollers of some Asgardian tune, to smell burnt bacon and to hear crashes and yells of a fight yet resolved.
Thinking about it brought tears to your eyes, youβd hardly realised youβd began crying until you were knelt on the floor being cradled in warm arms. A distant cooing slowly lulling you from your thoughts.
βI know.β
It was all you needed, because it let you know this pain wasnβt yours alone. That you werenβt alone, that you never would be again, Because she promised.
A ding from Natashaβs burner phone broke you both out of your mundane routine. You had only just sat down to eat lunch when it had rung through the otherwise silent apartment, But whatever it said had Natasha on her feet faster than youβd ever seen her move.
βThereβs a chance!β
There it was, there was a chance you could get them back, and you both were going to do whatever it took.
The last battle had devastated you, all power useless to preventing what had happened, and so you had trained all this time. You made sure to be physically prepared this time, but with gain comes sacrifice, you had neglected training your emotions, but you knew youβd always have Natasha to get you through them.
You all had hope, you all finally had hope. Tony had agreed to help and you knew, you knew that everyone would finally come back. Life would go back to how it was.
Natasha seemed distant, always in her head these days. She was before but this was different. She seemed to try to push you away and it was hurting you both.
She had walked past you with a cold distance in her eyes and honestly, you had had enough. So you trapped her wrist and turned her around.
βAlright loser, whatβs up? I canβt keep seeing you like this and you canβt keep pushing me away. We need to talk! You need to talk! I havenβt heard you say a word in days, I miss you! I canβt watch you do this to yourself!β
Her mouth sat agape as she tried to stutter out some half-arsed excuse, but you were not having it. So you both stood there, glaring into each others eyes, one of you was going to break and it wasnβt going to be you.
Instead, she started crying, it was only a few tears at first but then her body began to shake and jolt. Knowingly, you caught her before she fell to the ground, holding her in your arms.
βI know..β you said.
βIβm sorry, I didnβt mean to push you.β Her sobbing had died down and she nodded at your words.
βI just feel terrible,β she sniffles out. βI thought I should be happy, things are gonna go back to the way they areβ¦ but what if I donβt want that? Itβs selfish.. but I like us! I like it just being us and thatβs all I need!β
Holding her damp cheeks in your hands, you gazed into her eyes.
She wasβ¦
She was telling the truth.
You realised it as soon as she began to lean in, faces soon meeting in a salty kiss. Short, but passionate, it was the beginning of a wordless pact, that youβd always have each other.
If youβre honest, you donβt know how either of you ended up on this drab planet. You were searching for a stone among a barren wasteland, but you were together and thatβs what mattered.
Climbing the mountain, you both were silent, basking in each otherβs presence to avoid the dreary reality of your surroundings.
Reaching the top, you both came to terms with how wretched the place was. You had no time to mourn, no time to say goodbyes. You knew natasha would try and sacrifice herself and you couldnβt let her.
So you threw yourself towards the edge, going into free fall for a moment before you felt her latch onto your wrist and swing you behind her back.
She tackled you to the floor, cradling your form.
βYou canβt do this, you canβt leave me!β She yelled.
βNeither can you! I canβt do this without you!β You hollered back. Sobs wracked both of your bodies by this point.
You both sat, backs against a large stone, crying. One of you had to go.
She leaned in, something sheβd done many times after the first kiss. But you knew this one wasnβt just in the passion of your love, this kiss was too much, she was trying to say goodbye.
But you realised too late, she had already trapped you where you sat and as you struggled she smiled solemnly.
βNatasha.. Natasha no! Please βTash! Please if canβt be you! Please! Please donβt do this to me! I love you!β But to your pleas she simply shook her head.
βI love you too ΠΠΎΠ»ΠΎΡΡΠ΅, donβt you ever forget that!β She yelled.
There you sat. Helpless, once again as everything youβve come to love is crashing down around you.
Youβre forced to watch as she throws herself over the edge, smiling at you with tears of her own brimming in her eyes.
With one last wave to you, she steps back and you scream.
The next thing you remember was a cold bed and the smell of sterile air.
In your grief you had escaped your bound and tried to throw yourself down to be with your lover. But the magic wouldnβt let you die. Climbing the mountain time and time again, throwing yourself off just to be met with her mangled corpse and the reality of all of it.
You managed to get home, you donβt know how. You could barely walk, barely breathe. She was dead, she was dead and you were alive and everything was gone.
Once the fight was over and everyone returned, nothing was normal, nothing was right. The lost got funerals, the living moved on. But you were stuck, stuck in that helpless moment where you could do nothing to save the love of your life, where you watched her last moments and did nothing. You didnβt fight hard enough, you didnβt yell enough, you didnβt love her enough. Nothing you did was enough, because she was dead and you were here.
She died so you could live, but she never realised how meaningless life would be without her.
A loser who would never know how much it meant to lose-her.
Literally sick rn but who doesnβt fight through migraines to simultaneously write 5 silly little angst/fluff fics at once from 3 different fandoms ππ
Tw: angst, emotional abuse, emotional manipulation, self deprecating, mentions of death, just strange being a flat out asshole in this to get to Christine because he is capable. Happy ending for (Name) this time though. Once again getting (Name) the therapy they need.
Strange is kind of intentionally an ass here, my bad guys, Iβll make it up in another story
Stephen Strange had met you through the avengers, a newer recruit hidden from the media. He hadnβt known where you had come from or why you were there, it was just where he found you.
He could sense your power, a hidden blurb of Energy manipulation and wonder working. But he could also sense your downfalls, your side affects.
One side affect in particular drew him to you, luck of others but not of yourself. It was a realm of supernatural being heβd sure heβd never reach, but it mustnβt have been easy for you.
Imagine a child growing up in a world where in which they seem unlucky, purely as they are unwillingly gifting the others luck and success. It is a gift and a curse all in one.
But a power like that made his mind wander into places it should never go. Christine, he wondered, would he and Christine have a chance if he was graced with your luck. He shook of the thought and itβs selfish nature as he finally went to greet you.
But the thought never truly left his mind, and so he started to unconsciously formulate a plan. A plan heβs sure would demote him and discredit all heβs worked for if he was ever found out.
Stephen was more than kind to you, kinder, even, than all the others. Except from Bucky, your new room neighbour with a hardened glare but a soft demeanour. The same man whoβd wish you a βgood morning darlingβ just rough enough to make you blush every morning.
But there was something different about Stephen, he wanted you, wanted you close all of the time.
Youβd catch him dragging you to fancy restaurants and small quaint coffee shops, youβd enjoy yourselves, laugh and talk for hours but youβd always leave abruptly.
It got to a point where you had to question his strange actions and how heβd always stare just beyond your face and behind you.
There was always a woman with longer brown hair and a light voice wherever you went. Of course however, so caught up in Stephens love bombing you never put two and two together, chalking it up to a coincidence, as heβd always manage to capture your attention once more.
The longer you went on with Strange and the closer the two of you became, the more Bucky would pull away.
You two took to spending more time away from the compound, as if you and Stephen spent time together within it, Bucky was sure to spare a glare at the two of you.
You didnβt understand what had happened, he was your best friend and now he seemed a bitter child. Why couldnβt he just see you were happy and be happy for you?
Why did he have to knock on your room late at night and leave cryptic warnings?
Why couldnβt everything go back to how it was?
Bucky had taken to grabbing your shoulders when youβd bump into each other alone, heβd stand there with an iron grip and stare deeply into your eyes.
His multi toned hues searching into your soul and trying to slip in answers and reasons youβd never understand. He was searching for something, and you werenβt sure why he hadnβt found it.
Bucky began to scare you with his odd ways and strange glances. He would leave deep bruising imprints of his fingertips, oneβs that you decided would be best left unknown to him.
You couldnβt understand what you had done wrong.
Stephen comforted you, he was all you had, he was all you needed, and so you pushed away everyone else for him.
It was within his advice that he suggested you isolate yourself from them, that you come stay with him.
He told you he loved you and you believed him. Because somewhere you were sure you loved him too.
Living with him was a dream come true, and yes, you fell for him deeply. But he was odd, there where irrational moment where heβd drag you from your bed in the middle of the night and mutter to himself next to you, or heβd drag you outside in your pyjamas at 2 in the morning to some late night event where that woman would be again. The same brown hair, the same hazel eyes.
You thought that maybe, maybe this was how he showed love, maybe he was just trying to be spontaneous. But you knew something was wrong, deep down something was wrong.
Did you know that guilt can make people sleep walk, sleep talk? As in the case of lady Macbeth and her stained damned spot, Stephen began to be active in his body as he was in his dreams. As active as he was in his guilt.
He muttered her name, βChristineβ, for nights on end, he muttered her name and you let it slide. But it only got worse
The muttering had transformed into loud chatter. He said things that his waking mind would dare not.
Then finally, he said what he had done. His dreams must have been plagued of you confronting him, and he proclaimed his apologies and then his selfish plans.
Stephen knew you were catching on, he knew you were drifting away from him. But he also knew that he had stripped you of anywhere to run to. He was your only hope.
It hurt him to treat you how he did, but he always was brought back to the greater cause. In the end he needed Christine, he didnβt need you.
Stephen knew he was being selfish and abusive. But it was at a point where he no longer cared. He was too infatuated, too close to getting what he wanted.
Guilt followed him into his dreams, heβd wake up more tired than when he had fallen asleep. Your betrayed face plaguing his dreams.
When he woke up to you gone, he had to keep himself from going insane. For a split second he could see his world crumble around him, only to rationalise and find you downstairs asleep on the couch.
He draped a blanket over you and smiled. He thinks he could have loved you, if only Christine hadnβt stolen his heart first.
βIβm sorry (name)β he muttered under his breath. βBut at least once Iβm done, you can find someone who deserves you.β
But you couldnβt, he knew that, because he had taken you away from society and placed you into a fantasy land of false security and love.
For a while, you pretended everything was normal, you tried to forget what he had admitted to.
You hoped heβd fall for you if you just understood what he was going through, if you just stayed with him.
Finally, he had had his fill, finally, Christine had agreed to go on a date with him.
He abandoned you at the first hurdle to winning her back. Your luck had been used up.
βPleaseβ you had begged, βwhat did I do? Why was I not worth your love?β
He had shaken his head at that point.
βWho even are you again?β He had asked mockingly. You were a stranger to him now, used and abused and thrown away. He didnβt want you anymore.
For the first time in a long while, he looked at you and your heart didnβt flutter, you gazed into each others eyes, and you felt nothing but resent, nothing but pain. Because all you were was a pawn in his game, never enough for him.
So you left, you left his home, you left his life, and you found yourself a nice corner in the hustle of New York, and that is where you laid your bed and, you hoped, your grave.
You must have fallen asleep at some point because the sun was now setting and the crowds had changed. Far less children wandered the streets and now partygoers and criminals made up the sea of faces.
You were still exactly as you where, hidden in a dark corner of New York, between a brick stairwell and a building. You were heartbroken, but not stupid enough to go down an alley.
You hoped for the world to take you away, the cold to strip your warmth and to be embraced in all those dead, all those who had left you alone in such a big cruel world.
You prayed it could happen before an avenger on their night patrol found your pitiful state, you knew how thorough they were. You knew that despite his rant about his lack of use for you, Stephen wouldnβt let you die. He would have reported your missing state to tony. You were too good of a pawn to lose. To much of an asset.
Tony wouldnβt get the full story, Stephen needed to protect his image. So Tony would get some explanation about your power causing irrational behaviour, that you ran off and want to go rogue, that you want to become a villain.
You knew Tony would be sceptical, but protocol called they drug you up and lock you away.
You couldnβt stand it, you hated it, you hated Strange. You wanted to go back to those movie nights youβd spend bundled in Buckyβs arms or laughing with Natasha, normally over Steve smashing his face into the ground after Tony tripped him up. You missed your family.
So you fell asleep, you dreamt of those warmer nights. Because your dreams were all you had anymore.
Waking up in a bed wasnβt your plan. But it was soft and smelt familiar.
You could hear water gushing into a bath from a distance. You didnβt want to open your eyes though, they stung, but everything felt so peaceful, so homely.
βGood morning darling.β You knew that voice, you knew this smell. It was him.
Bucky hadnβt known how to react when he found you asleep and shivering in a dirty corner. He almost overlooked you as a drug addict or homeless person, you had just looked so desolate and abandoned.
He only turned around once he heard a small whimper, it was you. He took a step closer and saw your form curled up, still, and yet lost among the city.
Picking you up, you felt lighter than before, he cursed Stephen in his head. He hated him.
Tony had received that message from Strange. But he had known better. He had hacked into your phone before he did anything radical, had found those rants on your notes app. The emotional manipulation he put you through, all of it, right there.
Bucky had to prevent himself from hunting the bastard down and publicly gutting him, then and there. But he reeled in his anger when he finally saw you.
He loved you. But it had taken him too long to protect you. Now you were hurt, and he blamed himself.
Living with the avengers again was strange, everything felt far too normal. It was exactly the same as when you had left. But Stephen had convinced you they had forgotten about you, that they hated you?
You were confused, but not unhappy.
You werenβt able to do any missions again unless you were brought into βmandatory therapyβ as Tony had put it. But it did help.
You soon got over Stephen and came to loathe how he treated you. Once again returned the soft cuddles of movie nights and the infectious chortles of home. Everything felt right again.
It took Bucky more time than heβd thought it would to admit his feelings to you though.
He had been walking through the hallways of the compound when he came across you. You gave him a smile and a wave before trying to walk away again.
It was in that moment he realised he never wanted to see you turn away from him again, not without knowing how he truly felt. So, he grabbed your shoulder, you flinched and he took a moment to reel back, softening his grasp.
βIβm sorry, I should have told you how I felt, I never wanted to hurt you.. I just couldnβt find a way to tell you his true nature, not when you seemed so happy with him. Then you moved away, and he isolated you from us and we- I- missed you. We shouldnβt have let him take you. I shouldnβt have let him hurt you- Iβm sorry.β You look up into his eyes and see nothing but sorrow, adoration and genuine love. He began to tear up, taking a deep breath as you placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled.
Everything wasnβt as perfect as Stephen thought, he missed you. It took him all that time of neglecting you, and now neglecting Christine to realise.
He watches ,who he considered his one true love, scream at him, tears flowing down her cheeks. She pushes him from her house, throws his bags and slams the door.
He had truly fucked up everything good in his life.
But he did love you.
And so he found himself a corner, somewhere in the streets of New York, a corner where he could sit and rot.
Tw: Angst, lots of angst, strained relationships, depictions of verbal abuse, depictions of bullying, depictions of depression and anxiety, character goes to therapy for once
It got to a point when I was writing this that it was actually hurting my heart and I had a whole debate wether I should change the ending or not.
Meeting Peter was possibly the best thing that could have happened to you, but you would have never known that the first day you met him.
He was some βhappy-go-luckyβ dork, into photography, Maybe not so much a dork, just not so popular.
You were within the βmiddle classβ of high school hierarchy, mainly because you were new, popped out of nowhere with weird clothes and weird slang, everyone just decided βyeah, I want them as my friend.β
Something happened around school one day and Peter seemed more confident in himself, and flash steered clear for once. It was nice to see him walk with a little kick in his step. That was until you realised his walk was leading him straight to you. Looking up to see his face, you confirmed it, his eyes set on you.
And he did walk over, and sit in the empty seat adjacent to you. So you talked, and talked and talked until there was no time left to say anything more βlest you want to be verbally abused by Doreen from the kitchen.
βHey,β he started, staring into your eyes with a huge smile plastered on his cheeks, βletβs be friends from now on!β You nodded and he laughed, you soon followed, this continued until you were both caught in an endless fit of giggles whilst staring at each other. Only interrupted by the hoarse sound of Doreen clearing her throat.
Running away to avoid the onslaught of enraged squawks, neither of you could contain the breathy chortles wracking through your bodies.
Maybe, that was it. Maybe that was the moment you had fallen for him, just as you had into this world.
You had become part of this world midway through his first year at high school. Dropping from the sky and straight into some poor manβs fruit stall.
You hadnβt known what had brought you here, nor could you remember why, but you remembered your world, your life, your school and so you began to seek it.
Everything was stranger in this world, older, dimmer and frankly a little askew. Learning to live was tough, tougher than it aught, but you made do.
You both fell in love, once he had gotten over his puppy adoration for Gwen.
The world was beautiful. He made the northern lights the dimmest thing in your world. You loved each other.
There was never a moment where you could bare to be apart from one another, and so as you aged, you found ways to live as one.
A beautiful apartment, not far from what you hoped to be your dream home. The rolling fields visible from the back windows, the city life in the front now blocked by thick curtains. You found work at home, and had learnt of his heroic endeavours long before your moving in together, and trust that you had soon learnt the knack of sewing.
But something changed, he went out for a swing to clear his head and never returned home. Time stopped, literally stopped.
The world was at a standstill, the world revolved around him and he seemed, now, to be no longer in it.
It seemed to last for weeks, separation anxiety kicking in at full force and worst of all? No one to talk to, a world gone silent. In reality, it was a few hours or at most a day, but he returned back a changed man.
You received a single text, from a number that didnβt seem to exist, a short answer to what had happened, and an βIβm sorry.β
Peter had known you werenβt of this world, he knew whatever this supposed βwizardβ was going to do would affect you. But in reality, it seemed to have some opposite affect.
Something within him knew you, knew of a life with you, but it was all so fuzzy.
He remembered his time in another world, and his missing of someone, a physical pain from their absence. That feeling always quelled some now though, whenever he was around you.
He thought that maybe it was that you were just his roommate, from the story that you had told him. Although he knew something was wrong, you should have forgotten him, you should have forgotten the existence of Peter Parker, why were you so special?
His return home saw you in a frantic rush to remove personal objects from what he could only assume to be the bedrooms.
After that, tensions were high.
He hated that.
It seemed like for days you couldnβt bare to look at him, but heβd always sneak a glance at you and see you staring longingly at him.
Why were you so confusing?
He thought, he thought long and hard, but the longer and harder he thought, the louder his head got. It hurt to try and remember you.
So instead of remembering his past life, he decided to create some new memories.
Over breakfast one day he confronted you. βI think that whoever we were to each other before must have been very important, so letβs be friends from now on!β He stated as he gave a smile.
You smiled back, and his heart erupted. But then started to cry, long drawn sobs and you ran, faster than he could grab your wrist.
His heart hurt to see you sad.
Everything about him seemed to have a painful longing when around you.
So he decided to distance himself. It didnβt ease the pain, but he managed to rekindle with Gwen. For awhile, she filled that endless void.
In that time that Peter and Gwen βrekindledβ, you shut yourself away. You became bitter before you became mellow.
Peter hated it, you were friends, so why couldnβt you just be happy for him? When you were sad it hurt him and so it but a damper on his love for Gwen. He hated it.
He hated you.
Seeing you were becoming a liability for him, you gave up. He did not need to remember you, and he seemed happier, lighter.
You tried to move on.
Gwen noticed it more than Peter. His immature puppy love was cute but it felt wrong and misled. She hadnβt known what had gone on between the two of you, last she knew you were deeply in love with some guy, but somehow you lived with Peter. Whatever had happened, someone had hurt you.
Gwen was all you had.
When you had begun the relationship with Peter, everyone else seemed irrelevant and so you hadnβt made any friends to confide in.
In the beginning, it was like everyone forgot you, including Peter. Then came Gwen, a blessing and a curse. She became your bestest friend and worst enemy all in one. But she never hurt you, not in the way that Peter had.
You had lost all hope, and so watched him become happier as the days went by, happier than heβd ever be with you.
Him and Gwen moved into your dream house together, just across the hills and visible from the apartments balcony.
Every morning youβd stare at the cottage, heart shattering. Until they took to eating breakfast on the porch, every single day, as though they were mocking you.
Now both sides of the house have thick, closed curtains on the windows. You needed to block out the world, so thatβs what you did.
Isolated and paler, the world was caving in, walls crumbling. This is what he did to you.
So you began to get therapy, learnt to get over him. It hurt, it hurt badly. Every step of the way youβd have Gwen. She was ever-sweet and understanding, but you could never tell her what was truly happening, what you truly felt.
Visiting Gwen sometimes made your therapy feel redundant, because youβd see him there, typically doing some mundane task. Then, Youβd fall for him all over again.
He didnβt understand why he still longed for your company even though he already had Gwen. It was just something about you. But it made him angry, and so he took it out on you.
Whenever Gwen would leave, tensions would be high. Peter had taken to starting petty fights or indirectly insulting you.
It hurt him. It really did, but at least it was a different type of pain, at least it wasnβt the deep rooted longing he kept under lock and key. He hated himself, but he kept doing it, desperately hoping you would understand what he was trying to tell you.
But you never did. In fact, it helped, and soon enough you had reduced that burning desire to him to nothing more than a soft dying ember.
That day you had decided to leave, leave the apartment you owned together, the memories you had made. You were going to make something of your life, something that didnβt involve him.
You had the plane tickets booked, the bags packed and your taxi arriving in 8 minutes.
You were going to leave this false life you had childishly hoped would come back and embrace you once again.
But it all came to late.
The apartment was the same as it was when you had lived together. But he could no longer feel the love radiating from the very bones of the place, it was cold and dusty.
He didnβt realise how dark it was until he turned to stare longingly at your dream house, the house he now lived in with another girl, a girl whoβd never be you.
He had just had something click a week ago, and everything fell into place. He lashed out at Gwen and she had left. Everything was destroyed and it was all his fault.
He had found a letter on your desk. A last stitch effort from you to say goodbye, even though you were sure the Peter you now knew would rather burn it than read it.
He had barely got past the point in which you said that you were going to the airport, before he was already hopping in his car, praying to make it before you left him for good.
He has made too many mistakes in his life, he couldnβt tell if loosing you would break him or kill him entirely. The pain he felt right now alluded to the latter.
He found you and his heart expanded and burst all at once. You looked tired. So he thought, on all the times he remembered you coming to the house, all the times he hurt you. You were sick. You had been pale and gaunt and he had made it worse.
You looked better now, much better, but looked so tired, so desolate, he couldnβt bare it.
He came up to you and fell to his knees. Blabbering apologies you had wished to come months ago, apologies that would have bent your life back to him, if only they had came a day sooner.
You stopped him, and he looked up at you with helplessness in his eyes. But you couldnβt do it, you couldnβt put yourself through this again.
βIβm sorry, but letβs be friends from now on, actually no. Your friendship has made me up and broke me down. You were vile to me, all in the name of love and not understanding what you were doing. You deserve this and I donβt. So, Peter Parker, letβs be strangers from now on. Goodbye.β
It hurt, he had to prevent himself from balling on the floor and waiting for death to take him.
Heavy sobs wracked his body as he watched you walk away, not sparing a glance. If only to hide the pitiful tears that had escaped your own eyes.
Peter had always thought he was a whole person, at least, until he saw his other half walk away from him.
As he watched them walk away, he swore he heard a pledge of forgiveness to him, but so wrapped up in his grief, he knew it could only be a manifestation of you, somewhere in his head trying to keep him from drowning in his crippling loneliness.
He was disgusting to you, and if thatβs who he was when he did not remember you, he didnβt deserve you at all.
Content: Valentineβs Day stuff, maybe Iβll post fluff but this has got bare minimum fluff in it so be warned. I also hope the last sentences burns as it did for me writing it.
Please correct me Iβm writing it too early in the morning
His heart had changed, and so had the times, women werenβt flocking to him as they once would. He preferred it that way, he didnβt deserve them, and they didnβt deserve his baggage. There was too much about him that detested the idea of putting another person through the stress and responsibility that trolleyed after him, A weight and chain forged at his ankle. The chain that would eventually suffocate all those he cared for as he wound them into his fucked up life.
Thatβs what it had done, all that heβd known now gone, figments of the past and he, a side piece to a tourist attraction, that or a cold blooded killer.
What had he to contribute, what had he deserved to live for?
Then, he saw you, and it just clicked. His brain had transformed and his soul became a beacon only hoping to attract a minute of attention.
It was unusual, it was scary. He was a man that had killed hundreds, albeit not on his own volition, yet he was scared of you? Scared of his feelings? Scared of that humanity that was seeping through that constructed facade of stability he had put up? That stability that kept him here, kept him sane, kept the others trust.
You were just a new shield recruit, found by some accidental power surge youβd made just of the pacific coast, high enough in rank and power to warrant a seating with the avengers, but still an unknown face to the public, a ghost among the masses. But something about it felt so similar, familiar even. Something about it felt so right.
It all happened to go by as a blur, and suddenly here you were,a prodigy, an avenger. Moving into the vacant room next door, a wall between you. Originally he had the floor to himself as to complaints of his nightly outbursts, and an overall lack of trust in him, especially on Tonyβs part. But some new software βor somethingβ had been updated and tony was sure it would soundproof enough, βthis time!β But despite that looming sense of original isolation from the team, he was hopeful, he needed to understand what was happening to him.
The days went on and he led in dreamless wake, afraid to scare you, afraid to fall asleep, afraid for you to hear him, afraid for you to fear him. So he stayed awake.
You noticed.
Of course youβd notice, he was a superhero but he was no Superman. He had much more earthly kryptonite, forming first as the gauntness of his face, the deepening bag under his eyes, and finally the yawns where his head would drift and yet violently shoot back up, his eyes swiping the room. You couldnβt understand why he had felt so unwelcoming compared to the others, especially when he interested you so. He enthralled you only to push away any advances. βWhat had you done wrong?β Was a thought often crossing your mind as youβd catch him glaring intently as heβd inspect your face from afar.
That was all until one night, perhaps he had finally given into his sleep deprived state. But as you listened to his soft breathing through the wall in which both of your beds were pushed up to, you swore you heard a hitch- and then a sob,- and then another.
A hitch-A sob- A scream- a cry, a pain filled wail, and it was pure.
A nightmare, or an intruder, no matter what you had convinced yourself, you had to go and check. It wasnβt right not to. And you were only partially relived it was the former.
A knock on the door revealed itβs already ajar state as it creaked open slowly, the rusted hinges a drone below the sharp intakes and sobs that wracked the contortion of sheets and the man that lay across the floor. He was shaking, sure enough seeming awake and aware but still, shaking.
So you announced yourself, loud enough for him to hear and still civil enough to not make his panic increase. After receiving his acknowledgment, you took those first step towards.
βDonβt worry, you can rest now, Iβm here.β
Those steps, those words, the words that would condemn you to your fate, with him. Calming him that night, and the many to follow, all despite his begs for you to leave, for you to allow him to deal with HIS problems alone. Movie nights and platonic cuddling quickly became something more, a mutual understanding of a need to be closer than friends.
You were perfect, together and for each other. There was mutuality, adoration and complete understanding, you had your baggage, and he had his.
Not everything stays perfect or can be so infinitely though. Tonyβs frequent partyβs, more than enough alcohol and irritability led to more arguments than necessary, all surrounded by the prying ears of the ever so nosey guests. However, the existence of the arguments being more than common, did not mean either of you wanted them.
They were usually fuelled by deep rooted anxieties and quelled by long talks and quiet walks. You could never be apart for long.
Bucky had been away for a mission for a few months now, you knew how stressful missions were. He was meant to return two weeks ago, and then one week ago, but finally it was confirmed that he was to return today, February 12th, two days before Valentineβs Day.
You had spent the extra time away distracting yourself with planning for the day, a relaxing bath run and set for him for when he returns and a heart shaped picnic basket inconspicuously hidden below your bed.
You hadnβt expected it to go like this. Whenever either of you would get back from missions, it would be common practice to run up to each other and wrap in an embrace. But something about this time was different. Bucky was weak, not only physically but mentally. He was scattered in hastily stitched and covered wounds and was caked in mud. For the first time ever, he pushed you away, turned his cheek and trudged his way to medbay.
If only you had seen the tear that ran down his cheek and felt the aching violently stab of an ice pick, rammed figuratively into his chest, as he saw your deflated eyes and slightly agape mouth.
Bucky didnβt appear for the mission briefing, but you did, determined to know what was wrong. Only to find out of the worse, Buckyβs nightmares in their true form. Winter soldier had made its return on their mission and so their Bucky had not.
Consoling him from this would be no easy feat, especially since he kept pushing you away. He was afraid to touch you, to hurt you. He would never hurt you, and he would never forgive himself if he did.
In the day he was back, he slowly began to open up again, finally taking up on the bath as he rinsed himself of grime and sin.
He didnβt understand, he hated what he was, he was a monster, but you loved him.
And he loved you.
So when the first thing heβd said to you after 3 months, 12 days, 7 hours, 53 minutes and 7 seconds of radio silence, was petty and sarcastic. He hated himself.
And so away he hid again, until the day of love.
He awoke to a note slid under his door, a tacky heart sticker on its face, and he tilted his head wondering if this was an apology for something you hadnβt done wrong.
Then it hit him.
And he panicked, he had known you had been planning something special for today for months, and he had barely got you a gift.
Well, he had one thing he wanted to give you today. Something that had been hidden in his sock drawer since your first date.
A ring, a slim band but fuelled with all his love and soul.
So he opened the home-made envelope and found directions to a field not far from the compound. So he pocketed the white box and rushed to you.
A giggling spectacle, across the path, waving frantically at his fast approaching figure. But for a second, as he was almost right in front of you, you turned, head tilted towards the wooded forest laid beside the picnic blanket. Cookies and muffins and sandwiches, you were wearing his favourite sundress, everything was perfect. Or would have been.
He stood behind you, distanced, and got down on one knee, box in hand and speech prepared in his head.
It happened in a second,
He was too slow,
A sharp rip of a gunshotβ then another - stuck through his head. Dropping the box, In a moment he had to make a decision, catch you, or stop a third shot. He chose the latter.
A man lay dead in the forest now.
You lay dying in his arms.
With tears prickling your eyes you look up at him and painfully laugh
βItβs kind of romantic isnβt it.β You said, trying to bring a sense of humour to the scenario, and ignoring the blood that was as much yours as the rogue agent who had shot you.
It had stained the grass and splattered the food. Worst of all, it plagued his hands, after all of his attempts, his will for no harm to come to you, your blood still caked his hands. It plagued your body and it plagued his.
He let out a small smile, trying to encourage you to keep your eyes open.
βTheyβll be here soon baby, please, just hold on, keep on telling me those jokes you love so much. Tell me, what have you done all this time Iβve been away?β He got desperate βTell me something, talk away! Please! Anything!β His eyes are streaming, blood and tears mixing in the scene.
βI wanted to watch the sunrise with you this morning- but you seemed so tired so I let you sleep.β You stated, strained and sleepy.
It got quiet before he could hear your throat gargle up and feel your body begin to shake.
Quietly you croaked, βI donβt wanna die Buck, I wanna stay here, I wanna stay with you for the rest of my life, promise me?β
And of course he nodded, searching beside him for that ring as he sobbed.
βIf thatβs soβ thenβ marry me?β All you could do was let out a pitiful nod and a glance up at his eyes.
You stared into those eyes for so long, he thought that maybeβ but then you blinked, slowly. You were exhausted, however much you loved each other he couldnβt keep you.
βDonβt worry, you can rest now, Iβm here.β He said with a mournful smile on his face and you with a ring on your finger.
Your eyes had finally closed by the time help arrived.
And although selfish, a part of him had lost hope, and that part understood you got your wish, you stayed with him until your dying breath.
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